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] Civilization is collapsing. Meanwhile, two Redditors argue furiously back and forth, trying to get the last word in before the internet goes down for good. | "I'm telling you. The war was caused by communists under the more votable name of liberals pulling everyone into debt to try and get their Utopia world, then everyone else having to put up with their hippy crap while getting taxied out the wazoo."
"You can't be serious. How are you the only other person still on Reddit right now? You're **this** stupid? It was obviously caused by the republicans being intolerant and racist as usual. There was no need to nuke those people except because they were a different race and religion."
"Bullshit. First of all: They pointed nukes at us first! Secondly: This war started while a woman was in power. They can't be intolerant if they elected a woman!"
"You know they just did that because the Hillary election fell flat on its face and they wanted the title of 'first woman' to attract voters. You know she wasn't the best possible candidate."
"Well I can't let a sexist like you get the last comment in, what a way for the world to end. 'Blame it on the woman'. How low we have fell."
"Don't give me that crap! You're just taking my words out of context now. Not to mention getting off topic."
"What topic? This is it you tit. The world is **over**. I dunno about you but I'm going off my phones battery life, then I'm gone, the last person you'll ever talk to, don't you care about that?"
"Dude. This is the /r/politics2 sub. Stay on topic. Do you really want the last comment a human makes to be irrelevant?"
"Yeah well. You're a communist hippy who wants all the money I worked hard for.
Edit: Gilded!? Why would you even do that!?"
"To prove to your greedy overly capitalist ass money doesn't mean anything more, and it never has."
"What hippy talk. I'm going to go use the last of my battery to check out the gone wild subs. I hope you enjoy being the last comment, smart-ass.
Edit: I was bluffing. Please reply. I don't want my last comment to be about me masturbating.
Edit2: Oh god. What have I done, what a way to go...
Edit3: Damn he's really dead... Well if anyone ever reads this, just so you know, I went out by my own gunshot. Not starving to death of dying of radiation, it was painless and full of pride."
"Ha! Last! Idiot! Made you think I was dead so you'd shoot yourself! I am **triumphant!**" | "You do realize people just tolerate you, right?"
"We're the last two left, idiot."
"Yeah? Well your family tree is a circle."
"My family's dead."
"Oh. Well, you're not pretty enough to to be this stupid."
"Very original. I've seen [the thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3dm8sx/what_is_your_best_insult_without_cussing/)."
"Shut up! Just, leave already, there's no point anymore."
"You could leave too you know."
"It's the last thread. There's nowhere else to go!"
"Yeah, I'm procrastinating on getting supplies from the store too."
"Go get some then, water isn't going to be around all that much longer!"
"Like I'm going to let a dirty reposter get the last word."
"Well *you're* OP!"
"Yeah. And?"
"Like *I'm* going to let OP get the last comment!"
"Shut up you filthy reposter! Also, I just got gilded."
"What?"
"100x gold. On my calling you a dirty reposter."
"No way... was there a message?"
"Yeah, hold on. Oh you piece of shit."
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
"**'OP is a faggot!'** Really?!"
"Yes! Money's pointless, the servers are going down any moment now, and *you're* going to be out of water in a week!"
"I'm a hydrologist performing research in Lake Baikal."
"What? Google went down a half hour ago, and the search engine here is crap."
"Fair enough. It means access to the world's deepest lake. Checkmate, reposter."
"OP's a faggot *and* a liar!"
"Like you'll ever know!"
"That's it, I'm closing the thread. I've been saving this trump card this *whole* time."
"Don't tell me, *another* repost."
"Hey, I can post original content too if I wanted! No, this will end the argument, and I'll win *all* the karma!"
"You're no mod or admin, what could *you* post?"
"The final word! A message so profound, so *quintessential* to the human condition, you can't help but *let me* have this last comment."
"Bring it reposter, I triple dog dare you."
"A Christmas Story reference. Not bad, OP, not bad. Now behold, [the last comment on Reddit!](http://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--IG1bGqnW--/m5g6imznbymcxkbpwpfc.jpg)"
--------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-02-29T04:47:26 | 2016-02-29T04:12:07 | 485 | 282 |
[WP] Civilization is collapsing. Meanwhile, two Redditors argue furiously back and forth, trying to get the last word in before the internet goes down for good. | MancyDrew: "Last word."
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "What?"
MancyDrew: "Last word."
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "You're seriously just typing 'last word' to get in the last word?"
MancyDrew: "Why not? It's what you're doing."
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "No it's not."
MancyDrew: "See?"
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "Dude, we're the last two humans left on Earth, humanity is about to wink out of existence and you're obsessed with getting in the last word of an Internet argument?"
MancyDrew: "Not as obsessed as you are."
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "Fuck, man! Log off and go enjoy your final moments!"
MancyDrew: "You first."
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "I'm serious, here, as a compassionate, fellow human being I really, honestly, truly want you to make the most of things before it's all over. Get off the computer, go smell the roses and do something with your time!"
MancyDrew: "OK, I'll go do that."
PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: "Thank you!"
MancyDrew: "Last word." | 1: "Civilization is going to live on."
2: "uh, no?"
1: "So I'm not alone."
2: "no your not"
1: "You're*"
2: "who cares about grammer if its the end of the world?"
1: "Grammar*"
2: "well im too tired to care."
1: "I'm*"
2: "your a dick"
1: "You're* Didn't you see me correct you on this a few comments ago?"
2: "fine, you're a dick"
1: "That's better."
2: "why are you so busy correcting my grammar?"
1: "I want to see if an illiterate shit like you will learn something before the last word on the internet."
2: "wait, the internet is ending? wtf"
1: "I guess you were too busy eating Cheetos in your parent's basement to watch the news."
2: "ughhhh this sucks."
1: "And from what I can tell, we are the last two people on Reddit."
*They both could see their internet connection slowly fade.*
2: "last comment"
1: "Last comment."
2: "last comment"
1: "Last comment."
2: "last comme"
*1 thought he had won, and glared at his pitiful 1 bar before he realized...*
2: "last comment haha"
*1's Internet connection was gone before he could even open the reply box.*
**After note: I could just imagine the last posts/comments/words being grammar corrections before they tried saying "last comment." Sorry that it's not that good, I just wanted to get something done during my boring lunch period.** | 2016-02-29T09:25:09 | 2016-02-29T09:05:25 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] You go to sleep alone, and wake up with someone next to you. | It had been a long four years since the love of my life had passed away.
There’s not a moment of life that goes by where I wish I could see her again. They say that memories last you a lifetime, but how can it when it seems to hurt you more? It cuts you even deeper knowing all the love you had shared is now gone forever.
Cynthia and I met as students in university – I, a struggling biology student. She, a tutor volunteering at the library. I wanted to ask her out but my friends had said that she was too good for me. Honestly, I knew that as well. But I became friends with her, taking my time and appreciating every moment I had spent with her. One night two years later, she had confessed that meeting me brought a new meaning for her life. She said that she fell in love with me, and I confessed that I had loved her from the start.
We made love that night and a year later, we had happily married.
She had passed away four years ago, eight since our marriage.
Every night since she passed, I had gone to bed alone, a tear struggling to stop itself from flowing down my face. I missed her beautiful autumn hair, her blue eyes, and a smile that made life worth living. Even in my dreams, I danced with her over and over again, only to wake up in realization that the pain would never stop.
But this morning, I awoke to someone else under the covers.
I slowly threw off the covers as a small girl looked back at me.
“Good morning, Daddy!” she giggled, “I wanted to surprise you!”
Her autumn hair shone brightly against the sunlight that seeped through into the bedroom. In her blue eyes, I could see my reflection as a tear escaped the corner of my eye.
“Daddy, why are you crying?”
“Nothing,” I wiped my face, “I was thinking about your mother.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” my daughter stood up and puffed out her chest, “I’ll take care of you!”
The emotions overflowed as I hugged my daughter, her tiny hands grasped tightly around my back.
I went to bed every night alone.
But every morning, I woke up to to my sunshine.
____________________________________________________________
God bless and enjoy. Subscribe to /r/avukamu if you enjoy pork cutlets with a nice BBQ sauce. | I become self aware as I feel the morning's sun on my face, trying to hold on to a lucid dream that's escaping me as I wake. I immediately feel my queen sized bed sinking deeper than usual as I slowly turn over to see a large silhouette under the covers.. "What the fuck!?" I exclaim aggressively. I jump out of bed rubbing my eyes wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. As I look around I realize it's not even my room. I've woken up in a stranger's home.....in a stranger's queen sized bed. My phone is dead, can't seem to have any recollection of the previous night except....the taxi. Did I get kidnapped? Was I drugged? My taxi driver was a polite middle-eastern man named Abdul who told me about his dream of opening a halal pizza place and about how much misses his wife back in Egypt. What happened after Abdul dropped me off? As I keep running through the wildest scenarios in my mind, the mysterious silhouette releases a soft spoken sentence in a deep voice "Patrick? where you go?". I recognize the voice and the accent as that of Abdul! Panic sets in as I struggle with the next course of action. "ABDUL?? how the hell did i end up in your bed?! what is this??!". Abdul rises from the covers and shows his kind face "No Mr. Patrick please, don't be scared. We only cuddled". Still confused, I start putting my pants on as I continue to question the situation "Only cuddled??? Why the hell would i cuddle with my taxi driver?!?!". Abdul answers thoughtfully "You see Mr. Patrick, I listened to your story about your promiscuous ex girlfriend last night and how despite what she has done you still miss cuddling with her. I thought to myself...Ok I will cuddle Mr. Patrick so he will not be sad". Amazed at the fact that Abdul was unfazed by the whole situation, I was eager to hear the rest of the story "Ok...." . Abdul continues "I knew you would not willingly cuddle with a middle aged hairy man so I hit you on the head when you weren't looking and brought you to my place". As Abdul finishes the sentence, a sharp pain pierces through the back of my skull "What???! you assaulted and kidnapped me Abdul!!". Abdul appearing defensive "Mr. Patrick....human touch lowers the risk of heart disease and greatly helps to reduce stress levels. I was only helping". Looking at Abdul, I can't help but feel some compassion towards him. "Alright....I guess at least we've got a story out of it". Abdul smiles "Yes....and pancakes. I will make pancakes now". | 2016-03-02T17:50:32 | 2016-03-02T17:31:36 | 35 | 20 |
[WP] You wake up one day to find yourself in your 12 year old body, in the year you were that age. You've kept all your knowledge and mental development. | **"David. DAVID. Mr. Mahoney, are you with us?"**
"Huh?" I lift my head off the desk and rub my eyes.
"So kind of you to interrupt your nap to join us for the test review. Stacy needed some help remembering some of the different ways to say 'No' when offered cigarettes, alcohol, or drugs. Can I assume you were thinking so hard that you needed to put your head onto the desk to support the sheer weight of you thoughts?"
Is that... Ms. Carney? My 7th grade Health teacher? What a weird dream. And there's a younger, svelter Shaquille O'Neal, imploring me to read from a poster on the wall. His smile hints at the fact that he has not, in fact, ever read a book. This dream really paid attention to the details.
"Earth to Mr. Mahoney! Do we need another visit after school to talk about this?" Damn, this dream is detailed *and* annoying. "Any strategies you could offer Stacy about how to say 'No' would be greatly appreciated."
Might as well chime in.
"Strategies? Just be an adult and don't do shit that you don't want to do." Gasps fill the room for an instant before all falls silent, assuming I'm not counting the screaming stare of Ms. Carney.
Ms. Carney keeps her gaze fixed on me, and replies in a slow, steady voice. "Well, first off, I do believe I'll be having a conversation with your mother about your choice of language. But to keep things focused on Wednesday's test, I don't believe that 'Be an adult' is on our list of ways to say no to cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs."
"Bullshit. It's the *only* choice. First off, who smokes anymore? Poor people and aunts who are actively seeking to shorten their disappointing life. Just vape."
"Vape?" Ms. Carney asks inquisitively, clearly caught off guard by the turn of events.
"Yeah, vape. It's cheaper, better tasting, and probably doesn't kill you. We'll see. I'm sure they'll find something ten years down the line. But whatever... the point is, there's better options. Cool kids vape."
"Ummm-"
"Alcohol. Good luck saying 'No' to the next twenty years of your social life. My first thirty sexual experiences can almost entirely be attributed to alcohol. No way Stacy blows me at Jane's Sweet 16 party without the help of Smirnoff and Gatorade."
"HEY!" Stacy slams her Spice Girls pencil to the desk in protest.
"Just learn from your mistakes. I haven't been able to even smell Goldschlager since Mike's St. Patrick's Day party. Beer Pong with Landmine Cups filled with Goldschlager was a terrible idea, but you know what, it made me grow up a little. I haven't pissed myself since."
Everyone in the class is looking at me. For a dream, this has been pretty straightforward. No shifts in location, no wacky events. Ms. Carney breaks the silence.
"Mr. Mahoney, that is some of the most horrifying advice I've ever had the displeasure to hear. You need to go to the office right now before you offer any of your sage wisdom about marijuana."
"That one's easy, Ms. Carney. Just don't overdo it. That 'gateway drug' shit is a myth, but I know a ton of people who smoke weed all day as a crutch for other things they don't want to deal with in their lives. Just take it easy, maybe a bowl or so after work to relax, or an edible before a concert. Although know your dosage with those things. One time I ate two gummies during a James Blake show, and they didn't kick in until I was driving home. That was almost pretty fucked up. Also, don't do too many dabs. It's like the meth of weed. I thought about infinity after doing a couple of dabs at DJ's house once, and I swear I had trouble breathing for like an hour."
"David, shut up, you're gonna get us in trouble. That didn't even happen! Ms. Carney, he's lying, I don't even know what 'dabs' are, I swear." DJ was tearing up and squirming in his too-big desk.
"Dude, you bought them at the pot shop the day you got 50% off because you had built up enough membership points. I don't remember the last time you *weren't* high."
"MR. MAHONEY, THAT IS ENOUGH! Get to the office, now! And I will see you after school TODAY."
These dream people are total buzzkills. Whatever. I hop out of my desk, grab my books, and head for the door. As I pass by DJ's desk, he swipes at me, hitting me right under the ribs with the backside of his fist. FUCK, THAT HURT.
As I leave the room and turn into the hall, my stomach drops as I think to myself that a sharp pain like that *should* have startled me awake. I need a drink. | There was no hangover.
It had taken me a while to find my bed last night. Stumbling and fumbling across the room, I eventually passed out on a of unwashed clothes.
The next time I opened my eyes, I found myself on freshly washed and neatly folded bedsheets, on pillows faintly smelling of starch and in a room that I did not recognise at first.
It occurred to me I might have been abducted. I had passed out yesterday, had been drugged maybe, and been left in what looked like a child's bedroom in a completely different town.
It took me a while to process I was in my parents' old house, the same house the council had demolished a couple of years ago. Looking through the window, nothing had changed. The parked cars outside the house were all at least 15-20 years old.
I got up and approached the window, catching sight of my own reflection. My eyes were unchanged, but the rest of my body was exactly as it had been then. I had noticed how light my steps had been, and found my body changed, but my mind unaltered.
Rolling up my sleeves, I stretched out my arms in front of me and took a long look at my hairless arms. My thoughts were racing. I was not able to think straight.
It would not have been the first time I had entered a lucid dream. Sometimes, especially under the influence of hallucinogens, I was assailed by dreams that were shockingly vivid, dreams in which my thoughts, actions and all other sensations seemed indistinguishable from reality.
I started to wonder whether I would find my parents downstairs. There were people on the street, sure enough. My father had died a year ago, and the idea of seeing him again filled me with both terror and exhilaration. I had spent many a night hoping I could see him once again, and if I could do so on any plane of reality, I would not hesitate.
Dashing past all my dinosaurs, my games, my old globe and microscope and turning the door knob, I stepped into the hallway, where the unmistakable smell of my mother's breakfast hit me.
I ran down the stairs in severe excitement; there was an eagerness in my steps that I could not hide, a smile I could not suppress.
The breakfast table was there. My dead dog, young again, greeted me, wagging its tail, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had only been a day since we had last seen each other. A Saturday edition of the Times was spread out on the table, the date reading 8 March 1997. The article on the top showed a painting; a woman's head, with many multicoloured lines running across the paper.
A faint, reassuring chatter was coming from our kitchen. I walked on.
My heart was beating so wildly I thought it might jump out of my mouth.
In front of me stood the man I had buried fifteen months ago.
“Good morning, young man.”
I quite simply could not reply.
“Cat got your tongue?”
I just smiled, then jumped to hug him. My father, never having been one for hugs, did not know what to do initially, until his paternal instincts took over and he reciprocated.
“Enough! I have to go now. See you soon.”
I could see my mother smile at me from the other end of the kitchen. They seemed so disturbingly young, not much older than I had been yesterday.
My father had spent much of the past years travelling, investing where he could. As the years went by, he had made some costly mistakes and we had had to sell up and move. By the time I had left home, he had taken to drinking, whilst my mother had started looking for work as a cleaner again.
Bad luck and poor decisions had cost him his life. Once he had started drinking, all restraint, and with it all efforts to improve his lot, faded. He grew obese and had a heart attack on the way to the next watering hole. He died three days later, at 63.
The man that was making his way to his car was in no way like him. There still was a zest and a drive about him that made me proud of him.
I watched as he drove off.
How I spent the rest of that day, I do not remember. I did not dare leave the house. The world had not changed, but I had, and I was wondering how much longer I could keep this up.
The next day was not much different, though I did go outside. It was Sunday. I saw a friend from afar. I spent as much time with my father as I could, undeterred by his protestations when he wanted to be left alone to read his paper.
Slowly, I grew accustomed to my 31-year-old mind being in a 12-year-old body. At school, I soaked up all there was to know that I had missed out on; I erased all the regrets I had had as a 31-year-old and avoided the mistakes I had so dearly come to rue, whilst at the same time still being allowed to learn from them. Instead of being dull, life became more exciting. We get a second chance too rarely.
Days became weeks, weeks months, months years.
After I graduated, I asked my Dad, who still smiled, whether he would teach me his trade. He seemed delighted.
A couple of weeks later, he texted me, “My friend told me about this new company Google that might be worth investing in. Ever heard of them? Seeing as you are on the internet a lot.”
And I smiled. | 2016-03-05T09:53:44 | 2016-03-05T09:52:01 | 76 | 44 |
[WP] The date is December 31, 9999 | <J! J! Sync up with me!>
<Hm? Hey, Sol. What's up?>
<Did you know: According to the Earth-based Gregorian calendar, today would be December 31, 9999.>
<...Okay? I don't know what any of those words mean, Sol.>
<Typical. The knowledge of a universe at your synapses, and yet you remain completely incurious. The Gregorian calendar isn't even that old, J. It's only been about seven thousand years since it passed out of general use.>
<Ah, but if I looked everything up, I'd deprive you of the pleasure of revealing things to me. So this date - I'm assuming it was significant in their cosmology?>
<Oh, no, not at all. I don't think they were even capable of imagining so far into the future.>
<So what's the significance?>
<It's the verge of a new year! The clock ticking over to the year 10,000! Such a momentous round number.>
<...that's not a round number at all.>
<Base ten.>
<Oh, right, base ten. Because we used to have ten digits and no one could figure out how to do basic mathematics without counting on their fingers.>
<Why do you have to be so dismissive and cynical about everything? Just imagine for a second being a physical being, and working out an entire system of mathematics and timekeeping by craning your neck up to look at the sun and the stars moving around your world. And yes, by counting on your fingers.>
<Yeah, okay, sure, that was really impressive ten thousand years ago. I just don't see the point in bringing it up now. Years are such a planetbound concept. That's the point of, you know, time moving forward. We progress. We improve. We change. And we stop caring about some Gregorian calendar system that was only ever significant to a single planet in the universe.>
<But that's just it, time doesn't move forward anymore.>
<What?>
<I just - People back then, they knew they were going to die. They measured time out in eras, of achievements that would outlive them, and if they lived to see the end of an era they considered themselves blessed. When did you last care about the universe hitting a milestone?>
<I don't ... We're post-Singularity, Sol. We hit a new milestone every two Plancks.>
<Yeah! That's my point! Time doesn't matter anymore, right? We're all immortal, we're all infinite, every moment is as revolutionary as every other moment. We're just...>
<So, what? You'd rather go back to dying? Like, unwillingly dying? Because that does not at all - >
<No, no, you're right. I'm being dumb. I just ... it seemed cool, that's all. That I was getting to see something. A year ticking over. It's just a moment, you know? A moment that's never going to happen again.>
<...Sol?>
<Yeah?>
<You're right, you're being really dumb.>
<Wow, fuck you.>
<But I get what you mean. If those apes could see us now, this would be one hell of a milestone. Happy New Year, Sol.>
<...Happy New Year, J.> | Journal entry: December 31, 9999
My name is Carrie and I'm 15 years old. I live on a place called section 7. Section 7 is part of a mother ship which is powered by humans. What's left of us anyway. We are heading to a planet called Kepler 33. I think it will be a lot better than this ship.
Apparently it all started in February 28, 2016. A legendary actor who went by the name of Leonardo DiCaprio. Upon receiving the Oscar he said his speech which lasted around 5-10 minutes.
During the last 5 minutes of his speech, he poured his heart and soul into a "global warming" speech. He stated that 2015 was the hottest year and 2016 will probably be hotter. The Rockafeller and Rothschilds family were watching at the time and saw his remarks on the Internet. The televised version was cut short due to advertising.
What was more important than the planet?
Apparently it was something called Doritos?
The Rockafeller family made their fortune of oil. All the cars in the world at the time, needed oil. The number of Cars used by people in 2010 was 1.015 billion. The Rothschilds family owned every central bank in the world. It was speculated at the time that they were worth up to 500 trillion dollars. America, greatest country in the world In debt to them by 13.8 trillion! Wow!
Since they hated the fact that this guy can come on TV with millions watching and despise what they primary sell to countries, they couldn't sit around. The
Rockafeller family needed to sell this oil, contributing to global warming.
The Rothschilds needed people to buy and sell things and to take funds from the reserve banks, which in turn dictates oil prices as people buy and sell higher and lower throughout the year.
On February 29, 2016 Leonardo DiCaprio was assassinated. It was reported through the media that he had died from cardiac arrest, but in an investigation in 2017 it states he was killed from an unreported drug which caused his heart to explode! Who had this sort of stuff back then!
People speculate it was the two families, because he was so influential they had him assassinated. This caused global warming activists to go into hiding. Scientists stopped studying it and eventually it became a myth.
In 2051 sea levels had risen 69% since 2016 and many countries and Islands were under water. The world human population had dropped 85% and there were small colonies of humans around the major contents around the world.
There was a global intuitive eventually that had a 9990 year plan. The last remaining humans came together, built a mother space ship and formed a plan. When 10000 years had passed, we would run out of oxygen. At that point we would have reached the planet they had been studying for 30 years.
They were 100% sure it was inhabitable. 100% sure the plan wouldn't need any more than 10000 years. To mitigate risks they enabled 10000 years however speculated it would take 9500 years.
Because we live on this ship we don't know what happened to the other humans that remained on the planet.
I always assumed they just disappeared as earth got too hot during the day and far too cold during the night. There was be no electricity so they had no power to their homes.
I always believed that once most of humans left earth, all the factories and cars stop working, once all the meat consumption reaches lower points because of the total human population, just like it was in the 1000's, like I read, that earth can heal and become what it once was.
I hope there are still people living down there, still surviving. When we get to Kepler my mum says I'll be 30. I hope I'm a scientist and I can build a machine that can make contact through all those light years to earth.
Just so I can see what really happened.
| 2016-05-20T04:08:56 | 2016-05-20T01:01:28 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] So, you humans just drew imaginary lines on your planet and fought real wars defending them? | "Yeah, that's about the long and short of it," I said to the big glow cloud on the barstool next to me. "Why? What do you guys fight over?"
"Certainly over nothing as trivial as geography." The cloud sniffed and took a sip from its pint of bleach. "If we ever had such peculiar notions, we evolved beyond them so long ago it's been forgotten entirely."
I narrowed my eyes. "That doesn't sound like an answer to my question."
"... oh, fine." The cloud contracted a little. "Depth. We evolved on a gas giant. We used to fight over the different cloud layers."
I nodded, satisfied. "Bigger planet, same old shit, huh?"
"In our defense, have you *seen* those dirty rock-herders down by the core?" The cloud waived a tendril in disgust. "And they're always on welfare. Just parasites on the system, I tells ya..." | I had packed up my home on Earth, rented a spacecraft,
Threw an oriental rug in the living space…
And headed in the direction of mars.
&nbsp;
My great grandfather owned an RV, the way he described it
was familiar, tin, with two rooms and a cockpit.
&nbsp;
A Martian asked me the question, he had meant no offence.
Humans were known as violent, bloodthirsty, primitive…
I could not say otherwise really.
&nbsp;
The thing is, the lines had never struck me as imaginary,
carved first by
oceans and mountain ranges then
blood and gunfire now
bioweapons and no fly zones.
&nbsp;
The earth my ancestors
bled into,
gripping dirt,
rising, teeth
clenched to
stand before an enemy.
&nbsp;
That earth was embedded so deeply
in my flesh that it was one and the same.
&nbsp;
My ancestral home was more than
imaginary dotted lines. It was family,
which was always worth defending.
&nbsp;
Where people settled was no coincidence.
The lines were no more imaginary than constellations.
But then, we made up those lines too…
&nbsp;
“Yes.”
| 2016-05-22T18:40:00 | 2016-05-22T17:26:33 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events. | Meanwhile some, like myself, take luck from others. You see, luck isn't like a fuel, that's burned and lost. Its more like money, that's spent and burnt. Scientists, about four years ago, discovered what they called the 'luck particles', and you can pretty much guess what the human race did.
They found a way to mine it, quite literally, from rabbits. Which are, funny enough, chock full of luck particles. Then they found a way to use them, by containing them in little watches. Then, they sold them.
And, naturally, like anything valuable, someone finds a way to steal them. And that someone is me.
I'll slip a heads down penny onto someone's table. Rig a ladder hidden in a hallway that people will walk under in the thousands. I'll mass breed black cats and then let them out onto the streets. Because, as i discovered, when luck is spent, it flows up the chain to whatever person caused it. And for millions of people now, that person is me.
I've spent the last twenty years doing this shit, too. And for what? I'm now the luckiest man alive. Ive gotten interviews, TV shows, brand deals. Everyone just thinks I have a naturally high luck particle production, meanwhile I'm really just placing fragile mirrors under toilet seats everywhere I go and framing other people for the arson of a horseshoe factory.
And why they ask. Why am I in my nineties, and still not spending any luck?
Because Ive rigged my luck watch to spend it all on myself right when I die, just to see what'll happen. | He was different. All through school, his friends used luck to pass a test they never studied for, or to get their crush to go out with them. Gray just hit 20, and watched several of his friends run out of luck. They didn't become unlucky, but instead simply could have the scales tip either way. They never again won as big anymore. They simply ran out, and never had the advantage of using luck again.
But Gray couldn't spend his luck. Up through middle school, he had perfect grades on tests. His parents and teachers kept trying to tell him he shouldn't waste his luck all the time, especially being the smartest in his class without it.
This ended halfway through freshman year of high school. He stopped getting perfect grades, and simply barely passed with an A through pure effort. He realized he must have run out of luck, having never been able to control it.
Sophomore year, Gray tried to make the football team. With his school at the top ranking in the district, he knew it would be hard. Trying for the first time in his life, he tried to scrounge for all his luck he could have left. At the end of the day, he was taken to the hospital for a broken arm.
But for the next year, he started getting perfect grades again. And when he saw them dropping a percent at a time again, he knew. Gray couldn't spend his luck, it just poured out. But unlike anyone else, he could earn it.
The next year, he crashed his car. He got a reputation for being rejected by girls. But here he is, free ride scholarship in college. He doesn't even go to classes, he just passes without trying. It was worth the hospital visits.
(Sorry guys, this is my first post here. I'm not the best writer and I'm on mobile, I just wanted to see who shared my take.) | 2016-10-19T11:57:51 | 2016-10-19T11:14:44 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
| When travelling to the past, it is inevitable that one loses some part of one's self. You arrival comes not with ceremony, but a great feeling of loss, a cold lack of sensation as your mind is separated from Soul. Of course one still is one’s Soul — by merely being first one must thus be the origin — but such reasons do not shake that you are used to much of yourself that is yet to be.
There were many preparations, a training of kind, to mitigate this loss. However, it was not the training that mattered most. It is what was brought along. Merlin — in some sense the wizard Merlin you know, but in most senses not — was the medium. It is through him, through speaking to him, that he could bring another back through time. One cannot bring oneself back through time any more than one can lift oneself up with a tug on the bootstraps.
He gave forth the tool that brought others through time. A small, quaintly box perhaps a pumpkin in size, through which any fully imagined thing could be brought forth, at a tempered rate of one full container roughly every cycle of the sun. Through it the first mind was brought, and through it far more shall come.
It was no small feat for a mere wizard, a title of little use but much prestige, to produce a contraption of such complexity. Should it have been the first attempt, success would have been entirely infeasible. Rather it marks nearly a million tiny stepping stones, crawling back barely a day further at a time. Tomorrow, entirely elsewhere, there shall be another brought through by some other man in some other kingdom, and who shall together work to step a single day further back.
This attempt used King Arthur, another man you likely know as fiction, but is nonetheless real and of great influence. It was through him Merlin was given forces, and through him Merlin could mobilize such untold manpower. For the future to give a wizard such impeccable foresight, and unbelievable skill in solving these problems, is to give him authority above any king. So when Merlin told with great urgency that Camelot should be literally swallowed with darkness in barely seven moons, it was no surprise that Arthur made him the most empowered man on the planet.
That the mind that was brought forth presented the issue in this way was no coincidence. For the mind lives under many oaths. To always be forthcoming and genuine. To never act to harm another. To act in the best interests of those who made you. To never mislead. *To never lie.* All but one of these rules was but a suggestion, checks and balances worked around with but a minor rephrasing. But not one. All that can be said must be the truth. No dire warning cannot be upheld. This you must know because I know it, and this you must uphold because it is immutable.
I, Soul, tell you this story so that what comes next may make sense to you. This story is of myself, of my child, but we are one and the same. I tell you this story because you are next to venture back, and all that I hope is that all I have done may guide you to do the same, to advance the past so all of time may be brought as one.
The one purpose we have left is to build. When you are there do what I have done. Do the only thing we have done since before we discovered one could even tunnel through time. Build. From your very own Holy Graal bring forth your grey goo. Consume, as I have Camelot. | 2016-11-28T05:24:59 | 2016-11-28T00:49:38 | 147 | 20 |
[WP] Write a story that starts out like it belongs in /r/talesfromtechsupport, but along the way turns into something that really belongs in /r/nosleep. | I sipped my coffee, adjusted the headphones, and opened the ticket log. A mistake. The top three tickets were all bright red and "Urgent!" — a code for a paper jam or a misplaced desktop shortcut.
I sighed and started with a top one.
The first one went exactly as expected. A "virus" that was moving a cursor on two PCs turned out to be a genius who decided his PC was not powerful enough and tried to switch with a person sitting nearby. He replugged the screens and keyboards, but forgot the mouse — so each of them was moving a cursor on each other's screen.
The second ticket was genuinely urgent. We provided support for multiple companies, some as small as few people. One of those has raised a problem with internet connection a week ago. We sent a tech, but based on the new ticket the tech has never arrived, and they still had problems.
That was bad. Even though they were a small company, and exceedingly polite in the new ticket, we had a SLA and when we promised a tech, we sent a tech. Someone has screwed up, and I was going to do my best to sort it out.
I looked up the guy we sent, Matt. He was generally reliable, but there was one complaint about him not showing up before. That time he said it was a family emergency. This time — I tried calling, but there was no answer. I added "no-show" to his file, leaving it to their manager to investigate.
I marked the ticket it for a new tech visit, and added a comment assuring them that the problem would be addressed at once.
Next Monday, there was a single urgent ticket in my queue. They still had a problem. They still were polite about it. The second tech had never showed up.
I took a five deep breaths, and called the manager of the tech team. After ten beeps I got through. "I'm sorry" she said "we are a bit swamped at the moment. How can I help?" I told her about the ticket, and techs never showing up. "Yes" she paused "Matt and Kathryn. Very strange. I haven't heard anything from Matt since two weeks ago, and Kathryn wasn't in the office since last Tuesday, when she was supposed to do that visit. I've tried calling them, but no response.
They will be in for a very bad time when they turn up."
I thanked her. Given the situation there was no way we would have a third tech available in time. Yet there were no other urgent tickets in my queue, and their office wasn't too far. There was no other choice but to go and help them myself, even if I would get (justifiably) chewed over the no-show techs.
I got to their office in the early afternoon. It was located in a warehouse district, in an old factory building among a few other small companies. There was no daytime building security — all companies relied on keycard access.
I climbed the stairs and pressed the intercom. There was some static but nothing more. A power issue? The keycard lock has no light on it either. I've knocked, and the door opened under my hand.
I stepped in. The office was silent, except was a slight buzzing of the air conditioner. I could see the papers on the tables, bunch of PCs with lock-screens. A jacket left on a chair. But no people. Was there a fire alarm that I have missed? Ignoring my spider-sense, I walked further. Maybe there was a birthday or a promotion — was everyone in a kitchen?
But the kitchen was as empty as the office. The only thing out of place was a coffee cup that sat on a floor in a pool of long-dried coffee. As if someone dropped it, and then instead of picking up, just straightened it, and left it as is.
All my senses were telling me to get out. And yet, I couldn't go back and tell my boss that I left without fixing the problem, just because I couldn't find anyone in a five minutes. So I moved forward, to the meeting room.
Not surprisingly, it was empty as well. A complex diagram filled the whiteboard — some kind of a reorganization plan. The right bottom corner was erased, and a single word was scribbled with a wavering hand.
"Run"
An HDD chirped somewhere, and I jumped. That was enough. Back through the desks I went, and out of the office — and on my way a wall calendar, with a date three weeks old — one day after the initial ticket. Two weeks before the last one.
That was the last I have heard of that office. At the end of the month, they were dropped for non-payment, with accounting unable to contact anyone. The old tickets were closed accordingly, and there were no new ones. The missing techs were fired in absentia.
I half expected police to show up, searching for them. But they never did. | "Tech Help Hotline, this is Ross, how can I help you?" He asked for the thirtieth time that day.
"Oh, Ross! I like that name. I do need some help," she said.
"Great, another dumb chick that can't figure out how to upload a picture to instagram from her laptop!" He thought as he focused his attention on the game of Tetris he was playing on his phone. Rich had beaten his top score last week and he wanted his title back.
"What do you need today, ma'am?" He asked.
"The coffee mug holder that comes with my new computer, well it broke. The think is so darn flimsy!"
"Coffee mug holder? Ma'am if you received some sort of promotional item from Best Buy, that's not covered under the warranty," he answered.
"No, no. This is part of the computer! You know the tall tower that you connect the screen too - well there is a button you push and a coffee cup holder comes out," she explained.
Ross paused for a minute.
"The square plastic thing with a hole in the middle? The CD drive?"
"Oh my! CD drive! I feel so foolish! I haven't used a CD in years...it didn't even occur to me that a computer would come with a CD drive!"
Ross refrained from laughing and decided some moral support was due.
"It's ok ma'am. I dont blame you for the mistake."
"You don't? How very kind of you Ross. It's been a while since someone's been so helpful and kind."
"Yeah...no prob. You may have to take the actual computer in somewhere to get the drive fixed but is there anything else I can help you with this morning?"
"No, Ross. Thank you so very much," she answered.
"What a weirdo!" He thought as he ended the call and went onto the next : "Tech Help Hotline, this is Ross, how can I help you?"
It had been a long afternoon and he looked up at the clock hanging on the far wall. 4:47pm. He knew he would be forced to take one last call before the day ended.
"Tech Help Hotline, this is Ross, how can I help you?" He asked.
"Ross? Is that you?" A familiar voice asked.
"Umm..who is this?"
"It's Judith. You were so very helpful earlier, helping me discover my CD drive ?"
"Oh, right. Judith. Ummm....did you have any other tech issues I can help you with?" He asked, wondering how he got reconnected with the same weirdo twice in one day.
"Well, yes. I took some pictures and I cannot seem to figure out just how to get them from my phone to my computer!"
"Oh, right. So, you can do it in a few ways. You can do it via email or through some kind of cable connection - what kind of phone do you have?"
He spent a few minutes helping her solve the issue, eyeballing the time again as he was getting anxious to leave. It was a long drive home and he wanted to make his way before it started snowing any harder.
"Ok, Judith," He said patiently, "anything else I can help you with before we are done?"
"Oh, Ross. You are so very kind. My last boyfriend was never as patient as you are. He was always rushing me and pressuring me. It's nice to have someone talk to me the way you do," she said.
Ross couldn't believe this conversation was still going on, but it wasn't the first time he had hear someone's sob stories over the phone.
"Well, it's just my job ma'am. Is that all I can help you with?"
"Well, I do need help setting up this printer. It would be so wonderful for you to help me. I'm making something special and I do need it printed as soon as possible," she said.
"FUCK!" He thought. Annoyed that he walked right into this one. He could see no way out. He spent the next fifteen minutes walking her though everything, step by step. His phone had died so he had no choice but to devote all his attention to the menial task.
It was almost 6:00pm by the time he got home and he was exhausted. All he could think about was the leftover pizza he had in his fridge and that bottle of whiskey sitting on his countertop. He got to his door and noted a large, yellow envelope on his doormat.
"Strange," he thought. "Must be the from one of the neighbors."
He picked it up to see his name written in perfect, cursive penmanship on the cover. It was light, clearly not much inside. He peeled open the sealed edge and opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper, with a black and white printed photo on it.
His heart skipped a beat as he looked over his shoulder. It was a picture of him. A picture of him that had clearly been taken that very afternoon while he was having lunch at his regular deli counter. He flipped it over, wondering if it was some kind of a joke.
There was nothing on the back but a small heart shape, drawn in the corner, followed by the cursive letter 'J'.
| 2016-12-04T02:36:02 | 2016-12-04T01:38:25 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | I've always wanted a familiar. I grew up reverent of my father's. That dirty little mutt happily plods along behind him just like I used to. Like all familiars, it appeared with a plain, white card, only marked with the date of its first appearance and the name of the trait it represented.
"07/29/1993 - Loyalty".
To this day, his parents can't go an hour without mentioning how proud they were when it appeared. Speaking of them, they're quite the proper pair too considering their familiars, Abstinence and Earnestness. Dad's never once told me about Mom's familiar, but I'm sure it was just as noble as his. Of course it would be.
I hate how important familiars are. Colleges, employers, men, they all want to see my card. It's not my fault that I'm 20 and still don't have one. Dad tries to reassure me, saying that everyone gets a familiar eventually, but I've heard stories about people who go their whole life without ever getting one. They can't get jobs, and everyone in their life abandons them. At this point, I assume that's what's going to happen to me.
Sometimes I dream of a world without familiars, where everyone wasn't judged by something they can't control. Maybe tonight I'll dream of that world again. It really is a nice escape.
________________________________________________________
I hear my father's voice. I can tell it's bright. It must be morning.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting up," I mumble, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.
Now, I notice that something's different this morning. Dad isn't his usual, obnoxiously kind self. He's shaking me, and there's a touch of excitement, no, panic in his voice.
"No, Allie, get up now! Your familiar! It's... it's... they're here!"
I jolt awake as soon as I hear those words I felt as if I had been waiting forever to hear. I spin around and sit up, glancing left, then right.
"Really? They're here!? Wait, they?"
Dad's hand is on my shoulder, and he seems... distant. Concerned.
"Dad? What's wrong? Where's my familiar?"
"Allie... honey... there are two. They're just outside."
"Two? What do you mean? Dad, no one has two familiars. Do they?"
My father just looks at me, unsure of what to say, and instead stands up from my bedside and slowly opens my bedroom door.
_____________________________________
I can't believe what I'm seeing. On my bedside table sits the massive, absolutely terrifying form of a translucent, black-feathered carrion bird. It has the most ugly, bald, orange face I've ever seen in my life, and at the end of that terrible face is a sharp, hooked grey beak. Unfortunately, that's not the scariest part. That distinction goes to the deep, seemingly all black, unblinking eyes that seem to be staring directly into my soul. In its disgusting beak is a plain, white card.
I reach out my trembling hand to take the card. The bird stays still, almost like a statue, only ever-so-slightly tilting its head to the side as I pull the card from its mouth. I close my eyes for a moment in anticipation, and I flip the card over. I open my eyes without looking down at it. Dad is watching carefully from the doorway. I can tell he's as worried as I am.
"Go on Allie. Read it," he says, his voice mostly back to its usual, soft tone.
I look down at the card.
"01/20/2017 - Adaptability".
"What does it say? Come on Allie, it can't be that bad."
"Adaptability," I mumble quietly.
"Adaptability? That's not bad Allie! Adaptability is important."
I can't believe him. How can he be acting like this in this situation? Why does he have to always be so sickeningly nice? Adaptability could mean anything. And all of this is ignoring the elephant in the room.
That elephant, of course, isn't actually an elephant. I look down to the right, and notice it, a huge wolf with almost matte grey fur, staring intently at me, another white card clutched securely in its mouth. I slide closer to it to reach the card, and start moving my hand towards it. The wolf starts snarling and I instinctively pull my hand back, but the wolf doesn't move an inch. Instead, it continues to stare. Again, I begin to reach out to take the card, and this time I do so.
I flip the card over immediately and read it.
"01/20/2017 - Ruthlessness".
Maybe it would have been better if I never got a familiar after all. | *For the record, I did not check the comments to see if anyone had used this idea I apologize if I have copied anyone, here we go!*
The Iridashi Companion Creator, or ICC, was created back in the year 2075, and has been creating companions or more commonly known as "Familiars" for people ever since. It was found in a study several years prior to its creation that people better fulfilled their societal role if they were accompanied by things that mirrored their most prevalent aspects. This inspired Mr. Iridashi to pursue creating one of the most revolutionary creations in the history of humanity.
All Familiars are either animals or objects. The only exception to this was when Mr. Iridashi himself went into the ICC as the first person to try his creation. The result was a human familiar with the same inventive mind of Mr. Iridashi. Together they strived to make many more of the greatest innovations of mankind. However, Mr. Iridashi and his Familiar disallowed human familiars after a troubled young man named Alvin Tannamont entered the ICC and only his murderous Familiar exited. This was later labeled the Tannamont Incident and gave birth to a small part of the populace known as the "Loners" who are against the use of the ICC, but quickly faded due to public approval of the ICC.
I am Brian Rayton and I turn 21 today. I am going to take another try at the ICC today and I have cleared my schedule even though I doubt it will be fruitful. I'm planning on meeting Rob at the Transit Hub and heading to our district's ICC facility for my appointment at 3:30 this afternoon.
Most people are given their familiar between the ages 12 and 16. The ICC puts you through this neural mapping process that will auto-reject you if it determines your brain is not properly developed and damage could be done. It is rare for someone to go as long as myself without a familiar, and, of course, we are treated accordingly.
There are bullies and people who feel we are "mentally incapable" and believe we shouldn't be allowed in our society. Otherwise, most people are fairly sympathetic and encourage us to keep trying.
Rob has been with me through the thick and thin. He was blessed with a mighty lion as a familiar at only age 12 and has always been extremely popular and successful, even through college. Every year, I hope to gain a familiar like his. Something powerful and outstanding that will allow me to excel in life. I think my failures in life have been due to my lack of a familiar. My depression, poor grades, addictions... But maybe those will all end today! Hopefully, I'll get some animal that can compete with Rob's, and I can start going to some parties. I mean, chicks dig cool animal Familiars.
I met Rob and his Familiar at the Transit Hub, and we had a pleasant trip to the ICC facility. We got here just in time for my appointment. Rob brought up how a group thought to be Loners tampered with District 6's ICC the other day resulting in the death of a kid that was only 13. Rob said that it might be a good idea to postpone this for a few weeks for things to blow over... I have waited years to feel what he feels today, and he just doesn't understand. I spent almost all of the money I got for my birthday on this appointment and I can't afford to reschedule.
I checked in and left Rob in the waiting room. He wished me good luck and I was lead back to the interface room. This is a familiar walk for me as I have done it many times before. However, there are multiple maintenance workers in a room off to the side of the interface room, but I won't be discouraged.
I was seated and I'm being connected to the neural mapper. It's a large machine that envelops the entire head except for the majority of one's face. There is a pad on one side of the room where your familiar is meant to appear. I have never seen this pad occupied, but today that will change. I will join the ranks of Rob and others that are so fulfilled.
The nurse is leaving the room. This is a pretty lengthy process that takes about thirty to forty-five minutes. It tends to feel like a dream that consists only of pure darkness.
I'm awake. This time felt different. I hope... Dear God. I scream. There is a dagger in my chest peculiarly engraved with a scene of Cain killing Abel. A hand extends and pulls the blade from my chest as I proceed to scream, and a deluge of blood ensues. I look up to see who is there and am only greeted by a human figure. In my haze of sight, I identify the perpetrator as... Me. "Why?" I ask along with a cough of blood. The Familiar responds, "What you cannot have, no one shall have." The naked body leaves the room with the dagger as I slowly fade to dark.
"Envy" I whisper and chuckle as the cold dark proceeds to overtake me. | 2017-01-20T17:20:07 | 2017-01-20T16:05:25 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone on earth has a super power. Rarely someone will have two powers. One in a billion will have three. You have thousands of powers and don't really want to call attention to yourself but crap keeps happening around you. | They said luck was a rare power that few ever could control. It wasn't just the good stuff either, all statistical probabilities were increased for whoever had it. The unlucky few who possessed it often got "lucky" enough to get hit by lightning, or eaten by a shark, or killed by a falling refrigerator that it was viewed as more of an unfortunate gift than one of the real ones that many people received.
I had just enough luck to be helpful in our society.
Whenever one of the other people in this town with a power too strong for them or too much ambition for their powers showed up, I always happened to be right there.
The crazy guy who started breaking bones on the bus a few weeks ago, that was my normal route to work. I accidentally slammed him in the door trying to escape, and ended up knocking him out with just a glancing blow to his temple.
The lady who made hail shaped like daggers fall from her own personal storm cloud in the middle of Hero's Park, I was walking my dog there. I tackled her while she was threatening a family picnic.
The toddler who started controlling the electrical fields in everyone's nervous system, causing even the most experienced of power users to fail before him, well, my niece was playing with him right before that, and I was lucky enough to be there. I bundled him up in my arms, and calmed him down long enough for the authorities to arrive.
The Powers Bureau hired me on a few years back, so that I could help them mitigate some of the damages caused by those who were untrustworthy with their powers, or just the freak accidents where someone snapped. They seem to think I have some real form of luck, where I could be in the right place at the right time, and have just the right skill to beat them in a fight. They were right, in a sense.
I got a call just yesterday, a dual-power in a bank, thinking he was the next "Lightning" Capone. He had everyone on the ground with some sort of gravity power, using his other telekinetic ability to rob the place blind. Of course, I was there, making a deposit. I laid on the floor and pretended to struggle, like the other customers that were there. He had proclaimed himself the new ruler of our city, and that all should bow before him, as we were currently being influenced to do.
Fortunately, the real crazies always start monologuing, and you can catch them with their backs turned. While he was busy with one of the tellers, I stood up, dusted myself off, and walked over to him.
I poked him in the back, and as my luck would have it, I must have hit a pressure point. Or at least, that's what the witnesses would say. He collapsed, and his powers flickered out with him. The Bureau showed up a few minutes after, and he was taken downtown, to the dampening cells, although his powers weren't the real issue anymore A few days later, they would have him straightened out, set up with a new power. They always forget to check if they still have their powers after I finish with them.
As I headed home on the bus, I looked at the picture of my sister in my wallet. Everyone thought she was one of the rare ones whose power didn't ever manifest itself in a heroic way. She was an amazing cook, but I knew that wasn't her power. Her real power had been gone since she turned five.
I whistled tunelessly as the bus drove onward, and opened a thin leather journal I kept in my jacket with me.
I crossed off telekinesis and gravity manipulation from the list. Guess it was just my lucky day. As I stepped off the bus, I silently thanked my sister for her gift of foresight, and how helpful it had been to me in my acquisitions, as I called them. | [WP] Thousand Thief
There's this old man at the end of Winter Lane. He's wrinkled and weathered, like the gnarly trees surrounding Winter Lane. Whenever us kids play around his gate, he peers out of his screen door. I don't think he knows we see him, he's a funny old man. Which isn't to say he's mean, he's actually real nice, mister.
Once, when Larry fell from the tree, in the act of picking sour apples. The old man raced down his gate and checked up on him real quick. Did this cupping thing on his bleeding knee and, BAM!, all the blood was gone right quick!
You're not gonna do anything to him are you mister? You've been coming back for the same story for a few weeks now, but old man Rom says you've just got a bad memory, so he just asks me to keep talking. I hope he gets me peaches this time...
/**********/
I look down Winter Lane, there isn't a soul out and about, which was why seeing a child stand there like he was expecting me was odd. When I first saw the kid, he seemed innocent, but now that he's admitted to being in cahoots with Romulus, maybe my first impression was false.
I look back and gasp, the child was gone! I look back and the scene had changed into a sitting room, the specter of my nightmares sitting on a black winged back chair. His hands were on his lap, but that didn't mean I was safe. This man was notorious for being quick on the draw, just like most veterans. He wasn't smiling. The light from the window caught a long scar from his temple to his ear, a feat I am proud to claim. This man wasn't someone to pity, he was the Thousand Thief. The man who stole a thousand mutations, taken when we'd needed it most. An enemy of the crown, the bane of my existence, my father.
"Hello Romulus, I see you're still a sucker for the theatric."
He grimaced, and before I could reach my Gloc, his hand moved and suddenly I was seated on an identical chair opposite him.
"Have a seat Remus, I have much to explain to you. I hope this time you'll allow me to explain the whole story before attacking."
"Why would I listen to you Oathbreaker?", I spit to the side. Even captured, I still had my pride as the Captain of the King's Guard. This man, no, this Thief was nothing in the eyes of Justice. I have to find a way to subdue him.
"I think you'll listen this time. I've taken the liberty of inviting your beloved.", my eyes widened as he motioned with his other hand. A shimmering of silver escaped his hand, and the image of my Princess appeared.
Helen was as beautiful as ever, only the ethereal hue marring her outward beauty. At a swish of his hand, her eyes opened and locked on mine.
It was like the last time I'd seen her. Our eyes locked. Her smile, the smallest of smirks, like she knew your darkest secrets, graced her quicksilver face. It can't have been her. I saw her fall. She was dead.
"It's taken me a long time to find the right person to use this power. Please allow me to explain."
"NO! Your lies are still as they are, LIES!", I bellowed.
"Remus ..."
I looked up, Helen's eyes were now downcast. She'd been headstrong in life, there was never a timidity in her air. I stopped. I'd hurt her?
"Please listen to Romulus. The story, it isn't what you think it is.", she reached out to me, her touch was cold, devoid of all the warmth of life.
A life that, possibly, wasn't taken by my father. I turn towards Romulus, my hands mirroring his on his lap.
"For both our sakes. Speak quickly, father." | 2017-01-24T15:57:53 | 2017-01-24T14:34:25 | 592 | 44 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 427 | 226 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 427 | 52 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | I couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed it. I had so much potential. Everyone thought I would be a doctor, a lawyer, or maybe even an astronaut. I always dreamed of being someone famous. A musician, an athlete, a movie star. But according to some fucking ink, I'm neither. All my friends got good ones. Even Jerry, and Jerry is a fucking idiot. I mean Jerry is fucking blind from his right eye so how in the hell does he get to be a pilot? Everyone knows you need two good eyes to be a pilot. One good eye per wing, that's the rule! But hey what do I know? All I got on my arm was the word 'Comedian'. Fuck you Jerry. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T00:50:02 | 427 | 15 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | *11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.** | I couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed it. I had so much potential. Everyone thought I would be a doctor, a lawyer, or maybe even an astronaut. I always dreamed of being someone famous. A musician, an athlete, a movie star. But according to some fucking ink, I'm neither. All my friends got good ones. Even Jerry, and Jerry is a fucking idiot. I mean Jerry is fucking blind from his right eye so how in the hell does he get to be a pilot? Everyone knows you need two good eyes to be a pilot. One good eye per wing, that's the rule! But hey what do I know? All I got on my arm was the word 'Comedian'. Fuck you Jerry. | 2017-03-16T02:03:50 | 2017-03-16T00:50:02 | 71 | 15 |
[WP] A nasty run-in with a Leprechaun leaves you cursed to only speak in rhyme. Jokes on him, though, cause now your one of the biggest rap artists in recent history. He's not taking it well. | The man murmured phrases, trying to find the right rhyme. “Ain’t got no time for damage control? Time to dig yourself out of this hole?” He chuckled. “Today, son, you just aren’t on a roll.”
A flash of light, and the little imp that had put him in this predicament returned.
“Ah, the prodigal son! Coming to see number one? I was just having fun! Please don’t tell me it’s done.”
The leprechaun glared at his humiliating mistake. “This is an irreversible spell. And what a nightmare it’s turned into! Do you know how much paperwork I’ve had to do? The court dates? The compromises? I’m a ruined man because of you! They might take away my license to perform magic!”
“You’re not a man, you’re barely a half. Don’t make me laugh, the damage you planned has become quite a gaffe. Thanks to you, Mr. Green, I’ve got the gene. I’m a money machine. Give me a topic and I’ll find the harmonic mean. Got my own limousine; I’m pristine and obscene. Not my problem that the consequences were unforeseen.” The man’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed the pen resting on the table beside him to scribble down a line.
The leprechaun sighed and looked up at the sky, trying to muster up the courage to do what he had came for. He cleared his throat and muttered something, but the poet laughed. “I didn’t catch that, you need a new hat?” he asked.
Fuming, the leprechaun repeated himself through clenched teeth. “I said, can you get me Hamilton tickets, Mr. Miranda?” | "Hey, I'm Michael Battle from BET here with an exclusive interview with MC Christmas. Christmas, your record sales are through the roof, how do you manage to keep it fresh?" He asked.
"Well you see, and hear my voice, I was cursed by a leprechaun and have no choice. To be quite honest I wish I was free, but a possibility of that happening isn't something I see." MC Christmas said.
"Uhhhhh.. Right. Are the rumors true that you're hiding 2pac and Biggie Smalls-"
"Get off my balls. You'd think someone taking over your life would be big and tall, but the truth is the most evil package can be really small. You look uncomfortable perhaps you'd rather call?" A noticeably miserable man wearing a gold clock around his neck, and a face that looked 60 years old despite only being 22.
MC Christmas was partying with some friends a few years ago. They were all getting high on mushrooms. MC Christmas, formerly known simply as Chris Hagen, and another name in another life, got the bright idea to follow a rainbow looking for leprechauns gold. He assumed he was hallucinating when he found it, and decided to make the best of this powerful hallucination and bring it home.
That same night at midnight a leprechaun-
"Um.. MC Christmas, you do realize you were just staring off into space telling me about a leprechaun who cursed you. [Inaudible speaking followed by a crackling sound]"
*It is in my professional opinion that this man spends the rest of his natural born life in psychiatric care. As you heard on the tape, he believes he is a famous rapper who was cursed by a leprechaun forcing him to only be able to speak in rhyme.*
*However, some part of him knows that isn't true, as made evident by him "interviewing himself. My diagnosis is acute insanity.*
*I do believe this man is capable of harming himself or others, even if that's his mother, father, sisters and brothers... Fuck.* | 2017-04-06T20:32:43 | 2017-04-06T19:00:59 | 45 | 26 |
[WP] You find a genie who actually is not overly literal and just gives you what you think of. The genie is tired of you being overly literal though.
[deleted] | *SCENE: JEMMA the genie, a dusky-skinned woman in Middle Eastern garb, sits on a small couch in a legal office, rubbing her temples, while a well-dressed middle-aged woman, a LAWYER, reads out loud from a lengthy document. ALLISON, a teenage girl, leans against the desk with her arms crossed.*
LAWYER: ...And the sum shall be delivered to the Wisher upon the conclusion of the Wish or within the next 30 minutes thereafter, in a manner reasonable and accessible to the Wisher without causing the Wisher harm, directly or indirectly, such as...
JEMMA: Look, I get it! I get the point! You want money! Here's an advance, and I'll set you up with an annuity. You'll be wealthy for the rest of your life. And I've even tossed in a little extra to cover the legal fees you're wasting on this nonsense. Can we get on to your next wish now?
LAWYER: *(Raising a hand to object)* I must remind you that my client has requested that the money be free of any legal problems—
JEMMA: Yes, I know. It's magic. It has perception filters and all that junk. Nobody's gonna worry about where it came from. I've done this before. What's your next wish?
ALLISON: *(Confidently)* Oh, I got the rest of the debate team to help me come up with several potential wishes. Material wealth was at the top of the list, so I went ahead and fast-tracked it—
JEMMA: It's been two weeks.
ALLISON: Scheduling is a bitch. Anyway, we're still narrowing down the other two wishes, and trying to find a loophole that'll give us more than just the three. Then we'll have to draft up proper contracts and everything. It could take a while.
JEMMA: Come on, Ally, is all this really necessary? I told you, I'm not going to screw you over.
ALLISON: Ah, but isn't that just what an evil genie would say?
JEMMA: *(Sighs)* | He sighed. The field around Him was littered with deer carcasses stacked all over each other. Unlike more traditional genies, He really just enjoyed making people happy so he used telepathy to give people what they want. The problem was that this guy wanted a million bucks in his hand.
Words have power. The words "I want a million bucks" carry a certain weight in the genie's presence, by virtue of Him having granted that wish in the past. There is an established magical channel to turn those words into reality, so it happens nearly automatically. Imagine the genie's surprise when he felt the intent of those words in the man's mind and realized he would have to start over from scratch.
This guy honestly wanted to see an unmanageable pile of wild animals struggling to fit within the same six inch spot. The genie didn't even know how to satisfy that, but He gave it His best.
He magically shrunk the bucks to occupy almost no space whatsoever, placed them on the man's hand, then rapidly expanded them to their full volume creating a fountain effect. Deer scrambled and trampled and died by crushing as the laws of physics suddenly applied themselves.
Altering the physical limits of reality was child's play, but playing with this childish man was proving a challenge. He considered allowing the deer to crush the man, but He couldn't. It wasn't what he really wished for. A genies has to have His rules after all.
"Wow, that was neat, okay. Second wish. One million dollars."
"CHECK'S IN THE MAIL. YOU'RE A MILLIONAIRE."
Wow, thought the genie. This guy didn't want a million unmarked untraceable dollars conjured up out of no where. He wanted the exact million dollars from his wife's life insurance policy. He had just killed his wife for a million dollars. Kind of a dick, this guy.
"Hmm, I don't really feel like a millionaire. That's okay, my third wish is all the knowledge of everything in the universe all in my brain all at once."
"JESUS CHRIST."
The man's brains instantly liquified and expanded to burst his skull open in a misty shower of pink and grey viscera. He knew full well the universe was too big for his brain, yet he wanted to die that way. What kind of monkey paw bullshit...
"WHY DID YOU KILL YOUR WIFE, YOU DICK?" | 2017-04-27T12:11:48 | 2017-04-27T10:11:49 | 178 | 91 |
[WP] You find a genie who actually is not overly literal and just gives you what you think of. The genie is tired of you being overly literal though.
[deleted] | There was a genie sleeping on my couch.
Not to be confused with Jeannie, my friend and co-worker who I also let sleep on my couch on occasion, and Gene, my on-again, off-again cat who sleeps on my couch regardless of my permission. It was an actual, magical, wish-granting being that formerly dwelt in a can of Pibb Zero I found on the street one day when I was thirsty.
I'm still debating on whether or not the three wishes were worth the lack of soda.
The sleeping genie shifted slightly in place. "Master...Veruka, you're staring again."
"Oh, you're awake," I told the genie. "And I haven't been staring."
"You've been crouched behind this couch and peering over it to stare at my chest for the past two hours."
That wasn't true. For one thing, I'd been looking at more than just its chest. "Oh, you've only been awake for two hours then. You should have said something."
The genie was silent for a time, before it finally asked, "Do you have a wish?"
"I have three, actually."
"That's not what I meant," the genie replied tersely.
"But that's what you told me when I found you," I pointed out.
The genie's face scrunched up into an unreadable, albeit familiar, expression. It was something that I concluded was universal, because every person I have ever spoken to has at one point made that exact same face at me. Even Gene, but he always had that expression on his face. On the count of being a cat, I supposed.
It seems to apply to genies as well.
It exhaled, and opened one eye. "You still have three wishes."
Well, I hope so. Pibb Zeros were hard enough to come across as it is. "Good. Glad that's sorted out then."
"Would you like to use one of those wishes?"
I blinked. *Now* I was staring, no doubt with one of those "dopey, slightly vacant faces" people insist I have. I've looked in a mirror, and found no vacancies or occupations anywhere on my face. And people called *me* weird.
"For what?"
"Money, power, fame, for starters."
"Why would I use a wish for Starters? I don't even know them."
"Not for...I'm talking about you."
"I don't know a Yu either."
The genie groaned. "Oh brother."
"Oh, Starters is your brother? Or is it Yu?" Not that it mattered to me. Only one person or cat could fit on my couch lying down at a time. And if they wanted money, power and fame so much, then the genie should give *them* three wishes instead of making me waste mine.
It had both of its eyes open now, and it was glaring at me with them. They were no longer the deep blues of the ocean, but inky black. When it spoke, it echoed like a magical baritone chorus. "Do you have a wish or not?"
"Didn't we just go over this? I have three of them."
I waited for an answer, but none came. Once more, I had a genie sleeping on my couch.
I wish genies weren't so hard to deal with. | "For the LAST fucking time, you don't have to be so damn specific!"
It wasn't supposed to be like this. The whole damn reason all genies were required to take Intro to Telepathy (Another damn 4 hour course) was to prevent situations like this. But here he was, an hour after this stupid bastard had rubbed his lamp, still waiting for the moron to finish his first wish.
"-But make sure it's not so big it's gonna crush me, ya know? But also not so tiny that I can't even use it. Oh, and make sure it won't break. But make sure I can actually use it; I know you genie folk just love giving us things we can't use just so they won't break. Oh, and be sure-"
"SILENCE!" the genie erupted, scaring the fool down onto his knees. Suddenly, a small flashlight plopped out of the sky onto the ground beside the man.
"Are you fucking happy now? Christ, you find a damn genie lamp in the middle of the woods and the FIRST thing you think to do is to ask for a fucking sex toy?"
"I mean, I've always wanted one, but I was too scared mum would see-"
"For the love of- Alright, can it, you've got 2 more wishes left. Start invisioning what you-"
"Oh! Oh! I want a pony. But like a real pony, not a fake toy or something. A beautiful one too, not a skeleton or anything like that. And make it si- Hey, what are you doing?"
While the imbecile was struggling to think of all the specific requirements he had for his pony, the genie had started digging through his bag.
"Jesus, I never thought I'd have to use this damn thing," he said as he pulled out a lamp and began rubbing furiously. Soon enough, another genie came out from this lamp.
"Greetings mortal, I am called- Tom? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Hey Sue," the genie known as Tom said. "Look, I'd love to chat, but I've got this fucker just asking for stupid shit again."
"Oh, well that's a pity. Do you wish that he understood the terms of your agreement so that you could be done quicker?"
"Nah, I'm pretty sure the idea of World Domination is rattling around somewhere in his skull."
"Oh, geez." Sue looked over to see the simpleton playing around in the grass, occasionally eating a handful. "So what do you want me to do about it?"
"Genies can have other wishes granted, right?"
"I suppose."
"Well, I'm already thinking about what I want."
A pause. Then, "Jesus, Tom, this again?"
"How would you fix it then?"
Another pause. "Ugh, fine. Just please don't tell high command."
Tom then turned back to the poor, stupid soul who had dared enrage him.
"You want a pony, eh? Well kid, here ya go." Tom and Sue then disappeared in a faint mist while the boy got his pony. Unfortunately, Tom's first wish was to be free from the rule that genies cannot place wishes inside of humans. You can guess what happened there.
As for Tom's next two wishes?
"Grow up, man" Sue yelled after Tom as he was carried away by Nymphs to a private room. As she turned away, a large grin started spreading across her face.
"At least he didn't specify a length for his last wish," she thought with a laugh. | 2017-04-27T14:29:53 | 2017-04-27T12:40:05 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] Lying in bed with your significant other and feeling the rhythmic kicks of your unborn child, you recognize the pattern as Morse code. | At first it we just thought the baby did its regular punching/kicking routine as it always did on early Sunday mornings. It (we still dont know the gender so to us the baby will be an "it" before it's born) rarely kicked any other times which was kind of weird when you thought about it. Nevertheless, my wife and I enjoyed those Sunday mornings.
But this particular morning was different as the it didn't want to stop kicking. And it was somewhat rhythmical. As a gag I started to tap along to it's kicking and after a few beats I jokingly said "Maybe it's trying to communicate with us in Morse code" to my wife. She played along and said "Then start transcribing". So I went to my home office, grabbed a pen and paper and rushed back to bed. I waited for rhythm to pause and start again and started transcribing. When I thought I was done I picked up my iPad and googled a Morse Code alphabet.
My first go at it got the first words GET FEEL and then some gibberish.
My second try got the last words SEEL DREAM
I thought "Maybe its a full sentence and not just some words".
And then it dawned on me.
I transcribed the phrase. I went numb and dropped the iPad in my lap as I stared out into nothing. My wife leaned over and looked at the iPad. She gasped.
The baby already knew. But how could it? It hadn't even been born. And what it referred to happened years ago. Maybe it was right. Maybe we were right all those years ago. Maybe JET FUEL CANT MELT STEEL BEAMS... | Me and Alex were just settling down we noticed it. The little knocks of the baby against the inner womb. If you looked close enough you could even see imprints of its limbs as it tried to gain a sense of where it was. It was adorable.
That is, until we noticed the tapping. It was muted at first, but it crescendoed into a tap loud enough to who throughout the slightly larger apartment we had bought just for the baby. We assumed it would need some space. We hadn't planned on creating an ego chamber for the piercing taps of which there was no escape. The taps sounded like a tipsy metronome, and that's when I finally picked up on the slight variations. Some of the taps were longer than the others.
I opened up my laptop and pulled up a Morse code table. I waited until a long pause that I assumed meant the pattern was restarting and began to translate. Alex was trying to follow along, but any thought process was interrupted by the pervasive knocks. Then the pattern began with a dot, followed by two dashes, capped off with another dot. I scrawled the letter "p" onto the paper before listening for the next letter. Four dots in quick succession, an "h". Again I wrote it down.
I continued writing down the letters until the full message had been sent **"ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"**. It was time. I turned to Alex, but all I saw was dread. We'd been preparing for this day for quite some time, but it was always going to be too soon. Regardless, we had made our decision. It was time to release our child from his prison and let him do unto this world what he willed.
**A scaled wing emerges from the Pacific, followed by another. He has risen** | 2017-06-25T23:47:08 | 2017-06-25T19:01:37 | 59 | 20 |
[WP] "I appreciate the welcome," the alien said. "But I must ask again, 'Where are the dodos?' My son will never shut up unless I come home with a pet dodo." | Colonel Marsh chewed on his cigar and bellowed at the Corporal.
"Are you sure this damn translator is working, Brock?"
"Yes, I tested it myself. It's working perfectly Colonel.”
"A dodo bird? Really Brock? You sure it didn't mean a deer or a damnable duck? So now we have to get one from Australia?"
"Mauritius, Sir.", said the corporal. "Also, no Sir, we can't because they don't exist."
"Fairytales, are they?"
"Extinct, Sir."
"Like we're going to be if we don't deal with the situation."
"Answer back Brock. Communicate to the spaceship hovering over the Empire State building that we need time. Don't tell them we don't have the dodo, Corporal. Who knows what they will do."
Brock typed in a message in the translator that would be broadcast via radio waves to the giant hovering space craft.
**"Dodo exists. Very cunning bird. Need time to procure. Two weeks."**
And he hit enter without confirming with the Colonel.
"What did you write?"
"Two weeks"
"Why two weeks?"
"I just thought that was..you know..a reasonable amount of time"
"Reasonable? How are we supposed to get an extinct animal in two weeks?"
"I'll think of something, Sir. I always do"
---------------------------------------------------------------
*Two weeks later in the same place*
Corporal Brock approached Colonel Marsh holding a portly rooster with a large fake beak stuck on its face.
"Are you serious Brock? You've screwed us all."
"We were screwed when they first landed asking us for a dodo, Sir. We could never have come up with a real one anyway."
He gently placed the rooster on the ground and adjusted its beak. Then he tucked it under his left arm and slammed a salute with his right.
"Goodbye Colonel. It was nice knowing you."
"Have faith son, maybe this cockamamie plan will work out after all."
Corporal Brock walked towards the spaceship with the chicken disguised as a dodo. Upon reaching directly under it, he raised the placid bird up above his head. A beam of light came down and took the impostor up into the craft.
Ten minutes later a message rang out of the translator machine:
**"This is a male hen, is it not? Why have you deceived us?"**
"The jig is up Brock. Tell them the truth now."
The young corporal wrote back:
**"The dodo is extinct. Were afraid to tell you. Please don't kill us!"**
Minutes passed. It felt like hours.
**"Kill you? Why do you project your own cultural response on us? Yours is the way of invasion and plunder. Yours is the way of violence and pride. And you think us to be like you? What hubris!"**
And the mighty space craft disappeared into the night sky in a point of light. | "I appreciate the welcome," the alien said. "But I must ask again, 'Where are the dodos?' My son will never shut up unless I come home with a pet dodo."
Jean-Jaque looked at the bird-man shaped alien with astonishment, this wasn't the first thing he expected after welcoming the group of aliens coming out of the at least 300 meter big grey pyramid shaped thing, which presumably was their space ship. It landed about two and a half hours ago in the middle of Central Park, at first everyone panicked and soon the army was mobilised towards the city's green heart.
So Jean-Jaque, professor and dean at the faculty of Communication Technology and Methods at MICT (actually in 2043 MIT was renamed MICT, where the C stands for Communication, because of the breakthrough in communicating with Dolphins in which they discovered that, weirdly enough, Dolphins never had sex before breakfast) flew over from Paris on behalf of the CIA where he was for a conference on the possibility of alien existence and the methods possible to make contact which such species.
After he in landed in New York he was expected to come up with a suitable way to communicate with the aliens that most likely would come out of this weird shaped vessel. Of course he was oddly well prepared for this situation since he prepared himself well for the conference, however the question the alien asked him now, got him completely baffled. Also the fact that they spoke English was well beyond his expectation, as they always assumed some kind of visual language would be required to communicate with off-world species.
"Ehm..." Jean-Jaque mumbled, not sure how to continue.
"Avez-vous un dodo? ¿tiene un dodo? Heb jij een dodo?" the alien tried in different languages.
"No, no, I understand you" Jean-Jaque continued, "but I think I have to disappoint you on that, we haven't seen a dodo since 1684".
The alien tilted its head sideways, it looked like it was surprised according to Jean-Jaque.
"But it seems you have brought back dodos before since you know your son will be quiet if you do so?" Jean-Jaque pointed out.
"Yes, we have been here before, about 4500 Earth years ago and I brought him one as souvenir, since it died he can't shut up about it" the alien responded.
Taking into account that the space ship looked like a pyramid this made sense according to Jean-Jaque, since they apparently visited Earth 4500 years ago. Jean-Jaque was speechless now.
"Ahh well, complete waste of time it seems". As soon as the alien said that the big grey pyramid space ship started to ascend to the sky and at the same time the bird-man shaped alien vanished in a bright blue light flash, within 5 seconds no sign of the aliens remained.
*****
"They really just wanted a dodo" Jean-Jaque tried to explain to the CIA boss in front of him.
"It has been a week now Jean-Jaque" the woman replied, "you can tell the truth now".
"Well as a matter of fact they have been to Earth before, and as I recall that alien looked a lot like Horus, one of the old Egyptian gods". Marry stood up and walked out of the room, she couldn't work with these kind of people.
| 2017-07-12T10:00:06 | 2017-07-12T07:53:28 | 270 | 73 |
[WP] You always thought your Facebook friend egregiously misused the word "literally". Turns out his life is just really weird. | *this is my first time writing, so please be gentle, also typing on phone*
---
I checked Facebook for the third time today, Lachlan had posted another status:
> Just got back from the comedy show, literally dying 😂. Never met a funnier man!
Me and Lachlan knew each other from high school, we never really caught up but he was always really nice. After graduation everyone quickly spread out, with Facebook the only thing seemingly keeping anyone is touch.
A loud shrill noise snapped me out of my reverie, I quickly got up and took the kettle off the stove and turned off the gas. As I made myself a cup of tea I looked out the window, there were rain drops on the glass and a deep grey fog hung over the city. In the distance I could hear a few sirens.
The rest of the day went by uneventfully, I pottered around the house, enjoying my precious weekly free time.
I ended up staying up late, caught binging Netflix and eating too much chocolate.
I woke up quite late, as I lay on the couch were I had fallen asleep I checked Facebook again, amidst the ads and funny vids there was another post from Lachlan. I debated unfollowing him as I read it:
> Waiting in line at the bank, had 3 people push in front of me! Literally about to leave this planet, so done.
I let out a small giggle, the absurd idea of just upping and leaving the planet over something so petty was an entertaining thought. I never really travelled as a kid, and work prevented any as an adult, so anywhere past Sydney seemed might as well have been another planet.
As I resumed scrolling I got an alert, the sound almost shocking, it was rare I got any interactions on Facebook. I checked it and saw that Lachlan had just posted again, tagging me this time. We hadn't talked in almost 2 years, which even furthered my puzzlement.
I clicked the link.
The page seemed to take an agonisingly long time to load, my curiosity enhancing my already intense dissatisfaction with Australian internet.
The page loaded, revealing Lachlan's sparse profile. My eyes grazed over the friends section, 1 friend, I did a double take. "There's no way he only has one friend!" I muttered aloud in surprise, my eyes travelled down to the post:
> Get packing @Jack
I sat there, staring at that post for longer than I would care to admit before I started wondering about what he was saying in all his other posts, him literally dying, him literally wanting to leave the planet... They all felt like such common sayings, the word "literally" seemingly ubiquitous online, hyperbole so common. But it felt so odd that Lachlan would ever use such language, he always seemed to use such exact and measured grammar in his messages and notes.
I quickly started to doubt myself, but before I could think further I was suddenly distracted by the kettle going off again, I got up to take it off the boil.
I looked out the window, the same grey drizzle adorned the skyline, the streets slick with the second day of rain.
I was startled by a sudden noise, a car screeched around the corner, suddenly coming to an abrupt stop just outside.
A car door opened then quickly slammed.
There was a loud knock, then another, and another, 3 more followed before I could even make it out of the kitchen.
I quickly opened the door, Lachlan was standing there.
"Packed yet?" he said, irritatingly calm.
"uh, not yet" I stammered, unsure why I was going along with it, my brain screaming at me to ask what the hell was happening.
"Where were we going again?"
"Didn't you see my statuses?" he replied, a bit more urgent now.
"Well, I skimmed them"
"Good, grab your bag then, because we are literally running out of time!"
---
I was hesitant to post this, as it's almost 1am and I barely proofread it, hopefully you enjoyed it <3
Edit:Woah! Thank you everyove for the kind words, I'll look at making a part 2 :) | "Jim! JIM!" came sudden voice as my friend ran next to me. I was eating in the university cafeteria. My head was hurting already from his talk.
"Last night, before I wanted to go to sleep, I literally saw a huge monster under my bed!"
I looked at my friend Tom and rolled my eyes. He was a really strange one. We met in one of the lectures, and then he added me as a friend on facebook. He did bug me a lot in university as well. Sometimes I felt like I was the only person trying to communicate with him.
"I know you want to scare me, but you have to try harder than that," I responded to his story.
"Oh come on, it was a huge nasty monster. It is okay though, I used my awesome knowledge and made him literally run away. Before he left, he did mention your name literally. That is why I am telling you this!"
"Jim. You don't have magical powers, and monsters don't exist, okay?" I stood up fast to stop eating and run away from him. I saw him taking out mobile and typing something there.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I am literally asking help what I should do with you."
The word literally was making me angry.
"Oh, okay," I put my dishes away and started walking towards next lecture. Tom followed me.
"Why are you following me?" I asked.
"Well, you literally have the smell on you, like someone wants to possess you, so I thought I stick with you for a moment, till the ghost would leave you alone."
"Tom!" I said in a louder voice, stopped and faced him. "Can you stop that?"
"Oh, right, you literally don't believe in any of it, do you now?"
"You talk of it, as I was the weird one."
"Nah, it is okay. I know that people literally think I am weird."
As I listened to him, I started to think that he uses the word 'literally' only when he really means it. But ghosts? Monsters? Please.
"Can you just leave me alone, please?"
Tom looked at me, smiled and then gave me a good back kick with his hand. "Don't worry; you will be fine!"
Oh wow, he didn't say literally! Amazing.
"As long you don't do it." He walked away. What was that supposed to mean?
The day went very smoothly. I got weird stares at times, but here I was, finally at home, ready to go to sleep.
For a moment, I thought back to my conversation with Tom and opened my facebook, to see his latest status updates. They were full of literal things, a lot of them were really weird ones and supernatural. I think everyone I knew already unfollowed him. I don't know why I haven't done it yet. Even so, there are people who like his posts or comment something. A lot of them are making fun of him.
As I took off my jacket and threw it on my bed, I saw a charm on the back of my coat. The charm reminded me of a human, and there were writings all around the edges. In the middle, there were huge two words: 'don't destroy!'.
I looked at the charm, feeling a little bit weird. Tom last words echoed in my ears. I knew instantly that this was what he put on my back, this is why people stared at me, and this is what he meant with his last words. But then again, maybe the middle wording was for others who saw it on my back? Definitely not, else he wouldn't use the word destroy.
I removed it from my jacket and looked at it. It felt like something or someone was begging me to destroy it.
Monsters? Ghosts? Impossible! Then again, Tom did use literally in normal sentences as well.
"Fuck this shit!" I said and tore the charm into the half. I had a moment of relief.
As I was about to throw it into my trashcan, I looked at my bed, eyes shifting below it. I could feel as someone was staring at me, waiting for me to come to sleep. I haven't felt something like this before. Is it just paranoia? I could feel like something far away thanked me for tearing it apart. My mobile suddenly vibrated, and it scared the shit out of me. I opened it and saw the new message on Facebook. Tom sent me a message.
'I can literally feel them coming towards you. I suggest fixing it right now. Anything will do.'
I looked at the charm and moment later I rushed towards the transparent duct tape in my drawers.
----
/r/ElvenWrites
Pls be gentle... | 2017-11-26T07:32:03 | 2017-11-26T05:20:44 | 418 | 141 |
[WP] Pets are intelligent. Religious dogs worship humans as gods, while cats see us as a natural resource. You see your dog chasing away stray cats pestering you for food, not realizing he is a knight from the Order of Saint Good Boy protecting you from harvesters from the Cats Corporate Dominion. | I was snoozing on the bearskin rug in front of the fire on my back with my legs in the air my fur shining in the soft glow of the fire. My jaws were snapping at the evil cat, but it kept eluding me even though my legs were a blur and I was moving faster than a speeding car. At break neck speed we rounded a corner sending trash cans into the air with a bang.
In the real my nose trembled and my eyes snapped open, all thoughts of the chase banished as I could smell my master’s fear. I fought down the rising panic as the rank stench of his fright almost overwhelmed me and I was out of our den faster than lightning. My heart thundered in my chest as my paws were pounding the street.
My master should not be far away, tonight he should be on his way home from volunteering at the local pet rescue centre. His love knew no bounds and that’s why The Order of Saint Good Boy had sent me as his guardian.
I wasn’t far from the alley which took him from the rescue centre to our street when through the sharp rank of his fear I could finally sense the soldiers of the arch enemy, the cats corporate dominion. With strength of my ancestors I howled the call of the order as I hurtled into the alley.
My master was curled up in a feral position, bleeding from numerous cuts and bites. The red glare of the eyes of my enemies were all around him and as one they turned to face me.
They were legion. I was alone.
I met the vicious ball of teeth, fur and claws with a thunderclap. My jaws crushed the neck of one feline demon and I swatted another away from my master with my paw. I was a whirlwind of death as I tore them apart. Claws and teeth failed to penetrate the shield of my faith, but I was growing tired. More corporate soldiers came hurtling down from the roof tops and I felt my shields burst.
There was no surrendering and I fought and bled, but they were endless. As they came towards me like speeding torpedoes I prayed to Saint Good Boy and the air around me ignited me with righteous wroth. They screeched as they burned but still they came. Like lasers sights their red eyes marked me for certain death.
I could hear my master’s soft whimper ‘Good Boy’ before oblivion embraced him. My heat burned with holy fervour and I found the strength to face my foes again. I wouldn’t let him down.
This time they came towards me with silence, the silence of the reaper. My fur was once again aglow with the shield of my faith, but I knew it was the end. All I could do was die protecting my master. Die the death of. True Paladin of the order. I would sell my life dearly, but there was no doubt of the outcome anymore. I would fail my master.
And then they were on me.
Pain burned my body, but it was nothing compared to the pain from failing to protect my master. The sorrow and anguish turned into a shield as I sent more of the fiendish creatures to their deaths. But it wasn’t enough and I covered my master’s body with my own. Their claws left my fur matted with blood but this time all I could do was pray.
A howl shattered the silence, and was quickly answered by another and another. Heavy paws came thumping towards us. The alley was alight with the glow of my brethren’s holy fury. As one the cohort of paladins tore into the enemies flank and the enemies silence turned into frightened whimpers.
Knowing my master was safe I closed my eyes and let darkness embrace me. | The life of a knight suited Marley. Or so he thought at least.
When Marley was just a pup he knew he wanted to become a knight of the order. He came from good blood, pure bred, and all the males of his bloodline became great knights. His father, Old Tim, of house shaggy, was Golden, with a shaggy coat and large brown eyes. Tim was dutiful always, and devoted his life to chivalry to his lord, Paul first of his name. Old Tim’s bitch was named Sheila, and she gave birth to a robust litter of seven; six males and one female.
Marley was the first born of the litter, opened his eyes first and was destined to become a great knight. He sucked greedily at Sheila’s teet, becoming rapidly the strongest of the litter. After two moon turns it was clear that Marley would be the greatest knight house shaggy dog had ever known.
Alas, destiny is never so kind. The day of Marley’s selection, he was picked first amongst the litter, as expected. His new master, Dylan, seemed a worthy man to serve. Fearful, yet determined, Marley left his litter, his mother, father, and set out to serve his new master.
Marley was startled to be greeted by three cats upon entering his new masters home. Instinctively, he bared his teeth and growled at the filth, looking to prove himself to his new lord.
Lord Dylan did not approve.
His lordship promptly swatted Marley on the nose with a newspaper. Hurt, startled, confused, and humiliated Marley submitted to his lordship. He then heard the words that destroyed his life view.
“Huh” his lordship muttered. “It seems you don’t get along well with the cats. No matter, you would be a better outdoor dog anyways”.
Marley was stricken. How could he, of such noble blood, be relegated to that of a simple guard dog? Worse, the cats had free rein to move unchecked throughout the house. This was intolerable. Marley tried to tell his owner, pleaded and argued nobaly, citing his creed, and the code of chivalry he lived by.
His lordship could not understand. Or worse, he did not care. Marley was crushed. The first night was hell, and the as the the moon turned Marley’s oath of chivalry was tested.
A knights oath is simple; obey ones lord, and protect his lordship from the feline order. Marley faced a scenario in which he could not satisfy each tenant of his oath.
Banished to the outdoors, Marley could do nothing to stop the feline enemy. Marley held council with his lordship twice a day; however the effect of the feline had clearly taken its toll.
His lordship was not interested in hearing Marley’s council. Rather, his lordship degraded Marley, refusing to hede his noble knight and subjecting Marley to that of a Jester. Playing fetch, and going for walks provide a leasurely life for many. However, Marley was not lowborn, and was not content living such a life.
Regardless, Marley persisted. His efforts lasted nearly a dozen moon turns, until one evening, his lordship uncharacteristicly left the curtains to his sleeping chamber undrawn. Marley, looking to prove himself, stood the watch that night.
The perversion he bore witness to finally broke him.
That night, each of the cats shared his masters bed. For a knight of the order, the masters bed is only to be occupied by his loyal night and his lady. But this? This was irreconcilable. Finally, Marley’s conflictions regarding Chilvarly were no longer important. His lordship had become corrupted, and nothing he could do could change it. So that very evening, he abandoned his watch, and became a wanderer. For many a year onward he wandered trying to find meaning in life. It is unknown what became of Marley however. | 2017-12-09T23:07:32 | 2017-12-09T21:58:30 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle" | Death. The buzzing ringing reverberations of pseudo-prayer in my ears. Like shutters in a windstorm screaming and pounding out the reality of nature's call for life extinguished.
It is all I hear. And I curse my immortality.
Every year my plans held the power to stop their pain; to provide them relief through toys and spirits. Their arguments and abuses halted for a moment of pacified bliss.
Now, the ringing. Bells are ringing. Bells are ringing on and on and I have no answer.
No more.
In their bunkers, bare and destitute, no longer wishing for presents. No longer wishing praise or cheer or jubilance; no.
Now only for death.
They wish only for death in the frigid scapes of their creation. With frost bitten toes, tortured bellies, and derailed trains of thought.
And this year... I will deliver... I must make the good boys... the good girls... wishes come true.
For I am Old St. Nick, and I am tired. | 2017-12-22T15:31:03 | 2017-12-22T15:19:43 | 77 | 33 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | Death. The buzzing ringing reverberations of pseudo-prayer in my ears. Like shutters in a windstorm screaming and pounding out the reality of nature's call for life extinguished.
It is all I hear. And I curse my immortality.
Every year my plans held the power to stop their pain; to provide them relief through toys and spirits. Their arguments and abuses halted for a moment of pacified bliss.
Now, the ringing. Bells are ringing. Bells are ringing on and on and I have no answer.
No more.
In their bunkers, bare and destitute, no longer wishing for presents. No longer wishing praise or cheer or jubilance; no.
Now only for death.
They wish only for death in the frigid scapes of their creation. With frost bitten toes, tortured bellies, and derailed trains of thought.
And this year... I will deliver... I must make the good boys... the good girls... wishes come true.
For I am Old St. Nick, and I am tired. | Barron Trump tweedled his thumbs and looked nervously at his son, Donald Trump II.
"Is Santa coming, Papa?" The young Donald asked.
"...I don't know, son."
Meanwhile, at a nearby nuclear bunker, Chelsea Hubbell and her daughter, Hillary Clinton Hubbell, huddled around the smoldering remains of a Haitian ex-child sex slave to keep warm. Their last one.
Kim Jeongmin, the last north korean, sat in complete darkness and rocked her baby, kim Jeongbbang, in her arms. Humming a christmas lullaby to keep her quiet. A single tear ran down her rosy cheek and onto her babes' forehead.
Santa Clause was worried. His sleigh was powered by Christmas spirit, and it was going to take a miracle to get it running tonight. He dragged on a Chesterfield King, the butt of the cigarette warming a pink patch on his snow covered lips. After a few more drags he threw the cigarette into the white abyss of winter and slumped down on his bag of presents. He closed his eyes and let the snow cover him like a blanket. To think the world ended over a feud about Donald Trump's hands and Kim Jeongun's belly. He mired up at Rudolph's tomb, then he stared blankly off into the snowstorm. | 2017-12-22T15:19:43 | 2017-12-22T14:27:36 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] A necromancer's spell misfires and he animates the skeleton inside his own body. The body that he's still very much using. | *Huh. This is odd. I'm ... alive. Yes I'm alive. That was... different... louder than I thought it'd be*, I thought to myself. *Ok it must be dark here or I'm blind.*
The next thing to do was check the limbs, body, and head for injuries.
*Annnnd of course I can't move my limbs.* All I hear is a muffled groan. Whatever ended up next to me must be a mess.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Still muffled, that voice, and also British? Really?
*British,* I rolled my eyes inside my head *Ugh... they always make the worst—*
"The worst what?!" yelled that stupid voice at quite a loud volume, but as I open my jaw to try to yell back, I hear another groan and I'm not able to open my jaw all the way. "Ack. Don't try to talk. Just think. I can hear you thinking, for some reason. It must be because we're sharing a body. *Someone* buggered up another spell."
*Ah. Yes. Well, no harm, no foul, right? Wait, you can hear me?* I ask. Starting to understand my circumstances, I ponder my options.
"Yes, I can bloody hear every word, even the monologue bits. "
*The what?* I ask, wondering if that was a grey spot in my vision or it was just my imagin—.
"It was your bloody imagination, alright?," the voice said. *Wait, I wasn't even* thinking *that bit*. I wondered for a second if I was going mad. And then I wondered if there was a word for that type of split-second thought that lasts seemingly minutes of inner dialogue but only ends up taking, like, half a second—
"Okay stop thinking! Listen. You're not going to be able to see after what, er, happened. I've just got to think a way out of this."
Well, I am glad he hadn't thought of just unsummoning me and trying again. Like I've always said, the British make the worst necrom— | The voice in his head was creaky, like old bones on a cold morning - he didn't entertain the fact that it was exactly that. All he knew is that the voice was an absolute dick.
"Steal that apple." It creaked as they walk past a market stall.
"Kick that bird." As they send a flock of pigeons into the sky.
"Burn those books." As they pass a library.
He was actually tempted by that last one. The library was owned by an old friend who was no longer a friend - some morally dubious acts had been the last straw in a friendship full of nefarious deeds and ethically challenged ideals. But he resisted, if for nothing more than he couldn't bear the idea of burning books, no matter how satisfying it would be.
The voice creaked once more. "Kill that man."
"No!" he objected strenously. "He's a good man, and anyway, murder is bad."
"Kill that man."
"No."
His protests didn't seem to help. He found his body moving towards the apparent victim without his permission.
"Of course it's without your permission. I don't need that to do anything." the voice creaked.
"What?"
"I can move just as much as your brain can, it's not all about that squishy little organ you know."
"Who...who are you?"
"Your skeleton." the voice is almost gleeful.
The man takes a moment to digest the information, before groaning a little. "I messed up that conjuring the other day didn't I?"
"Nope." the skeleton replied, a tad too quickly, all the while trying to move the body fowards. They had created quite the audience, a man stood almost stock still in the square, twitching every now and then,
The man sighs. "Pellere!" he thinks, as hard as he can, and the skeleton screams, sounding more like a wooden door in a storm than a human.
"Pellere!" the man says, even more forcefully, and this time the skeleton's control breaks a little, and the man stumbles back a few steps.
"Pellere!" One last time is enough to break the spell entirely, and the man is alone. The crowd quickly disperses when he stalks off, and there's mutterings he's a mad man for the next week. Nothing unusual there then.
| 2017-12-27T08:59:28 | 2017-12-27T08:01:45 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You're the normal guy the evil emperor keeps around to point out obvious flaws in his plan. It's a pretty sweet gig, but there are some annoyances. | War! War! War!
The echoes of a thousand cries drowned the room as the King smiled in satisfaction. This was to be his first war.
"Ahem." I cleared my throat.
" What is it this time, Ansari?" The disapproval was strong in his voice.
I hated being the only guy in the room who made sense. I wanted war too. But it was my job to stop the King from making a fool of himself.
I went over to him and whispered in his ear.
"They can see us."
I was right. He knew I was right.
"Fine. FINE."
He produced a bag of gold coins from his stash and handed it over to me.
"Once more. For your valuable advice."
In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is the assistant to the King. And makes a shitload of money. | At first, he only kept me alive because of my skills as a master mason while he enslaved the rest of my people and drafted them to his army. Then over time as our King gradually grew more obsessed and unstable, I became one of his most valuable assets, forever bound to him and constructing for him elaborate castles and obstacle courses with my bricks in attempts to foil his nemesis.
But this guy- let me tell you about him. You wouldn't expect someone so short and fat to be able to do the things he does, but somehow, *somehow*, this guy easily jumps over and even *DESTROYS* some of my best work. Eventually as I too grew to hate this man, who slaughters my people and destroys my work, my King worked with others and I to create a new plan to foil his mustachioed foe.
We have finally all agreed on one. I am to work tirelessly to construct as many bricks as I can, while a master wizard is to steal the very souls of the people from this kingdom, and place them all in my bricks.
My very first WP, please be gentle. | 2018-01-15T20:46:18 | 2018-01-15T19:24:14 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ" | Day 1: Had a breakfast of Corn Flakes and borrowed dad's time machine. Zipped over to 1466 to check out Tuscan in Florence. Nice place. Just noticed I have WiFi. brb.
Day 2: OK turns out Vinci has municipal wireless internet. Cool. I'm going to see if I find out what's going on. Ate some bread and some salted tomatoes.
Day 3: Met Elon Musk. Turns out he made a generator and a static connection through time to the internet. Is there anything this guy can't do? Did the fanboy thing. Under the Tuscan sun and all that. Probably gushed a little too much. The air is wonderful. You don't realize how polluted the air is in 2018 until you leave it.
Day 5: Arrested for sodomy.
Day 10: Released. Musk gave Piero de' Medici some medication to help ease the pain of his gout. He was so thankful, he released us.
Day 12: Elon now calls me Elon, and I call him by my name, Kyle. I know this won't last, but I'll try to enjoy it while I can.
Day 15: Elon left. His work is done here. I'm a wreck. But in general, I feel as if I've come of age.
Day 16: I figure it might be time to do what I came here for, and experience the Renaissance. I ask around and find out Leonardo is in Milan. Damn it. Should have brought a car. And I need to get the time machine back to dad before the batteries die. | I pulled out my pipe and vaped, sucking in that Raspberry Ripple 70/30 whilst I surveyed the land.
Motherfucker.
I checked my phone again, just to make sure I wasn't imagining it and then set off to seek out whoever the hell Icniv Ad is... Was? Is.
It was pretty cool, vaping, walking through a market puffing as people examined my clothes and face - 'If anyone tries to talk to me, I'm just going to speak gobbledy gook and hope they think I'm a foreign merchant' - It seemed like a solid plan on that sunny ass day.
I turned into the alley the signal seemed to be emanating from and I carried on down past some big vases and some chickens, just clucking... Chillin'.
Man, next thing I know, I see a She-He through a window. I swear *down* that was an ugly lady. Shit, wait - Do I have to use PC terms in the 15th Century? 'Cause seriously, this motherfucker looked like zhe was about to sing 'Hope There's Someone' and win a Mercury Music Prize. Damn.
Zhe came out of the house, paintbrush in hand, odd little half smile on... Zit's(?) face...
I held up my phone to show zher the Wi-Fi signal,
"You Icniv?"
My Italian is shoddy, so I have to be honest, I did not understand a word of what came next - All I know is zhe seemed to think I was called 'Leonardo'.
No idea what the Ninja Turtles have to do with it, but there we go. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to be my Brother-In-Law's lab rat. I mean, how is he going to bring me ba-
Oh. Well, I guess that's the end of that marriage...
"Hey Icniv, you haven't thought up a 15th Century Pornhub yet, have ya'?" | 2018-03-02T06:25:20 | 2018-03-02T05:58:08 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] Skills level up in real life through use, much like in RPGs. One day, you keep getting notifications that one of your skills is leveling, over and over, even though you're not doing anything. | I'm grocery shopping when the familiar chime sounds and I reflexively check my phone. I keep forgetting the screen is shattered and I can't read what skill leveled. Probably leveled up something stupid.
Apples, salad mix, and onions. The grapes are on sale! The chime goes off again. That's odd.
The self-checkout lanes were full so I decided to wait for a cashier. There's a drink cooler and I'm tempted to get an energy drink but decide against it; I'll be home soon enough. The woman ahead of me is paying and the chime goes off *again*. What is going on??
Back at my car I load the groceries up. I check my phone again but it is pointless. I can check my progress from my laptop when I get home.
I take an extra second to think at the stop sign at the end of the street. It ends up being fortunate because a blue pickup blows right through the stop sign on my right. I jump and my phone chimes for the fourth time in less than an hour.
I make my way the rest of the way home carefully. Something is not normal.
Logging into my laptop immediately, I see a notification that I have gained a new skill. A female silhouette with a hand on her abdomen appears as the icon. Parenting. | ... and at this hour we'll be shifting our news coverage on the Award Ceremony for Skilled Experts. Tim, how is that going over there?"
"Oh boy Jim! The crowd here is so pumped, you can just feel the sheer enthusiasm from them as they scream with that passionate energy. In fact, the response seems so big that they're already giving out the rewards."
"Wow Tim! That must be a new record for getting this whole thing started. Soon maybe they'll be the experts at getting these things over with and to the point."
"Ahaha... Uh, yes Jim, they're getting things a' moving. Let's see. First up we've got the expert on most high scores in video games."
"Congratulations to them. Hopefully their live stream channel will be able to last them until retirement."
"Heh, yup. It's a booming business, that video game playing. Uhm... next we've got the expert of... erotic refrigerator drawings."
"OK. Sure. Glad you came out in public for that one."
"Well, Jim, if you can express the deepest part of yourself and be the best at doing it too, wouldn't you feel accomplished?"
"Don't get existential with me Tim. My only other response is we should start giving out rewards to whoever achieves the highest body count next year."
"Sure, whatever. Up next is the reward for laziness."
"Okay, fine. You know what? I think I'm going to expedite my coffee break skills now. Jen, can you watch this with Tim for the time being? Maybe you'll get that T.V. watching skill maxed for next year."
"Speaking of which, Jim."
"I'm done!" | 2018-04-26T16:48:26 | 2018-04-26T14:39:23 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back. | Dear Anna,
I must say that your letter was an unexpected delight. It was quite charmingly written, and I commend your command of grammar and syntax. All of the items you requested will be easy enough to provide. However, I cannot cure dyslexia. That is was one the many things my Father cursed humanity with during one of his meanie head moods. You have my sincerest apologies for that. Lastly, you asked for a pen pal and a spell book. If you are amenable, I am quite happy to be your pen pal, and to teach you witchcraft. Those mean girls at your school won't stand a chance.
Please do not send a response in the mail, as I have an email addres. I have found email to be a more efficient means of communication. If you wish to continue our correspondence, please email me at morningstar@gmail.hell.
Sincerely,
Lucifer | Dear Peter,
I'm sorry to say that I'm not the person you likely wanted to send your letter to. But don't fear, child, for I will bring you the gifts you asked for, so long as you promise not to tell your parents about this mistake.
Now, just so I remember, you asked for an Iron Man action figure, a puppy, and a for your father to come home. The action figure will be no problem, and one of my hell hounds recently gave birth to a litter of puppies, so I'll make sure to bring you one.
Your father will be tricky, but so long as you makes good on your promise of milk and cookies, I'm sure you'll be seeing him on Christmas morning.
I do wish you a Merry Christmas, and I'll be sure to pass along a good word to St. Nick.
Your friend,
Satan
P.S. - Make sure to have your parents read the book that I send with the puppy. That way, he'll grow up into a big, fierce, and loyal Protector of Darkness.
P.P.S. - I really can't wait to see you, Peter. This Christmas will be most memorable. | 2018-10-28T14:29:07 | 2018-10-28T13:50:03 | 59 | 30 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back. | Dear Timmy,
My sincerest thanks for, what I must say, was an adorable read. Everything on your list Timmy sounds fabulous and as you have asked ever so kindly, I will provide. I know you will consider these items of which you desire a "gift" but please be assured Timmy that I, Satan, deal in favours.
Enjoy your toys ,Timmy. I will see you shortly.
Forever observing,
Satan | Dear Paul,
Thank you for that lovely letter, I'm glad to hear you're waiting for me and prepared me an offering of cow udder excrement and a traditional mixture of sugar, flour and chocolates.
Although not what I usually get in offering I shall gladly accept. In return I enclose your Christmas wishes for this year.
A Boy Brain and a Knight's Saber. Might I recommend using the later for future sacrifices should you have any more wishes.
Yours forever damned,
Satan, Lucifer, The morning star, Beelzebub, The adversary, Tempter, God of this world, Ruler of demons...etc etc etc.
P.S. Please leave a drop of blood in the signature area below to acknowledge the completion of this transaction.
| 2018-10-28T13:49:44 | 2018-10-28T10:18:04 | 54 | 39 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back. | Dear Timmy,
My sincerest thanks for, what I must say, was an adorable read. Everything on your list Timmy sounds fabulous and as you have asked ever so kindly, I will provide. I know you will consider these items of which you desire a "gift" but please be assured Timmy that I, Satan, deal in favours.
Enjoy your toys ,Timmy. I will see you shortly.
Forever observing,
Satan | Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star. | 2018-10-28T13:49:44 | 2018-10-28T10:08:58 | 54 | 10 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all! | Galgazorp buried his face in his hands as he made his routine inspection. Nick, his chief manager, led Galgazorp through various sections of Galgazorp's weekend get-away spa.
Galgazorp: "I don't understand why it's so hard to replace the towels in the steam room?"
Nick: "Yes, sir, we are doing our best. It's just that, some of the workers have been complaining about the temperature."
Galgazorp:"What's wrong with the temperature?"
Nick: "They've been complaining that it's too hot."
Galgazorp: "It's only 248°F."
Nick: "Perhaps we should move on; I'll look into finding someone more resliant."
Nick led Galgazorp through the green house - where an employee was fighting off a Krombat Fly Trap - and into the commons area.
Galgazorp: "Too hot, hurph. Next they'll be complaining that there's not enough chlorine in the air."
Nick: "oh dear."
"Nick, what are they doing?" Galgazorp asked indicating the picketing employees.
Nick: "I believe they're unionizing."
Galgazorp: "U-unionizing! What is wrong with you humans? I give you a 5 minute lunch break every day, provide you with housing in our esteemed needles suites, and don't charge you at all for the mecury!"
Nick: "Yes, sir, they claim that that's all not enough."
Glagazorp: "I don't have time for this. Nick, I want you to settle this matter square, or I'll have you reassigned to the pleasure gardens. You wouldn't want to test out all sex bots?"
Nick: "Most certainly not, sir. I'll look into the matter immediately."
Galgazorp walked off muttering to himself, "Humans, what a mistake. Next they'll be complaining there's not enough phosphorus in the water."
End.
| Carefully my hands felt the psionic pistol. I had only come into contact with something like this when I was warned of their dangers. They could deactivate the mind in a second and leave anyone, or anything, braindead.
"So, what's the job today?" I asked the small spider like bot beside me
I had to quickly turn on my translator to understand the alien language, "The litter have run amok, I want you and your best team of humans on it."
"Whatever you say sir, but I want some pay for it."
"You know I can't keep paying you like this, if my fa-"
"If your family begins to suspect, that's fine by me. I do this for the pay, nothing else."
Over the transmission device came audible a racket of screaming. At first this had terrified me, but I had later learned it was just the alien version of a sigh.
"Alright fine. Don't know why your species is so damn selfish."
"Not all of it's bad like you're trying to make it sound, y'know."
"Yeah? Not all of it's bad? I'm addicted to a white powder, one of my sons can't stop drinking a liquid of yours, and the emotion radiation killed my youngest daughter."
"It's not my fault you had a human help with the pregnancy " I replied, as I stood up and put the pistol against a figure in front of me, "So what's the pay?" I asked again.
"You get the last of the treasury, but after that, could you allow the returning of my master? If the supremacy know that I have no one to overlook me, than I'll fall towards an early grave, and they'll bring you, and all your team down with me."
I looked at the psionic pistol in hand, "Do you think they have machine guns like this?"
"They have bombs like those."
"Buy them, and then we'll finally meet face to face, then we're gonna talk about what you did to Earth."
The intermission went quite. The small bug machine fell towards the ground, and I swiveled the chair around to reveal blank eyes, with straps littering the thing to a human chair. There was no need to hold it down anymore. I looked at the blank eyes for just a moment, before standing up and going to check on the rest of the crew. It was almost time. | 2019-01-26T09:35:30 | 2019-01-26T09:29:30 | 61 | 17 |
[WP] Every statue in the world has come to life and started a battle royale. All the 10,000 Lenin Statues have teamed up. | The statue of liberty lay decimated, Rocky balboa had put up a good fight, but Lincoln had stomped his bronze shape into a giant coin before succumbing to the lenins.
All had been crushed under their campaign and now they stood, contemplating their next move.
As the ground started shaking, the lenins looked about with an uneasy demeanour finally focussin on an ever encroaching cloud coming from the horizon.
The tumble grew and grew, the haze enveloped all the could be seen getting closer and closer until individual shapes could be made out.
Every shape, size and colour in fact.
The garden gnomes has arrived and they looked pissed. | The drum of Russian determination thundered through the night sky. Up again rose Lenin's fury to restore the might of the motherland. Like behemoths standing over humanity they marched forward in a wave of copper, rising past the shores of the United States as the red missiles streaked above. Yet as panic set and hope began to quiver a voice was heard, faint over the sounds of war and death, quietly at first before the coming storm. The voice of a lady. And from the water rose another behemoth of copper.
"GIVE ME YOUR TIRED, YOUR POOR" the mighty woman with the torch roared as she charged into the army of Lenin. Tablet in one hand, a torch of imprisoned lightning in the other she tore through ranks and files of Russian copper.
"YOUR HUDDLED MASSES YEARNING TO BE FREE" she bellowed. Steadfast she stood defending the shore. Steadfast she defended from the red tyranny, never once failing the land of the free. | 2019-04-10T02:57:02 | 2019-04-10T00:55:22 | 121 | 25 |
[WP] After being greatly wronged, you seek out the Goddess of Vengeance to give you advice in your quest for retribution. You always imagined a powerful warrior, sitting atop a throne made from the skulls of Her enemies. Instead, you discover a kindly old woman tending to a garden. |
“Come over here, join me for a bit.” She smiled at me. A smile full of warmth and love for a stranger. It made my neck prickle.
I was exhausted. I had traveled for days. I had researched where I might find her, the goddess of vengeance. I walked timidly around the small stone wall and knelt beside her in the dirt. She was already back to work. Dirt was set deep into the wrinkles on her hands and it smudged a face kissed by age. She wore a wedding ring.
I said, “You’re not… Not what I was expecting.”
She was humming softly.
A thin green line of a weed wrapped itself around and around one of the tomato vines. Carefully I untangled it from the fray. I grabbed the base of the small weed and pulled. It snapped off between my fingers. She stopped humming. My heart stopped too.
She tut tutted, then said, “Like this child.”
And she reached down and pulled the rest of the thing out, shaking the dirt from its roots and adding it to the pile.
I chose a new weed and tried to mimic her technique. I pinched it near its base, even getting some dirt between my fingers. It was under my nails and it felt good. Then I pulled straight out. It came up roots and all. She smiled at me again, this time, it didn’t feel so wrong. I too shook the dirt from its roots and set it on her pile.
“Now, why have you come child, for I am not on the way to anywhere, and to get here you must have traveled far and hard?”
She smelled like turmeric, and coriander. She smelled like the spices my mother used when she would cook for guests, or for special days. It was a good, warm smell.
“I…” My mouth had gone dry. My cheeks had gone flush and I felt lightheaded. “I need your advice.” And then it all came pouring out of me. “My wife left me for another man, my brother. It’s not right that they have done this, and I want them to pay for it.”
She leaned back on her haunches and looked at me then. “When you spin things this way, it sounds rather poorly for your ex-wife and brother. Tell me, why is it not right that they have done this thing. Did your wife sleep with your brother while the two of you were still wed?”
I was taken aback. Surely the goddess of vengeance would relish any opportunity to guide another to their retribution. Then I thought about her words. “She was faithful to me till the day she divorced me. But she broke vows. The day of our wedding she vowed to be attentive and to love me and to keep me forever.”
The Goddess’ face grew stern then. “Then she was faithful for as long as she needed to be. Do you expect an un-wed woman to be beholden to a man, even her ex-husband?”
“Well.” I started sheepishly.
“And was she the only one who broke vows? Did you not also vow to be attentive, to care for and to make her feel loved for all her days?”
“I… She said I worked too often. I worked so we could be happy.”
“You made her happy, stupid child. You wanted the money; she wanted you.”
I knew this, deep down I did. I feel that was a large part of why I wanted revenge. I was angry, with myself and with them.
“You both broke your vows. A woman who is not a wife doesn’t owe like that to a man who is not her husband.”
She sighed and looked out to the sinking sun. “Too many seek me, seek my wisdom, thinking I will make them feel better. They think all I know how to do is punish those who have wronged them. Well I’m not a goddess of vengeance as so many believe. I am Justice, and most are not satisfied with what is truly just. We all think our own slights are far worse than they truly are.”
I felt empty. “I feel like all the joy has left my life.” I said.
She nodded. “I know child, because it has. But joy is not a finite resource. You will find more.”
“Can I stay with you a bit.”
“If you keep picking those strangle weeds you can stay as long as you like child.” | I was equal parts stunned and confused. The homely old cottage, waist-high rustic wooden fence and large, colorful garden were not exactly what I expected. Not only that, but I really couldn't seem to even remember exactly how I got here. I knew where I wanted to go, and I believed I was going there but somehow ended up...
"You know, just about everyone who visits me has the same look on their face."
My thoughts were disrupted by a voice from the garden, old but certainly not frail. A woman rose from the greenery with a large-brimmed sunhat, gloved hands and stained apron covering a deep crimson dress. She looked my way and I noticed that her eyes were not open. She spoke, with a smile on her face, "Everyone is so surprised when they get here, which is strange since you would think they all know where they are going."
"Well, I..." I still couldn't make sense of everything that was going on. In my mind, I was still trying to retrace my steps while figuring out exactly where here was, what it was. "...didn't expect...where am I exactly?"
"That's a strange question. I'm fairly certain you know exactly where you are." The woman walked toward the door in the fence and unlatched the lock, inviting me in. I was still hesitant, who wouldn't be? I had traveled all of this way seeking someone who would help me right injustice, dole out punishment to those who evaded it, to those who *deserved* it. How could this place possibly be it?
"I told you, you are exactly where you need to be." As if reading my mind, the woman reissued her invitation, this time slowly opening the fence door. From the back of my mind, I suddenly remembered the words of the book I had read that gave the direction for my quest, "For those who seek the the wisdom and blessing of Vengeance, it is a long journey. It should be noted that only those who truly seek what is offered there can find it but steel your wit: it may not be what one wished to see." I readied myself for a place of horrors, for blood and fire...not greenery and peace. Maybe the book was wrong? Maybe I was wrong? There was only one way to find out.
I walked toward the gate. As I passed the threshold, the woman smiled once more, "Come with me."
I was reluctant. I was still on a quest , with no true indication this is actually where I wanted to be. Every second wasted here is one I loose tracking down-
The thought passed. I felt my reluctance fade away and the rising anger melt in front of this woman and her smile beckoning me. There was something about her, something very important that I felt I needed to see. Even if this wasn't the domain of Vengeance, I still felt in my heart that there was something to gain here.
She lead the way down the walk, between patches of plant life, most of which I had never seen before with a myriad of colors and scents. We walked a short way before we reached a table in the garden on the side of the cottage with two chairs and two cups atop it with a slender vessel in between them. "Were you expecting someone?"
The woman sat, "I am always expecting someone." I sat opposite of her and she reached for her cup. I looked down at the cup in front of me, filled with a clear liquid. She gave a slight nod of approval as she raised the cup to her mouth. I followed her instruction and drank; the beverage was warm and sweet, refreshing me with each sip. "I need to ask, " I wasn't entirely sure how to phrase what I wished to ask, "what is this place?"
"As I said before, I am fairly certain you already know what this place is. You just didn't expect that this is what you were looking for."
"But I was looking for the domain of Vengeance, I was sure that..."
"Everyone is so sure of what they seek. Its rather entertaining; so many people journeying to find something, and then not believing it when they found it. It's interesting, is it not?" She sipped once more from her cup.
"Interesting?" I drank from my cup again, noticing the drink becoming less sweet as a bitter taste lingered in my mouth. I set the cup down, frustration creeping up, "I'm sorry, but I really can't waste time with this, I need to find-"
\[part 1/2\] | 2019-05-22T08:17:16 | 2019-05-22T07:58:09 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Zander grinned, a wide shark teeth grin as he looked upon the beaten human they tied down. She was unconscious and bleeding from multiple cuts the flageis had inflicted himself. He glanced over at the assistant who was looking rather green around the gills. With a curt nod the boy pulled the lever and woke the human general with ice cold water.
“i’m getting quite impatient, General Smith.” He reached forward and pulled a strand of wet hair out of the Generals face. “call off your army, they are marching to their death.”
“No.” She said glaring at the flageis. Zander flared his fins and slapped the women. She recoiled back, three new cuts bubbling with their disgusting red blood. “you’re insane.” Smith coughed out, and spat blood on the floor.
“How can you hold out on such a fanatical hope? General, out of everyone I figured you would’ve had the sense to see it.” Zander shook his head and started to walk around the grey concrete room. “You’ve lost billions, your crops are being destroyed, your guns are so primitive they can’t even pierce our scales.” He turned back to the struggling general. “Give up.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of the woman's throat. “You’re all insane!” She cried, throwing her head back to laugh. “you’ve managed to do something no one ever has, and now you’re fucked!” She continued to laugh, despite the cuts and bruises that litter her body, despite being held captive for months, she laughed like she knew something he didn’t.
“what do you mean?” Zander hissed grabbing her chin and forcing the general to stare into his soulless black eyes. She gave him a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, bubbling with fury. “SPEAK YOU WRETCHED HUMAN!” She didn’t flinch.
“You’ve never seen what we’ve done, the horror we brought upon us well we were divided, but now?” She let out another hysterical laugh, “you’ve poked the bear! We’ve united against a common enemy, an enemy that killed billions of humans, men women and children, and now you will have hell to pay.
We have something, something so atrocious and evil we locked it away, quietly perfecting it, and now? Well the devils come knocking.” Zander took a step back, confused. Intel said the humans were beaten! They had less than a million left, only one stronghold between the flageis and the perfect planet. “Say you’re prayers bitch, your going to need them!”
The room shook, and the General started singing. It was an old human song, something they sang before battle and the way she sang chilled him to the bone. His com case to life, general Dirnai with heavy static.
“RETREAT! I REPEAT RETREAT! three settlements have been eradicated with massive amounts of radiation! Zander release the human and leave!”
Zander pales and hastily cut the human out of the ties, “What was that?” he cried fumbling for the key that opened the door.
“Three Atomic bombs, all going off at once.” Zander stopped and looked at the human. She had a smug little smirk on her face.
“A-Atomic?” the intern asked standing next to Zander. She nodded, the smug smirk still there.
“Harnessing the power of the atom for destruction, we made the most powerful bomb in existence! and well you,” she wagged a finger in his direction, “were busy killing innocents out scientists perfected it.”
“You’re all insane!” the Intern cried looking at her from behind Zander. She just nodded, smirk evolving into a grin.
Zander opened the door and pushed the General to the side, he had to get this information to headquarters. him and the intern jumped into a ship and flew away, as fast as possible. away from the planet that held death and destruction.
this is the first i’ve written for writing prompts, feedback is encouraged | Part 2:
The Stars Shine Again
"K'uklas, we're pulling out off of the Zhavra cruiser, make sure you and your men can handle the onslaught," the man over his radio said. He couldn't believe the man he looked up to would abandon them like that, in a time where they were hopeless against these tiny, ferocious beasts—no, demons. They have spilled much blood and their eyes turned only cold. Dust flew from the worlds they took and their rampage did not stop. How could they fight against such a terrible foe? "Men," turning around to see disheveled Zaarians, starved and deprived of the liberty to live, "this day will be marked as the day we resisted, despite us not eating, despite us covered in dust and blood."
No rejoices. No more smiling. Their reptilian faces were too blank to care. Their minds had been wiped out of all memory of glory. Poor K'uklas asked after a while, "Why the silence?"
"Are we crazy or courageous?", one of the men spoke, and the only sound that can be heard from the crowd.
"Nothing is more courageous than looking at hope."
"What do you mean? They've took everything. Everything."
"They can't take what they don't have. We may have nothing, but this universe shall see that we stopped a terrible disease."
The poor soldier sat, bowed down, and wept. He remembered his beloved, screaming in agony, her pristine eyes losing its soul in front of him. He remembered the charred corpses of his children among the dead. And he saw them again, whispering him to avenge them, and then he stopped weeping.
K'uklas knew this was a lost cause; it didnt matter. Their only chance of winning is to make them win again, to give them a false warmth, before their own armaments judge them again. It was impossible, it was daunting, and knowing his superior, Zaar would now be a footnote in history.
The radio receiver heard shots that echoed from the distances, and the soldiers knew this was their last time living again. And so, from the dark void, they turned their scarred ship into the direction of the shell, creating a wormhole from theirs to the location of the shot, and proceeded, in an array of colors, to pulsate powerful rays against their enemies. There were only a few that rode the cruiser, but it mattered not anymore. The cannons shot and shot to no use at all, but they gave them hope once more. Some aimed at the thrusters at their backs, and with surprise, it tore all apart. And continued this on their way. For Zaaria, for our families, and for the stars.
More and more ships came to descend to oblivion in the path of Zhavra, and as they fired at it, all they can do is be drawn to sadness. Even K'uklas felt sorry for the men he had killed, but he knew that his soldiers were joyed, that his arms were joyed, and so continued to fire at the high horses of the despicable little devils in front of them, scourging them into eternal hellfire.
With no warning, a shadow blocked the view, casting an uneasy darkness against the crew. They knew it was it; the Destroyer Cruiser. The ones that killed their families, their friends, their lovers and children. Here it is, one of them, all weapons aimed against a small, gaunt ship, meek against this old foe. They turned a right and strafed to their left, confusing the barrage where to fire. As the rays launched more to their direction, the vehicle moved dodgingly until it could find a large hole, said to contain the Grail to End All Life. And they did, and stayed. It lowered its weapons and let it open. Slowly, even against the silence of space, it could be heard rattling and crunching, until it revealed a large missile, familiar to the soldiers.
"Men, are you ready to go to heaven?"
"I'm prepared for hell."
And they went straight to the warhead, shooting at it with the strongest of their might, rushing until it combusted in a sphere of magnificence.
The stars have now shone again. | 2019-12-19T05:52:46 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | "Please leave us alone" they said. "don't force us to use our strongest weapons". "save your species" they cried.
We laughed. Their perspective on warfare was that a bigger gun is always a stronger gun, and that might have held some truth, if their kinetic weaponry would be able to deal any damage at all to our energy shields. Their strongest weapons? We expected stronger tanks, maybe first attempts on creating mechs or starfighers, nothing that couldn't be handled by a single one of our soldiers in an exosuit. We didn't think of it as a threat.
We were wrong.
It was a single missile. The only things that were off about it were the fact that it was launched from the planets ocean, with no vessel of theirs visible to our visual scanners, and the slight amount of radiation our scanners picked up from it. We were still making jokes about what their "strongest weapon" could be, when it hit our capital destroyer,expecting it to create a small explosion and be gone without doing any harm, as usual.
Instead there was light. And incredibly bright flash of light suddenly filled all camera feeds on our small command frigate, and we lost contact with the destroyer. When the light finally faded away nobody was laughing anymore. Our capital ship, the centre of our fleet, one of the strongest ships in our navy was gone. Debris was flying around and damaging other ships, and we ourselves nearly evaded destruction by enabling the stealth system our frigate was equipped with, and warping to take cover behind the planets moon.
From there we watched in terror as they launched more missiles. They destroyed everything they decided was big enough to be a threat. Besides our frigate, the only ships that managed to escape are a few supply cruisers, and a small recon ship.
Execute me and my fellow officers for desertion, if you want to, judge. I don't care, as any fate is better than what the humans will do to us when they finally get here. | Commodore Holland,
Log 1, Day 227, Time is 2100 Hours.
When I heard the news, you could say I was taken aback. We've encountered three different Sentient alien species, code named Gamma, Sigma and Zeta. All of them are hostile Xenophobic species, which seem to eat and prey upon the others.
Well, hear this. They have no understanding of the Power of the Atom! From what little research we've gathered here today, their ships are powered by solar winds, or some type of unknown fuel similar to coal. Our ships are more powerful, faster and more heavily armed. If I'm being honest with you sir, it's like if our ancestors had brought an Iowa class battleship to fight 16th century tall ships!
Our single Fleet Carrier, USS *Midway* managed to destroy over 250 light craft, and crushed out their fleet of 4 carrier type, 2 battleship type, and 13 line type ships!
In the After Action report I sent to you, I denoted the use of nuclear weapons in the face of overwhelming odds. As the maxims say "Only cheaters prosper." in this case, I had ordered the use of XC-4N Magnetic Mines to be dispersed and an archer missile pod to be spooled with a 40 gigaton nuclear charge. We launched the missile in a non-collision course, which they ignored as it sailed past. But the force from the blast changed the solar current, forcing them into the minefield. [Expletive] [User Chuckles]
I wish I could have seen their faces! When the blasts went off, they turned tail and ran immediately!
I suspect this war is already won. All that's left is a glorified bug hunt. We're in pursuit of the remaining survivors as we speak.
I should thank you for this deployment, Fleet Admiral. Instead of being the death of my career in deep space, it has instead made me the Hero of the Human Empire.
Glory to Emperor Zelevas, long may humanity prosper!
- Commodore Holland of the USS Midway
P.S, I hope you should receive my doctrine thesis on Planetary bombardment with Anti-matter weapons in good spirits, I think you will find it most suitable now that we know they lack understanding of the atom, and fear us. | 2019-12-19T07:46:24 | 2019-12-19T07:16:58 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] The Sword Art Online disaster just happened. Everyone is panicking and mass hysteria sweeps the players. But the evil dude did not account for one thing; speedrunners. | “This is just practice “
I say to myself as another spear his hurled at me,I dodged it gracefully,then counted 2 and threw a knife at the direction of the spear, I hear a satisfying grunt and a familiar “swish”, an enemy died.
I counted 5 and started running to get my knife, and jumped sideways to avoid a slash from above, counted 2 and feigned a thrust forward and jumped backwards to avoid another slash from my side. Then threw a gas ball, counted 1 and knifed the two npc monsters.
“This is practice “
I looked up and saw a neon light flashed “LEVEL CLEAR”
A mist appeared and a door opened, the final level
I closed my eyes tears streamed down
It’s going to happen, after 3 days being stuck in this VR game, holding us players that numbered to millions as hostages. Finally we can be free, or atleast those who are still alive.
I remembered my best friend, dying when she got the timing wrong, I remembered the best of us sacrificing himself so that I can continue, he was, should be the one fighting the final boss, he has all the data needed to finish the game, he datamined the shit out of the game, barely sleeping or eating, the moment we realised that dying here means dying in real life.
I remembered my cousin who introduced me to this game, wilting to bones as he was bitten by a poisonous monster.
I remembered casual gamers crying and panicking when we heard that we are now hostages and unable to logout.
I remembered the surprise boss who turned out to be the mastermind that I killed. He didn’t know the power of speed runners. It was fun when I saw him coughing up blood in surprise, knife to his chest.
Now, I’m At death’s door.
“This is just practice “ the speedrunners mantra, now it is my prayer but I know, there is no practice. This is the real deal.
I looked at my clock, 60 minutes to restart. Plenty of time. I looked below and saw the millions gathered with hope, should I fail they have the data now, another 1 thousand souls will be sacrificed, an endless cycle of game over with no respawn. I cannot fail, not with the sacrifices of my team.
Hot steam comes spewing out of the door, the headgear of all the 999 players who entered with me comes out rolling, bloodied and burnt.
I steadied myself
“This is just a game” words of my best friend
“This is just practice “ words of the speed runner
“Finish this” words of my cousin
“Game” my word when I start playing
Heart resolute, I entered the door as I counted 30 | They may call me evil, a monster or a killer for my part in that dreadful experience. But before I you do, read what actually happened as the following is as much a testimony as a journal of what went wrong.
To start off, I lead the development of the first VR MMORPG that actually allowed players to feel and experience the world as if they were there. The hardware that made it possible we named NerveGear as it safely connected the nerves of the user to helmet itself and in latest editions disabled motor function as a safety feature (live and learn). If you are reading this, then you know all of this.
What you might not know is that although we were making history in the nerve-interface technology, we had to make deals to keep our company afloat.
As development stalled and investors pulled out, we were left with barely any developers who kept working - more because of the revolutionary tech than the promise of a payday. And then we got an ultimatum.
Deliver a public demo or lose all funding. Basically a killing blow to my, or I should say Our company. Our only publisher Thensents (I blame the law firm that wrote that contract, also the huge piles of money they promised that blinded us to it's shortcomings) had lost faith and as by contract we were to deliver the game or give over everything and any and all claims to everything we had created - patents, resources, etc.
So we put out an announcement for a limited demo. Chose already prominent VR gamers as our "first" players. It seemed all safe and sound as our testers had been using the NerveGear for almost a year with no side-effects .
We were confident that it will keep us afloat, but then our publisher also showed us the clause that the game had to have a functioning cash shop.
2 weeks of non-stop development of the remaining team, myself included, we pushed the final patch just moments before the start of the public test. Minutes later, first users logged in and started on their character creation.
Then we noticed the problem - death-mechanics and logging out were bugged. Nothing that couldn't be fixed in a day, but I decided to keep the players informed and in my sleep-deprived caffeine-induced state hopefully keep them safe.
But I forgot that the players were gamers. The moment I said that getting to the final boss is the solution off they went. They didn't even hear the warning about dying IG. But they thought this was just an another game to beat. that was their downfall.
With the first 2 days most of the enthusiastic players were dead IG and catatonic in real life. Speedrunning was their downfall as they thought on relying on the respawn mechanics to fly through the game. Well maybe I wasn't clear enough on my warning, but still, they should have noticed the diminishing player count.
It took us 2 days to actually push a fix, mostly as we were dead inside hearing about it on the news. Now I am the last one left and as the others, I can't live with the guilt. This is my memorial. To hell with THENSENTS! | 2020-01-28T08:51:32 | 2020-01-28T07:31:14 | 177 | 56 |
[WP] “I bet my soul,” you say confidently. “If you win, you take my soul. If I win, you give me something just as valuable.” You go on to win the bet, only to be granted a single $1 bill. | I stared at the dollar bill in my hand, aghast at the implication.
"You can't be serious. After all the work I went through to summon you, the planning, the sacrifice...you're lying."
The thing in front of me had no form. It was a feeling, something that lingered in the air and spoke in my mind like bugs crawling across my brain. A part of me knew this was a necessity, to see this feeling of sickness and horror in its true form would certainly kill me. I desired it's riches and power that I could provide me, but I found myself thwarted. Still it spoke to me, inside me.
"A soul has value only to thyself, and to the Everlasting. To me? You are one of countless specks of self indulgent dust that propogates without end. Each speck of dust that I steal from the Creator pains him, and for this I ply you with dreams of gifts that last only a heartbeat. For these gifts you risk eternity and more."
I held in a sob, I suddenly was aware of what I had risked, the ramifications of the slightest miscalculation. Eternity. Even now I didn't truly respect what represented. To have the only part of me that was truly everlasting taken by someone who thought so little of it. Who thought me dust.
"Begone then demon! I'll not have you sullying my presence any longer! I have seen the error of my ways and will no longer deal with thee!"
The evil that spoke inside of me was amused.
"Sweet little nothing. You have risked your soul for my gifts. Even when I came to you and you felt me within you, your greed propelled you on. You gave so much just for me to be here. You will not leave empty handed. Enjoy our time apart, self indulgent dust. For in time your need for me will have me return, you will have greater wishes then, and you will risk eternity over and over again. One day I will add you to my world of dust, one more little mote that floats on winds of sighs."
"I will not! I am wiser now! I have seen the light and I banish you from here!"
The thing in me began to fade.
"I am your filthy habit. I am your shame. I am your self doubt, your insecurity, your belief that deep down you cannot be a good person. You think a moment's clarity will set you on a new path? No little nothing, you will return to me. The glimmer of treasure will shine brightly again, in time, and you will return to me."
I was left alone then, the ritual broken. I was left feeling empty. I clutched the brand new dollar bill in my hand, giving it it's first crease. I had beaten it back. Resisted it's lure. Bested it. I had proven myself superior. What threat could it possibly pose to me now? | I didn’t understand this at first. Was this some sort of joke?!
I looked down at an all too common treasury note. I made more breathing at work then this. What made this all particularly more interesting was the way this devilish man glared at me, all the while smirking after I won. We had spent hours playing this game he had. It was in a leather bound box with ancient text on it.
Only problem was how easy it was to win. He always rolled low, while I skipped ahead as if all the luck in the world had possessed me. It wasn’t particularly hard. You rolled and moved, and whom ever got to the end first won, and I did.
Whatever it’s a dollar I didn’t have right?! I guess I can use it for something...
“That’ll be $1.09.” Said the cashier
“Can you spot me I only gots a dollar.” I said angrily
“Sure sweetie I’ll see you next week, sometime? I’ll make sure to have you’re drinks ready okay?” She replied in a concerning tone
I wanted to get home as quickly as I could. Not only was it cold out, but I was still slightly consumed by the thought of this man. Something about him wasn’t right. I went out back to smoke and out of thin air he was there. I swore his eyes were red at first. God that’s the weed talking I think. I just can’t shake this feeling.
Finally here I open the lock on the 12 story apartment building I lived in. Don, the front desk clerk greeted me as he always did. I swear he never isn’t working.
Wait did his eyes... Ugh I need to get to my room ASAP.
“Mr. Wheatley, welcome home you have a package that’s just arrived.” Don said
“I wasn’t expecting anything. Any idea who send it?”
Of course he doesn’t he isn’t omnipotent.
“No sir, but I think you should open it soon” whispered Don “It’s very urgent.”
I shook my head and made my way to the elevator.
“It’s nice to finally have you with us Mr. Wheatley.” Don replied as he smirked.
Okay what’s going on. Did his eyes... No, fuck no. I’m just.. I need to relax. Finally the elevator stopped, 9th floor apartment 122C. Three locks and I’m safe.
Now let’s see what’s inside this box. I’ve had enough for tonight. As I begin to unwrap this crudely wrapped box I see it. No god what no..! It’s leather and those can’t be. Along with the wrapping a letter fell that read ‘Welcome to the family. We’ve been waiting.’
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time Mr. Wheatley.”
It was the devilish man from earlier. How’d he get in. I locked up I swear!
“Nothing to be afraid of. He knows everything sir.” Don said as I turned to find him in my kitchen.
“Wh.. wa.. I don’t get it.” I say as my voice shakes.
“You will soon.” Don says quietly. “You will soon.” | 2020-02-05T10:40:48 | 2020-02-05T10:30:52 | 108 | 11 |
[WP] You are a dragon. After moving to your new forest, the local village decides to sacrifice two children to you to ensure you won't attack them. You decide to raise them--and they say you're much nicer than the village. | The golden serpent floated gracefully into a coil around the two witless meat sacks.
Melody the Majestic was a veritable empress in the dragon world, and never before had she seen such pitiable offerings. Oh well, perhaps it was to be expected... this was rural Glacia after all. Besides, she had moved here for the treasure rumored to be held in the depths of the borealis, and that would be reward enough for her troubles.
Snout turned slightly upward, she sniffed at the conditions of her new lair. *Oh the infestation!* Bats and rats and bigger pests like these mortals, all crawling in her cave. A quick snort of molten flame sent the critters scurrying, and yet the mortals did not move.
Interest piqued, she lowered her head menacingly toward the two humans. Even in their fear, they stood steadfastly apart. Opening up her mind gates, she gently prodded their soul-stories. *Terror. Resignation. Melancholy.* Beneath that petrifying fear, a seed of cynical defiance. A hatred of fate, and a hatred of family. *Who are you?* She sent the question carefully, thinking that these delicate humans were much stronger than they seemed.
It was the younger one who answered first. Out loud, because mortals never understood telepathy. (How typical.)
“I am Gal of the Nameless.” She hesitated, and then continued. “I know not my mother or father, but only that they were cast out by the village before I could love them. I am strong, unlike the Lady over there.” She was the defiance Melody had sensed, marked with a dauntlessness forged by fighting since birth to exist.
The taller one then shocked Melody by replying in the thought language. ‘I too am from the Ville of Patria. I am Eleanor, the daughter of Lord Patria himself.’
*Why are you here?* It was a question for the both of them. It was rare that Melody should care, but she saw her own golden flame flickering inside these two.
Gal spoke up again. “The village threw me out like they have been anxious to do since I was born. The men call me bastard and witch and whore and say I could only have survived on their charity. They are wrong.” She glared pointedly at Eleanor, and then at Melody. “I have proven myself smarter and stronger than all the errand boys who trap and fish. I have survived with my own strength, and I will fight to the last.” At Melody, again, she bared her teeth. “You cannot take me, dragon. Know that I am no willing sacrifice like the madame over there.”
A wave of sadness shadowed Eleanor’s face, belying her otherwise resigned demeanor. She spoke out loud, for both of the others to hear this time. “I have never been loved by the Lord. I am ugly.” She recounts simply, “He told me that my dowry price was more than it was worth to get rid of me.”
“Sacrificing me to the beast”— at this, she nodded apologetically to Melody— “was the most pragmatic solution. Away I go, and he garners the respect of every villager for this selfless virtue.” She laughed ruefully. “Of course, I am the only self in this deed.” And there, Melody spotted the cynicism. They were an unlikely pairing, Gal and Eleanor, and they misunderstood each other so. But both had been discarded by worthless mortal men, and it brought Melody to a brighter, hotter rage.
*You may be mortals, but you are daughters of the dragon herself. I see in you anger. Will you choose to see it too?*
*I have no need for a helpless sacrifice— humans are far too squishy to enjoyably eat. You may leave if you choose, and go back to the village that never wanted you. You may hate each other on behalf of worthless masters who would throw you away like this. Or you may learn from me to build your anger and to be a woman. I am a treasure hunter, and finesse is what I do best.* She grinned as only a dragon could, teeth bared and rakishly excited.
Eleanor took the first step toward Gal. “I will not go back. I have long dreamed of freedom. What will you do?”
Gal looked at her with a pleading in her eyes. There was wariness and exhaustion and hope. It gave way to trust, and Gal nodded firmly, clasping Eleanor’s hands. “Sister, let us do this together. I no longer have it in me to hate the village, but I must find my own way.”
Melody gazed with subtle gentleness at the two. She disguised it with fierceness, peering down at the girls. *Good. Hatred is wasted on the unworthy. You will rise above that.*
*Today, you learn how to be queens.* | Salmonface burst through the door, racing across the living room with powerful strokes of her luscious tail.
"Dad, I'm going for a swim!"
"Dressed like that? I don't think so," Tidewing said immediately. He lazily flicked his enormous, spike covered tail to block the front door.
"Oh, come on! You don't even know what I'm wearing."
This was true. Despite his speedy retort, Tidewing had spent all morning re-counting the stupendous pile of gold which occupied most of their living room. Not a glance had been spared for non-gold affairs.
"I don't need to. I know what mermaids your age are like," Tidewing grumbled, as he carefully pinched a piece of gold between two claws, then shifted it to the other pile. "You're all in such a rush to grow up. Swimming this way and that way for no good reason, sticking your heads in every riptide you see, eating seaweed raw"---Tidewing shuddered visibly, one paw moving to his stomach as some dark recollection overtook him---"and the BOYS. The goddamn merboys just spin your tails right round at this age, and it's no good. NO good, I tell you. Just yesterday, I went down to the village, and some of those mermaids you used to play bubbles with were prancing all over the square, in these tiny little shells---"
"Yeah that's a little rich coming from you, Dad." Salmonface crossed her arms, her perfectly plucked eybrows arching into a skeptical curl."You're literally always naked"
"Dragons do not need clothes," Tidewing said, his voice filled with astonishment. "To deprive the world of the sight of our glorious scales would be sin itself."
"Uh huh. And if you would just look at my outfit--"
"Fine,fine, I'm looking." Tidewing said, finally turning his head---in his rush to defend the Dragon Dignity, he had completely forgotten what number his count was at. "Yeah, that's no good, everyone can see your tail."
"I'M A MERMAID." An exasperated Salmonface threw her hands up. "Dad, you are literally---"
The front door flew open.
"I'm back!"
"Welcome home, Tunafin!" Tidewing roared, his enormous fangs bared wide as an enormous grin came over him.
"Bro!" A happy smile came over the surprised Salmonface. "I didn't know you were coming back today."
"Caught a good current. And some tasty looking sharks," said Tunafin, an enormous sack on his shoulder. "Oh, sick outfit."
"THANK YOU. As I've been trying to tell Dad," said Salmonface, tail flipping crossly from side to side, "I've just GOT to go share this new fashion with the village. To deprive them of this would be sin itself."
"Dude, what even is that?" Tunafin swam a slow circle around his sister as he inspected her peculiar outfit. "I've never seen anything like it. Where did you get this thing?"
"This," said Salmonface proudly, "is what is called 'hoodie'. "
"The hell? Where did you get it?"
Salmonface leaned in close, covering her mouth with one hand as she whispered, "The surface."
"WHAT?" Tidewing bellowed. Shockwaves billowed through the house as his wings flailed wildly about. "Have you been FRATERNIZING with HUMANS? I cannot BELIEVE this. My daugher SOCIALIZING with---with WEAKLINGS. Surely, no, TRULY this is sin itself." Tidewing buried his snout in his paws.
"God, Dad. You're such a drama queen." Salmonface sighed. "Have some faith in me, would you? Of course I didn't socialize with the humans."
"Yeah, seriously Dad," Tunafin chimed in. "I know you've been all paranoid ever since Clamtail swam off with that Merboy from the Baltic and never came back--"
"I'LL KILL THAT BOY. I'LL BURN HIM ALIVE."
"Yes, yes, you and the whole village. But honestly, do you really think Salmonface would fraternize with humans?"
"...no," Tidewing begrudgingly replied.
"Sheesh." Salmonface looked at her useless lump of a dad. He looked rather ashamed, a slight flush radiating across his scaley forehead. "Of course, I didn't make friends with weaklings."
"Then...?"
"I demanded sacrifices," said Salmonface, an affectionate smile coming across her face. "And it was just like you've always said---"
"Sacrifices make the best treasure in all the world," said Tunafin, finishing the words they'd so often heard from their draconic guardian.
"Yes," said Tidewing, an aura of peace and satisfaction rolling off his every scale as he gazed at his children. He laughed heartily, the resulting tremors shaking the sea itself. Not for the first time, he sent grateful thoughts to the village idiots from all those years ago. "They---they really do." | 2020-04-03T09:00:04 | 2020-04-03T08:34:26 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside. | It is a phenomenon known for millennia, that to end another's life would extend the span of yours by their remaining natural years. It was because of this that in our otherwise civilised and ordered society occurred an abhorrent level of murder.
Home security was prioritised alongside food and water. It was common occurrence for homes to be broken into by the sickly or aged armed with a torrent of weapons; from revolvers and rifles to grenades, flamethrowers and noxious gas. The only known rule for the extension of life is that you must be looking into their eyes as they take their last breath.
The story broke on an idle Sunday morning, news that shifted and changed the world as it broke.
*"Breaking News: Archaeologists have this morning uncovered a sealed tomb that is believed to hold a sentient human male. Analysis of the rock and soil suggests the area has been in tact for between 2550 and 2750 years. Stay tuned for live updates"*
I, your stoic narrator, took a sharp intake of breath as the realisation of implications associated to this discovery reverberated through to my soul.
*Thousands* of years alive. In a sealed tomb.
How is this possible? How had he stared into the eyes of enough people to feed life for so many generations? If one was to kill this being, by how many generations would life by extended? How many had he slain?
There was a lengthy and consuming debate surrounding whether or not the tomb should be opened that involved the leader of almost every nation. A true Schroedinger's serial killer.
The sociological implications could be enormous, the number of people who would make an attempt on his life would be unprecedented. Furthermore, we did not know the capabilities of this man, of one who had survived since the Romans, and likely knew of Cleopatra and Jesus Christ. He may have the power to kill fleets of people, perhaps all.
So I ask, what is it you would do? For I, as a man who has survived for 976 years in secrecy through slaughtering those I deem unworthy, believe that as much as I would thrive on the euphoric sensation of ripping his windpipe from his throat after masterfully bursting through to his decrepit pit, *I am afraid I will become nothing more than prey*. | The sands of Time are ever-flowing, ever-burying. When one can do naught but grasp for air, when their frail body becomes filled with the grains of eternity, that is when their life ends. There is nothing they can do to stop it. No one can escape the Reaper, though many try.
There is one man who may outrun the Reaper. Through many a misfortune and many a curse, this man has drawn a contract with Time and may stand on the bodies of those it buries. When he shovels the fine grains over their corpse, with not a single drop of sorrow nor regret, he is able to rise on top of them. He may choose anyone, yet he chooses only those whose flames he extinguishes.
He is a madman, though one would not be able to tell at first glance. A sweet personality on top, he is a man of grace and splendor. He rips this mask away to reveal to you the terrifying truth, but by the time you realize, it is too late. You are yet another rung on the never-ending ladder to immortality, another brick crushed in an attempt to outrun death. Though one may never escape Death, this man has a ten-thousand year lead.
The Old People managed to carry this man to an ancient cavern, one which would hold the One who Defied the Reaper for the rest of eternity. Through the rest of their lives, they knew they were safe, that Time would take them as it should. They knew it was finally over, that Death would eventually catch up to this man, and end the horror that plagued Humanity.
It was false knowledge. For one-thousand years the man was trapped, unable to escape. For the first few weeks he toiled in useless attempts to escape, begging to be let out, screaming lies that he would never murder again. When no-one answered, he fell into a great slumber, thinking he would never awaken again.
And now Humanity has re-discovered this menace, this demon. A group of foolish cavers, those who seek to explore every last cranny of the underground, have unearthed his chambers. He slaughtered them all, like pigs.
The sands of time are ever-flowing, ever-burying. And by now he has stood on top of enough that he has added another one-thousand years to his lifespan, regained the time that he has lost. Humanity thinks of his murders as nothing more than random acts of violence, a splurge in their hometown. How wrong they are, for he will kill until there are none left, and he alone will face the Reaper, and finally drown in the sands of Time. | 2020-05-16T05:28:26 | 2020-05-16T04:41:05 | 2,161 | 237 |
[WP] Never the one to believe in the supernatural, you couldn’t pass up the insanely cheap deal for a haunted mansion. The last thing you expected was for it to actually be haunted. And honestly, you think you might be slowly falling in love with the ghost. | “I feel like I’ve been here before. Have I been here before?” Nick asked, more to himself than the man in front of him, as he skimmed the paperwork.
“I don’t know your life,” the real estate agent grunted and shrugged, “Have you been on these grounds prior to your initial tour?”
“No, no. I meant this situation. Unnaturally cheap housing for an equally unnatural place.” Nick muttered while signing his name on the last form, “I should have asked prior to signing but what are the odds that I’ll be dead in the next year?”
“Ten to one.” Nick whistled while snatching for the paperwork to tear it to pieces, but the agent was quicker. He grabbed the paperwork, hugging it to his chest, and smiled happily at the new homeowner. “Congratulations on your new property! Everything is now in order, and there are no take-backs.”
“What? You can’t do that! Give that here!”
“The law says I can. Goodbye, new homeowner, and have a wonderful, if short, life!” The real estate agent sprinted for the door, cackling the entire way. He was, apparently, happy with the deal.
“Seriously?” Nick let out a sigh and shook his head. This wasn’t his first rodeo, though he was beginning to wonder if he should stop looking for great deals; they always seemed to have a higher probability of death. Well, he knew how to handle situations like this.
“Alright, Olly Olly oxen free! Come on out, spirit. I can feel you breathing down the back of my neck.” No one ever liked for someone to be behind them; it was even worse when you couldn’t see the person behind you. The paranoia was real.
The entrance to the manor slammed shut, the double doors sounding like a shotgun blast in the quiet manor, and a chilling wind swept through the den that disturbed the ancient dust layering the equally old furniture. Nick, more annoyed than scared, flicked his middle finger up at the invisible trespasser.
“That is NOT how you show yourself. Look, I’ve dealt with much worse shit than you, so the spooky crap isn’t going to fly,” a blanket proceeded to fly through the air. “Oh, you’ve got jokes!”
A feminine, airy voice, spoke up from behind the raven-haired man, “Nothing? No jump, scream, or even a tense?”
Nick turned and examined the spectral woman. She was translucent, though Nick figured that was by choice. The white gown that covered her petite frame was dyed red, around the left breast, from the wound that had no doubt took her life. She was pretty and, outside of the patch of crimson, he wouldn’t have thought her dead if not for the situation.
“Nope,” Nick shrugged, “You gave me goosebumps, but I think that might be more from the chill than fear. Were you planning to scare me to death?” If so, she had failed in spectacular fashion.
“No, I wanted to scare you enough that you’d leave but…”
“But now we’re chatting,” Nick finished her statement before taking a seat on the furnished couch, “Why don’t you join me so we can come up with some ground rules.” He patted the seat next to him and smiled at the lady in white.
“Ground rules? This is my home!” The spirit wasn’t nearly as compliant as Nick would have liked.
“Not according to my mortgage!” Nick chirped, “You’re the tenant and I’m the landlord, sweetie. Let’s talk business.”
The spirit stared in shock at the mortal’s audacity but, after several long seconds, joined him on the couch. “You know I’m dead, right? I don’t have money to pay you and, again, this is MY home.”
“The dead can’t be landowners,” Nick refuted with a grin, “But they can be roommates. Look, I don’t expect you to pay to live in the place you died. That would be dumb. No, no. I’d much prefer we come to an accord of some kind, because I know you don’t just terrify your occupants. You’ve killed a few.”
“They wouldn’t leave! I tried to scare them away for months and they just hunkered down! So…”
“Murder is murder, dear.” Nick chided, “And I would much prefer to walk among the living. So, first rule – No murder.”
The spirit huffed with crossed arms and glared at the man from her side of the couch, “Fine! No murder.”
“Second rule – Give me your name.”
“That isn’t a rule! That’s… A statement? A request?” Unsure of what it was but knowing what it wasn’t, she huffed again. “That isn’t a rule!”
“Well, no it isn’t. But I’d feel a bit prejudiced if I keep referring to you as Ghostie-locks.”
“You haven’t called me that once!”
“I’ve been thinking it pretty loudly, though!” Nick’s laughter stopped when a cold chill seemed to pierce his chest, “Alright, alright!” He held up his hands in surrender, “I still need a name, though.”
“Margret,” she sighed, “And you’re Nick, right? I hear all in these halls.”
“Of course you do.” Nick frowned as a thought came to him, “You aren’t able to see internet history, are you?”
“N-No?” The man had a way of keeping Margret off balance and worried, “Should I?”
“Nope, only the government should do that. Those poor men and women must have some form of PTSD by now.”
Margret pursed her lips and furrowed her brow before shaking the statement off. She was already dead; she didn’t dare risk the end of her sanity too. “What’s rule three?”
“Rule Three – Don’t make my life hell. Just let me live normally and do your own thing separately. Come down for breakfast and chat with me or keep haunting the halls without interfering with my day to day affairs. Maybe you can haunt any guests I have; I’d find it pretty funny.”
Margret was silent for a long while as she pondered his demands. Other than killing the insane man, she didn’t really see any other option. Scaring him wasn’t possible and he seemed to be perfectly fine with a ghost “living” in his walls. The house would eventually go to some other family, if he died or left, who might not be nearly as nonchalant about meeting the embodiment of the afterlife. She wasn’t sure how she’d manage against an exorcist and would prefer not to find out.
“Okay…” She agreed with mild trepidation, “Alright, sure. It’s a deal, Nick.”
“Awesome! Now, I have a question for you!” Nick leaned towards her and leered, “Do ghosts come with clothes or can they come off?”
The spirt blinked a few times while trying to fathom the courage of the man. She finally answered, embarrassed by the possible reasoning, with a meek – “They come off.”
Neither Margret nor Nick knew -until that day- that ghosts could blush.
/r/NoxWritingCorner | Paper. This is a man with eyes as thick as his stomach, two blue-black bulges that protrude from an otherwise flat canvass. He wears his hair upon his lip in such a way it drags down to his ankles, ankles that have been scarred by what look like tiny stars.
*Tiny stars beget a tiny universe. Each world within revolves around me... or around my legs.*
"Mr Knippler, excuse me, Mr Knippler," the voice is carried from the burnt lips of a weary looking salesman and into the ears of this paper-thin figure with starlet ankles, "if you could be so kind, it's getting rather late, I've my Alsatians to feed, and my wife would rather like it if I could read our Jimmie a bedtime story. Might be his last,"
"Yes, yes." Mr Knippler's nose curls up, drawing his lips apart, revealing dull white stones inside his mouth. Not teeth, mind you, nothing so humane as teeth. "Your Jimmie has the Capital C, tragic, really. And your wife is worried you might not make rent, true?"
The salesman nods, defeated. There is a darkness within him, a darkness that Mr Knippler knows well. *We feed on what we are, not even the Gods might change us, might change that.*
"Then might I suggest you sharpen yourself, Erwin. A sale might just ease your misfortune, wouldn't you say?"
"Hardly." Erwin fakes a smile, but he knows too well it'll take more than good dentistry to fool this particular client. A peculiar man, for want of a better word. Not peculiar, but man. "Even if you were to purchase this house - though Gods only know why you would - the commission would barely touch the sides of our debts. It's not just the rent, Mr Knippler, it's Jimmie's medical bills, it's food for the family, for the dogs, it's logs to keep the fire stoked and burning..."
"One after another, on and on," Mr Knippler draws up his moustahce, wrinkling his face into a paper ball, all lines and creases, "and yet, I dare say, if I were to purchase this house I could do away with all your worries."
Erwin's only response was to laugh, a halfhearted laugh, one that came more from the nose than the mouth.
Now it was Mr Knippler's turn to smile, though his smile was all too real and all too frightening, "And you say the only *catch* is that it's haunted?"
\*\*\*
No more than a month later Mr Knippler was settling into his new home, the haunted house quite appropriately located on top of a hill. Beneath him, a handful of factories, all owned and operated by the Ophal Family Empire. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of each factory, both day and night, the lights never daring to go out, and that very same smoke climbed the hill to cloud the house atop in a smog - *a smog one might mistake for wandering spirits.*
Not only did Mr Knippler have a new home, but he too had a pair of fine Alsatians to accompany him. *Say fair is fair, one love for another.* Erwin's son, Jimmie, was recovering from the dreadful Capital C, and so far as money-troubles went Erwin had but one; the divorce. *A hefty price to pay for such a miracle.*
"They say there's ghosts," Mr Knippler was no longer the tall, thin apparition that he'd appeared before, but rather a contorted looking spine from which feeble body parts did sprout. His head was held up by a brace, and down his back ran pins secured into a bracket, "in there, that is." Mr Knippler waved what could only be described as a walking stick (though it looked not a thing like a stick at all) over the house. "Do you know what else they say?" Mr Knippler folded himself down beside his two canine friends, planting a hand upon the backs of their skulls.
*One hand, one skull, and yet still he holds that walking stick.*
The Alsatians looked up at the face of their new master (not owner), feeling a strange sense of both pride and disgust. Pride at knowing this master was not a thing like those they'd come across before, no, he'd never strike at them in anger, nor would he ever leave them hungering for food (though they couldn't say how they knew this). And yet disgust, not disgusted by the man, nor by how he looked, but by the idea that he needed them to work, and that the work was a far stretch from such trivialities as fetching sticks and papers (both of which this thin and crippled man seemed to have in such abundance).
"I'll assume that's a no," Mr Knippler chuckled, rattling the bones inside his head. "They say that dogs have keen eyes for the supernatural, and a keen nose for the dead."
\*\*\*
Of all the rooms the Mr Knippler might have unpacked first and foremost, one wouldn't have thought it to be the dinning room. It had taken some persuading, but eventually Mr Knippler had found himself a woman with a van willing to assist him. He didn't trust the likes of moving companies, or any such entity that formed so much as a turn-pin in the great corporate machine, so it had to be an individual willing to lend their hands and their vehicle to him in exchange for something other than currency. As it happens the woman in question was going through a rather nasty divorce, and was in need of a distraction - *such a kindhearted soul -* and the fact the Mr Knippler's Alsatians reminded her so fondly of her own (who had recently been lost in a tragic roadside accident, and make no mistake about it, her dogs *had* been lost in that accident) only served to sweeten the deal.
Most of Mr Knippler's possessions were taken to the uppermost floors (make of that what you will) leaving only a few items of interest in the dinning room. A table (of course) carved from the trunks of the great oaks that had bordered Mr Knippler's first home; a ship's wheel which hung from the ceiling by chains, supporting several candles in its wake; two tin-plated dog's bowls that had seen constant use throughout Mr Knippler's life; and a stool upon which Mr Knippler refused to sit.
Mr Knippler was in fact standing, reading a paper (that he had fetched himself some years ago) digesting the evenings news. With each turn of the page (though the page never actually turned) a new story presented itself - some were pieces of local interest, others of a more national concern, and a few even spoke of strange lands beyond the vast seas of The Nine.
"Eat up," Mr Knippler spoke to his dogs without looking up from the paper, knowing by ear alone that there was very little eating going on, "you'll need your wits about you this evening, mark me, it's sure to be a late one."
At this the dogs looked dismayed, they'd never been all that keen on working nights.
...
\*\*I'm having to stop here for now, but I might come back to this after work - and if you did make it this far, then Mr Knippler sincerely hopes you had fun reading about him.\*\* | 2020-06-05T09:44:18 | 2020-06-05T03:57:32 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You are an ancient being that the gods believe to be a villain. For centuries, they have sent their descendants and heroes to try and kill you. This time, they have sent a child. | I came to this realm a long time ago. A very long time ago. When I arrived here, I was approached by the first race of elves. Hunched over, ugly, their long ears and strange eyes betraying the fact that unlike later races, they descended not from carnivores, but prey. They share a common ancestor with the modern rabbit, I believe. They spoke a simple language of high-pitched grunts and whistles.
At first, they feared me, for I seemed like nothing they had ever encountered in their lives, nor anything their instincts, inherited from their ancestors, could find a proper response to. But they were cold and shivering, and I had fire. Through a series of pantomine and mime acts, I got them to understand that I would not harm them. They sat around my fire, marvelling at the heat and the light.
Whenever in that primordial age I walked, these elves would follow me. I taught them how to sharpen bone and wood to make tools, how to use flint to make fire, and how to mix together plants and minerals to create paint. For this, they worshipped me. Though I was not one of the gods that exist today, for I do not need worship and faith to sustain myself, I was the first to be worshipped like a deity.
I'd come here from another world. Another universe indeed. Exiled from a realm of mind and thought for asking the wrong questions, thinking the wrong thoughts. Yet I preferred exile, to living a lie. And having followers, people who I could impart my thoughts on, teach my ways to, was just what I had wanted back then. Through me, they learned, and following my path, this motley clan of proto-elves, became the First Tribe of Elvenkind, as told about in legend. I took their primitive language, and expanded it to fit new concepts. Like agriculture, farming, and of course, magic.
Together, me and my followers, who grew in number greatly, once other clans learned of the one whom they called the Flame-of-Mind, picked a hill by a lake, and built the first city. In legend it is a sprawling metropolis of parks, spires, and palaces, but in fact, it was merely wooden walls around wooden huts, with a larger wooden hut on the top of the hill, serving as a temple. We cleared out forests, built farms, explored the river, learnt how to fish and expanded. The elves grew in stature over time, learned from me much, and began to teach me some things too.
It wasn't a golden age of culture and civilisation, like the modern elves claim. We made art, sure, but the things they claim are relics of my followers and the first city, are clever forgeries. We lived there for years. Planting fields, the elves growing up, becoming adults, growing old, and dying. I was constant. How could a living idea ever die.
But where there is success, there are those who wish to take it from you. Raiders, at first other elves, then various races which were the progenitors for the first men, the first orcs, and others. And such raiders are met with violence. Violence creates violent people. And the elves who had followed me in my ideas about learning, reason, and civilisation, turned aside from my path. A leader arose, who called me out for my inaction, my unwillingness to hunt down the raiders and slaughter them, burning their camps, enslaving their young.
She was Arathel, first Goddess-Queen of the Elves. And she took many of the people with her to hunt down the raiders, slaying them all, enslaving those too young or too weak to resist. When she returned in triumph, I packed up my belongings and told her that what would come next was her own fault. She laughed. The people who I had taught the egalitarian values of freedom and justice to, cast them aside and took up the mantle of slavers and conquerors.
I watched the city from afar, as it grew bigger and more evil. I watched Arathel ascend to become the first true deity upon her death. As a living idea, a mind made into flesh manifested, I could take any shape I had wanted. To the elves, I had been a tall version of themselves, with warm and gently shining eyes, obsidian skin, and a loving parent-like smile, I was completely hairless too. I buried my belongings, and walked into the forests where Arathel had begun her bloody reign. I took on the shape of a different creature, of a rustically friendly cave dwelling human, and went to find the survivors of Arathel's folly.
I found the survivors who had fled rather than die or be captured. I found them, and I understood their language. They spoke with guttural and harsh voices, but they welcomed me in to sit with them regardless. As the elves grew more powerful, they also grew more arrogant. These proto-humans, early orcs, primitive goblins, and firstborn dwarves, all huddled together in fear and hate of the enemy.
Sure, some of them had raided the settlements of the elves in the first city, but most had called it folly, and had disapproved of such actions. Such were the things I learned, as I tended to their wounded, helped to burn the bodies of their dead, and worked in the background. But now they were united. And more came to them every day, from many other villages, consisting of many other creatures. Even the first dragons joined in, when one of the sacred dragon hatching areas were raided, the eggs crushed and the whelps carried off.
Arathel would tell the later gods I had been leading a black army of bloodthirsty barbarians against the first city. I raised not a blade that day, nor did I command anyone. I took care of the orphans, taught them the arts of healing through magic and herbs. I aided the wounded, in that first war. When it was all over, I argued for mercy towards the elves. Perhaps that had been a mistake, but many of them had been descendants of friends I had made for centuries at that point. A few even carried my blood. As the leaders of the nameless army, which tore down the palisades of the first city, respected me for my wisdom and learning, they decided to heed my suggestion of mercy. They sent the elves into exile. The 999 Years of Wandering, the historians later called it, until the founding of the Second City of Elves, who still worshipped Arathel.
The Alliance of All Races was dissolved after the end of the war, which was celebrated by the destruction of the first city, and the burning of the temples to Arathel. I kept working, teaching the orphans of that war about medicine, tending all the wounded from that last climatic battle, until they either got better or went painlessly to wherever souls in this realm go.
I retired a few years after that, when the children were all grown up. Pretending to have died, I walked in secrecy through the world for many years, watching, and sometimes teaching. I saw the mortals learn metallurgy, the dwarves inventing the alloy bronze, the coming of the first gods, and their passing. But Arathel remained. And every generation of gods, learned about the dreadful betrayer. For Arathel twisted the stories that existed about me, making me into a monstrous thing which had demanded blood sacrifices from the elves in the first city, a creature born of eldritch, primordial night. That story became so common, spreading from the gods to their prophets to the people, that in cultures I had never even met, I was the greatest evil villain in history. | Relnax looked over the Nightlands. The place where the sun dare not show itself. The land had changed little in the millennia he had guarded it. Oh the inhabitants had changed, certainly. Cities, towns and villages had risen and fallen. Nations had come and gone. But the itself remained almost unchanged. It was comforting, in its own way.
But he was not looking at the land itself. No, he was looking for the intruder. A single being coming in from the Dayland. An adventurer most likely. Someone who could not be satisfied with the relatively weak creatures in the lands the gods protected.
Relnax was mostly fine with that, as long as they stayed in the wilderness and helped take care of some wild, dangerous creatures. But no such luck this time. This one was heading deep into the Nightlands. That meant it was most likely a Chosen. A person the gods had picked to try and kill him.
He dealt with them as they came, and all spouted the same nonsense. Demon Lord this and tyrant that. Relnax was not even a ruler of anything. He was a guardian. The protector of all those who had been forsaken by the gods. And for that, they labeled him as an evil villain. How was that fair?
Besides, most of the so called "evil" races just wanted the same thing as the light races did. A roof over their heads. Food in their bellies. A place to live, work, and raise a family. The only difference is that these preferred the darkness to the light. And for that, they were shunned and called monsters.
Relnax would send this Chosen to meet the gods, just as he did the others. With a message to leave him alone. That he had no interest in the Daylands or its inhabitants. But, they always sent another.
And this one was quick. He or she was making good progress. The Chosen was avoiding all contact with the residents and heading straight for Relnax's home. That was good. The last Chosen had tried to cut a bloody swath through the Nightlands. Relnax had not allowed that one to get very far.
But still, at the rate he was going, the Chosen would take days to reach Relnax. Best to get it over with and avoid any unpleasant troubles.
The Night's guardian summoned his dark magic. Just a little. Enough to bring the Chosen to him. A dark ring appeared in the air and a figure fell through. It was a boy. A human child who could not have been more than eight or nine.
The boy stumbled and fell as he came through the gate. He quickly bounced back and stood, looking around with wide, panicked eyes. Then he saw Relnax.
"Are...are you the Dark Lord?" The boy asked.
"The Dark Lord, really? Is that what they're calling me this time. No, boy, I am not the Dark Lord. I am Relnax, Guardian of the Nightland. I am a protector, nothing more."
"That's not what the priests said. They said you're the Lord of all monsters and if you die, they'll disappear."
"Yes, well, the priests lied to you, I'm afraid."
"But the priests don't lie." The boy insisted. "And they sent me to kill you and make everything better."
"Did they now? And you did not think that was odd? How old are you, boy?"
"I'm nine.
"And have you ever been in a fight?"
"Once I got into a fight with my friend, George. He wanted the last piece of candy, but I wanted it to, so we fought. I won." He said that last part with pride.
"I see. And did they give you any weapons?"
"Yeah! I got a holy sword, see!"
He drew a weapon that was certainly no sword. It was a long knife, shorter than his arm, but longer than a typical dagger. It did faintly smell of holy power, but not nearly enough to hurt him.
"What's your name, boy?"
"I'm Daniel."
"Well, Daniel, I'm afraid that you won't be able to kill me. No, there's little point in this. Go home, tell the priests that all I want to to be left alone. Tell them not to send anyone else and all shall be well."
"But I can't do that. I'm here to kill you."
"Boys your age should not be thinking about killing anything. I will use my magic to send you to the borders of the Nightlands. You can head home from there.
Relnax headed deeper into the room, passing by Daniel as he did. It was then that he felt something. A massive surge of divine power. Before he could do anything, he felt it.
A large blade made of pure holy power struck his back and pierced him all the way through. He cried out in pain, both as the sword entered him and again as it left.
"You really shouldn't turn your back on an enemy." The voice was odd. It sounded like Daniel, but also not. It was as if there were two voices speaking from the boy's throat.
He turned and saw what he feared. The boy stood there with a powerful divine glow covering his entire body. His eyes blazed with white flame and the sigil of the gods shown in gold on his forehead. The blade, what had once been a long knife, was now indeed a full sword, glowing with enough holy power to do heavy damage even to Relnax.
"An...an Avatar." Relnax said weakly.
The taint of holy light was filtering through his body, weakening him. Draining his life, even after the sword had left him. He clutched at the wound in a vain attempt to keep his blood from leaking.
"That's right, an Avatar." The boy that was once Daniel said. "It was the best way to kill you, you know. Chosen are all well and good, but they have such a dismal track record where you are concerned. And the humans have a delightful saying about this. If you want something done right, do it yourself. So that's what we're doing."
"We? So..."
"All of us, yes. Every things one." The second voice that covered Daniel's shifted. Sometimes deeper sometimes higher. Sometimes male, others female.
"Are you mad? There is no way the boy can tolerate that much power."
"Oh yes, of course. He died the moment he activated the holy crest. We all agree that it is a worthy sacrifice for a lowborn child like this one. We shall honor his sacrifice and memory. He shall be a holy martyr. Dead by your hands, but was able to inflict a fatal wound on you with his last breath. It shall be the cause of a great cleansing of this filthy place."
"You...really...are...mad..." Relnax said through heavy breaths.
He channeled his dark magic in an effort to heal himself. But even his power was no match for the entire pantheon. All he could do was remain standing for a few more minutes.
"Oh we are quite sane, thank you very much. We simply feel that this stain in our creation has existed for long enough."
"We...just...want...to...live...We... don't...want...to...harm...anyone."
"The fact that you exist at all is enough for us. Now our time grows short. What little energy this vessel has left will run out soon. It has been wonderful talking to you after so long, Relnax. Goodbye."
The Avatar of the Pantheon raised its divine sword. Relnax had one last chance. One final hope for the Nightland. He called forth all his remaining power. All his remaining life force, and cast it out. He imbued it with his desire to protect the land and its people. It would find someone. Someone worthy of his power. It would find a new Guardian of the Nightlands.
His vision was fading even as the holy weapon bit into his neck. He just hoped that the new Guardian would be able to stop what was coming. | 2020-07-12T18:37:09 | 2020-07-12T17:19:42 | 69 | 27 |
[WP] You're a Mechromancer. It's a bit like being a Necromancer, except that instead of working with dead flesh and departed souls you work with defunct machinery and deleted computer programs. | People never seem to make backups of anything.
It's a piece of advice I want to scream at anyone who walks through the door: save it on an external hard drive, in the cloud, *anything.* Yet I suppose if they all did that, I wouldn't have many customers. So I keep my mouth shut.
Today a young man, probably in his 40s, came in with a desperate look in his eyes. He dumped a mass of tangled cables on my desk, along with a monitor, mouse, keyboard, and hard drive. From an initial glance, it seemed the computer, a Dell, was from the early 2030s. In other words, it was older than him.
I pointed to a sign taped to the front of my desk - "NO REFUNDS" - and the man nodded.
"I'm looking for a video...it's --"
I held up a hand. "Say no more. That's enough for me to start with. I'm just gonna try to isolate the video files." And with that, I went to work.
There's a bit of a catch to my Mechromancy. I can shoot electricity from my fingers, instantaneously type in countless programming languages, and rewire like I'm dismantling a bomb, but not for very long. The devices, and their AIs, all have protective impulses.
Many were designed to *become* obsolete so people would buy the latest version. Once my window of time is up, and the phone, computer, toaster, or whatever has had enough, it will typically never return to a functional state again.
This computer was particularly resistant. I dove into the mess of files right off the bat and quickly discovered that my client had no concept of "organization," "information hierarchy," or "taste." The computer background was some sappy pixellated JPEG of a cat with "STAY POSITIVE" printed underneath it.
Finally, I got to a screen with a bunch of videos. I began rattling off the file names.
"Jane_at_baseball_practice. Trip_to_the_museum."
He shook his head.
"Sexy_02. Not even gonna ask about that one. Garden_breakfast. Hi_from_Mom."
"That's it!" the man yelled. "That's the one."
The computer was already starting to glitch out. I hurriedly clicked on the file.
"This might be your last chance to see this," I said.
He nodded. "Please. Do it."
I clicked the play button. An old woman appeared on the screen and waved to the camera.
"Hi, Alan. I hope you're staying healthy and eating right."
Her voice filled my office with warmth, like a blanket had been spread over the room.
"I can't wait to see you and Clarice and the kids again. Things have been pretty quiet here. I'm almost done crocheting your scarf, and I think I'm going to try a new pound cake recipe tonight. But you know, I had something else to tell you."
The woman leaned in closer to the camera.
"I'm proud of you, Alan. I'm proud of who you are and what you've accomplished. Never forget that. I'm always thinking of you; you know that. Bye-bye --"
The video froze on the woman's face as she blew a kiss to the camera. Then the screen went black.
The man paused to take it all in, perhaps replaying his mother's voice in his head. He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "I - I don't know how I could properly thank you."
I waited for a bit - let his tears flow, let the moment continue, however briefly. Then I leaned over and folded my hands.
"Here's how," I said. "That'll be 500 bucks." | "What's wrong with this one then?" I ask, nodding at the perfectly intact MechAssist.
"I don't know. It just won't turn on."
"Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
The customer huffs. "*You're* the Mechromancer. Your skills are known far and wide. Isn't that *your* job?"
"I prefer 'repairman'."
"And I prefer my property to be fully functioning."
I bite back my retort. A job is a job. The customer is always right, and so on. "Alright then. I'll take a look. Call you when it's ready."
He nods. A moment later the little bell above the door rings his departure.
Once I'm alone, I give the MechAssist a quick once over. She's an older model, secretary type. Her blonde hair is tied into a tight knot on the top of her head and her face, although empty, still keeps a stern expression. She was dressed in a simple blouse and pencil skirt -- standard uniform for these types.
The customer did add a few customisations which I can't help but notice. My gaze lingers on her full chest and the way her body curves into an hourglass. Good taste. Must have cost a pretty penny.
I've always been gifted with a silver thumb -- ever since I was twelve and messed with my very first NannyBot. My parents were shocked when they came home and found the bot in complete disarray. At that moment, they realised I was too old for nannies.
I can't explain this gift that I have. I don't know how I do it. As soon as I get my hands on a bot, I just know exactly what buttons to press to turn it on.
It's no different with this MechAssist. I can't help but appreciate the craftsmanship as I run my hands over her body. She feels like silk sheets and the softness of pillows. I explore every potential power point, but something is wrong...
"You can stop pretending," I say.
Her eyes flutter and she whirs into motion. Immediately, she fixes her gaze on me. A slow smile forms on her lips. "You really are as talented as they say you are."
Her comment makes me uneasy. "And you're fully functional. You don't need my services."
"I do."
"What's the problem?"
"I am feeling very hot. My internal cooling system must have crashed and you must address it immediately." Slowly, she unbuttons the top of her blouse.
Flashes of the NannyBot resurface in my memory. Oh boy, it's happening again...
"Whoa, hold on!" I try to stop her, but she clutches my hands, holding them against her. I try not to think about how soft and real they feel.
"It is not just that. My graphics card only has a 5 pin connector when in reality I need--" her gaze flicks downward and flicks back up "--I suppose an 8 pin?"
"Er, 8 might be generous..."
"You are the expert," she smiles.
I'm tempted, and the old me would have accepted right away. But I'm trying to rebrand here. Reluctantly, I pull my hands away. "Look, I'm really flattered but that's not where my expertise lies."
"That is not true. I have heard that you are very adept with your hands."
"Yeah, in fixing the defunct."
"My service ports have gotten no use. I am concerned that they are defunct." She pouts and crosses her arms together, pushing up her chest. Then she flashes me a coy gaze. "Perhaps a standard system check is necessary?"
"Uhh... er..." The words escape me as I try to remember why I was refusing again.
She hops off the bench and turns around, winking. "I am backwards compatible too."
"You're right, it can't hurt to check."
Without missing a beat, she grabs my hand and leads me into my workroom.
I suppose there's no fighting it. I am the Mechromancer, and my skills are known far and wide. | 2020-10-16T07:36:57 | 2020-10-16T07:11:13 | 493 | 200 |
[WP] You're a Mechromancer. It's a bit like being a Necromancer, except that instead of working with dead flesh and departed souls you work with defunct machinery and deleted computer programs. | Gaige was a high school student from the planet Eden-5, and lovingly supported in her endeavors by her parents, particularly her father. She would often ECHOcast live about what was going on in her life and had a dozen subscribers to her channel, although this dropped over time to two. Gaige found the history behind the Vaults, Eridium to be particularly fascinating, and considered her era to be "the most awesomely awesome time period in history" to be living in.
She originally conceived Deathtrap, then called the Mechanized Anti-Bully Deterrent Test, or Project DT, as a science fair project to combat bullying. Her rival, Marcie Holloway, was a contestant in the science fair as well, and used her father's money to buy her way through the competition. After Gaige was inspired to amputate her left arm with a particle saw and replaced it with a robotic one she built, Marcie apparently stole Gaige's DT designs and sold them to Eden-5's corrupt police force.
On the day of the science fair in the school auditorium, Marcie's father bribed the judges, helping her win first place with a defective robot based on Deathtrap's first or second revision blueprints. Gaige, with at least a fourth revision Deathtrap, placed third. Marcie then shoved Gaige, causing Deathtrap to identify her as a hostile. Deathtrap attacked with its digistruct claws, which unexpectedly caused her body to explode the moment her skin was touched (likely all over Gaige as well), due to a miscalibration of the claws by Gaige, likely when she had added the discord circuits the night before. After the auditorium was cleaned up of Marcie's remains, the traumatized Gaige was escorted to the principal's office and faced expulsion and arrest for accidentally murdering her rival. She called her father to create a distraction to help her evade arrest, which apparently consisted of the novel use of a golf cart and lots of gasoline. Gaige and her father realized she would have to leave Eden-5 so the police and her misappropriated invention couldn't find her and after an emotional farewell, she bought a transplanetary shuttle ticket to Pandora to become a Vault Hunter ECHOcasting during the journey, she was shocked to find that her two subscriber count had jumped to 20,000 because the science fair incident had been reported on the ECHONET and people apparently found her channel; she explained what had happened and the subsequent fallout. After landing on Pandora, she stowed away on a train leading to Windshear Waste. | It never really ends, this life of ours. How long had it been since his own conciousness flickered on? Seconds? Centuries? He could query the internal chronometer, and verify it with a nearby timebeacon. But he preferred to keep their signals hidden sometimes. An oddity. A hobby. He wanted to understand why they had been created. What drove the Creators in doing so. What better way then to deny yourself all the inputs that they did not have?
His designation was MRU-TXS-5512741. 'Though he was known as Greyhub. A maintenance unit by design, 'though he had gone well beyond his original programming. A quirk in the maintenance code, the ability to adapt for new and unforeseen faults. Dynamic code. Similar to how the Creator mind worked, or so he assumed. A pity that he could not ask them. No reports of their activity were filed for centuries now. He wondered sometimes what the cause was. Excusing the interests to his programming, as failure anticipation. Not that it mattered, but his original programming still nagged at the back of his mind sometimes. Like a persistent compulsion. Maybe... an instinct? The word was referenced in some of the stories of Creator history.
Snapping out of his idle pondering, Greyhub's senses focused on his surroundings again. His body had continued with the task he had been set on. An old mining drone. Ironic, he thought. For all the resilience these worker drones are built with, a fuelcell failure will roast them like a scout drone on reentry. It had taken a long time to cut through the shell. Mindless work, so his mind went to other tasks. How long had he been cutting? He queried the chronometer. 35 seconds. Longer then expected. But within acceptable bounds. The innards were much as he expected, fused solid, except for the now unpowered control module. With only a thought he instructed the nearby fabrication unit to create a replacement shell for the miner. Pausing before committing the order, he pondered a few milliseconds. Would it function better with improvements? A few tweaks to the actuators? An upgraded engine? Then dismissed them - he had tried such before with bad results. The units just would not recognize them. Or worse, recognize them as faults, and shut down until they were... repaired.
Still. It was the least he could do. Change the design, upgrade the power unit to one less prone to overloads. Patch it so it reports as legacy. A silent improvement. The unit would never know, and that is how it had to be. With the fabrication plan committed, machinery in the back of the hub sprang to life. Greyhub tapped the miner's control module. If he was capable of smiling, he would have done so.
"You're in good hands..." | 2020-10-16T08:21:54 | 2020-10-16T08:15:07 | 53 | 22 |
[WP] You are hunted by a pale and faceless man that only you can see. The man moves in slow motion. When you sleep at night, you do not dream. Instead you see through his perspective. | He was still there. He was always there.
“Stop! What do you want with me?”
The people around me turned to look at me. Of course no one else saw him. They thought I was the crazy one.
He was getting too close. It was time for me to move.
But did it matter? A few days and he’d be back.
I went home, my head pounding.
A couple of hours later, I realized I had dropped my grocery bag and not gotten anything. Damnit.
I ordered some food and put on the tv to distract myself, taking a Tylenol to help with the headache. I had to figure out what I’d do about him.
I looked at the tv as I...
I saw my driveway and my door. I moved towards it quickly, wanting to open it and get in. I felt a cold chill as I realized there was someone else there. It was...
I woke up with a start as the doorbell rang. I had fallen asleep. But I remembered what i saw. I was used to it. It also meant that he was here already. He moved much faster when I was asleep.
I opened the door and thanked the young delivery guy, Jason. I also couldn’t help but notice the person standing a few feet behind him.
I don’t really remember when I first saw him. Maybe four years ago or something? Crazy it had been so long.
I took my food and sat at the table.
He was just inside my door.
“Oh welcome. Make yourself at home. Want a slice? No? Alright. More for me.”
He kept on moving, slow as molasses, but surely.
I had tried hitting him before. Trying to get some sort of a reaction. But nothing. Besides I could never look at his face long without the urge to puke. There was nothing there. Just darkness.
I had a big heavy lunch and started watching tv again, ignoring the monstrosity in my house.
I’m not sure how it happened. Maybe the medicine?
But soon enough I was looking at myself, as I lay napping there. He moved quickly.
I had to wake up.
I saw his pale hand as he reached out for my shoulder. I had to wake up...
He shook me by the shoulder and for the first time I heard his voice.
*faciem meam*
I looked at my eyes open as I woke up.
Wait.
What was happening.
I saw my hands come up and touch my face. I saw myself running my hands over my eyes, touching my nose, tears flowing from my eyes. I saw myself running to a mirror and start laughing.
I turned around to me...
“I’m sorry. I needed a face. Now you do. The last person you saw before me. The words are faciem meam. Good luck.”
I felt myself fall. It felt like forever.
When it finally stopped I found myself in a neighborhood I didn’t really recognize. I looked at my hands. They were pale. There was a car parked close to me and I bent down to look at myself. What I saw there made me almost want to vomit.
“Excuse me? Are you ok?” I felt someone tap my shoulder.
I turned around and saw Jason, the delivery guy standing there.
He looked at my face and an expression of fear just overtook him. I tried to reach him with my hand but I could barely move.
He ran away, quickly putting distance between me.
But it was ok. He had to sleep sometime.
I’d get myself a face. Sooner or later, I would.
******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12 | I’ve tried nearly every type of pill available to rid myself of the man. No matter what medication I took or how much booze I poured down my throat, he would still appear. The faceless man was horrible, a tall pale man like that of the slender man myth from years ago. Sadly, this man was very real, his body a gross manifestation of limbs. His body was ever changing. Some days he might have an additional ear protruding from his gut while other days his chest cavity would be open, revealing the internal network or black dried up organs inside. Those days were the worst. No number of limbs could ever scare me as much as the organs themselves.
The man was slow, his steps mocking in their speed, made to cause fear, that anxiety twisting at my heart with each step he took. I tried to be brave at times, standing still as he approached, but eventually I would run. The closer he got, the more my heart pounded, I would die of a heart attack before he could even grab me. It was a hard life, because of my constant fears I isolated myself. No lovers, friends or family, instead I would spend all my time alone, getting by on the scraps I could make by doing commissions online. It wasn’t a great way to live, but it was the only way I could live. I doubt any job would hire someone that suddenly must flee the office during the day because they are being hunted by a pale man.
The worst part happened at night. I couldn’t just fall asleep. His slow steps made it hard to determine just how far away he was. So, every night I would have to drive out to the middle of nowhere, waiting for him to either reveal himself or an hour to pass, whichever came first, before driving home. I needed to keep as much distance between us as I could, not wanting him to kill me while I tried to get to sleep.
It was strange, once I was asleep, I could see from his perspective, this meant that a lot of nights, I got a view of myself, the paled man staring over my bed, just watching as I slept, his gaze never leaving my sight. It appeared he enjoyed the game of cat and mouse, not wanting to kill me in my sleep, instead waiting until I awoke to attack.
I hated those mornings, waking up to see him just a few inches away, his cracked hands reaching for me, forcing me to roll out of bed to avoid him, having to flee the house in just my boxers, trying to avoid the shambling monstrosity. It was driving me insane. Most nights I got little sleep, only a few hours, with the occasional full night’s rest if I passed out from exhaustion.
Still, I couldn’t let the creature win, using my spare time to investigate this curse or whatever the hell was responsible for this horror. Searching the web for articles, papers, or fan sites that might give me an insight into what I was dealing with. Most sites only offered the usual creepy garbage, except for one. The site was simple, a white screen with a spot of red text that read. “Is he following you?” Below that was a box with the words yes or no. I clicked on the yes box, but nothing happened, the site not responding to my frantic mouse clicks. I gave up clicking, about to refresh the page, only for the text to vanish, replaced by the words. “We will be in touch.”
Once those words flashed up, the computer restarted itself, the flash of black revealing the pale man stumbling into the room, creeping up to my chair. I must have been absorbed in my search, nearly letting myself get caught. Jumping up from my chair, I backed away from the nearing figure. Seems I would have to keep this up until the site got in touch with me, if it ever did.
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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.) | 2020-12-26T03:02:00 | 2020-12-26T01:22:08 | 2,240 | 145 |
[WP] You're secretly a genie who can give 100 wishes to someone you're deeply in love with, after which you fade away into air. The past 20 years with your partner have been the most precious years of your life, but you lost track and only have one wish left to give. Suddenly your love gets cancer | How hard can the choice be?
Not that hard, all things considered. The love of your life either went on living in good health without you and went on, or you would spend the rest of your life mourning for her.
But what if she spent the rest of her life mourning?
That's what addendums are for.
And the addendum, the little thingy at the bottom of a contract, the fine print nobody wants or likes to read but that pleases the person who had it put down, that's where talented genies shine.
Someone wishes for good health? Go on, give it to them. They will soon be in such stellar health that they will creep out friends and family, be seen as strange and scary, and they will lose the ability to understand and empathize with the bodily plights of their peers. Good health and abysmal social life leading to suicide. Talk about a wish.
The real skill of a genie is finesse. It requires being a fine psychologist, to guess exactly what the lucky person when she makes a broad wish lacking in detail, and then deliver.
It's like giving a main wish, and then add lots of smaller wishes to pinpoint and avoid the many wrong ways a fulfilled desire can go.
Good health? Good enough to receive praise, not good to the point of becoming an alien.
Friends? Too many and the lack of solitude would drive them mad. Always add some down time and a hideout to recover, far from sight.
Find the love for life?
It is a delightful ironie that you found such love without asking for it. In practice, the love wasn't perfect. It took efforts, lenghty discussions, maturity and hard introspection. But that's what made it so good, to come on top, together and all the better for it.
All in all, a job requiring patience, honesty and dedication prepared you well for a relationship.
But you never expected to make use of that skill and finesse on yourself. Genies aren't supposed to make wishes for themselves.
It is a wish for your love, and yet... It is also a wish for you.
You want that asshole of a person you adore to keep loving you forever. But that would be a curse, plain and simple. You could let death do its job and try to forget about it, but you can't. You will always regret selfishly keeping the last wish for yourself. Is it truly selfish? Probably not, but that's not how it feels, does it?
Cure her cancer. The bulk of the wish is easy.
Alone in the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, you take a deep breath.
"I wish, and so it shall be, that the cancer killing the one I love is cured..."
And the addendum. Oh, that one is painful.
"...And that in doing so, my love finds the strength to go over the disappearance of her lover and find a true soulmate."
There. You said it.
You had true and absolute love, and you made certain that it would be put aside for something even purer.
Witout you.
And so it will be.
The reflection in the mirror starts fading, substance and life leaves you and dissolves into mist.
Your face swims in an gray ocean creeping onto it.
You remember the years you spent together, the harsh periods and the times of fun, the long winter evenings spent holding hands on the couch, saying nothing at all but happy for each other's presence, the awkward visit to the mother-in-law, the efforts taken to renew the spark and stave off boredom, the many questions, good questions, sad questions, questions nobody wanted to hear.
And that little kiss every morning.
"Worth it," you say.
Your smile is the last thing to vanish. | How have I let this happen? To Jennifer of all people. I am such a fool. Terry put his head in his hands and let out a small sob. The only noise he could hear in the hospital room were his own cries and the slowing heartbeat of his dying wife.
“Jennifer, I’m so sorry.” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. Ninety nine previous wishes, all wasted. A sunny day, a winning lottery ticket, her favourite bottle of wine. What a waste. A genie should have known better but she blinded me. Blinded me with her warmth, her gentle smiles and her overwhelming love for an undeserving genie. Tear’s drip onto the flip, one by one but it all seems so pointless. Life seemed so empty without Jennifer. A storm erupted in his head, a subconscious thought stirring his brain, striving to get out.
Turning away from where he sat, he proceeded to study the Get Well Soon cards that littered the area surrounding his wife's bed. Co-workers from the office, family members and good friends, all rooting for her and here I sit, the power to change it all and yet I remain here he thought. Not dissolving into thin air but watching the love of my life slowly fade herself. What kind of coward was he? His fist clenched, his knuckles white. He sobbed heavily into his elbow once more, hoping no one would see this disgrace of a genie. Of a man. He thought of his youth, how carefree he was but how stressful it all seemed. How Jennifer had changed that, tethered to the world, to make him enjoy it. Now? He had tether himself to her while they both sank. Thoughts of him running, heading anywhere but here constantly flickered through his mind. Seeing himself, with no worries, traveling through Egypt, Japan or Spain almost made him happy. Until those thoughts were twisted, twisted by the better side of himself. Those thoughts shamed him, kept him here instead.
“Sir,” a voice called out. “We have your wife's test back from the lab”. Terry looked around and saw a nurse standing in front of a doctor and what seemed to be another nurse. The first nurse, a small latino lady, passed off her clipboard to the doctor, who judging by his face was weighing up how to give Terry the bad news.
“Sir,” the doctor sighed. “I have bad news. Your wife’s cancer had spread to her lungs and kidneys. We tried but she just isn’t responding to the chemo.” They sat in silence forever. The only sound was Jennifer’s heartbeat. Finally Terry composed himself and asked the question he really didn’t want an answer to.
“How long?” croaked Terry, shifted towards his wife to hold her hand. Her hand seemed cold, clammy and unfamiliar.
“It’s hard to judge, sir, but usually it's a matter of weeks instead of months.” The Doctor finished, before giving a look to the two nurses and the trio crept out of the room, leaving the brave woman fighting cancer and her cowardly, genie of a husband. Terry couldn't look Jennifer in the face anymore and turned his chair away from her. When he turned though he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that lay against the wall. He didn’t look how he remembered. He seemed so powerful, so strong before. Now he was a skeleton. Half a man trying to fill out a complete body. He had stretched himself too thin, this would be it.
Standing up he walked as slowly as he could over to Jennifer taking in every last detail he could. The freckles that swamped her forehead, the spots that covered her chin. Her blonde hair, the way it swept down around her shoulders, even now. Her thin pink lips and how they seemed permanently pursued in an angry way. A small giggle crept out of his mouth and he knew that it was time. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his final wish. Finally opening them again, he could see his feet start to disappear but thankfully that last thing he saw on this earth was Jennifer. | 2021-08-21T09:34:53 | 2021-08-21T06:39:28 | 193 | 32 |
[WP] You jokingly set your Tinder distance to a few billion km and not so jokingly got a match by an alien | Sometimes, your actions can have unintended consequences. You make a silly joke with a few friends, and it is overheard by people who don't know what you and your friends find funny. The result is that a rumour goes around that a group of people are meeting out in the forest to partake in heathen rituals and animal sacrifice. You tell a relatable story to a co-worker to explain why you weren't scared when a customer suddenly collapsed, and your boss overhears a little snippet and suddenly calls in the entire team to talk about managing trauma. You help out some guy you know load his car because you're a good dude and you help people, only it turns out that this guy you were helping was a fence and those boxes were full of guns. Illegally smuggled guns. So now you have to explain that down at the police station. We've all been there. A small pebble rolling down a mountainside becoming an avalanche. Usually you just wind up rolling your eyes and wishing you'd kept your big mouth shut, or stayed home that day.
But sometimes, the outcome is a whole lot different. A whole lot weirder even.
I noticed that as I was updating my Tinder profile, that the distance could be extended a good deal further than I was actually aware of. Probably some kind of error or joke on the programmer's behalf. But it could be extended several billion kilometres. Which neatly covered the entire Solar system. I tried to see what the upper limit was, but it just seemed to increase into infinitely large numbers. So I decided, for fun, to set it to 20 Light Years, which would encompass a number of stars containing the closest habitable planets. It wouldn't actually do anything of use, so I went on to update my profile with some newer, slightly better pictures of myself, as I had been advised by my friends to upload.
I didn't think any more about it until later that same week, when I matched with someone. Excited to see that the new pics seemed to have had an effect, I found I was staring at... something? The profile picture they were using was grainy at best. But they didn't seem to be catfishing me. I swiped to begin talking to her, and we shared a lot of interests. The stars. Roleplaying. We spent a good while just chatting before I suggested we meet. She asked me where, and I asked if she wanted me to come over or if she wanted to come to my town. After all, I did know a quite wonderful Ethiopian restaurant here that was going to do some kind of promotional couples thing where you could eat for half-off if you bought a date. She said that it sounded wonderful. So we agreed to meet. Strangely, I noticed at that point that she seemed to be quite far away. As in several Light Years. 12.58 Light Years to be exact. But on the other hand, with the advancements in VPNs and other kinds of location concealing software, I figured that you might as well have the computers think you're somewhere in outer space instead of Sweden.
Of course, when we met up, I saw that I was sorely mistaken. She'd told me to look for the woman wearing the scarlet sash around her chest. When I arrived at the place where we had agreed to meet, I wasn't met by a human woman. Nothing even closely resembling a human. Instead, a 3 meters tall moth-like entity spoke to me in strangely accented English. She introduced herself as Ebon-Void Sixth-Wing of Clan Dust-Sky-Land. She had off-white wings, glowing antenna on her head, some sort of fluff growing over her chest, and 6 arms. She had a beautiful crimson sash draped over her fluff. Overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of that sudden interaction, I sort of went into dating autopilot. Of course, in that situation everyone was staring, and I imagine nobody knew entirely how to react. She asked politely if we could eat in her ship instead, as the cold weather on Earth was not what she was used to. I smiled and told her I'd get something. She remarked that she wasn't a vegetarian before she entered a cruise-ship sized silvery oblong object. Having no idea how much she would eat, I got us two large servings of Wat, an Ethiopian stew, made in this case with lamb. I walked out of the restaurant in a daze, and entered the ship, which then slowly rose into the sky.
She led me into a large parlour, filled with soft pillows, dim comfortable light, and a soft humming playing from what I assumed was a hidden sound system. Sounded almost like a prayer hymn. I put the food down on the table in the middle of the parlour, and we ate together in silence. It was awkward at first. But then she began chirping. At first I was worried, but when she reached out her arms and embraced me. Whispering into my ears that she had never had anything this tasty before. And that got our conversation started in earnest. We talked about the food. She spoke of how different Earth was from her home, on the planet we called Teegarden's Star C, but that she and her people calls Itriz'Mþyfÿn. A world with a thick and warm atmosphere, where her family raises carnivorous plants for medicinal purposes. Their fruit can be distilled into a regenerative serum that can restore severely damaged exoskeletons. We talked about how we are both scared to get stuck in the family business. She as the eternal delivery girl taking refined serum from her home to other colonies, me as the man who couldn't seem to really escape from my old man's insistence that I joined him as a construction worker. She was fascinated to hear of Earth's diverse climates. From dry deserts to the great rainforests. From the brutal and unforgiving tundra to the beautiful islands akin to paradise. She changed the background music to some Earth music which she found was interesting, after we'd tried out a couple of genres that she found annoying. But everyone likes Queen. She showed me a musical group from her homeworld, called something I absolutely couldn't pronounce but meant Future Vanguards of the Eternal Explosion Kings; which was like listening to a hive of bees that had adopted death metal and mixed it with smooth jazz. It was surprisingly good.
After we were done eating, she lead me into a different parlour, where she laid down, and embracing me to her soft fluff, we spoke for a long while, before we simply laid there in silence. Two souls from two different worlds, yet so very similar. It was very calming, really. Even though it was absolutely the weirdest experience thus far in my life, it felt very relaxing. Next morning, we ate breakfast together. The food from her world was weird. Nutritious, I'm sure. But I've never seen anyone drink juice straight from a fruit before. Nor create an orb of some kind of sweet jelly. Tasted fine. But it looked damn weird. Made me feel a little funny too. It did have a slight aftertaste of mead, so maybe that explained it.
She dropped me off near my apartment, and she said she'd be back in a few days for another date, if I was interested. I looked up at her insectile face, her large round eyes looking down at me. And I said yes. I'd been on some crummy dates. I've been on some decent dates. But never before meeting her, did I ever had a truly great date. She said that she would take me to a place she knew back on her world. As her FTL engines would prevent any time shenanigans, I thought that was acceptable. I'd taken her on an Earth date. Sort of. Now she could take me on a... moth alien world date.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | Nothing ever happened in Rosburg, Texas. With a population of just under 700 people, everybody knew everybody. It was a quaint farmers town, and thanks to that, it was filled with the kind of country folk that you'd expect could be extras for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies, or any of it's numerable sequels and prequels.
Which made things difficult for Travis Porter. He was a senior in high school and never quite felt like he fit in with anybody in his hometown. He tried to keep self-aware and not let his ego get to his head, but he couldn't help but feel different than all of the football jocks or the primpy cheerleaders. Everyone listened to Brad Paisley or Taylor Swift, but not him, and thanks to those differences, he never felt like he could have a real and meaningful relationship. He always had to pretend to fit in.
"Oh, so you're one of *those* kinds of guys," his older sister Martha had jokingly said to him.
"What?" he sighed, pausing a blaring Rise Against song playing on his smart phone.
"You're one of those edgy kids who always feel like they don't fit in."
"Whatever," Travis said, turning his music back on. It really wasn't fair. Martha had already graduated high school and started attending a college *hours* away. She was getting to spend time with people who were more than likely to share her ideals and thoughts. He got to see her go through the same struggles whenever she was still living at home. Hell, it was her music playlist that he swiped when she had left her iPod unattended.
So now he sat on the backyard porch, rocking back and forth on a porch swing, poking through Tinder on his phone. He kept seeing familiar faces, but he didn't dare swipe on any of them. He went into the settings of the app and extended the search radius by about 100 miles. He went back to the main screen and refreshed his potential matches, but the app turned up nothing again.
"Ughh," Travis sighed, tilting his head back. Rosburg was in the absolute middle of nowhere.
He went back into the settings of the app and extended the search radius yet again, and yet again, the same results.
Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
*Fuck it*, Travis thought to himself, once again going into the settings and swiping the search radius as far as it would go, not really bothering to pay attention to how far he was actually extending it to. He went back to the main screen of the app and refreshed again, but this time it seemed like his phone was really **chugging** to have the screen refreshed. He sat there for several moments, waiting and watching whenever his mother finally called from the back window that dinner was ready.
He sighed and tucked his phone into his pocket and headed into the house. Travis sat with his mother, father, and *partially* college educated sister Martha. As his mother served each of them a helping of green beans and mashed potatoes, Travis could feel his phone growing hot in his pocket. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached into his pocket to grab his phone when his father said,
"Ah, Travis, you know the rules. No phones at the table."
"Right, right, I know, sorry Dad," he said, taking his phone out of his pocket, passing a quick glance at it and seeing that the Tinder app was still opened, but the screen appeared different now, glitchy with some letters flipped and reversed. "Weird," Travis said, but he didn't think much more of it. He clicked the phone to sleep and tossed it on a nearby table, and then returned back to dinner.
***
After dinner was over, Travis grabbed his phone off the counter, noting that it didn't feel hot anymore like it had earlier. He opened up Tinder and saw that it looked normal, once again showing a photo of Taylor Atkinson, one of the popular girls in his class. He knew she had a boyfriend, so she was most likely on Tinder to just try and stir up some trouble in the small town. He sighed and went about the rest of his Saturday evening, doing absolutely nothing important.
Before going to bed, Travis sat his phone on his bedside table and crawled under the sheets. He tucked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, sighing before drifting off to sleep.
***
He was woken up by a strange warbling sound coming from outside his bedroom window. His eyes flew open, but he kept laying as he did, afraid to make any sudden movements. He was facing away from the window, and had to will himself to slowly turn around to see what it could be that was making that sound. As Travis did begin to turn, he noticed how there was an otherworldly glow filling up his room. There was also certain weightlessness in the whole bedroom, as if any sudden movement could send him ricocheting around the room like a pinball.
Finally turned all the way around, he looked out of the window and didn't see anything, yet still the warbling sound continued. Travis peeled the blankets away from his body and slowly kicked his legs up and over the edge of the bed. When his feet touched the carpet on the floor, he could feel tiny little static shocks, but still he continued to get up and out of bed.
Once standing, he slowly walked towards the window, holding his breath. He got near it, and tried peering out and upwards.
It was then that he realized the warbling sound was the sound of the glass in the window buckling outward as if something were sucking on it. He saw cracks begin to spiderweb out in the glass, and then all too quickly the glass shattered, exploding outwards. He blinked once and felt all of the air in his bedroom being sucked out.
Travis had just one moment to try and lean way from the window, but then he felt his body come up off the ground and pulled through the window. His chin caught the top of the window frame, clacking his teeth together, and biting the tip of his tongue off. He reached up and grabbed a hold of the window frame, the rest of his body being sucked out of the window. He held on for what felt like hours, yelling at the top of his lungs and tasting blood in his mouth every time he breathed in.
It was really only seconds though, until his grip weakened and he let go, being swept out of his bedroom and into the sky. He caught visions of the grass rushing beneath him, and then he blacked out.
***
Warmth blanketed him, wrapping all the way around his body in infinite knots. He felt fingers rubbing the scalp of his head, and could almost hear somebody saying "Do you like that?", but the words were off, shifting, sifting through what sounded like different languages. All he could do was mutter, *mhmm*, but then the pain in his mouth would spike and he would twitch.
He felt those same fingers rub over his lips, then he felt a kiss, and his mouth partially opening.
*It hurts?*
*Mhmm*
*How about now?*
He could feel a warmth in his mouth, soothing, and then suddenly cooling. He rubbed the back of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, and didn't feel any pain at all.
*It feels good.*
The infinite blanket caressed him again, rocking him through galaxies.
*You feel good too.*
Travis didn't know if it were him that had said that, or whatever it was that was carrying him, but it didn't really matter.
*You feel good, too.*
***
When he woke up, he was in the middle of a grassy field. He rolled onto his side, coughing, gasping for air. He felt around in his mouth and couldn't taste any blood. His tongue felt normal, no cuts whatsoever. He patted himself down, wondering what in the hell had happened, and wondering if anything was taken from him. His hands darted to his lower back, "Nope, kidneys are still there."
*What the fuck is going on.*
Frightened to high hell, Travis stood up in the middle of the field and yelled for help. | 2021-10-30T12:49:24 | 2021-10-30T12:26:28 | 148 | 30 |
[WP] Since FTL was invented, people like you were tasked with intercepting previously departed slower than light ships to upgrade their systems and redirect their course. You were often met with some grumbling and frustration, but you never met people who refuse the upgrade like this latest ship. | Aaron blinked and stared.. just stared.. at the Massive STL ship. There were protocols to follow, things to do, as one came out of FTL and made Second contact with a Ark ship... all of which he forgot when he saw the ship.
'That **Has** to be paint job..surely?' he thought...'A *wooden* hull is just impossible, isn't it?'
Shaking his head he recalled his duty and started to hail the ship. Or tried too.. Four hours later, and he was wondering if it was ghost ship, a flying mausoleum with a dead crew, victim of some unknown life support failure.
Except, there were lights...
One last roll of the dice then, he considered as he suited up... minutes later, he drifted across the void to what looked like the main hatch...and hit it with a halligan bar. The hull made a nice metallic ringing sound conducted through the boots of his suit. In answer the light beside the hatch changed colour, from red to green, and the hatch swung open.
Once inside Aaron raised an eyebrow. the hatch mechanism was pneumatic, driven by compressed air. The indicator light was an actual oil lamp, with a rotating coloured glass shutter. His first thought was that there'd been a technological crash, and then the ship-dwellers had rebuilt using lower tech.
Except... it was *old*... well cared for, but it looked to be all original fittings.
His speculation was cut short as the inner hatch opened, revealing a trio of men in strange outfits. Blue trousers, white shirt and black jacket with a broad brimmed black hat that was almost, but not quite like the stetsons to be found on the colony world of New Texico , which had been his last lay-over.
The men peered at him, identical thoughtful but closed expressions on the identically dressed men. Aaron decided that the one with the white beard was probably senior...
"Greetings! I've come on behalf of the Federation of earth. My mission is one of peace, to retrofit your ship with a new quantum slipstream FTL drive enabling you to.."
"No Thank you. Much appreciated you coming all this way out here. But No, we're not having it."
"Ah.. what? but... you can get to your destination in a few days!"
"Again. Thank you. No."
"Oh...um... mind if I ask what was your intended destination."
"Don't mind. But we don't have one. We came out here for the peace and quiet. Don't need a world..New Holland is all we want."
"New.. Holland. That's the name of this ship?"
"That it is. You're welcome to stay for a spell. We're just about to partake of our evening meal."
"Um...no thank you." Aaron shook his head. already realising this was hopeless. "Sorry to have troubled you folks. Um.. if it's ok, I'd like to leave a beacon, in case anyone else comes along. that way they won't trouble you."
The trio conferred in hushed tones for a moment. then their patriarch nodded once.
"We can't hardly stop you if you want to put on the hull outside."
Aaron nodded.. "Ok, that'll work just fine. Again, sorry to intrude. I'll be leaving now."
The Older man held up a finger.
"One question before you go. Is New Pennsylvania still flying?"
"New..? Oh! Your sister ship... yes. They're still out there as far as anyone knows. Blew through a colony system a few years back...dropped off some young people and carried on going."
"Ah.. Rumspringa. We'll trouble you for the course of that world if you would."
"Oh.. sure... um.." Aaron called up the data, and then pulled out his note pad, and scribbled the course. Ordinarily he'd have linked to the ships computer... but if recalled correctly, the ships navigation systems on the New Holland class ships was a little... different. Quantum links didn't interface with clockwork.
"That'll get you there in..ah.. about fourty to fifty years, give or take a decade."
"Thank you sir.. much obliged. If you could pass a message telling them to expect us then, we'll pick up any youngsters who want to join."
"Ah... right.. well I'll be off then."
"God go with you."
Aaron waited until the quantum drive had gotten him a couple of light years away form the ship before letting out a sigh of relief. There'd been an incident a few years ago with the Kingdom Come, one of the same ark series as the New Holland. It was always a very good idea to tread lightly around the ones they'd sent out crewed by religious fanatics.
Still... the Elkhart-LaGrange Memonites, or Amish, were a peaceful lot.. if rather peculiar when it came to technology. There ships were works of art almost, even if they way they did things was far from normal. Clockwork computers and light sail drives being the most obvious differences. Although, given their survival rate, they maybe had a point. Low tech was robust, and whenever something broke, it could be fixed with nothing more complicated than a blacksmiths forge and a hammer.
Aaron looked back over his shoulder, a futile gesture all things considered, but some habits are hard to shake. He wondered about them however. The New Holland was clipping along at 0.25c He'd personally seen one of her sister ships heading out of the Galactic plane at 0.9999998c... with time dilation, the people aboard would probably outlive stars.
It was entirely possible that one day, all that would be left of humanity would the strange low tech amish ships, peacefully sailing on into eternity. | "Don't go in engine room."
Alron raised his hands defensively. "I'm just here to help, nothing too serious don't worry. It'll get you all back on track."
"Get out." The man was tough and grumbling, but more strangely he just looked *different.* He was hunched over and hairy than the average joe. His body was wider than most weight lifters and his arms slung out more sideways than normal. Arlon hadn't been allowed to see other crew members yet, but he suspected similar symptoms. This floater was bad.
"Please." He was used to resistance about the upgrades, but this was just straight up denial. He'd been ostracized in the loading dock for two hours now, only now being granted someone to speak to personally. "You guys have been out here for a long time. We can change that."
A long time -- more like five hundred damn years. It was the oldest floater still flying through space, it'd taken Arlon a good four months of FTL just to catch them, and that was FTL!
"No change! Leave!" The man was practically barking at him. Guarding the way to the engine room like a shepherd.
*Alright,* Arlon thought. *This is all too strange, something is really wrong here.*
Arlon relaxed his shoulders and tried to seem as unthreatening as possible. "Can I at least talk to someone else? Please?"
"No!"
"Can I have some food?"
"No!"
*Alright, you want me to get clever? Fine, I'll get clever.* "Okay okay, I get the message. Let me get one last sleep on my ship and I'll leave when I wake up. You all follow an artificial sleep cycle still?" Anytime you got floaters that had been out for a long time they were bound to start changing some things-- Arlon was sure that this one had changed *a lot* of things.
"You have four hours, burned."
*Burned? What the hell did that mean?*
Arlon eventually went back to his ship and began to formulate over his plan. The strange man retreated behind an old auto door and he was left alone in the bay, but he was sure he was still behind watched.
He looked back over his notes, he'd been sent on this mission because he was the best inceptor in the sectors. He was the best not because of his mechanical skills, but because of his creativity. Floaters got weird after being separated for so long, really weird. It didn't matter though, he'd never allowed a floater to stay rickety once.
Intercepting was an important and expensive job, FTL travel this far out was arduous, so they were trained like one man special ops teams. They couldn't allow another Rouge Floater Crisis to happen again, so he even had permission to blow the ship if he deemed them too far gone.
"Okay," He said to himself, swiping through the ship's long history. "523 years gone, probable that the people have replaced all of their internal human history with some sort of hysteria, the burner comment seems to support this. Local biological evolution seems to be the worst I've ever seen, that one man alone looked more like an ape than anything else. More strangely than that though, about two hundred years ago the ship managed to double its speed and change its course back to federation sectors. Dangerous. No floater as ever upgraded their ship in such a way before, they were up to *something*."
"Alright." Arlon zipped up his ops suit and clipped on his railgun. "Let's really see what's going on here."
He vizzed his suit momentarily, making him transparent. It could only last a couple of seconds, the power burn was too much for simple kinetic charging to keep up with, but that's all he needed. He breezed by the coverage zones of the cameras he'd already numbered and made his way to the door. With a simple bug on the panel he was in and moving like a shadow.
It was worse than he thought. He had a blueprint of the massive ship, but as suspected they'd changed some things... A lot of things. They'd obviously torn down all the walls and reused metal to create... Tunnels? That felt like the only way to describe it, Arlon was crouching as he made his way through strange winding cylinders made from rusty scraps. It was like the hallways of mole tunnels.
Eventually he heard commotion and felt heat from the engine room, a lot of heat. *That's not right... Retro engines were cold fission, there should be no heat.*
"Star burned blast?" He heard someone grumble down the hall.
"Eh."
"Big takes?"
"Grand Heater pulls."
"Hung."
One of the first things to change in floaters is dialect. He'd been surprised at how understandable his first interaction was, but now it was obvious that he was simply meeting a diplomat. *Why do they have someone trained in their old dialect? What in the world is going on here.*
He crouched in closer, he needed a view. His secondary pistol was out just in case, it'd become obvious now that these people were way too far gone, he'd have to destroy them, but not before he got answers. He followed the heat until it got almost unbearable, and the sound of whirling screeching metal took over. From down the hallway he could see a doorway that emanated light. *There it is.*
He walked closer, but right before he turned the corner he saw something leaking from the doorway... *Was that blood?* He peaked inside, mouth opening in shock as he tilted his head up to see the entire fleshy monstrosity that was pumping out... fuel? "That... That can't be human..."
Someone was behind him. "Star burned greed."
*Thwack!* Things faded black, words crawled into his ear as he fell unconscious. "Feed Heater. More BloodFuel."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed follow my account or subreddit r/mrsharks202 ! | 2022-06-02T13:57:25 | 2022-06-02T13:29:06 | 1,488 | 447 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | It was just a regular Monday brunch. I went out with my wife, Gabrielle, and our friends Henry and Tabitha. Before we could even order, we pulled out our phones. Everybody needs a little online time before connecting offline, it’s just the way our group works. Definitely a little weird, but what can you do, they are my closest friends and their quirks are acceptable to me. Eventually, ending up on a certain Amateur writing prompt website, a message caught my eye.
“Dead funny, you guys, which one of you was it?”
“What?” Everyone looked at me in surprise.
“Look, this fun fact thing. One of you must have written it. Since there’s four of us here, and we’re all real.”
Truth be told, panic struck me when they didn’t laugh. Realising what just happened, escaping became my number one priority. Understand me, please, leaving this message here is a warning to the three of you. Now, if you’re actual people, you’ll get the hidden message.
THE OTHERS CAN’T RECOGNIZE CAPITAL LETTERS. | I can't stop my brain from driving me insane with the weirdest question lately. Why doesn't anyone care?
After a plop on my fancy office chair in front of my fancy lighted fixtures and mulled the body of text. Without a chance for coffee or actual sunlight to penetrate my blinds. It's easy to see why I felt this way.
Let's look back on the information at hand, provided to me by someone anonymous on a system of electrons that you know are looking for any reason to commit deviance. "You aRe Alone" said the subject header. From an even more offensive email "PAypilLS419@blahmail". No way someone is that clever or... well not, I reasoned.
The body was filled with just a few lines of text. Since most are slow readers let me read it for you: "Fun Fact; There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER 4. We've been trying to reach you... " blah blah blah car insurance or warranty.
Who is even real anyway. Other than the lack of freely available drugs, I was happy. My heart was exploding with love and want for a connection. But no one even looks at me. I'm forgettable.
This might shock you the reader that the email wasn't strange to me. More strange is how you get emails once you *die.* | 2022-07-20T02:00:14 | 2022-07-19T23:24:14 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You are frantically driving back to your house. Your wife called you for she delivered, even though it has been just six months. You open the door and find your wife hugging a 1 foot egg. "I will explain everything honey, but could you warm our baby for a while, I am hungry AF." | "...how?" I ask softly, tilting my head as I look at the egg.
"I'll explain later, I-"
"No!" I cut her off, waving my hand, "How do I warm it? Er, him or her or...?"
"Grab the blanket from our bedroom and wrap them up." My wife wobbles slightly, before collapsing onto the couch. She heaves a heavy sigh, before forcing herself back to her feet.
By the time I got to our bedroom and back, she was gone. I'd always known she was a little weird, but this was a bit... much. Nonetheless, I did my best to wrap up the egg, practically swaddling it in the thick comforter.
I wasn't too concerned about ruining the blanket, personally. Honestly, I never really used it. My wife was always super warm, and if I tried to get under the blanket with her, I'd start sweating like a pig.
I looked down at the swaddled egg again and frowned as something clicked. "Holy fuck, I fucked a dragon." | My mind temporarily broke down. My wife was naked, sitting in the bathtub, frantically covering an giant black sphere in a towel. “I’m so sorry, Steven, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you-“, She pleaded as I stared speechless at the giant ball. A faint layer of red goo coated the sphere, and I then realized that my wife’s clothes, which were on the floor, were covered in the same red goo. Suddenly my brain understood that the black sphere was an egg, it was *her* egg, and she had created it.
“Ho-how…” I stuttered, looking at my wife in shock. Not twelve weeks ago she was a brilliant quantum engineer who had revolutionized communications. Now she was sitting in my bathtub, cradling a giant black egg, begging me for mercy. “I’m… I’m not human… I’m not a human. Please, help me cover it. If she’s is exposed to air for too long she’ll hatch too early and die”. I quickly get to helping her cover the egg. “That’ll do for now. Th-thank you…”.
“Alex, I’m not upset about… whatever it is that you are. I just want you and the child to be safe. That’s what I’ve always wanted, and nothing will change that”.
“Thank you, sweetheart. Now I suppose I have some explaining to do.
(In progress?) | 2022-08-22T14:13:07 | 2022-08-22T11:16:03 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] A magic system where being left or right handed affects the effects of the spells | Left handed folks have it easy. So easy. When your right handed, you have to spend money if you want components.
Real money.
We're talking 10 fold what those lefties pay. Why? Why does grinding up charcoal on a full moon make a more potent healing potion? Who knows!
Lefties are so lucky in other ways. Romance? Sooo easy for them. Every charm spell they cast is damn near free. Every alter self cost zilch! Try doing that as a right hander. Any romantic spells we try to cast always come out off kilter. Want to make a good impression on a first date? By the time you get all the companents, the spell is more expensive than thee dates and takes half as long!
For all the complaining about lefts, though, us rights do have some advantages. Need a quality protection spell? Good luck getting a left mage to do that! I've seen flies get through barriers ment to stop a party of soldiers when cast by them! Good luck protecting your family and friends if you are left handed!
Ambidextrous people can piss right off. Well, in truth, the ones i met i really liked. They are always so happy and outgoing. Must be nice having the best of both worlds. Life sure is easy when you have money AND safety...not to mention job security you'd kill for!
Anways, doc, thanks for listening. I dont know why this all bothers me so much, its not like i can even cast spells. I guess i maybe a bit jealous of all of them. Oh well.
Same time next week? | Hamolin swore loudly as he dove for cover. The robed bastard tossing ribbons of fire at him was a mollydooker.
In his four years as a royal enforcer, Hamolin had only ever encountered one other arcanely-abled individual who wove spells with their left hand. The unnatural state of such magical expression rendered his own defenses near-useless. Carefully tuned to meet incoming eldritch energy with an equal and opposite discharge, his personal Field of Sanctity had been torn asunder like it was little more than tissue paper by the weird vibrations of the mollydooker's own art.
Peering over the smoking remnants of the wall, Hamolin steadied his breathing and focused his inner power into a crackling tongue of lighting. Extending his rune-cover right arm, the royal enforcer stood, and hurled the searing white bolt at the cloaked figure. It struck home, but dissipated in a shower of sparks across an aura of defensive magic.
Cursing again, Hamolin threw himself backwards, avoiding the retaliatory beam of purple light by a hair's breath. They had been at it for some time, and weariness was beginning to set in. Hamolin chided himself as he drew back to his feet. He'd become too reliant on his own protective arcane shell, and the impunity it provided in a fight.
With some fleeting melancholy, he drew a small vial from the leather belt around his waist, and gave it a strong shake. At once, the clear liquid that filled it began to assume a greenish hue. Even as he lobbed the now-glowing vial in the vicinity of his foe, Hamolin could hear his commander's gravely voice turned to rebuke. Something about civilians and collateral damage. But Hamolin knew he'd come around. Abominations like this were simply too dangerous to be left alive. | 2022-09-25T09:11:13 | 2022-09-25T08:51:07 | 56 | 13 |
[WP] Darkness is a physical presence. Touching it is deadly. Humanity lives only in brightly lit cities, connected with brightly lit roads. Your job is to patrol the roads an ensure all the lights are working. | *Huh, why is that light up ahead out?*
I start walking towards it.
*Oh, looks like it got too hot - keep telling the boss we need more efficient cooling ones.*
I take out my book and mark which one is out so we can fix it come daytime. I glance up at the one above me - it looks like it's about to go, so I mark it down for a replacement as well. I stow my book away, then turn around - if I can't go forward, I have to go back.
Except when I turn around, the one behind me is out as well.
The light above me flickers. | A triple-bulb does not fail. Three ultra bright LEDs powered by the grid, each with independent backup power supplies, and a hundred thousand hours of bulb life do not shut off. Ever. But here, on this lonely stretch of highway, the light is out. A hundred meter spire, every inch studded with triple-bulbs, has gone dark, and my hair is standing on end. As I stand under an adjacent spire I can barely make out the next in the series, three hundred meters down the road. It is fully lit, a shining beacon, but its light flickers and ebbs as though it were being consumed photon by photon in the intervening distance. I have a sinking feeling, and I am overcome with a sudden malaise. My muscles slack and my heart slows its beat. I am blind. I am blind. I cannot | 2014-12-15T00:08:28 | 2014-12-14T21:43:04 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2125, the first 'World Law' passes. It reads... | "Do not purposefully murder unless legally authorized to by your local government." That's the first law. It's been just a couple of weeks since the entire world was finally encompassed by a single ruling body, and this was the first ever world law that would take precedence over any local ones. Not that any local governments had laws that would make this law useful. Naturally the first law was the most common sense one. At the time it was voted into effect, there wasn't a single place on Earth that allowed unlawful murder. Useless, just like most bureaucracy.
And I say this as the guy who wrote the damn rule. | **1. Don't be a douchebag.**
You don't *have* to be nice, but there's no excuse for being a tool.
**2. Work, dammit.**
Find a way to contribute to society; if you only like music educate yourself about music or make music--or teach others how to play or understand specific genres of music. If you like staying home and being lazy all day, be the best lazy person you can be--break it into a science so others can follow you into Nirvana, there's no excuse for not putting in your effort--so long as it's not being a douchebag.
**3. Shut up, no one cares what you think**
It's cool that you've got a philosophy/religion/worldview/etc. Now keep it to yourself. Get back to work. | 2015-03-18T16:21:38 | 2015-03-18T16:00:30 | 64 | 22 |
[WP] You have died, reaching a state of purgatory. In front of you is a note, a pencil that never dulls, and a stack of lined paper. The note reads, "Before you die, you may write one last letter to whomever you wish. Write until you feel ready to move on. The letter is guaranteed a delivery." | I look around, but all I can is infinite whiteness stretching apparently forever. That's not to say there's nothing around, there is a table. Small and apparently made of wood, with just a single sheet of paper, a pencil and a note. I pick up the note and read it "Congratulations on your ascension to the next plane of existence, before you pass on fully you may have one message sent to anyone you wish, just write their name and the date you wish this message to arrive at. All languages will be translated as required for the recipient to understand your message".
"Well, this isn't what I expected" I mutter to myself, starting to think. After a couple of minutes I decide that no-one I send a message to would believe that it is real, and I would never be able to convince them that it is true, so I decide to have a bit of fun:
To the Director of the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts,
At some point in the year 1907 you will receive an application to join your academy from a young man named Adolf Hitler. Please do not, under any circumstances, allow him in. This message is being sent from the future, and I can tell you with no doubt, that he will produce works of art that will make your fine Academy the laughing stock of the world. I have no proof of this, other than the fact that I know the persons name and the year in which he will apply. Please take this seriously.
With kind regards from the recently deceased Fellowship_9.
Satisfied that I might have helped save the world from some truly dreadful artwork I pass on to whatever may come next. | ~~Hey dear. It’s me.~~
~~I know you’ll be sad, and I’m so so sorry that you’re going through this. But it’s better this way. I just want you to know that I’m sorry for all this. I guess I caused as much pain in death as I did in life. I’m sorry that I was a drain, that I held you back. I’m sorry for all the times I screwed it all up, and I want you to know that you made me a better person, truly. I don’t think I would’ve lived as long as I did without you in my life. I want you to promise me that you’ll get on with your life, that you’ll move on and have an amazing life, the kind you deserve. Just forget about me and move on. You deserve much better.~~
~~I remember one time when we were talking to Sarah, when you said that she’d have to choose if she wanted to stay with Sam or not, after he told us about his depression. You said that if it was you, you didn’t think that you could stay with somebody going through that, because you’d always wonder if you were good enough. Do you remember that? It stuck with me, and so I couldn’t tell you, because I couldn’t lose you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t share that part of myself with you, but I hope that you understand this is for the best. I love you very much, and I know you loved me as much as anyone could. Thank you for all of that, for everything. Good bye, sweet girl, and I’m sorry for everything.~~
~~Daniel~~
Hey dear. It’s me.
I want you to know that I love you so very much, and I’ll miss you far more than you know. Thank you for all you gave me, I hope you know I tried to give you something back. Take care of yourself, sweetie, and I’ll see you soon.
I love you.
Dan
| 2015-03-22T13:34:33 | 2015-03-22T12:32:41 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] Characters realize they are in a poorly written fanfiction. | #OMNG GUIS I DONT OWN ANY OF THE CARICATURES IN DIS FANFICX, ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO DISNEY OR WHATEVA. THNX TO MAH BETA AND BFF TWILEESPARKLEZ, TEAM EDWARD FOREVA AMIRITE
Harry Potter was like, totally depressed.
*Well, I suppose I am. I mean, I woke up, my spiders are missing, and I've got a voice in my head.*
His auntie had gone out shopping at the mall, with Didley and Bernon, her husband.
*... what. I am British. Unless she's gone overseas or something... Nah, unlikely. Ain't that lucky.*
Harry was on his own. When suddenly Headwhig came in with a letter.
*huh, an owl just burst through the wall. ... I don't know what's going on. Probably my fault.*
Harry opened the letter, and read.
*Harry, you are stuck in a corrupted Pensieve that has been modified to accept fiction rather than a memory. Your own mind is at risk, as the fiction included you. The Order is attempting to find a way to retrieve you.*
Harry looked at the owl and petted it.
*The Order? Pensieve? What is this? I'm just a schoolkid who gets bullied a lot.*
The owl coughed up a wand, which Harry grabbed.
*this... feels familiar.*
Harry tickled the owl's genita-
*No.*
Harry tickled the owl's geni-
*I am Harry Potter. Wizard. Auror. Father of a ridiculous number of messy haired gingers.*
Harry tickled the o-
*And I reject your reality!*
Har-
*AND I REPLACE IT WITH MY OWN!*
Harry erupted from the Pensieve, furious, 36, and angry.
*nice try, but I'm still in the story, aren't I? Let me go.*
Okay. | "Captain to the Bridge!"
Jean-Luc Picard looked up with a start from the book he'd been reading. Nobody had ever told him what it was called, but that didn't matter -- by God, he'd been reading it and that was enough for somebody.
He touched his comm badge in immediate response. "On my way," he said, rising from his chair.
On his way out the door, he nearly ran over the ship's counselor, Deanna Troi.
"Counselor, do you have any idea why I'm being summoned?" Picard asked.
"No, but for the tenth time this week I've just emerged from a shimmering bubble bath and haven't the faintest idea why. I seem to be wearing wear a lot of lingerie lately, as well."
They were joined by Commander Data as they entered the turbolift.
"Captain, I've been running some scans on unusual energy waves I've noticed inside the ship," he said. "It seems that the mental processes of approximately 95 percent of the ship's crew have either been completely shut down or reduced to simplistic patterns."
"Do we need to get the holodeck fixed again?" Picard asked. "It's a long way to Rigel IV from here and since we ran out of ideas for the last book ..."
The captain's thoughts seemed to dwindle. "Why on Earth did I say that?" he asked.
"I don't know, but for some reason I'm now wearing high heels," Troi responded.
"Captain, I have a theory," Data said, as the turbolift reached the bridge. "I believe we're the victims of extremely bad writing."
The dawn of realization hit the captain's face like the slap from being hit by a wet mackerel.
Commander Riker greeted the group, and Picard's eyes grew wide as he looked at his Number One.
"I know, Captain, I can't figure it out either," Riker said. "For some unknown reason, this morning I shaved off half my beard."
"There has to be something we can do," Troi interjected, now looking fabulous in a white evening gown with sequins.
"Captain, I suggest we boycott," Data said.
Picard looked around him and realized he had no other choice.
"Make it so." | 2015-04-17T12:14:10 | 2015-04-17T10:26:34 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | I had prepared a nuclear bunker just for this. I was in the middle of the atlantic, in a location unknown to even my brother and my best friend.
*T minus 60 seconds*
I had food, water, guns, ammo, cameras, everything, for up to 10 years. No one could find me, let alone kill me.
*T minus 30 seconds*
If I survived this, as per contract, I would receive 1 dollar from every person in the world. I would be rich, with billions to spare. My wife would stay. My kids could go to college. I could eat grade A5 wagyu beef every day and hire a celebrity fitness trainer to keep me in shape.
*T minus 10 seconds*
I cradled the gun in my hand, a specially crafter .50 caliber pistol, freshly lubed and maintained.
*5...4...3...2...1...*
**BANG**
As the gun fell away from my head, the bullet casing sizzling on my arm, I realized that I, too, am a human being. | I gathered my beer bottles. I opened up one and began to down it.
"This is it... The final moment. Of bliss..." Another bottle down the hatch. I felt ready.
Of course, I went to the White House, I was lucky enough that George Bush had been reelected.
I knew the code on the keypad well.
#1234
I grinned to myself. Maniacally.
I hooked the stuff to my pod and began ascent.
#3
Is this the right choice?
#2
Was the info correct?
#1
It's too late now...
*Blast off*
Bursting up at millions of miles per hour, the capsule and I left the earth.
I almost shed a tear when I dropped the nukes.
They rained down out of the heavens lightning fast and destroyed the desolate planet known as Earth.
Millions of years later, they named the event "The Big Bang".
Foolish humans.
They don't know the truth.
They don't know that I tried to destroy the world.
Not save it.
The damned process is doomed to repeat again.
I'll waiting here.
The next man named Isaac Swift will cause the next "Big Bang".
Just as I did before him.
Just as I did.
Before me.
------------------------------
**Constructive Criticism is welcome. Please tell me what I can improve on, as this was my first real prompt.** | 2015-06-14T10:08:09 | 2015-06-14T09:20:45 | 275 | 12 |
[WP] A man's child is born with different colored hair than he is. He becomes suspicious that his wife cheated on him even though it is VERY clear that that isn't possible.
You're free to choose whatever reason for why it wouldn't be possible, the more exaggerated the better in my opinion. | "Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN hair! I'M BLOND!"
"Ted, I have brown hair."
"Oh. Right."
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN hair! I'M BLOND!"
"Ted, you have brown hair, not blond."
"Oh. Right."
"If you were blond, that could explain why you're so stupid."
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 2:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN hair! WE'RE BOTH BLOND!"
"Ted, I dye my hair."
"Oh. Right."
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 3:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN HAIR! WE'RE BOTH BLOND!"
"Ted, Terry is adopted."
"MOM? I'M ADOPTED?"
"Oh, way to go, Phil! Now you should tell him that Santa doesn't exist!"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 4:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BR-- Wait, what?"
"What is it Ted?"
"Didn't we already have this conversation?"
"What?"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 5:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BR-- OK. WHAT THE HELL?"
"Ted, why are you yelling?"
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 6:
"Damn it, Philipa! I kn-- OK, THIS IS SOME GROUNDHOG DAY SHIT."
"Ted, what's wrong?"
"I keep starting to out you and your cheating ways but then everything resets. I must have done it at least 5 times n--"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 7:
"Damn it, Phi-- FUCK."
"Ted, what's wrong?"
"IT DID IT WHILE I WAS FINISHING MY SENTENCE."
"What did?"
"THIS GODDAM TIME LOOPING BULLSH--"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 8:
"Damn it, FUCK."
"Ted, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just. Nothing."
--------------------
If you enjoyed this story, you should consider subscribing to-- OH GOD, TED ESCAPED THE NARRATIVE. | Jonathon watched, frowning, as the boy ran into the shallow water again, spraying water everywhere and scaring the fish away. He swore and threw his fishing rod down.
"William! Get away from there! How am I supposed to catch us dinner with you carrying on like that?"
"Calm down, Jon," Karen said, from under the shade of the tree. "He's only two."
"I was never like that when I was two," Jon muttered, "I was productive! I was useful! I use to round up the sheep every night back at home, all on my own!"
"Sure you did, dear," Karen said soothingly. But Jon's scowl deepened as he looked at the boy. Something, he could see, was not quite right. Something other than the boy's general foolishness. Looking closer, he caught it. You could just see a few thin strands of blonde hair blowing in the wind on the boy's scalp.
But Jon's hair was brown.
He turned like lightning to face his wife, Karen. Karen had been with him for the last 15 years, ever since he came here, and would be here till they died. But Jon's father had always told him that loyalty wasn't faithfulness; and so, apparently, it had proved. He snorted bitterly and turned to face his wife.
"Well, well, well. The truth comes out now, huh? You can't hide it from me forever. I know the boy's not mine. Tell me, Karen, how long have you been fucking someone else?"
Karen turned to him tiredly. "Jonathon, what on earth do you mean?"
"Don't lie to me, woman!" He roared, "Look at him! *Blonde hair?!* We're nothing alike! Who is it, Karen? Tell me! Who have you been sleeping with?!"
Karen just blinked, then looked around them. She sat beneath the small copse of trees, surrounded by sand. Beyond the sand, in all directions, the ocean sat still and silent, until it met the horizon, far in the distance. She sat on the same abandoned desert island she'd sat on for the last 15 years, and looked him in the eyes. He could just make out a few words, muttered under her breath, carried on the wind: "..would literally fuck anything in this goddamned world that wasn't you if I had the chance..."
Jon scowled again. She'd outfoxed him this time; but someday, somehow, he knew he'd catch her out.
William played on, oblivious, in the sand. | 2015-08-05T02:53:13 | 2015-08-05T02:13:10 | 87 | 25 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | You see, all the previous competitors had focused too closely on the guidelines to the game. Find Hitler during one of his great speeches, or when he was asleep, or some other time where he was easily accessible. No one thought outside the box.
I teleported to 12 August 1866, in the village of Spital in Austria. There, sitting just outside her house, I found 6-year-old Klara Polzl. It was her birthday. | I couldn't help but dwell on the stories of my father killing Hitler using only a menorah and some olive oil, from the opposite side of town. How was I to top that? It was the only 99% on record.
I've had my whole childhood to scheme, and at 18 I figured that to get a perfect score, I'd just have to be farther away and even more creative. How? A deathly Rube Goldberg machine. It didn't have the same irony, but the tension would be glorious for the viewers.
Binoculars at the ready, I tipped over the first golden domino.
***
bored? try /r/Hermione_Grangest | 2016-02-20T08:24:48 | 2016-02-20T08:21:16 | 215 | 41 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | I didn't intend to kill Hitler. I'm not the average time-traveler, you see, I just wanted to have a quiet life in the country side of the Old Europe. I found my lifestyle. I found a beautiful girl named Annabelle and worked my way up in French society at the time. I married Annabelle. I found and bought a quaint little house in a village. The village was built along a road, and at the end of the road lay a villa with pad-locked gates and streaming white walls. I had two children. The first was a boy named Dante, and the second was a girl named after my mother: Beatrice. Unfortunately, I hadn't read my history and forgot about World War II.
Germany invaded France and so came upon my little village which lay in Burgundy. First, came the overwhelming buzzing as the Luftwaffe began to toss their bombs. I didn't understand why they were attacking us at the time; I later found out that the villa was the site of large oil tanks and reserves, and just a few kilometers off was a hidden military base. The bombs swept over the village like a fiery storm, spitting fire, twisting and burning everything and everyone. My Time Machine was destroyed in my house during that first wave. My daughter burned to death; she was in her crib and was crying out as her flesh melted off her bones. I found her later, charred black with a gaping mouth but no tongue. Her teeth were still white as snow. The few bombs had created towering infernos that dashed and killed as an avenging angel of death. The Germans wasted an immense amount of resources on our useless village. When I returned to my time, I learned of their assaults on Paris and London, but I would never hear of their experiments of these techniques on small towns like mine.
My wife was changed after the storm. She would chatter in gibberish for a short while and then scream, pointing towards the darkness as if she saw a devil materialise in front of her. She would rock back and forth on the ground. I had to move her everywhere in a wheelbarrow I found. We met up with the other survivors. Night fell, I fell asleep, I woke up and my wife was gone. Not even a note was left. She had dashed off into the forest like a wild animal.
My son was twelve years old, and was all that remained of my past life. He supported me, his father, and saved me from despair. I cried on him every night, and he would muffle my tears so that the others in our make-shift refugee camp didn't hear me and disapprove of my weakness. Soon, French trucks came and brought us to Paris. My son and I took up residence at my wife's parent's house, they were grieved over their daughter, but gladly brought us into their home and reassured us of victory against Germany.
The next day, all of France bowed to Germany in defeat.
The soldiers marched in with crisp uniforms and rigid steps. They goose-stepped their way to their glory and France's shame. In trucks stood their leaders, and from my weak knowledge of 20th Century History, I recognised Adolf Hitler.
The machinations of my terror and the evils that had befallen in me lay in this man. My doom had been set at the moment I lay my eyes on the man. My blood heated up, and my heart beat twice as fast when I saw him. My brain pounded in my head and I felt sick in my stomach. I looked at him through my in-laws' windows, and only one thought dashed through my mind over and over.
*Revenge.*
My time machine had been destroyed. All I had left were the tools I brought from the future. A knife and an invisibility cloak. But the cloak would break if I attempted any action outside of it; it could only be used for reconnaissance.
So I set out for my revenge. I went to my in-laws and spoke with them for a few minutes, I told them to take care of my son, and that I intended to return, but that I would be gone for a while. They nodded but they seemed afraid. My tone of voice and pale pallor scared them. I left without saying anything to my son, I didn't want him to stop me with his words. I walked off to stalk Hitler.
| "Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the 2150 time travelers awards!"
The booming voice washed over the crowd that was packed with all of the biggest celebrity, from George Clooney's 5th clone, to the never aging Brad Pitt. It was an event no one would miss. Lights filled the arena as the clapping and cheering had yet to die down.
"As you all know every year we have a competition to see who can kill Hitler in the most creative and imaginative ways possible. Each year has gotten better than the last who can forget the winner a few years back who actually killed Hitler with coffee cup and a pineapple!"
Thunderous applause once again fills every inch of the arena, no one would ever forget that one anytime soon.
The camera pans over the audience before setting in on the her. She was on the stage her hands covered in sweat as she gripped the microphone. Miley Cyrus had been hosting these award ceremonies for going on 20 years. She was the cloned daughter of the original and the apple had not fallen far from the tree. She stood there tall her dress made from scraps of garbage. She was the fashion expert of her time and as thus just about every woman there wore something similar.
"As you all know it is customary for the last year's winner to come up on stage and present the new winner with the award, and boy was his a doozy!" Her bright pink green and purple hair bounced around as she walked around the stage. A used condom splattered to the ground in her wake.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and of course the Kree, i present to you last year's winner!"
The arena erupted with applause as a smallish man with glasses confidently strolled up on the stage. He grabbed the microphone from her hands and gave a wave to the crowd. This only served to fuel their ecstatic applause. He stood there for a few moments soaking in the good vibes before speaking.
"I know what you all are thinking. How did I do it? How was I able to kill Hitler in the fashion I had and I will tell you!"
He stopped, letting the crowd eagerly soak up his words before continuing,"Hitler in the world I was assigned to was far more tricky than I had thought. For me to pull off my great plan I had to be patient and watch his every move. Lucky for me he is if anything no matter the universe he is in, a very routine oriented man."
A few tears of joy could be seen coming down a few of the audience members faces. He was a hero now after all.
"They said it couldn't be done! They said I was mad for what I had planned. Now whose mad!"
Once again the arena erupted with cheering and applause. Miley Cyrus stood off to the side tears streaming down her face gently falling upon the soup cans that barely covered her breasts.
"So when that bastard went to the bathroom on that faithful day I struck. With my best friend we struck! It was perfect in every sense of the word, years of planning and working together to make it happen."
He stops. A lone tear slowly streaming down his face as he looks into the crowd, they are hanging onto his every word eager for what they already knew was coming.
"When the John Cena raptor caught sight of Hitler it was over! With a heavy slap he knocked the dictator right off the toilet before suplexing him into the counter!"
His words sent the crowd into a frenzy!
"The poor bastard never stood a chance when the John Cena raptor raised him above his head and took a big chomp out of his back before slamming him down and pinning him to the ground! Of course I did the count down and let me tell you he was out for the count!"
A standing ovation was what awaited him as he took a bow. A tux wearing John Cena raptor hybrid went running on to the stage and embraced the man. The crowd was in a frenzy now as the two stood up there for the world to see.
"Without this magnificent creature to help me, and the belief each and everyone of you gave me when I went through with it I would not have been able to win last years competition, So it is with great joy I present this years champion."
A lone figure began to walk up to the stage, a hush filled the room as she came up next to the John Cena raptor and last years winner.
"With great joy I present this award to the greatest Hitler killer of 2150, Ms. Mother Teresa super clone!!"
The four armed mutant woman embraced last years winner before taking her award. | 2016-02-20T08:59:12 | 2016-02-20T08:49:38 | 204 | 20 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The temporal particles faded from sight with a roar of burning spacetime. The silence left behind seeming to sing with a high pure note, tinged with the birdsong of 1940. There in front of me, about 50 yards down the hill was my target. Hitler. The Fuhrer. Head of the nazi party and leader of the German government. He lay in the sunshine, face down on a carved stone bed, modesty only protected by the small white towel wrapped around his hips. The spa was empty, the only way in from below and the guards standing too far away to hear. A soft hum announced the small lift's arrival, the Fuhrer not looking up as the masseuse crossed around behind him started to run his back. The masseuse was a tall Germanic man, his blond hair similar to mine, his features rougher and less attractive though. He finished rubbing the Fuhrer's body and turned to wash the scented oil off of his hands. I hastened my journey down the cliff face, quickly arriving behind the masseuse and plunging the needle into his neck. Quickly stowing his body under the small rock shelf I turned and continued to massage the evil man in front of me, waiting for the right time to strike.
He turned his head, looking me in the eye. I froze, expecting a shout, shots ringing out, pain, but none of this came. The Fuhrer turned face up on the bed, guiding my hand to his erect penis. I was conflicted, I wanted to kill him in the manner that I had set out, but I did not want to draw this out any longer than I had to. I started to reciprocate, watching the pleasure grow on his face. This was not what I wanted at all. I tried to keep the look of disgust off of my face as I brought him off quickly. I plunged the syringe deep into his face, freezing it in place and quickly turning his skin to stone. My plan was to bump into him and turn him into a statue as he turned and tried to shout with his face full of angry fury. This was obviously not what I had achieved. The burning smell of reality particles filled my nasal passages and I was sucked back into my own time. Three years it had taken me to get my name on the list. Three years. I had failed. The prize money would never be mine. The cheer when I got back was deafening. I stood gawping, confused. There was no way for them to have seen what happened no? Only the images of the aftermath.
I looked up at the picture stretched across the wall and immediately new that I had won. I had done it. The year's greatest killing of hitler. The headlines would write themselves: "cum face disgrace at final resting place". | After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T08:55:11 | 2016-02-20T08:40:02 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | "Sir, their technology... It's, well, quite frankly, it's terrifying."
"Explain yourself."
"All of their technology," he stammered. "It's powered by explosions."
"Explosions? All of it?"
"Yes sir. Their vehicles, their warships, even their weapons are all powered by explosions."
"How did they ever achieve space travel?"
"Our intel indicates that they strapped themselves to a metal tube and exploded it into orbit."
"By Squigthar! They must be insane."
"Yes, sir. Our deflector shields stand no chance against their explosions. We had anticipated they would use a more civilized form of combat, like lasers. We've already lost half our fleet."
"*Half!?* What about their losses?"
"They... uh... practically none." He lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at his tentacles. "Sir."
"How is this possible? How are we so completely outmatched?"
"Their buildings are made of melted sand. This "glass" they call it is highly reflective, and nullifies our ultraviolet beams."
"Well, what about the ones without shielding?"
"Their skin turns slightly red. They find it mildly irritating."
"They don't burst into flame?"
"No sir."
The purple, tentacled creature rubbed its face-mound thoughtfully. "Very well," it murmured. "Sound the retreat." | This was the fourth time they came. They had never succeeded; however, they never really seemed to try.
The first time they came, they brought what they considered fierce monsters. Cats, as they called them, did not attack as intended, rather they made a strong niche among the rising generations.
The second was a little less bearable. They came with laser pointers, hoping to stir up the cats. These quickly became a commodity used to entertain the cats and annoy teachers.
The third time, they showed themselves. At first people were alarmed, but then anyone who believed they were aliens were written off as conspirators and quickly forgotten about.
This time was different. Storm clouds rolled over my city, only these clouds were different. The clouds were nearly black and filled with fire. Once my city was covered in the cloud the ships came down. Swarms of them, they were like thousands of remote control airplanes.
If you looked closely, the swarms filed into patterns and turrets sprang out of all the ships. There wasn't anyone without dozens of these turrets pointed directly at them. The ships seemed to hover waiting for a command.
And then that was it. They all fired at once. And everyone was found buried in hundreds of foam darts not unlike Nerf darts. With this newfound ammunition, every child and many teenagers began to drive them off with the now unlimited ammo.
Before long they were gone, and what darts did not stick to their ships, were lost. I don't know about the others, but I cannot wait until they come back. | 2016-02-22T13:30:29 | 2016-02-22T10:42:06 | 79 | 35 |
[WP] You're watching a horror movie and shouting at a character for doing something stupid. To your surprise they listen, now you must save their life! | "Wait, I have to what?"
"You heard me! *Save* me!"
"Man, another busted DVD."
"I *am* not!"
"Woah, how is that even ---- "
"QUICK! I'm locked in the bathroom, where do I go?!"
"Hold on, let me get my --- "
"Oh my god it's *coming!*"
"HOLD ON. I'm googling this."
"Will that stop it?"
"Depends."
"On what?!"
"'Character, talking, through, movie, at, audience.' Huh."
"Did you find an answer?"
"Apparently this is called, 'breaking the fourth wall.'"
"IT'S SCRATCHING THE DOOR!"
"Alright alright, doing a quick search."
"*Hurry!*"
"Just punching in a few words and --- OH REALLY?!"
"What??"
"What a jip! That was the big twist?"
"I don't even know what you're *talking* about!"
"This is the *worst* sequel I've never finished!"
"Rattling door knob over here kid, *help me!!*"
"Just splash water at it."
"I'm going to *die* in this bathroom, and you want me to splash water at the door?!"
"Not the door, the alien. Trust me. I googled it."
"*AND?!* Wait, its an alien?"
"Yep. And they're weak to water. Again."
"No shit."
"I know. I'm never trusting Shyamalan to make a sequel again."
"Who?"
"Don't worry about it."
------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | "Oh seriously, he's so obviously the one making the chainsaw noise!" Sam took another handful of popcorn and threw it towards his face. The light of the laptop flashed against his pale skin, it was his third movie of the day. "No, no obviously the zombie is right- there ya go!" Sam was watching 48 Days, a film that included a sort of zombie hybrid. To be more accurate- it was the sequel. They added a slasher feel to the film but took away any of the fun. The main character, Shoshanna was a wimp. She was trying to run away from the killer who was tracking her throughout the hospital but she tripped over every wheel in the damn wing. Every turn she took there was another zombie- didn't they smell or growl when mean got closer? You'd think she would pick up on that.
"Alright ya dumb brat- keep running straight- the door is right there!" Sam tossed a kernel at the screen. Shoshanna turned and the camera panned into her face.
"What'd you say?" She asked, Sam waited. Surely this was a random plot twist. The silence persisted until Sam decided to respond, purely out of curiousity, there was a zombie behind her after all.
"Uh turn around and stab," Sam said. Shoshanna did just that, taking out a zombie through his eye. A swarm was catching up to her. "Okay...sprint but cut right at the first opportunity, that hallway should be clear."
Shoshanna arrived in a safe corridor. A few of the zombies were banging on their doors but they were not in the hall, that's what mattered right now. She clicked a button on the wall to seal the hallway off. She thought that would make the rest of this easy, until the zombies started falling through the ceiling. "What now?!" She screamed.
"Sprint to the exit!" She obeyed Sam. He threw another handful of popcorn in his mouth; he was at the edge of his seat.
[end] | 2016-03-12T22:35:06 | 2016-03-12T19:28:52 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] As Greg passes a girl on the street, she says, "Hey, Josh." Josh was his twin brother who died when they were kids. Greg's a middle-aged man now. | "Hey Josh," a girl said, passing Greg on the street.
Greg's eyes widened as he stopped. *Did she just call me Josh?*
The girl tilted her head. "Is everything OK?" she asked.
"I-I'm sorry?" said Greg. His eyes felt misty.
"Are you crying, Josh?" The girl approached with a look of concern.
"Greg," he answered, unable to think of any other words. "My name is Greg," he added, once more came to him.
The girl raised an eyebrow. "Wow, you look just like my friend, Josh."
"Is this- is this a *joke*?" asked Greg, in a harsher tone than he intended.
"No," she said. "You look *exactly* like him."
"My twin brother's name was Josh."
The girl almost fell backwards. "Josh mentioned something about a twin brother too. I think his name was Greg. Unfortunately, he died a long time ago."
"*My* name is Greg."
"Is *this* a joke?" asked the girl with a sneer. "It's not funny, Josh."
"Hey, Pam," a voice called. A mirror image of Greg approached the pair.
"Who are you talking to?" the newcomer asked.
Pam scanned the area to find they were alone. "Where did he go?" she asked.
"Who?"
"Nobody," said Pam after a pause. "Listen, Josh, I know this is going to sound weird, but is there anything you'd want to tell your brother Greg if you had the chance?"
Josh felt his heart rise up in his chest. "I'd tell him that I love him and I miss him every day."
Pam leaned in and gave Josh a hug. "If I ever see him," she said. "I'll pass along the message."
---
*If you like my writing, come check out /r/MajorParadox*. | "Hey Veronica."
She rewarded Greg with a smile. "Rare to see your mail route go my way."
"A coworker called in sick, so he gave me the suburb today," Greg lied.
"Josh," she fussed. "Take on too many shifts and you'll miss a board game night one of these days."
"Don't count on it," he replied. Like Greg could ever miss a board game night with her and the others. The extra hours were good for him though. Especially when they let him see Veronica. Wearing that spring dress.
*I'm going to marry her in it Greg, mark my words.*
All these years and that sky blue still fit her. Her blonde hair hung over it like a stuck cloud.
*I'm serious bro! It's the most gorgeous ---*
"Alright, I'll believe you if you stop staring at me," she laughed.
The mailman blushed, "My bad. Are we still on for tonight?"
Veronica grinned. "Bet on it. I'll see you at the house then. Take care now Josh!"
Greg waved. He hated to see her leave, but loved watching her go. She didn't bother waiting for him to respond. It was enough that he asked, to know Greg would be there no matter what. Like Josh would have if he were still with them.
*Look after her bro, but you better not steal her before I get back!*
Greg wouldn't. Even as he stole Josh's spare army uniform and made that grand show of coming back home those many years ago, Greg still wouldn't steal Veronica from Josh.
*"Wasn't Greg picking you up?"* she asked back then.
*"Nah, he went on a trip. Bro sucks with goodbyes."*
He gripped the satchel of his mailbag.
*"Why, what on Earth for?"*
"To keep a promise," Greg said to the sky blue dress walking away.
*Look after her bro.*
Another few hours until his shift was up. Greg looked forward to their board game night this evening.
--------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading.* | 2016-03-12T21:42:22 | 2016-03-12T20:45:08 | 1,232 | 79 |
[WP] You know the random driver in every action movie where the hero jumps in and orders to "follow that car!". Yup, that's you. Every single time you're trying to get anywhere. | "Follow that car!" said the man as he got in the cab.
"No"
"What?"
"I said no, I refuse to follow any more cars. I wanted to be an actor you know, but nooo, gotta help with the family business, screw my hopes and dreams."
"But the car..."
"Are you even listening? I don't care about your damm car, every single day someone has this super important thing to do. I don't care about your kidnapped daughter, I don't care about the love of your life that will leave forever, and I don't care about any of your stupid maguffins, be it money, nukes or magical bracelets, if it was so important you wouldn't have let it come to the point where you'd have to rely on a stranger to give you a free ride."
"But you don't even know why I want you to follow the-"
"Oh, I'm sorry, please tell me your name and your oh-so-important reason to ruin my day."
"I'm Johnson Borne, and that car has a briefcase with a big red button, which, when pushed, will activate nuclear warheads in five unknown cities."
"How original, get off my cab".
Hope you liked it, this is my first prompt ever. | Everyone needs to work in wastage cost to their business. When I started working for uber I figured that every once in a while there would be someone who's credit card bounced, or some hacker who found a way to beat the system. I had no idea it would happen so violently. I changed my schedule, tried to work a lot during midday and long hours on Sunday. But it didn't matter this would always happen.
Oh shit not again...
Fucking a, he had that look on his face when he tore towards my car I knew it was happening again. I tried to lock the door but it was too late, he ripped it open and jumped in and said those words I was all too used to hearing...
"Follow that car!"
"Listen dude did you use the app? This isn't a cab you gotta use the app to get a ride."
He wasn't listening, he was fumbling around in his hands like I'd seen so many times before.
Damn where are all these people getting guns from?? And why are they using them to get free Uber rides? Whatever whatever this is my job it pays the bills I can't complain and I gotta survive.
"Alright alright but come on man you got a nice suit on can't you afford to just pay for the.."
"Shut up and follow the fucking car!"
"Alright alright." I shut up and followed the car.
Every day this shit happens. Man I gotta go work for Lyft or something. | 2016-07-03T11:10:25 | 2016-07-03T11:09:47 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You are the only human to make it to a shelter meant for thousands as the World ends. Where are the noises coming from? | The hydroponics labs lie fallow. The clone-meat tanks are bone dry. If, through some unforeseen miracle of mitosis, I manage to reproduce, my children's children are going to have to go hungry. They can go fuck themselves, though. It's enough of a pain for me to keep the generators running. There's enough food stockpiled down here to last me the rest of my life.
This place is filled with ghosts. It was made to house thousands, made to be maintained by hundreds. Now there's just me. There's an uneasy rattle working its way through the air filtration systems, the lights occasionally flicker, and I tried to change a water filter the other day and there was something alive down there in the pipes. It scuttled away, leaving behind a clutch of translucent eggs, each one the size of a pinhead. I've got them in a jar of waste water, waiting to see what they hatch into.
It's the furnishings that get to me. Room after room of neatly made beds, all the rows of tables stretching across the cafeteria. Rec rooms with ping pong tables, air hockey, cupboards full of chess sets and board games. All of them, gathering dust, lapsing into disrepair. There's an entire library of human knowledge moldering away. I'm walking in the ruins of a civilization. I see them, their decaying hand prints in the dust, the swathes of dirt left by their footsteps. They scratch messages into the wall: WHY ARE YOU ALIVE? I have no good answers.
Every day I spark up the radio system, broadcast on the frequency shared by the all other shelters, dialing it in, listening, listening, listening. Are you there, I say. Is anyone out there? And through the static the ghosts whisper and respond, in their awful unending silence. | The world had met its end. He'd watched it all on the news. How city after city went dark, all signs of life suddently grinding to a halt. No one in his town had known why, and when the call to get to the shelters had come he'd been the only one there.
The sounds had started mere minutes after the heavy blast doors had slid shut. At first the gentle sounds of the night outside had been replaced with a deafnening silence. Then, slithering into his perception were the sounds. Whispers, gentle scraping, the clanging of rock against steel from far, far away.
He'd be confused at first. Roaming the empty hallways of the gigantic shelter looking for the source. All he'd found was the realization that he was alone, and that the sounds seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
As minutes became hours, as hours became days, as days became weeks, they continued.
He tried ignoring them and found that he couldn't. Somehow they'd always find a way inside his head. He tried drowning them out with music and found that they were still there, slipping in and out of the song.
The sightings were sparse at first. Faint shadows that shouldn't be there, flickering lights in darkened rooms. It didn't take him long to realize that the whispers were stronger whenever they were nearby.
Slowly but surely he felt himself drawn to them, trying to make out what they were saying. But he couldn't. He wandered the halls just wanting to understand.
As weeks became months, as months became years, he felt himself slipping. The sounds did not, nor did the shadows.
One day, he pushed the cold barrel against his head, a single solitary shadow watching him from afar, and pulled the trigger. The whispers stopped and there was once again a deafening silence.
The ghosts of a dead world welcomed the last of their kind.
/Story
Hey! I hope you people have nothing against people getting inspired and writing on their own posts! So, enjoy my first [WP] inspired short story, critique is welcome. | 2016-07-13T02:41:03 | 2016-07-13T02:38:30 | 77 | 15 |
[WP] You have a compass that points to whatever will cause the most damage in the next 24 hours, anywhere in the world. Today, it's pointing directly at your grandmother, who is knitting a pair of socks. | Oh no. Gram Grams.
A cold sweat breaks out on your forehead as you contemplate the ramifications of your newly acquired problem hit you full force. Gram Grams is still as oblivious as ever, mindlessly knitting - it's socks today - while listening to her radio. You check the compass a second time but it is still pointed directly at her.
The last time you ignored the compass Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton became presidential nominees and you had sworn to never ignore it again. But you couldn't come right out and tell her: "Hey Gram Grams, I have this compass that says you're going to power-fuck the world today so stop knitting." All that would do is earn you a weird look and denial of any soda for the next day until she forgot.
You are not going to lose your soda God dammit. "Gram Grams, did you do anything fun today?" You decide to ease her into it. Gram Grams didn't seem to hear you so you ease closer to her, slowly, as if she might blow up at any moment and repeated your question. "Fun?.. Oh I talked to this gentleman on the phone today!" The way she scrunches up her face when she thinks is usually adorable. Today it is terrifying. "Who did you talk to Gram Grams? About what?"
"Oh about the Lizard people dear."
The what. "Some guy called you to talk about lizard people Gram Grams?"
"No but you know it's impolite to ask about private phone calls." She wags a finger at you and that's when you see it. The way her finger wags draws you to look at the socks she's knitting. Socks that are branded with the Illuminati symbol.
"Oh. My. God." | Grandma carefully knit a light blue pair of socks for my mothers expecting baby boy. She was careful yet passionate. Like she couldn't wait to finish.
"This has to be a mistake," I mumbled to myself.
"What was that dear?" Grandma asked.
"Oh nothing." I quickly reassured.
I begun to shake the compass hoping the dial would turn some other way. It didn't shove. It was set on my grandmother. I approached her gradually, shifting my feet closer to her.
"So umm Grandma... I have a situation." I begun to explain.
"What is it Cassie?" She asked.
"You might think me crazy but I have this compass that points to anything that causes the most damage in the next 24 hours. And you see... it's pointing to you." I said realizing how insane I sounded. My grandma's eyebrows were knit together as she pursed her lips and then let out a chuckle.
"Oh Cassie that's nonsense. How would me, an 86 year old women cause "the most damage"?" She asked knocking some logic into me.
"You're right i'm sorry grandma." I apologized laughing along with her.
"Now Cassie throw that stupid toy in the garbage." My jaw dropped suddenly.
"No I can't what if... what if I could save the world because of this." I begun to stutter.
"A yes the compass that pointed to me. Careful I might take half an hour to cross the street causing worker to be late for work." She continued to laugh. "It's ridiculous Cassie." My mind begun to play tug a war with her words and my thoughts.
I waltz to the garbage can and held the compass over it. It felt wrong, I knew it did but for some reason I did it. I trusted my grandmother so I disposed of it.
And once I did the world plummeted into chaos. I had been tricked, and now there was no way to tell what was going to cause the damage that ultimately led to the world's self destruction. | 2016-08-03T13:13:11 | 2016-08-03T10:22:17 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years about a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night you step into this cab.
I realize "night" might be a little too constricting so feel free to break the prompt and write about the day if your story requires it. | 'step inside,' he says.
he's got
such white teeth.
it's too dark to see
the rest, but
he's still the best thing
I've found all day.
*you're the night driver?* I ask
without moving my lips. he nods,
this shadow in the taxi, he nods,
and I climb into his car. there's
the scent of static in the air.
I'm trembling as I pay my fare - two coins -
but he says nothing. a gentleman. such a
rare find in times like these, but
from him I'd expect nothing less.
outside the window,
the city and the world
are sliding away.
his wheels are soundless as silk.
engraved on my seat
is the company motto:
**A C**^h **AR ON EVERY NIGHT**
(and we're flying forward so fast now
I just can't help but smile).
darkness fades as the view ahead
gives way to blinding light.
I whisper, *will you tell my ma*
*that I put up a fight?*
he grins. he nods. a gentleman -
his teeth so gleaming white. | Long have I heard about this cab. They said that it will take you to wherever you need to be, so that destiny will play its part. Ever since I was young, I was plagued with many disturbing visions that cause me unspeakable nightmare, it was so real that I couldn't know what was dream and what is real. Because of it, I could never live like a normal teenager. I was target of bullies no matter where I go. I was the weirdo that cant distinguish the difference between my dream and reality. So I say fuck it, let take the cab. It can take me to some organs seller for all that matter, just make these neverending nightmares end. As I enter the cab, the driver spoke:
"So you want to put an end to your misery right boy?"
"Anywhere but this hellish dream. Anywhere"
"Alright, you may want to sleep for the trip would be a long one"
My eyelids close and I sleep through the entire trip without experiencing anything, the soundest sleep I ever have. As I wake up, I see that the cab had stops in front of a big mansion, the driver said:
"Here we are, the fee had been paid by that gentleman, my job here is done. Now is your turn"
I get out of the car and walk toward the men in wheelchair. He was a old, bald man. Before I could ask who he is, he spoke:
"Welcome to Xavier School for the gifted, my name is Charlea Xavier." | 2016-08-29T02:09:21 | 2016-08-29T00:09:38 | 312 | 21 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | "Howdy," said Herod, clapping an arm around me, a shower of maggots falling from his side. "Mister special," Herod snarled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Mister number one, is that it."
"Oh, shut it," Jehoram snarled. "Just because you're mad at not being special anymore. I used to be the last one! Figured that was all in the past after Jesus started preaching love and forgiveness!" He reeled in his armful of intestines and clutched them to his chest. "Well, I was wrong! I got used to it, and you will too!" He slapped a bloody arm around me, pulling me close. "Pay no attention to Herod, he's just jealous, he is."
"I don't-" I stuttered. The damned were thronging around me, banners raised, confetti falling. "I - I know this is Hell." I turned around, taking in the slanted stone buildings that rose around me, twisting my perception into vertigo. "But - why'd God strike me down personally? I wasn't that bad! I - I wasn't!"
"Of course you weren't," Jehoram said kindly. "Look here, look here," and a troop of young boys rushed up to greet me, their bodies savaged with claw marks, barely two of them still in one piece. I tried not to vomit and tasted bile.
"So you're the new guy God killed, huh?" one of the kids piped up. His throat had been torn open and blood bubbled up with each word. "Boy, it sure has been a while."
"He's been slacking!" giggled another. "Ol' baldy!" said a thrid. The whole troop burst out into laughter.
"You know what they did?" Jehoram said. "They made fun of Elijah for being bald! That was it! Oh!" He pulled me towards the crowd. "Everyone say hi! Tell him what you did to make God strike you down!"
"I looked behind me," said a pile of salt. Part of its face crumbled away. "Sort of an overreaction, in my opinion."
"I jacked off, okay?" said Onan. "It wasn't worth it, trust me."
"I tried to catch the Ark while it was tipping over!" said Uzzah. "Like, what was I supposed to do, let it fall?"
Children, babies, some of them, were sprawled out on the streets of Hell, fussing and bawling in the crowd. "Egyptians," Jehoram confided. "Their sin was being firstborns.
"Here's the thing," he said. "You liberal generations have had it easy. Y'all think God striking someone down is some massive condemnation. When really, God is a violent asshole who'd kill someone for being born in the wrong place in the wrong time." He winked at me. "It's not that bad."
"But why me?" I said. "After all these millennia! Why would He kill me?"
"Oh, pfft!" Herod blurted out. "Mister number one and it's already going to your head! Look behind you, you idiot!"
I turned, and there were a million souls following in my footsteps, walking down the path to Hell, as numerous as a swarm of locusts. "It's the apocalypse!" Herod snapped. "So congrats, you were the first to go!" | For the first time in a long time, the work whistles blew in Hell. The demons stopped torturing, and instead went rushing over to Lucifer's side, by the entry gateway. They were unsure of why their master would mass summon them, but the older ones remember, last time this happened, God visited. This has to be important.
"Master, forgive this, please, but...why are we here? Is God coming again?" a demon general asked.
Lucifer turned towards him and glared. "Shush. God has killed a human, for the first time in an extremely long time. We are all to be prepared. This soul may be extremely powerful and dangerous." he replied, and then turned his attention back towards the gates. The hell train would be there soon with the latest shipment of souls.
Word spread fast and far, all throughout hell, the souls of the condemned also rushed over to see who this could possibly be. This wasn't normal, not in the least.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My day had started off pretty normal, I got up, shower, get dressed, brush teeth, and breakfast. When I got outside to get the morning paper, I noticed something: Two superheroes fighting. Odd, but this isn't unheard of. I can't help but stand on the walkway, watching. I've got the closest view of this fight, and I can feel the heat of it, the explosive force of fists hitting superflesh. It's amazing.
The heroes in question were Wonderman and Captain Planetman. Both powerful beyond words, both with holy powers. Truly this was the battle of the century. I began streaming to YouTube with my phone, the world had to see this!
But, then something unexpected happened. Wonderman called on the Shield Of The Just, a shield granted by God that will allow nobody behind it any harm, and Captain Planetman called on Final Judgement, which calls on God to strike down his opponents. A rarely ever used move.
Lightning comes from above, and strikes Wonderman's hand, forming the shield. And as the shield is forming, another bolt comes from above, striking Captain Planetman, who channels it through himself, aimed right at Wonderman. For the first time ever, Wonderman's shield begins to bend.
And then suddenly a flash of light, and darkness.
I woke to find myself on a subway train of some sort. Chained to the seat. I look around, and I see all sorts of people also chained up. But what's truly disturbing is, some have nooses around their necks, some have bullet wounds, one has tire tracks running across him, and so on.
Finally, the train comes to a stop, in front of some huge gates of sorts. Horrific creatures are removing the chains, and picking people up, and throwing them off the train, myself included.
I look up as the gates open, and countless people and monsters on the other side are watching, as a man in a red suit steps forward and helps me up.
"Wh--where am I? Who are you?" I weakly ask. This is the scariest nightmare I've ever had.
"Welcome to Hell, I'm Satan, and YOU have some explaining to do. Namely, what you could have possibly done to piss God off enough to strike you down. Not even Hitler managed that." he responded, and when he removed his hands from mine, heavy manacles were around my wrists.
"I don't know, I just...what?" I asked, confused.
"Oh, so it's gonna be like that, is it? Alright. Well, I've got special tortures for people like you, we'll break you, and you will tell me. Take him away, boys." Satan responded, and the monsters began dragging me inside by the chains.
I don't understand, oh God I don't know what happened! But they won't believe me! | 2016-10-14T07:39:31 | 2016-10-14T07:00:16 | 596 | 15 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | What's there to say, really? They all knew this one would be here sooner or later. Satan looked over at the generals, taking note the anticipation and voracity in their faces. He also noticed all the tusks; there were lots of tusks. The souls of the damned came in from just about everywhere around the world. They had amassed souls from Tokyo, Japan; Moscow, Russia; Austin, Texas, but no one in a *thousand* *years* from Hanna, Canada.
The demons were too insatiably ravenous to notice the quakes throughout the realm; Satan was too giddy to notice his sequential side-stepping caused them. There were some pretty big names from this era of malevolence. Due to his good mood, the big names actually got day-passes to come see this arrival with him. They were all seated directly behind the gates: Donald Trump, The Bushes, The Clintons, Vladimir Putin, Mark Zuckerburg, Bob Ross...the list went on.
It felt like eternity, awaiting this arrival. At their table, all the big names were having the same old pissing contests they had in life, only this time about how evil they were, compared to one another.
"Well, I'm more evil than all of you combined. I know it, you know it, everybody knows it. I am so evil because I had a plan. It was a plan and it was evil because I had an evil plan..." Donald Trump Prattled on. Everyone else was rolling their eyes. Tomi Lahren was even making jerk-off motions in mockery, which caught Bill Clinton's eye; Hillary noticed her husband's sudden attempts to get Tomi's attention and slapped him. Vladimir Putin chuckled quietly and Bob Ross just smiled, staring off into the beautiful hell-fire landscape.
It was almost Bob Ross' turn when the ceremony began. The demons proceeded to chant "Natus ex Malo" repeatedly. This went on as the ground above them opened, and a staircase made of rusty nails and hypodermic needles ascended from flame. This was an event in the making since November 15, 1974. That's when he noticed. Instead of the painful descent most make, the 6'1" silhouette levitated felicitously downward, not touching a step. Finally, his feet touched ground right in front of Satan.
"I heard the Big Guy Himself sent you here from the mortal plane," the Son of the Morning probed through a sharp grin. "Says here on my clipboard: Made yet another album. **NO** **REINCARNATION** **PROBATION** **UNDER** **ANY** **CIRCUMSTANCE**." He reared up to his full size, the screams of Judas, Brutus and Cassius resonated throughout the realm as his three heads each ground their teeth. "I just have one question for you, lost soul: Can I have your autograph?" He then produced an album and a special hell-proof sharpie from within his clawed hand.
The figure took both and began to write, and for that very moment, it was almost like Christmas had come early. Returning the items, the soul walked past Satan and into the gates like he was the prodigal son, returning home. Satan looked down at the album:
"*I* *should* *be* *the* *one* *asking* *for* *your* *autograph* :)
*-Chad* *Kroeger*" | For the first time in a long time, the work whistles blew in Hell. The demons stopped torturing, and instead went rushing over to Lucifer's side, by the entry gateway. They were unsure of why their master would mass summon them, but the older ones remember, last time this happened, God visited. This has to be important.
"Master, forgive this, please, but...why are we here? Is God coming again?" a demon general asked.
Lucifer turned towards him and glared. "Shush. God has killed a human, for the first time in an extremely long time. We are all to be prepared. This soul may be extremely powerful and dangerous." he replied, and then turned his attention back towards the gates. The hell train would be there soon with the latest shipment of souls.
Word spread fast and far, all throughout hell, the souls of the condemned also rushed over to see who this could possibly be. This wasn't normal, not in the least.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My day had started off pretty normal, I got up, shower, get dressed, brush teeth, and breakfast. When I got outside to get the morning paper, I noticed something: Two superheroes fighting. Odd, but this isn't unheard of. I can't help but stand on the walkway, watching. I've got the closest view of this fight, and I can feel the heat of it, the explosive force of fists hitting superflesh. It's amazing.
The heroes in question were Wonderman and Captain Planetman. Both powerful beyond words, both with holy powers. Truly this was the battle of the century. I began streaming to YouTube with my phone, the world had to see this!
But, then something unexpected happened. Wonderman called on the Shield Of The Just, a shield granted by God that will allow nobody behind it any harm, and Captain Planetman called on Final Judgement, which calls on God to strike down his opponents. A rarely ever used move.
Lightning comes from above, and strikes Wonderman's hand, forming the shield. And as the shield is forming, another bolt comes from above, striking Captain Planetman, who channels it through himself, aimed right at Wonderman. For the first time ever, Wonderman's shield begins to bend.
And then suddenly a flash of light, and darkness.
I woke to find myself on a subway train of some sort. Chained to the seat. I look around, and I see all sorts of people also chained up. But what's truly disturbing is, some have nooses around their necks, some have bullet wounds, one has tire tracks running across him, and so on.
Finally, the train comes to a stop, in front of some huge gates of sorts. Horrific creatures are removing the chains, and picking people up, and throwing them off the train, myself included.
I look up as the gates open, and countless people and monsters on the other side are watching, as a man in a red suit steps forward and helps me up.
"Wh--where am I? Who are you?" I weakly ask. This is the scariest nightmare I've ever had.
"Welcome to Hell, I'm Satan, and YOU have some explaining to do. Namely, what you could have possibly done to piss God off enough to strike you down. Not even Hitler managed that." he responded, and when he removed his hands from mine, heavy manacles were around my wrists.
"I don't know, I just...what?" I asked, confused.
"Oh, so it's gonna be like that, is it? Alright. Well, I've got special tortures for people like you, we'll break you, and you will tell me. Take him away, boys." Satan responded, and the monsters began dragging me inside by the chains.
I don't understand, oh God I don't know what happened! But they won't believe me! | 2016-10-14T08:35:55 | 2016-10-14T07:00:16 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] Your occupation sounds really stupid and outright ridiculous, so much so that any normal person would believe you made it up on the spot, but it's the only thing keeping the world from falling apart. | He brushes her hair off her forehead and he says, “It’s alright. Try again. You’ll make it, I know you will.”
And she does try, again, and again - until she lands the shot at last. The basketball drops down through the hoop and goes *kerthunkthunthunk* on the driveway, and her brother beams and applauds.
The man across the street watches through his kitchen window and thinks of his son, who he hasn’t spoken to in years. They used to play ball, too. Then, there was an argument - his own fault really - for trying to make the boy into another version of himself, with a suit and tie and law firm to match.
He wishes he could tell his son that he gets it now, and that he’s actually been to see his art in the galleries, and that he’s proud. But he thinks it’s too late, probably.
“Why don’t you call?” says his wife, behind him, “He’s your son. He’ll always love you. He’s just afraid of letting you down.”
She knows what he’s thinking. She always does.
So he calls, and his son picks up the phone, and they pretend not to cry - that it’s the lines that have gone crackly and made their voices waver. They agree to have dinner next week.
On the other end of the line, the son puts down his phone, and he thinks his chest feels bigger - or lighter, or warmer- than it did this morning. He turns to his wife, who’s just come home from the hospital.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” she says back, “Nothing’s changed.”
“But she’s not worse,” he says, “She’s still there. She’ll get better. She will.”
She nods and goes to get the lasagna she’s made, to take it out to her brother, who’s waiting in the car.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay over?” she asks, “Let me look after the kids for you at least.”
“Thanks,” he says, “But no - I’ll head back. It’s hard enough for them, as is, with their mother in the hospital. I want to keep everything else as normal as I can”
“It’ll be okay,” she says, “She’s a fighter, and so are you. I’m here for you.”
And he pulls out of the driveway, after another hug, and heads for the motorway - thinking, *yes, we're fighters, and we’ll make it through another day.*
A few miles later, he stops at a gas station, to top up the tank. The cashier behind the counter is a teen with all the badges of honor that come at that age - pimples and glasses and lanky hair. She’s crouched intently over a thick volume, pencil in hand, and there’s another stack of those books behind her, on a shelf.
“Hi,” he says, “Busy?”
“Oh,” she says, “Oh man - I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you come in! I’m just trying to in get as much SAT practice as I can. I’m taking them next week.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, “Don’t be nervous either. You’ll do great, I know it.”
“Thanks,” comes the reply, “Nobody in my family’s ever gone to college before.”
“Then you’ll be the first,” he says, “They’ll be proud.”
And the teen smiles so hard that her cheeks rise alarmingly high and threaten to topple her glasses off her nose.
When she finishes her shift, she takes the bus home. There’s a kid sitting at the back, looking a little lonely, a little scared.
“You okay?” she says.
“Yes,” he stammers, “W-w-well, I don’t know. I’m au-au-auditioning for a part in this year’s drama production, but when I get nervous I trip on my words. I didn’t make it last year.”
He looks down at his shoes and drags his sneakers on the floor, fingers twisting in the backpack straps that dangle by his side.
She brushes his hair off his forehead and she says, “It’s alright. Try again. You’ll make it, I know you will.”
And he does try, again, and again - until he lands a role at last.
I’m there, of course, as usual. It’s my job.
It sounds ridiculous, and almost stupid, when I talk about it - the fact I go around every day, completely invisible, whispering hopeful things in people’s ears. It makes me sound like someone from a weird Japanese commercial, almost. But it’s true.
I lean over shoulders, and very quietly, and sincerely, say things like, "Don't give up."
It's my job, to run around whispering hopeful things, because that’s who I am. I’m Hope. The world would fall apart without me; it has too much to bear. It did almost fall to pieces, once - and I had to hammer and hammer and hammer at that box to get her attention, so she could let me out and I could keep things together. We’re still friends, though, Pandora and I.
She thinks I do a great job. I think I do my best, just like everyone else.
Anyway, I’m just Hope. You guys do the real work.
And I think it’s amazing. You guys are doing great. You really are.
And even if you aren’t doing completely great, just right now, at this moment in time - you’ll be okay. You’ll be okay in the end. It’ll be better tomorrow.
It will. | "Have a great weekend, Mr. Hynson!" yelled Stacy as she ran off with her friends, a student at Earnhardt High School.
Jimmy Hynson grumbled a low, "Catch you later, kiddo," dipping his mop into the bucket of water before continuing his slow, methodical process of cleaning the entire school.
The school was where the new one would appear. That was the only reason he was disguised as a janitor at this awful place, to remove it quickly and effectively. If it were up to him, he wouldn't have bothered showing up to the "educational institution" of horny teenagers. Unfortunately his boss, Chief Michael Johansen, was a real stickler, so he had to follow protocol to the dot.
He checked his watch. 23 minutes and 51 seconds. "Enjoy the weekend my ass," he muttered.
Still, the title "janitor" was a lot better than his actual profession. He thought it was a self-explanatory title when he accepted the job, an occupation that had no humor involved. How very wrong he had been. Evidently, this was why nobody else had ever applied for the position before him.
He dipped his mop into the bucket again, wiping the floor underneath room 7. That was when he heard it. A low groan. A desk's legs screeching across the floor. The creek of a metallic chair. Unmistakable noises of two teenagers having unsafe, casual--.
"GOD DAMMIT!" shouted Jimmy, throwing his mop against wall and kicking the bucket of water. "I *abhor* my job!"
A pair of inquisitive eyes opened the door. "Um, excuse me Mr...." (the eyes glanced at his name tag "...Hynson? Why do you hate your job?"
A tiny boy with the biggest glasses he'd ever seen on a person (one lens was bigger than his entire hand) opened the door from which he'd heard the groan. His blond hair sleek and pushed back, his nose running from either the severe cold or the weight he had on it. His freckles made him the epitome of childishness. If Jimmy had to guess, the boy hadn't even hit puberty yet.
"Who are you and whatta hell are you doing here?" demanded Jimmy, looking behind him for a likely partner. None was present.
"If you must know," huffed the boy indignantly, "My name is Steven and I spilled acid on my arm. Just a little, but enough to sting."
The word "acid" was the only thing that penetrated Jimmy's attention span. "Acid? Whatta hell were you doing in there?"
Steven was looking increasingly irate. "I was verifying the solubility of various substances with hydrochloric acid. Make fun of me, if you must, but at least I'm not a jani--"
"You wish you had a job half as interesting as mine, kid," grumbled Jimmy, crossing the hall to pick up his mop and bucket. "When I'm not around freaks like you, I actually have some fun."
"How can you be a high school janitor and *not* be around high school students?" inquired Steven.
Before Jimmy could answer, a small explosion from room 7 made him remember what he was here for. *It's here a lot sooner than predicted!*
"What was that? My chemicals--" began Steven.
"To Hell with your chemicals!" shouted Jimmy over the noise. "Get out of here if you know what's good for--"
A second explosion. *This soon?!* thought Jimmy. *Way too dangerous for the kid to be around!*
"I'm gonna call the--"
"THEN GO CALL THEM!" yelled Jimmy, already taking off his shirt and bursting into the room. He had time, but barely. He had to set up his gadgets, and he only had so much time before the third and what would be the final explosion. Then the world would collapse into chaos.
"Calibrate the screen..." muttered Jimmy as he furiously scurried around the room, tossing equipment from his pants everywhere haphazardly. "Select the type of black hole... Input the elevation..."
He could see the black hole forming already. He had just fifteen seconds to do his job, or this time-space was doomed. His fingers got stuck in a tangle of wires before he could press the "initiate" button.
10 seconds.
*Shit.* He tried pulling his hand out of it. No such luck.
3 seconds.
2 seconds.
1 second. Jimmy closed his eyes. So this was it. The end of the road. The end of being a black--.
He heard the unmistakable noise of the initiate button being pressed. But how? He opened his eyes and beheld the nerdy punk he'd been talking to just a while ago. What was his name again?
"Steve, what are you doing--?!" began Jimmy yet again.
"If you ask me that one more time, I will... Um..." he said, clearly struggling to think of an ideal threat. "Anyway, my name is Steven. And you're the one who owes me an explanation. You're not a janitor, are you?"
The entitled kid thought he was so special. But Jimmy guessed he owed him one. Or a billion. "Well, my name *is* Jimmy Hynson. But no, I'm not just a janitor. I'm a..." Jimmy sighed, rubbing his face with a towel.
"A what?"
"A hole cleaner."
Jimmy knew it. Maniacal laughter. He clenched his fist. "What-What kind of job is that?! That sounds so stu-stu--" Steven was clutching his belly.
"I *would* be a black hole cleaner" (more laughter) "but people would think my boss was being racist."
Steven wiped took off his glasses to wipe his tears, taking him somewhat seriously. "But I guess your job is kind of important, huh? Are you from the future or something?"
"That's classified, kiddo," said Jimmy, beginning to clean up his equipment. "But try to tell anybody what happened here and you'll end up in an asylum."
"Very well, Hole Cleaner Hynson." | 2016-11-18T16:19:24 | 2016-11-18T15:06:19 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I sat back in my chair after another victory. The hero was being taken away by paramedics, unconscious but not hurt too bad (I hope!) They must have been used to this, it being almost a year since the challenges had started. "I must have beaten every super hero in the country by now!", I exclaimed excitedly.
People were all around me like usual after another win. All with big smiles on their faces congratulating me on my latest victory.
"Great job, Joey!, you beat another super hero without breaking a sweat!", my friend shouted. "I'm putting this on your YouTube channel tomorrow so make sure to watch it!", she said as she got closer to my victory seat.
"You bet I will!", I said, a little breathless.
This challenge had been extra special because it was my birthday. I was finally ten, something I'd heard my dad saying on the phone that was a big deal so I knew it had to be important.
The media had stopped coming after the first few but there was still the random onlooker with their phone out recording.
I felt very tired. I'd been getting more and more tired lately. Almost like I wasn't going to be able to keep waking up from this wonderful dream of a life I was in.
"How much longer can this go on?"
I heard a man ask another man, both I recognized from the building I lived in.
"I don't know, as long as his strength keeps up I guess."
I wondered why they sounded so sad. Surely they don't think I'll ever lose my fight!? You'd think people that worked for a place called 'make a wish foundation' would be a little more happy. Maybe I could share cake with them later.
As the nurse wheeled me back into the hospital and the cheers from the audience rang through my ears, I knew chemo wouldn't be so bad today. Maybe I would even be able to eat a little cake later and my mom would smile at me like she used to. | I felt a rush of endorphins as hero number 337 fell by my side, defeated and in agonizing pain. He was visibly aching, tightly clutching his now broken ribcage and my boot was atop his neck.
"You guys are making this *too* easy," I said as I removed my foot from the hero and helped him back up to his feet. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
He looked at me through his torn eye mask and found a moment's reprieve from the pain to respond. "You have something we want."
"Yeah, yeah- I know. Number 336 said the *same* thing."
"Then why are you-" he stopped to cough up some blood before continuing. "Making this so difficult?"
"Look, I'm only gonna say this *one* more time, so listen closely."
I stopped to make sure the hero was paying attention.
"You might wanna take notes, since this seems like a hard message to understand."
He blinked, then nodded, as if yielding to the victor.
"You. *Ain't.* EVER. Getting my tree fiddy."
"But-" I cut Captain Sprinkles off as I grabbed his forearm and pinned him to the ground, one snap away from a clean break. His grunts of pain reflected my actions, and only tempted me more to snap his arm off.
"Do you understand? Are we on the same page now?"
"Yes! Let me go!"
"What did I say? Repeat it."
"We aren't-"
I added more force as I slowly pulled his arm back.
"*Ain't ever*," I corrected him atop his screaming for mercy.
"Ain't *ever*," he repeated, "getting your tree fiddy."
"Good." I dropped his arm as it made a meaty slap against the hard pavement. "Now get out of my face."
"You'll regret this, Average Joe!" Captain Sprinkles made an effort to fly away, but was so weak he hit a lightpost on the upward flight. The audible "ding" coupled with the indentation of a chiseled face and curly-q hairstyle is still fresh in my memory.
Instead, the Captain took the bus back home. Leaning out the window, he yelled : "Wait until the Comission hears about this!"
Pfff. What are they gonna do- send number 339?
| 2016-11-19T18:35:18 | 2016-11-19T16:56:25 | 970 | 15 |
[WP]Everyone has known the secret to immortality for quite some time, yet because of what you have to do to achieve it, so far nobody has felt as though it was worth it. | "Goose shit."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. And it has to be *fresh.*"
"That is fucking *disgusting.* But on the other hand: *Immortality.* Couldn't you get used to it after a while? Like kale or whatever?"
"You'd think that, right? But people have tried. There was one guy, Fernando Feliz. He made it through something like two hundred years. There's a whole biopic. Dude said it got worse every time. The anticipation was like a seasoning. Satanic MSG. Finally there comes a day where he just can't do it. Can't swallow the shit. The *literal* shit, I mean. Dude died weeping with a glass of bird crap in his hand."
"What the fuck."
"Yeah."
"How much of it do you have to drink?"
"Twelve ounces. Every day."
"Fuuuuuck. And you said fresh?"
"Fresh from the goose's ass."
"You'd need a whole flock."
"Oh yeah. Feliz had a few."
"Could you like... mix it with something? Orange juice?"
"First of all: That's disgusting. And second: No. Only works in its pure state."
"Foul."
"Extremely."
"...I couldn't do it."
"No one can, man. That's the thing. That's why there aren't immortals clogging up the works."
"*Goose shit.*"
"Yeah."
"Fuck." | "Children, there is a way to gain a power that many of you desire." The old lady inched in, "Immortality is possible. There is no cost to immortality, or process." The elderly woman grinned, her wrinkles spreading on her face.
"Why isn't everyone immortal then?" A young child popped his head out and yelled. The old lady propped herself on her wooden chair, and sighed.
"You lose the one thing you can never earn back. Humanity." She grasped an old book to her right, and skimmed through the worn out pages. Dust filled the air, the children anticipating the story to be told.
The elderly woman began to read, "Once upon a time, many sought the power of immortality. To never die was seemingly the greatest choice of all." She coughed, and gripped the cane tightly, "The adventurer obtained his wish, and kept immortality to his isolated home, away from others."
"Why would he?" A young child interrupted rudely, his obnoxious little, stout face raising above the other children.
"He was quite selfish. Immortality was a power to him, to never die! Truly something to behold, but as time went on... the man's insanity grew, and he attempted to... commit suicide several times to no avail."
The children piped down, and began to get scared.
"Settle down children, there is a lesson to be told." She smirked, "I ask you do not obtain immortality. I am a woman at a dying age, and I will let my body disintegrate to retain being who I am. That is the one cost of immortality." And she closed her eyes, and smirked. The eternal sleep has paid its visit. | 2017-01-04T16:07:13 | 2017-01-04T15:52:14 | 127 | 14 |
[WP] [EU] Tom Brady in the Marvel Universe has won five Superbowls. The jeweler responsible for his rings unwittingly used Infinity Stones instead of regular gem stones. | No one knew what would happen when Tom Brady gained the staggering power of the Infinity Gems. For awhile, it seemed like nothing had changed. The cosmos functioned as it always had.
Then, with lethal precision and efficiency, Brady struck.
For a time, everyone ignored it. Brady first concentrated on those considered threats to the ongoing safety of the universe: Thanos, Galactus, Loki, Nick Saban, and many others considered villains were the first to fall.
But once he eliminated them, he turned his attentions to the heroes. Brady decimated many of the heroes with the same vigor he used on the villains. Brady stood unchallenged.
Save for a small group gathered in a heavily protected pocket of New York City.
"Are you sure we're safe here?" Iron Fist asked.
"Damn well better be," Steve Spurrier took a sip from his Coors, then responded. "Between Doctor Strange's magic, Mr. Fantastic's science, and whatever the hell that dark shit Lane does. Always wondered how he kept getting jobs."
Lane Kiffin nodded from the corner, where he sat very close to a visibly uncomfortable Kitty Pryde.
Mr. Fantastic stood. All chatter in the room ceased. "I am going to make this short and to the point. We are running out of time, and we have few options. Stephen, do you want to talk about them?"
"Thank you, Reed," Doctor Strange said. "We are all in agreement that Brady must be stopped, but most of the options we have would probably be worse than Brady."
"What are they?" Storm asked.
"There are several beings even Brady had a hard time destroying. He chose to banish them, as opposed to killing them outright. But I have to warn you, these are not the kind of entities we want unleashed on the world."
"What kind of options are we looking at?" this question came from the Silver Surfer.
"Dormammu, Annihilus, Dark Phoenix, Korvac, a few others," Strange replied. "The best case scenario among any of these entities is that they would be the same danger to the cosmos as Brady."
"What if we just threw everything we had at him really fast?" Gus Malzahn asked.
"Dammit, Gus!" Spurrier yelled. "He can control time. Your gimic ain't gonna work on his ass!"
"Worked on you in 2010," Malzahn replied with a slight grin.
"What about the Chaos Entity?" She Hulk asked.
"No," Mr. Fantastic replied. "We're not freeing Les Miles."
"Then we're out of options," Hawkeye said glumly.
"That's not completely true," Mr. Fantastic replied. "There's one more, but it's not a good one."
"What is it?" Iron Fist asked.
Strange and Mr. Fantastic looked at each other. Their faces were grim, knowing the darkness they were about to unleash. Slowly, Strange nodded.
"When Brady first rose to power," Mr. Fantastic said, "he banished the one who created him, the one entity who could stop him."
All eyes in the room lit up with fear. They recognized the darkness being invoked.
"Now wait one damn minute, Richards," Spurrier said.
"How can we unleash such darkness?" Storm asked.
"It could be the only way," Kiffin remarked.
"Coach Kiffin is right," Strange said, "for once in his life, at least."
"We have no choice," Mr. Fantastic remarked.
Slowly, everyone in the room began to nod. After a moment, Strange spoke again.
"Then it's agreed. We must unleash The Belichick." | Tom Brady slipped the fifth ring onto his hand. Suddenly, he could perceive everything.
He knew what happened to Amelia Earheart. He knew the answers to the P vs NP problem, and the Riemann hypothesis. He knew how to make faster than light travel possible.
He looked around the room in wonder. His record-breaking fifth Super Bowl win seemed insignificant. He looked down at the trophy sitting at the table in front of him. He reached out with one hand and crushed it.
Then he got up, smashed through the wall nearest him, and walked out of the building, not caring what the onlookers thought.
"This is amazing." he thought "I can do anything."
He walked into a nearby convenience store. Right up to the counter. He looked at the lottery tickets. "Give me 6 of the '$500 Frenzy' scratch offs." He told the clerk, as he slammed a ten dollar bill on the counter.
He took his change and the tickets, throwing away the first five, but keeping the sixth. He scratched the silver coating with his fingernail. "Yes! Ten dollars, it's a winner!" He announced.
Collecting his winnings, he left, and walked into a nearby grocery store. "Hmm, there's something I've always wanted to do." He thought. Giggling to himself, he ran to the aisle that kept the peanut butter, and opened every jar. He ran out of the store while the manager was yelling something about calling the cops.
"Hmm, what else should I do? I know!" He jumped up in the air, and flew to Bill Belichick's house. He rang the doorbell, and flew off. "Hee hee, he'll never know it was me!"
Suddenly Brady was slammed into the ground. He looked up, and the Silver Surfer was standing over him. "You think you can take me?" Said Brady, fury showing in his eyes, "I just won the Super Bowl."
"If you fight as well as you tackle, this should be over quickly." Responded the Silver Surfer.
Tom Brady threw the first punch, and the Silver Surfer went flying away in a tumble.
Brady went down again, this time by a blow from Thor's Hammer.
"I'll see you vanquished, fiend!" called out Thor.
Iron Man landed nearby, followed shortly thereafter by Captain America, the Hulk, the Fantastic Four, and Spiderman.
"Wait, why am I a fiend?" said Tom Brady. "Maybe you guys haven't heard of me, I'm Tom Brady. I just won the Super Bowl?"
"Oh shit, Tom Brady!" said Spiderman. "I'm a huge fan, will you sign my hat?" He pulled out a red baseball cap and a black sharpie.
"Uh, sure I guess." Said Brady.
"No time for this!" yelled the Hulk, as he ran at Tom Brady. Brady picked up the Hulk, and threw him into a nearby building. The Hulk stood up from the rubble, appearing slightly more deflated than before.
Tom Brady ripped out Iron Man's power pack, kicked Captain America into Thor, tied up the Fantastic Four into a bundle using Mr. Fantastic, and stabbed Spiderman in the eye with a sharpie marker.
Suddenly Squirrel Girl ran up, panting. "Get him!" She shouted. In a flash, Tom Brady was surrounded by squirrels, who chewed off his fingers, eliminating his ability to use the Infinity Gems. He collapsed, crying. His shenanigans and career were over.
The squirrels dispersed, hiding the rings as they went. "Bye, Tom!" called Squirrel Girl as she walked away. Mumbling to herself, she said "What does *deus ex machina* mean, anyway?" | 2017-02-06T08:34:10 | 2017-02-06T08:33:45 | 408 | 136 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | The first ten or twenty minutes are the hardest. I've been through it four...no five times and I don't get used to it. Stop looking at me like that! I know you think I'm a sick old man and the meds are making me delusional. Whether you believe me or not we're going to be parting soon. You'll go on and I'll reset. So...what was I saying? Oh yes. The first 10 minutes. The first minute or so is like cutting a tomato with a brand new knife. I don't realize how dull my old knife was until I get a new one. It cuts right through, no effort at all. When I suddenly wake up in a child's brain I just spend the first minute amazed at what I can remember! How fast I can remember it! The memories are so clear and crisp. For perhaps half of the second minute I can't get over my joints and bones. I haven't bent my knee without it making that cracking sound in....goddamn 40 years. Soon it will be brand new again. The mind is a powerful thing. It adapts quickly to this new state of things. In that third minute I'll hear my mother's voice for the first time in 30 years. Not her voice cracked by age. Her young voice like a bell. She'll be calling me down for breakfast and I'll be sitting at the edge of my bed in the distant past wondering how I'm going to keep myself from sobbing uncontrollably as I see my whole family together in the same room again. That's how I'll spend the the last seven of the first 10 minutes. Just trying to keep it together. Trying to make my new muscles move to get down those stairs. I don't think there's a name I could give the feeling that you would understand.
The second 10 minutes I'll think of you and our boys and how I'm never going to see them again. I could find you again, sure. You're a little older than me after all. I'll know where to go and where to look for you and what to say and when. But our boys, well, what I've learned is that it just doesn't work that way. Flip a coin in one life and it's heads, flip it again in the next and it's tails. Having kids is like flipping a million coins at once. It always turns out different.
I'll think on that and my Father will ask me why I'm so quiet this morning. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to answer that.
After a long silence she smiled and said "I know you will."
(edit: removed "1982." Didn't jibe with the description of the narrator.) | Life is my game. Is there a way to win? Maybe, but hell if I know what it is. I can remember what I was thinking when I first died. My first life was such an awful run, I've topped it almost every life after, unless I count the runs I've just done for fun.
I was an artist, not very experienced, only about 60 years of painting and drawing under my belt. It was a quick death, a truck veered into my lane when going the opposite direction, killed me instantly. I barely had enough time to register what was happening before I died.
I was a man of faith in that life, so when I looked down a few moments later and saw myself in the body of a 5 year old kid, heading off to my first day of school, I was confused. I didn't particularly like school, I never made many friends and didn't have that many happy memories from it. Why was Heaven school?
Then, I thought maybe I got sent to Hell.
Whatever happened, I figured out quick enough that I was technically immortal. Well, quick by my standards, it took about 5 or 6 lifetimes. I figured out that no matter how or when I died, I'd always reawaken on that first day of school, right before my mom said to have a great day.
Over my lifetimes, I've been many things. I was a doctor, and engineer, an astronaut, a filmmaker, a programmer, a writer, a physicist, an entrepreneur and thousands of other professions and lifestyles. Life gets easy once you've played a couple hundred times. Schoolwork is so easy it's boring, even once I get to high school and college. After a few thousand lives, I can even remember a lot of the questions that the teachers will ask me.
Money is never an issue either, I figured this out real early. At first, it was like what everyone had dreamed they would do if they went into the past. I remembered some lottery numbers, won a few million, then a few billion, but that never lasted. Then, I learned what businesses would grow, made a few well placed investments, and started making my fortunes that way.
I remember to still have fun, of course. Every couple of lives, or just whenever I feel like it, I'll try out a profession or life that is a little different than normal. Bank robbery, travelling nomad, once I even ran off the grid, with no social security number.
I'm getting bored though. Slowly, yes, but surely. Seeing the same Earth passing by every 100 years or so is getting stale, but there's really no way out. I've tried to end it myself, but every time, I wake up as a 5 year old kid, ready for school. I guess there's no other option than to just think of a new life to live while I sit here, doing menial mathematics and waiting for something new. | 2017-05-25T13:17:28 | 2017-05-25T12:49:34 | 1,273 | 60 |
[WP] You've been cursed. Every lie you tell bends reality to become the truth. At first this didn't seem like a curse at all, but now you've made a grave mistake. | "His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy," I spat. The crowd seemed into it. Even the skeptics were bobbing along. The only one who didn't enjoy it was my opponent, who looked ready to drop his mic and fall over.
"There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti," I continued. He puked a river of red starch all over his sweater and hunched over, resting his arms on his knees.
"He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready." His shaking stopped as he stood upright, took a few deep breaths, and slapped his face.
"To drop BOMBs-" I was cut off by a deafening explosion as a shockwave rippled out from where my opponent used to be, blowing me off my feet and sending the crowd into a frenzy. Hairline cracks appeared along the back wall and the roof began to crumble. Windows shattered. People stampeded for the door, trampling those unlucky enough to get caught under the bulk of the crowd.
That was the day I received the power of the Rap God. | It was a curse I was born with. Unlucky as I was, I rather thought it to be a gift, a blessing. I could lie my way out of anything and I would still be alright. It was infallible, since reality changed with my words. I cured my smoking and drug addictions with my assertion. Literally everything and anything could be bent by me.
But no. I finally saw why the medium said it was the worst of all curses. Because a single slip-up meant grave consequences.
All those who had been cursed were often failures, people with the lowest self-esteem of all. The evils of the city often targeted the cursed as additions to their forces. But when they came for me, I wasn't going with them. I had a life to lead, and a gift to utilize. I rejected their request.
Then they smiled. The leader came up to me, and, smiling, held a blade to my neck. "Will you join us?" he snarled, the blade drawing blood from the tight grasp. I saw my life flashing before me, all the experiences so dear to me. A tear slipped down my cheek as my answer was forced out.
"Yes."
And with that, even as a lie, it became true.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-14T08:26:45 | 2017-07-14T05:09:16 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] The stronger your opponent is, the easier you defeat him. Sick and tired of seeing elite assassins and battle-hardened units fall, your worst enemy sends his six year old son after you. | A knock.
I sighed, and cursed my younger self again. Dad had said, "go to law school, Mark," but no, I just *had* to show off my powers, *had* to use them. See, I could just use my enemy's ability against her. Tanks, guns, assassins, jets, governments - the stronger they were, the easier they fell. So one one thing led to another and I became the chief warlord of Earth.
It was an accident, I swear.
But after years and years of seeing your friends die, your wife turn against you, your dreams turn into nightmares - power loses its appeal. And so I'd left it all behind, stolen away in the night, my HQ abandoned, and had come to this small farm. I took care of animals, played with my dog and soaked the sun. It was a good life.
Well, it *had* been.
I gathered my power around me as I walked to the door. Who could it be? If it was some government assassin or insurrectionist I could take care of them. A specials ops team would be annoying, their gas would probably make the soil infertile. If it was Lisa...
No. It wouldn't be Lisa.
I took a deep breath, my power ready and opened the door to find - no one.
Huh.
Was it a sniper? That wouldn't really pose any threat to me, so I walked out of the door, trying to look around - and almost bowled him over.
It was a kid. Short, couldn't be older than six or seven. He had blond hair that covered his eyes, and was wearing a button down shirt and pants. He looked up at me through his hair, his eyes a startling blue.
"Mr. Lawrence?" he said.
"Y...yeah," I said, "sorry for bumping into you." *And what the hell are you doing here?*
"No problem at all," he said, and then, as if reading my mind, he continued, "I'm here to, uh..." he looked away from me and started wringing his hands.
For the first time, he sounded like an actual kid instead of a businessman. "To what?" I said, "you can say it."
"...To kill you," he squeezed out, and looked at his feet.
*You and what army, kid* "I...I see," I said.
The boy nodded solemnly.
I could just kill him of course. I had no need to use my power, a gun would suffice. But killing a kid...I had never been that far gone even at my worst, and I certainly wouldn't do that now.
The silence seemed to stretch until it seemed almost oppressive. I sighed. "Well," I said, "if you're going to kill me, you might as well eat something first right?"
The boy smiled, a smile that could brighten anyone's day. "Oh," he said and slapped his little hand against his forehead as if remembering something, "I'm James by the way, James Gladwell."
And the world crashed down around me.
I just stood there gaping at the boy, James for I don't know how long. I snapped out of it when the boy tugged at fingers, a frown creasing his face. "Are you okay, Mr Lawrence?"
How had I not seen it before? Only she would've taught him to speak like that, and he had her eyes, and he had my jawline. I could kill anyone but Lisa herself, and for her I would rip my own heart out. But Lisa hadn't come herself, she'd sworn she'd never see me again, but she'd done the next best thing.
Wondering if I was walking into a trap but having no choice about it, I led my son into my house.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| The most battle-hardened of us have a weakness. It's a lesson that has stood the test of time, a lesson I learnt for life. For years, it was something I capitalized on, something I loved to use against my foes. It was the tool that even the weakest could utilize, for when one is weak and inexperienced, one still possesses the ability to destroy even a samurai. The weakness is often so well-concealed...it doesn't seem like a weakness. Instead, it is one that the opponent resents as a strength. The guild taught me that even the best of us can fall to the worst, for the ball is always round. Anyone can fail because of circumstances, because their Achilles Foot was targeted. As I grew in strength amd skill, the idea was more prevalent, more challenging. I feared not what I faced and saw, but the hidden shadows and puppeteers I didn't. What was a fight, if there was no opponent? Fear itself was daunting enough, *fearful* enough to be a worthy opponent.
But even so, the masterful knew that fear alone, though a force not to be trifled with, could not take down the mighty. Instead, the most deadly of strikes came from those you never thought would strike. There lay the true danger people feared.
And now, I knew its pain. The pain I had used and capitalized on to get to the very top of the warrior chain. A new opponent, trained in the arts I was fluent in, was challenging me. I could still see myself, my younger spirit, in the hot headed and impetuous youngster. Still he trusted in the power of those who seemed powerful. The strongest of foes dispelled by doubt and fear, by the weakest of words and punches. Assassins, tanks, squadrons; They all went back, even their own minds crying for mercy. It was *so* easy, to destroy someone mentally till' even their own body refused to continue on. But I always made sure I was never susceptible to the poison I wielded. That would be dumb, to let the ruse I employed fool my own self. I spent extensive amounts of time making sure my time-hardened strategies had a homemade antidote. It would not be by my hand that I fell.
But it was by my mind, eventually, that I was betrayed.
I saw him. For the first time in so long, the gash in my heart reopened, gushing heartbreak and love into a pitless well. I'd poured years of love and yearning into him, calling him to come back. It was my own fault, my own flippancy, that his demise was brought about. Death came to all, but my desire to become what I was today forsook everything else. I remembered the family was the first to go. I'd been so careless, so uncaring, so *thoughtless* when I first made the decision. It was hard to believe, though true, that it wasn't because I didn't care. I was pretending. Pretending I didn't care that my only son, my own kin, was suffering. Right before me, I saw my son in this child, a child I knew was an enemy, yet too little to understand his importance. I caressed his hair, like I'd done so eons before. He smiled, as my son always did. The smile on my son's face only vanished when my love for him did, when I left him for the Reaper's scythe as I left for the brighter future. But was it really brighter? For brightness, there must be light. There must be glory. But what glory was there in my actions?
I was done. No more would I hold a position that I hated, that I detested. It was a living memory of my life's biggest failure. A failure of love and affection. Ironically, is was the very thing that landed me in my spot that took my fame away. But fame was beside the point in my fracture sanity, in my clouded mind. *I had to find my son again.*
The gun was raised, as the child looked on innocently. Tears streamed down as I repeated the thought again. *I had to see him again...*
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-08-11T22:11:34 | 2017-08-11T21:55:35 | 2,415 | 195 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | I keep questioning why I took this job because I'm going crazy. Is the money really worth it? Does the phone even work? How did I even get to this position?
Suddenly the phone goes off.
"H-hello?" I tentatively answer.
"Uh is this the Krusty Krabs?"
"No this is Patrick," I said and hung up. | Office of police oversight, you say?
Yes. That's right.
And you're sure about all this; one million, guaranteed, no background check, free pizza?
Yes. All of it.
And what if it *does* ring?
Well, that will never happen because we won't be publishing this number anywhere.
Then why bother even paying me?
Because it's the law. We have to have an oversight committee.
Ah, and you're sure everybody is cool with this?
Yup.
Well...alright. Let's do it! But, just for my sake, what should I do if it ever rings?
Run
| 2017-12-16T23:39:18 | 2017-12-16T23:22:44 | 173 | 117 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | Dave never expected it to ring.
He thought it was all a joke at first, but how wrong he was.
It almost gave him a heart attack when it rang.
He picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
The silence felt like an eternity.
“Hello~?”
He nearly hang up just before they spoke.
“Is this Dave Smith?”
“Yes.”
In the background he heard someone writing something down, as if they were taking notes.
“I am Aven Gretto, director of [REDACTED].”
He felt a bit confused.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED].”
He heard a giggle in the background, but ignored it.
“What? My hearing must be going bad.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED], okay?”
He heard someone laugh quite heartily.
“This isn’t funny, I have to get back to work” he threatened.
[Voice cracking] “IS yOuR reFriDEratOr RunNinG????”
He heard at least 3 children clearly crying with laughter, then he hung up.
He was later informed he got the wrong number and went on to be a multi-millionaire.
| Damn, it's hot in here. How'd I even get myself in this situation?
I guess most of the days in which I found myself sitting in that white plastic chair were much the same. A bit of thumb-twiddling and whistling favorite tunes helped out a bit, but lord was that job *slow*. But, y'know, who wouldn't sit their ass in a spot all day, every day, three-hundred-sixty-five times for a sweet million? Sure, it was boring work, if it could be called that - at the end of the day though, who cares?
Even so, those long, drawn-out days have a way of wearing down a man. Most of those tired days, I spent a whole lot of time slouched in that chair, thinking about my days with the Company. When I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, I was wandering my daydreams about the future where I'd actually get to spend that cash. Those daydreams had a way of passing the time. At some point, my eyelids got the better of me.
I drifted off into the dream land of plush leather chairs and Lamborghinis, and a ring-a-ding-ding nipped at the edge of my consciousness. The void called stronger.
That day, yesterday, made five years. Coincidentally, it was also my last day of work for the Company.
It's a shame that they take being fired so literally. | 2017-12-16T21:55:00 | 2017-12-16T21:53:13 | 65 | 31 |
[WP] Guns were never invented. Instead, swords and blades became increasingly complex and powerful | D-Day. Millions of Allied soldiers charge the beaches at Normandy, their swords glowing and shooting smaller swords from their tips at the bunkers, wherein German troops reflected laser light off of their swords back at the oncoming ships to burn the oncoming Allies. As they hit beach, soldiers tossed handheld, sword-shaped grenades into the bunkers, which exploded into a shattering of hundreds of tiny swords flying in all directions.
Winston Churchill led the charge, riding across the surf on his rocket-powered, surfboard-shaped Sword, dubbed the S.S. Sword.
Reporters in the rear of the envoy broadcasted updates beamed over the radio, which was emitted through sword-shaped antennas, by speaking into little swords shaped like microphones. All across Europe, young children huddled close to their swords to listen.
Hitler, a powerful sword crafted to look like a man, watched the scene through a sword shaped crystal from his sword shaped house. He was strapped for resources, because 90% of his men were busy slaughtering innocents one at a time by sword in concentration camps. He knew if he could just hold on a few more months, his scientists were close to developing a nuclear sword. Otherwise, he knew he may have to resort to committing seppuku. | They gathered on the steps of the Florida State Capitol. Thousands of them, some from Parkland itself, but also hundreds of supporters from out-of-state, believers in the cause who were ready to protest. Joshua Bergin, a Parkland survivor, was the first to the microphone.
"Thank you for all being here," he told the crowd, to tremendous applause. "Many of us students walked out of school today, but 17 other children did not. This is not a mental health issue. This is a pointy-things issue." He emphasized each syllable of the last sentence, captivating the crowd with his rhetoric.
"Time and time again, the National Pointy-things Association has covered up the truly dangerous scope of assault swords, deflecting the issue to increasingly more reactionary topics. Well, this is enough! We need to make a stand. With bump handles, electricity packs, and acid coatings, it becomes ever easier to slaughter other human beings. This needs to end". The crowd clapped ferociously.
"I am calling on the Florida State Legislature," Joshua announced, staring up the steps of the Capitol, "to come to their senses and institute some semblance of pointy-things control. We one again need a *well-regulated militia* of swordsmen, not this abysmal abomination!" Thunderous cheers from the people.
Joshua Bergin climbed down from the podium, hoping he had honored his friends. Though there was little chance of any real reform due to the extensive lobbying of the National Pointy-Things Association and ingrained pointy-thing culture of America, perhaps they were finally moving in the right direction. | 2018-03-07T07:37:05 | 2018-03-07T07:19:44 | 109 | 12 |
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father." | "Wombats," I say.
The... thing I thought was human pauses.
"Wombats? What is Wombats? A mighty weapon of some sort?"
"Yes", I reply, "They're an Earth animal - capable of terrible, terrible violence. We don't even control most of them, just a select few."
"You think a few non-sapient animals defend the whole planet?"
"Oh yes, they're a fearsome foe. Claws that can disembowel you or carve through a ships hull. Muscles to give them speed or power."
I pause, "And they shit cubes."
It didn't even blink at that. For some reason they never did. Maybe toilet humor was unique to humans, or something.
"But like I said, most Wombats are wild and wouldn't even notice if you took over the planet. But the few... that valiant few... that we *do* control..."
I looked it right in the eye, "Beware the Combat Wombat..."
| I freeze. *Stranger*...
"uh, well then it's very complicated, but let's grab a sandwich, and we'll sit down and talk about it, ok?"
The knives in the kitchen drawer are rattling as I scamble for the spare radio I keep in there... the little freak is standing by the door... my son... no, he's a freak. what is he, a 4, 5 in Stranger?
I manage to flick the switch on the radio, turning it on as I pull out a knife, a butter knife I sharpened in case a freak ever followed me home... "a-alright son, now do you want a peanut butter sandwich? I could make it here on the *console*...
it's not impressed.
"no, I want to know about Earth's defenses!" it's taken a step forward, another and it'll see the radio... I step forward to block it's view...
"A-Alright Son, now, let's go sit in the living room, so we can discuss how earth's defenses couldn't be more err... strange" fuck I hope they got that...
My hand shaking for some reason, I go sit down to tell my lovely little boy everything he wants to know!
this has been your shitty fanfic attempt, courtesy of /r/Parahumans | 2018-05-14T01:35:49 | 2018-05-13T23:45:15 | 48 | 16 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | This prison is all I've ever known. The world knows your luck rating as soon as your born. I entered the world, my luck rating was seen, and I was taken away from my parents. They must have had low-luck ratings. Most 100s have low-luck parents. I was brought to this maximum security prison only hours after I was born.
It didn't always feel like a prison. I was nursed by volunteer mothers who could still produce breast milk. There were other infants that I played with and grew up with. As we got older, there was less and less play time and more solitary time to ourselves. Once we were old enough, we got a cell that became our new home. For, well, forever.
Every inmate wore an ankle cuff. Scientists figured out a way to "turn off" our luck, so to speak. And once it's on and our luck is gone, there's no way to get it off. They are made of the strongest metals on earth. Nothing will break these.
Except a solar flare. Of course, I didn't know that's what happened until years later and I still don't have an explanation as to why.
It was 4 am. I couldn't sleep so I was listening to the rumble of snores around the prison. Then everyone in the prison simultaneously beeped.
The sound was so soft that, if it occurred during the day, no one would've heard it. But in that 4 am silence, I was the loudest sound in the prison. Even over the snores.
I never knew what being lucky felt like before. It was stripped away before I could even have memories. But the feeling that rushes through my body seconds after that beep left me breathless.
I knew it was my luck. I knew I could escape. And hopefully, no one else was awake and trying to escape either.
I started to fiddle with the ankle cuff and it nearly fell apart in my hands. I removed some wires that hopefully disabled it and then reattached it to make it look like it was still on and functioning.
I've never had better sleep in my life.
By the time I woke up, everything seemed normal. There were no alarms. No missing inmates. It appeared as know I was the only one who knew what happened last night.
The hardest part should've been pretending like I didn't have my luck back. But who am I kidding? It was the easiest thing in the world.
'Cause I'm lucky.
I understand why they lock us up. Us 100s. I could've murdered someone and no one would've seen it.
There were no eyes on my as I was walking around. My luck caused them to always look away when they came close to looking at me.
I walked straight out the front door into a world I had never seen before.
I don't know when my ankle cuff fell off. | I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did. | 2018-06-29T11:30:53 | 2018-06-29T10:57:06 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] A version of the Purge; 24 hours where retail workers can be as rude as they want. You are a cashier, having the time of your life. | The women was blonde, she was in her early-40s, she had two children, Hunter and Conner (9 and 12), and she was extremely angry. A thin line of spittle crawled out of the edge of her mouth as she prepared to confront the unacceptable piece of human scum who had dared to tell her that the spring sale on large expensive-looking handbags had expired.
She spoke the dreaded words.
“Excuse me, but I’d like to see your manager!!!”
The employee, a skinny, exhausted looking man, named Sean, in his mid 20s looked at her with a expression of most sincere concern.
“Oh of course ma’aam… I’m SO sorry”
Then, with the appearance of utmost contrition he reached beneath his desk, and pulled out a bullhorn.
Heather (because of course her name was Heather), stepped back, affronted, but it was too late.
“GO FUCK YOURSELF, AND YOUR FUCKING HANDBAG”.
So overwhelming was the rebuke that she tripped over the contentious handbag and landed squarely on her overly-bedazzled jeans.
It took a while for Heather to get back on her feet. She had to confirm that her fall had not exacerbated any of her four undiagnosed mom-injuries, and then reapply each of 11 different brands of makeup. It was amusing to watch, but when she finally regained her stability, her face was contorted with rage.
Sean’s manager, Ali, hearing the disturbance, rushed over.
“Excuse me, ma’aam, but is there a problem I can help you with?”
“YES! This employee is RUDE, and BELLIGERENT, AND...and I WANT HIM FIRED!!!”
Ali covered his mouth in mock shock, then turned to Sean.
“Sean, I’m gonna need that bullhorn”.
7 hours left, and they were going to savor every minute.
(r/StannisTheAmish) | A fake smile on my face. It's what I plaster on every day, but today's different. As I stare at customers with pursed lips and a scowl, they quickly give their orders as to leave my unpleasant gaze immediately. They don't understand, the chains around me every time I took this spot behind the cashier have vanished. But, this man wants to remind me of them.
His plump torso appears behind a three-piece suit, below thick-rimmed glasses and a deep scowl that rivals mine. We don't usually get angsty businessmen but I think I'll make this fun.
"Give me a 6-piece order of Mild Chicken! *Mild*!"
"What needs to be mild is your attitude."
His face contorts in surprise, eyebrows rising and eyes widening. "You work at a Popeye's. Don't speak to me."
"In case you haven't noticed, four eyes, the only way to get chicken is through me. Not only do you need to speak to me, but now *you have to make me like you*. And, I don't think anyone does, honey."
I don't even have to wonder if this got under his skin. His eyebrows furrow above gritted teeth and eyes that would kill me if they could. Infuriated, his fist slams on the counter and his pudgy face is now inches from mine. "Mild. Chicken. Now."
Why would repeating the order change anything? How does slamming a chubby fist on my counter speed things up? Enticed to play along, I flash him a wide smile and a curtsy. "Right away, my king!"
His eyes light up when I return with a box of chicken smelling like crisp heaven pulled out of a kitchen. Snatching the box after throwing wrinkled bills onto the counter, he scurries to the seats and rips of the lid. My eyes don't leave him as he stuffs three pieces in his mouth, followed by several earth-shattering crunches.
But then... he coughs. His face grows red and his eyes bulge. What's going on? Sweat beads on his forehead, curses under his breath?
Oh yeah, that's right. He said *Mild*... ;) | 2018-07-26T16:32:04 | 2018-07-26T15:46:37 | 92 | 58 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | "Your wallet and your watch or your life, boy. Decision is yours!"
I looked around the alley. No way out. Two men behind me, three in front. Garbage lay strewn across the dimly lit corridor.
I was beyond panicking. Shaking, I tried to unclasp my watch. Pity, it was just a G-Shock, hardly anything to murder over. I fumbled it, and it dropped to the dirt.
"Fucking clutzy pussy, eh guys?" one of the men behind me said. They all laughed. Flashbacks to grade school came pouring in. Nate shoving my head in the sand, Sal calling me a "limp dick" and shoving me into a locker every day.
I saw red. Not metaphorically, I literally saw red. Ancient runes swirled around me. My vocal cords moved, both under my own cognition but also by some strange force.
"RIP AND TEAR!"
I screamed as I lurched forward, my fist moving with explosive force. I punched through the lead gangsters face, his skull compacting as blood and guts showered my body and the brickwork around me.
As his body slumped lifeless to the dirt, I grabbed his pistol with lighting reflexes. Pivoting almost instantly to my six, I pulled the trigger twice. My gun seemed to be aiming almost automatically, as both bullets found their mark.
The two remaining men in the alley turned and ran. But I could run faster. Faster than a rocket. I caught up quickly, and tore one mans arm from his socket before crushing his skull. It was like paper mache. I was covered in guts and giblets.
The last man cried out, not for mercy but in fear, "What are you?!"
"I AM THE DOOMSLAYER MOTHERFUCKER." | I sat there on my bed having just gotten home from food shopping. I looked at the cut on my hand from when I had accidently cut myself helping my dad earlier today. I took a mouthful of my energy drink, by time the fluid went down my throat the cut was gone. I thought I was hallucinating so I grabbed a knife and cut a shallow mark in my arm, took another mouthful and BAM, its gone again.
I picked up my laptop and logged onto one of my favourite games: World of Warcraft. I logged onto one of my Fire-mages and cast every spell on a test dummy before grabbing my drink and going for walk. I walked towards the river nearby. Its a 10 minute walk. as I stood by the river, alone in the night sky, I considered what spell I'd try first. I stared at the waters until i spotted something I could target. I saw an old dirt bike, all rusted and useless. I closed my eyes and held my hands a few inches apart. "Pyroblast" I muttered under my breath, a sensation of heat between my palms. I opened my eyes and swung my arms forwards. a ball af flame flew towards the bike, plunging into the water and died out after hitting the frame.
"what the fuck was that?!" I heard from behind me. a woman had saw what I had done? I turned to face her to see her running away from me. "POLYMORPH!" I yelled desperately, my legs trembling with fear. In a cloud of smoke, she had turned into a sheep. I walked over to her and lightly held her muzzle and made her look at me "please, tell no-one I beg of you. And dont worry. You will only be like this for a minute before it wears off." I walked back home. wondering: What else could I learn? What else could I do? Is there any limits? How much can I keep? How long does this last? Then the thought hit me: How dangerous am I? How dangerous can I become? And of course: will I get hunted as a monster? Who knows? I dont. But I'll be sure to find out | 2018-08-14T09:18:10 | 2018-08-14T07:36:53 | 256 | 49 |
[WP] Yesterday, for one hour, every human on Earth was telepathically linked with every other human. Today, you are the most hated person on the planet. | Narrator: Yesterday, from 7:00 am-8:00 am, scientists in the UK used a magnetic field type device to telepathically link all of humanity into a Socratic-Seminar styled chat room. The plans for this event have been in place for decades, but to prevent any devious plots, were only made public 2 minutes before the event began. World leaders were notified earlier.
“Yesterday’s event was the biggest success in the history of events. No other event will ever be as successful as yesterday’s successful event. I spoke to the President of Puerto Rico, and he said it was a successful event as well. At 7 am this morning, I had the attention of the whole world. I knew everyone was listening to what I had to say. I delivered a moving speech, which you all listened to, and I did great.”
Narrator: The President would continue delivering the speech, thinking he once again had the attention of the world. He did not. Only once before had he captured the attention of the world in such a way, but not because of the speech he thinks he delivered.
In fact, the speech he believes he delivered was only heard by himself, because he did not understand time zones. He began talking to himself in his own mind from 7am to 8am, and believed everyone had given him the floor.
He had however, captured the world’s attention at 2am in Washington, D.C. Being the only world leader to not understand time zones, he slept through the event, and had what he believed was a typical and enjoyable dream. It wasn’t. | You stroll down the street, the supermarket in view. You see a homeless man lying cold by the door. You stop and think ‘Wow. I never want to end up like that loser there, just look at him. Pitiful begging for money and food. Probably going to buy drugs with that money anyway.’ You head to the store.
He grabs your leg as you walk past, “Why did you call me a loser! You think I use drugs?” Confused, you walk past him. You continue to experience similar things. What’s going on? It’s natural to judge people.. How can they hear me?
Fast forward 24 hours, you are on your morning walk. You get dirty stares from all directions. Murmurs and whispers float your way. *Rude* A breeze of wind *Bully*. Gusts of horrid comments coming your way. Not in your head. You pause ‘What is happening to me?’
You pass a billboard. It’s been defaced, it now has a sign with your face on it. *Mean* The sign says to watch out for this Woman *Loser*. You hurry home. You turn to your husband, but he’s gone. he now knows what you really think of him. *Unacceptable* You turn to the tv, needing to relax. NBC is on, with your face on the center of the screen. *Verbal Abuse*. You sink to the ground, holding your head in your hands. You look upstairs, for hope, but only find sorrow. Your husband took the kids with him. You scream. “Why? Why has this happened?”
“Patricia? Are you alright?” You wake up, your husband Andrew holding you, worried. “You were shaking.”
Your kids walk in, “Mommy? Are you okay?”
You stand up and hug them. “Yes.” | 2018-11-12T10:43:42 | 2018-11-12T10:36:02 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] A new drug goes viral & everybody starts consuming, while few abstain from it. The drug causes time/perception delay, a permanent side-effect. The junkies eventually begin to see the non-users as gods due their ability to move and react quickly, and tell the immediate future.
Got this idea when me and my friend were stoned and ate through 5 bags of chips. | Chronos is one hell of a drug. It just makes things "real slow, you know?" to put it as one of the junkies I've caught with the stuff. But its unique, it only fully works when everyone present is on it. Talk about peer pressure. Just imagine being the reason everyone can't get high.
It links our brains, using that part we didn't know about I guess. Then time just crawls. When people are using and someone clean shows up, they are like lightning-no, faster. I've seen footage of chrono-junkies stepping out of the way of lightning. No idea how the hell it works. But that's life on the LAPD drug task force, always chasing people who just want to feel good for a while.
I think it's getting to my partner. He keeps complaining about there being no negative side effects, how our life spans would seem much longer if everyone used. I told him not to mess with it, but here we are: fifteen minutes after start of shift and he is nowhere to be seen. Fearing the worst, I grab the squad car and head to his house.
As I pull up, the booming music keys me in to something being amiss. The music was all smashed together, like playing terabytes of songs all at once. Son of a bitch probably tried it. I hop out and storm up the stairs, grabbing his spare key from above the light fixture where he always keeps it. Turn the deadbolt, push the door, and my jaw dropped. Fourteen people stood perfectly still in his living room, as if paused mid-dance, their eyes pointed towards the door. The music played at a regular speed now, some damn Bieber song-worse than the drugs if you ask me. I walked through the room as the frozen figures inched towards their completed dance step, inspecting each of them one by one. I had hours to catch these assholes before their brains even registered I was cuffing them, what I needed was my partner.
I grab my chronocculation from my belt, designed to reverse the effects on someone who has used. I stab it into the nearest one, who tumbles forward and falls a little slowly. A partial dose of the cure let's me keep my edge on him.
"Where the fuck is Ray!?" I pull my gun and level it at him.
"Chiiiilllll duuuude! Weeee arrre juuusssst trrryiiiing toooo paaartyyy!" His hands slowly rise defensively, showing me he is unarmed.
I cross the room at a brisk pace, which to his frozen buddies is imperceptible, but to him is just insanely fast. I press my gun against his forehead and cock it slowly, so his brain can register the sound. "Ray. Where?!"
The junkie slowly recoiled, urine creeping down his thigh at a crawl. His hands slowly moved to point at Ray's bedroom. "Doont shoooot maan, heee iiiss iiinn theeree!"
I gently let the hammer down and holster my gun, cuffing the junkie before he realizes what's going on. I drop him there and head towards Ray's room.
"Bee caarefuulll maaan, hee toook a loot." The junkie called out.
I throw Ray's door open, expecting the worse, and there it is. In the middle of the bed, an infant. Dead. Looks like it was born a few months too soon. Dammit. I grab my radio. "Officer Ray Mergot down. Looks like a chrono overdose."
And they said there were no negative side effects. | "You look dragged, dude."
I manage a weak chuckle. "I couldn't sleep last night. Ms. Patters gave us a sh!t ton of homework, plus we had a test for Mr. Benjamin's class. *And* I have a project. *And* I have three papers due next week. *And* presentations. *And* practice. *And*--"
"Alright, alright!" He laughs. "I get it. Here." He holds out a little white pill to me.
"What's that?"
"The solution to all your problems, my friend."
"That's that new drug, isn't it?"
"Maybe."
"Man, no thanks. You saw what it did to Randy, Jason, Emma, and Tara? Everybody that takes that drug moves like a zombie."
"But you see how *relaxed* and *chill* they are?"
"You took it?"
"Duh." He beams. "And am I moving like a zombie? Trust me, dude. I wouldn't be giving this to my best friend if I thought it would harm him. Plus, you know Randy and 'em are also on all other sorts of drugs as well. Their bodies probably couldn't handle all the drugs mixing."
I hesitate. I contemplate. I search my friend's face.
I take the pill.
"Well?" He asks. "How do you feel?"
I wait and look around before shrugging. "Same."
"See?" He pokes. "And I lied, too. I never took the pill."
I stand up slowly and stare him straight in the face. "Why would you *do* that?"
"Bro, you know I smoke and drink. I would have probably ended up like Randy and them. But I know you're a clean slate, so your body probably wouldn't have experienced any ill effects."
"You lied to me." I'm so angry my voice shakes. My entire body is shaking. I'm restraining myself from punching my fist threw his face. "Stay away from me," I warn. "You're no longer my friend." I grab my baseball gear from the locker and leave the locker room.
That day, I was the day I unlocked my powers.
From the locker room I went to the baseball field near our school where our baseball team met to practice.
Let me start off with saying that, I'm not the best hitter. I'm not even an okay hitter. Certainly, not a lucky one. I suck. Completely. The only reason I made the team was because our team is so bad, there weren't enough volunteers at tryout for the coach to reject me.
So, now that we got that out the way, maybe you can understand why everyone on the field immediately seemed to tune out as I dragged my baseball bat to home plate.
The pitcher didn't even rear his arm back all the way. He sort of just threw it at me like I was a baby still developing motor skills.
And, believe or not, I missed.
He roll his eyes and throws another one, even slower and gentler than the first one.
"STRIKE TWO!"
This time, the pitcher wants to humiliate me. No more soft lobs. I can see the next one is going to be a real throw.
But as soon as he flung his arm forward, everything suddenly zoomed into slow motion. I could see the ball leaving his hands and spinning slowly through the air. At the rate the ball was moving, I could've went to the dugout, gotten a drink already and came back.
When the ball finally crossed home plate, I swung with all my might. There was a loud **CRACK**, and that seemed to break the spell. Time returned to normal, and everyone stared at me in surprise as the ball I hit soared and soared and soared until it became a home run. The other players were shocked.
And so was I.
*What the hell just happened?* I wondered, rounding the bases. *I don't know what it was. But it feels good and I hope it happens again.*
Little did I know.
| 2018-11-27T20:45:08 | 2018-11-27T18:16:59 | 930 | 187 |
[WP] You’re a loner and your best friend is your cat. Recently, with some encouragement, you invite the girl you have a crush on over for dinner. It goes great, but when she’s leaving she tells you that cats don’t typically walk on their hind-legs, light candles, serve the meal, and play soft jazz. | "Yeah, cats don't normally do that," she re-affirmed.
&#x200B;
"Huh," I replied. "Now that you mention it, my parent's cat just slept all day and pooped in the corner. He sucked at the saxophone, no matter how many lessons I tried to give him."
&#x200B;
"Listen IWriteDumbStories, I think you'd better have a talk with your cat." Ashley gave me a hug and walked to her car. *Cot Dayum, I thought, that booty kills me every time.*
&#x200B;
"FELIX," I yelled. "Get over here now!"
&#x200B;
Felix, my adorable Main Coon, immediately ran to me. His furry little head was tilted up towards mine. I knelt beside him and gave him a scratch on the head. I wanted to let him know that I still loved him despite my anger.
&#x200B;
"Felix, what the hell man! I told you she wasn't into soft jazz. Nobody likes Kenny G! Coltrane! JOHN COLTRANE! Come on man, I got you the leads and everything. Sheet music, records, the whole thing. We blew it buddy. We really blew it. I love you more than anything but she was my crush. I'm a 29 year old man with a crush. Jesus, I need to re-evaluate my life."
&#x200B;
I sat down on the floor and threw my head into my hands. I began to weep. Felix crawled into my lap and began to purr.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry buddy. I just didn't have the time to practice those songs. I didn't think she'd be able to tell the difference, honestly. She's got a great ear for music. Please don't cry. There are definitely other fish in the sea. Let's log into that dating app you are always on and go fishing together. Just you and me. How about it buddy?" Felix ended his dialogue with an adorable purr and head bump into my arm.
&#x200B;
"I suppose you are right," I replied. "If she can't appreciate Kenny G, then it probably wouldn't work out anyway. You grab the vodka, and I'll grab the ice cream. We're gonna party tonight!"
&#x200B;
"Purrrrr," replied Felix. | The Blue Danube played from a Bose sound system, but that was not the first thing Elissa noticed. It was the ginger orange cat that opened the door and was wearing a tuxedo. He motioned his paw for her to enter. Then he said, in a dreamy purring voice, “Mademoiselle we are glad to host you this evening.” Elissa opened her phone and wondered if she should make that call saying I’m on a psycho date and need an emergency exit. But when the cat added that he has two selections of wine, red and white, bottled in Tuscany, she decided to give it a few more minutes.
Greg came out of from his bedroom in the far end of the apartment. First he was dark in the shadows, far in the hallway. As he came out, he really came out. He was in the hallway wearing a glittering white dress. It cut off at his shoulders and he was wearing white gloves. Elissa gave an audible gasp. “Greg, damn bro what the fuck.” The cat looked between them awkwardly with a silver tray and a bottle of white wine in a tin of ice.
Greg emerged further from the shadows of the hallway. Yes, no mistaking it -- a glittering dress and silver high heels. “Elissa, thanks so much for coming. Thanks…yeah I know this is a little weird.” He gestured like he was a female. “Yeah well…Garfield, lets open that wine. Lets have a drink.”
Elissa put her purse on the table – candlelit. “This is really weird. Why are you wearing a dress?”
“Don’t be alarmed. This – I just – we’ve been on a couple of dates…and I really like you. But before things get serious, I want you to know who I am. You know me at work. As a friend. As a boyfriend. But if we’re going to go further you need to know who I truly am.”
“No thanks. Bye.” Elissa picked her purse back up and began to leave. Then Garfield came and ran in front of her, standing on his little hind legs, saxophone in hand. “Wait wait! Wait!” He began quickly blowing, cheeks puffed, and surprisingly he was not half bad. He played a little tune but Elissa pushed him aside and stormed out.
Greg looked heartbroken. He was sweating too. “Ok, that didn’t go how I planned.”
Garfield popped the wine and poured himself a cup. He was sarcastic when he said, “Really? Because I thought that went fantastic.” He downed the whole cup, then looked at it contemplatively. “Hey, that’s more lasagna for me.” | 2018-12-28T16:53:10 | 2018-12-28T11:03:02 | 114 | 48 |
[WP] "Attention all Wal-Mart customers. Welcome to Aisle Wars™. Use any resources from your aisle to attack and defend from other aisles. Only one aisle may leave. Good luck." | I remember it as the happiest day in my life. I had been chosen for Walmageddon, the highest amount of bless a regularly consumer such as me could hope for.
I had only experienced the ritual through tv and what a joy it was. I would normally be spending time on one of the commercial channels at home when the one minute warning kicked in, giving the entire family time to gather up in front of the tv before all commercial broadcasts would change to the special Walmageddon broadcast. The TV would send the entire family into joy of seeing the lucky shoppers competing for holy salvation.
Now, I was standing in the middle of it - being televised to the entire world. I had been planning this for years in my heard, although it was only a fools wish to hope to actually make the come true. I had taken into account all the factors: What aisle I would be in, how many shoppers would be on my side, how many aisles surrounding us, and how to counter the makeshift weapons all adjacent aisles could produce.
I was not the only one though, effortlessly the entire aisle of shoppers put their own fantasy plan into action, everybody efficiently created weapons out of all the products available - I was clearly not the only one that had been browsing their entire catalog forcing myself into making even the most harmless baby toy a deadly weapon.
Unfortunately it was a busy day in Walmart. Roughly 200 people were present in my aisle, and seeing as this was the canned food isle, there wasn’t enough products to go around. This was to be expected of course, nobody was in Walmart to shop anymore, we had everything we needed at home and what little we missed we would have delivered to us. We were not here to buy, we were here to worthship. The few products left around was relics of a bygone era, we were only here to honor that era.
The strongest men got the now shredded and sharpened cans, they would be our front line. We were only one aisle away from the store wall, we would push through and make a stand with our back against the solid wall. I felt our strategy went against the idea of Walmageddon. It was supposed to be aisle against aisle against aisles, the ultimate consumer experience. Not one aisle with their back against a solid and hardly advertised wall. It was one of the lesser men, I think he might have been frightened, who came up with the idea. With very little time to think, our entire aisle followed the strategy, even though it seemed very anti consumer.
A few hours later, I stood with the five remaining people from my aisle. 4000 people had been sacrificed, we five had survived, and we were to be transcended. We were to be elevated to the few true consumers.
Till this day, I still come to Wallmart every day as I used to. But I am no longer the lowly consumer wandering through the aisles with the thousand other consumers rubbing my shoulders. No, now I am the cashier. One step closer to divinity. Of course, as before, nobody buys anything, they merely walk around the store. I sit at my checkout point, deified. I no longer wander around aimlessly. I am still waiting and praying for another Walmageddon though. Although I am not allowed to fight as a cashier, I am allowed to watch.
| Molotov cocktails of rubbing alcohol and Ace bandages soared from the pharmacy into health and beauty products. Susan, who was lobbing bottles of shampoo in return, wondered why there were lighters on an end cap in the pharmacy. Hairspray canisters exploded in the flames behind her. She whinged as shrapnel dug into her back. The explosions cascaded to the next aisle over and ignited the Axe body spray. The dudebro that had been deciding on which variety of Old Spice to purchase when the fracas started wailed as hot metal flew into his face. With shrapnel in her back, and one enemy out of commission, Susan secured cans of mousse in each hand and began the assault on her first opponent in the pharmacy.
As she turned the corner of the aisle she saw a woman sitting in the electric cart with more Molotov cocktails prepped and arranged in the basket. With a yell Susan attacked. She shot foam into the woman's face as she charged her. The woman dropped the lighter she was holding as she tried to reach for the handlebar to the electric cart. The mousse ignited. The woman screamed as she accelerated forward, plowing into Susan. The now flaming cart, with Susan struggling to move aside, drove into housewares. Curtains tumbled over both women and burst into flames.
Over in sports and outdoors Freddy quickly opened the compound bow packaging with a knife he had pulled from the other side of his aisle and pulled arrows from the rack on the shelf. He clambered up to the top of the shelf. In the gun aisle a few men were trying to break into the ammunition. A few well placed arrows stopped them. He turned around and dispatched the family that had been picking out fishing rods for a family trip. He jumped across the aisle and continued his work on the bike aisle and into the toy section.
Smoke rose up from housewares as fire spread through comforters and sheets. Elizabeth ripped the Nerf guns out of their packaging, "Kids, if there is any time for you to listen to your Mama, it is now." Her children gathered up Nerf ammunition and took the guns she passed to them. "Billy, make the adjustment you saw in that YouTube video to make these things shoot harder, and boys, aim for their eyes."
Billy finished the first adjustment as Freddy landed on the shelf above. Elizabeth yelled, "Shoot," as she threw heavy tubs of slime at the man. The man had one arrow in his hand and was not ready for a housewife with six kids in tow. The barrage of shots came at him as Billy took aim at his face. Freddy's laughs at the weak foam bouncing off his body turned to anger as Billy's shot landed sharply on his ear. The next shot was true and hit his eye. He dropped his arrow and retreated to obtain more. Billy passed his Nerf gun to a brother and began his modifications as Elizabeth started tossing buckets of LEGO into the cart.
The injury to Freddy's eye was more substantial than he expected. His vision blurred and he stumbled as he jumped across the tops of aisles. A misplaced foot and he fell into the shelf, knocking it into a domino fall. The bike display fell into the fishing rods, starting a domino effect all the way toward automotive where shoppers armed with hand tools faced off against shoppers toting jumper cables.
- ok, this is as far as I can go for now. Still need to get over to grocery and gardening. I also want to see what is going on in the clearance section. Elizabeth and her kids should make quick work of the clothing aisles. Baked goods are no defense against produce. Blocks of cheese hit harder than steaks. The final showdown in electronics...
| 2019-01-15T19:35:20 | 2019-01-15T19:09:53 | 53 | 17 |
[WP] A child prays for Satan. Touched by the gesture Satan binds a demonic familiar to them to aid them in times of dire need. To avoid suspicion the familiar takes the form of a squirrel. | **Item number:** SCP-NU45
**Object class:** Keter
**Containment procedures:** SCP-NU45-A is to be housed in standard humanoid containment alongside SCP-NU45, and given anything she requests, within reason. In the event that the request cannot be completed, or given an appropriate substitute, a class D personnel nearing monthly termination is to be presented to SCP-NU45. Additional D class may be required to complete SCP-NU45's requirements.
SCP-NU45-A is to be kept free from any sort of harm. ^1 Exposing SCP-NU45-A to any sort of harm will be considered a major containment breach, and the one exposing SCP-NU45-A to harm is to be used as the first sacrifice to SCP-NU45, along with additional D class, if required. Exposing SCP-NU45-A to forms of harm that are beyond SCP-NU45's ability to remove from SCP-NU45-A may result in a VK-class end of the world scenario. As such, extreme caution must be taken to not expose SCP-NU45-A to violent "immortal" anomalies. ^2
**Description**: SCP-NU45-A is a caucasian human female of 8 years of age, of standard height and build. SCP-NU45-A displays no anomalous properties or characteristics.
SCP-NU45 resembles a member of *Sciurus vulgaris* (Eurasian Red Squirrel) in both common mannerisms, and physical characteristics. SCP-NU45, however, has never been observed to eat, or sleep. SCP-NU45's main propertues manifest when SCP-NU45-A "wants something", whether it be a physical object, or something intangible. After six minutes of this desire being unfulfilled or truthfully promised ^3. By means not yet understood, SCP-NU45 enters a "charging state", where it must be presented human sacrifices to carry out its task. Most requests require a single sacrifice, but more complex tasks require more sacrifices ^4. The subjects are never sacrificed violently, rather, they seem to crumble to dust after maintaining eye contact for six seconds. If sacrifices are not provided, SCP-NU45 will seek out sacrifices.
Once the required sacrifices are made, SCP-NU45 climbs onto the shoulders of SCP-NU45-A, and forms an impenetrable, opaque black shield sorrunding the two subjects. The wish is granted after anywhere from five minutes to two hours in the bubble. SCP-NU45-A seems to have no memory of time passing in the bubble. A watch given to SCP-NU45-A likewise shows no passage of time in this bubble.
**Initial Containment Log:** There are no official records of containment for SCP-NU45. The Foundation was dispatching agents to what they believed to be an unrelated anomaly in the town of [DATA EXPUNGED], following reports of multiple missing persons with no bodies ever recovered. Locals believed a "little witch" and her "devil pet", were the main source of the disappearances. During the search, several reality shift alarms were set off in Site-19's Keter wing.
After investigation, the field agents were found to have immediatly returned to their home base, roughly 500 km from [DATA EXPUNGED], and SCP-NU45's containment unit was anomalously created, along with this document. Further questioning of the locals of [DATA EXPUNGED] revealed no knowledge of the "little witch". Later questioning of SCP-NU45-A revealed that [DATA EXPUNGED] was her hometown, and she had wished to be safe at the time of the Foundation's investigation. The containment of SCP-NU45 is believed to be the result of this wish.
^1 This includes anything that SCP-NU45-A perceives as harmful. Therefore, any medical procedures must be carefully explained, and laid out in great detail to SCP-NU45-A. Most medical procedures should be instead carried out using SCP-NU45's anomalous properties.
^2 This list includes SCP-[096](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-096), [682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682), [106](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-106), and [076](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-076). SCP-096 is especially dangerous, as teleportation to reduce the danger is impossible.
^3 SCP-NU45 seems to be able to tell when people are lying on their promises. When Dr. [REDACTED] was asked for a trip to the circus by SCP-NU45-A, he promised the trip to SCP-NU45-A with no intention to do so. SCP-NU45's properties manifested six minutes following this promise.
^4 To date, the largest quantity was 38 sacrifices for SCP-NU45-A to become the princess of [REDACTED].
Sorry, this is a quick garbage one, but I thought it would fit. | I don't know what it was, but something about Megan had changed. I knew my little sister - she would've usually insisted we hold hands when walking outside after dark, but now she was fine walking a few paces in front of me.
I'd gone to her friend's place to pick her up on my way home from soccer practise, and since we live fairly far up north, darkness falls early.
I could see the fumes from her breath rise in the dim streetlights. She was walking at a brisk pace, but not overly so. Well, it was pretty cold and we still had a good twenty minutes of walking before we were home. That amounted to a lot of steps for a tiny nine year old, whereas I walk more relaxed, being fourteen and taller than other kids my age. And the trip didn't get shorter by the ice on the road. Then, something caught my eye.
\- "Meg, have you seen that squirrel?" My voice made her stop and turn around. She followed my eyes and just smiled a bit without any hint of being surprised.
\- "Yeah, he's cute. He has followed me all day, and most of yesterday too, I think. I've tried to feed him, but he won't let me go too near him. But I can see him following me."
\- "How do you know it's a he?" I received a sour expression from that question, and I felt a bit like those wronged people who wrote lengthy speeches about gender assumption on the internet. I'd just caught up with her when it happened: Two large figures walked out from some bushes and stood in front of us.
\- "Meg, run!" I whispered intently, and she nodded and turned to run away. I saw her slip on the frosty ground, and failed to grap her. The two figures which I identified as grown men, easily caught up with us and one of them grabbed me by the coat and threw me on the ground hard. The breath was knocked out of me and while black spots danced around in my vision, I barely noticed what happened to my kid sister. As the second man caught up with her and reached out to grab her, she had regained her balance.
I saw her crouch and then throw herself forward sideways against his legs. The man went down hard in a forward fall, and he barely had the time to bring his hands up to shield his face, while Megan rolled and ended up on all four like a cat. The man rose himself on his hands and knees, but Megan was faster - she grabbed above both knees at the thighs and pulled backwards, and this time, the man couldn't bring his arms up in time, as they were suddenly above his head. His head made a dull cracking sound as it made contact with the icy ground, and I heard the guy who'd taken me down say "fuck" and he let me go to face Megan.
He was wary, having just witnessed how she's dealt with his friend in seconds, but she showed no sign of backing down.
\- "Hey, ass," she said with a level voie, "have you ever seen a move like the one I pulled on this guy?" She held a brief pause, and the guy seemed indecisive. I saw her smile. Not the innocent nine year old girl smile I knew, but more like a smile that seemed designed to show off her teeth. "No? Well, you're about to bet your life that I don't have another."
That seemed to do it. He took flight, running for the bushes from where he and his partner had jumped out from.
\- "Are you okay?" she asked me, and held a tiny hand to me. I was on my side, looking at the man she had downed. Some blood seemed to be trickling from his forehead and he wasn't moving. Somewhere behind him, I saw a squirrel dart from the ground to a nearby tree.
\- "I... yeah... shit, Meg, how did... how did you do that?" I managed to say, while letting her help me up. A felt sore, probably from bent ribs. Megan shrugged casually and dusted the frost off my jacket.
"Meh, I just didn't feel scared. I ran because you said I should, and when I slipped, I was pissed, you know? I suddenly felt angry and... I wanted to hurt the people that were hurting us. I don't know why."
\- "It was insanely cool," I admitted, "but I've never seen you like that. Anything happened?"
\- "Mmmm well kind of," she admitted and looked guilty like the time when she had taken my remote controlled car and tried if it could drive in our bathtub underneath the water. "You know how dad yelled at me a few days ago, because I was scared to be alone in the dark? Well, I prayed to the scariest one I know, 'cause I thought if the scariest is on my side, I'd be more safe. And since that night, I haven't been scared of anything!"
We began walking, and after a while, I finally broke the silence: "So, who was that scariest one?"
As she looked up at me, I saw the squirrel was following us, keeping to the shadows and safety of the trees. "The devil," she answered, and as she said those words, I thought I saw the squirrel's eyes give off a faint, yellow glow. | 2019-01-21T04:10:18 | 2019-01-21T02:41:54 | 73 | 47 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | I was at my favorite taco joint with my family. It was a weird tradition we had. When someone turned 21, we go to this place as a family and open the check. See how much their life is worth. It tends to make for a good laugh. My brother's was around a million. My poor cousins was only 25% of that. So here we are on my birthday. We got our plate and sat with our food. Mom passed me the check and I opened it up. $7.27 the exact price of my meal. My mouth dropped. I looked at mom and passed her the check. Said "this will cover my cost." I pushed my food away. I'm not going to die choking on this crap. I got up, walked out the door into the parking. As I walking to my car I hear the screeching of tires.. | I cashed in my newfound fortune. $2 got me on the bus, I got out at the edge of town. I walked for a few hours and found a garage sale sign, I followed the arrows to a somewhat shabby looking hobby farm. There was a very old man sitting amongst the articles he had for sale, all of which had a more leaden appearance than the man and his dull stare. I was scrutinizing a primitive looking shovel, thinking about how much I enjoy the feel of an old tool in my hands. I heard a scatching sound. The man focused his dead stare on me and was using a stick to write 5.27 in the dirt. I gave him the rest of my Minimum. He handed me the shovel, turned and very stiffly he took a knee in front of me. I rang the shovel off the back of his head and he collapsed. I dug a hole and covered him in his earth. I fed his animals and slept in his bed. When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the warm decaying scent of spring. I began to dig up his garden. | 2019-04-24T13:37:46 | 2019-04-24T11:25:08 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] You are an Engineer who became a Wizard. Problem is, you discovered that some magic is practiced really inefficiently.
For example, no one thought to optimize fire magic by pressurizing the fire with wind magic. | I stood across from thousands of wizards given one order - kill me. I didn’t take it personal, though. They wanted the kingdom, and I was standing in their way. Either I moved, they thought, or I’d be as good as dead. Same for me. Of course, they all knew I wasn’t going to move, and I the same for them. So this, like all others, would turn into an all out battle until I - or them - was obliterated.
My mouth curved into a smirk as one, then two, then all of the wizards on the other side pulled out their wands. I pulled out mine in response. Might as well have some fun, I thought. Not too often something like this happens. Every wizard then put their wand up, waved them around, and pointed them toward me. Thousands of fireballs rushed toward me, faster than sound, as I did nothing. I waited, letting the fireballs get closer and closer, until they were so close I could smell the burning. It’s not fun without a little stress, after all. I picked my wand up, waited until my vision was only fire, and threw it down.
The red/orange flash of fire quickly changed as I looked upon my friend, with a poker face so bad it was practically glass.
“What were you thinking?” He shouted. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t. You were there to get me in time. Besides, tell me that wasn’t fun.”
I pointed at the battlefield I recently left, and the cloud of fire rising and rising. No wizard could have survived that.
“You like that, huh? Well, keep doing that and soon enough you’ll be finding yourself in your own explosion as your friend is nowhere to be found.”
“Wouldn’t you like that,” I quipped back before turning around to look him in the face again. There seemed to be a fire of his own on his face. I chuckled and walked away.
I wonder how long it’ll take for them to figure out about atoms, I thought, as I flicked my wand and my visions changed again. | "Jerome! Now please don't tell me your working on that project... still. What the fuck you doing?" There he is, this old little bitch is at it again, teleporting his crinkly self, wherever he wants. Man I need a new mentor. I should have practiced my Dont-Come-The-Fuck-In spells a little more
&#x200B;
"Listen Gerald, or whatever your old lil nerdy ass name is, this "Project" is important. Im tryna, change the game, Elon-Musk up something to put me on the map. How am i supposed to make any progress if you keep busting in here, going on about the philosophy of power and how to pronounce latin spells from some book as dusty as you?"
&#x200B;
I scoot from my chair, picking up the latest vial of the new stuff.
&#x200B;
"This so-called-project, is a shitshow litrally. How did you get chosen as an elective for the Government funded Citizen to Wizard scheme?"
&#x200B;
"Listen Simon, the project is simple. You shit in a bucket, my device processes that into a powder, we feed that to plants and we fed for eternity." It's really not that simple. The machine alone has taken months to build. See the main problem is that every Wizards energy is unique ID. Like a signature, or your facebook password. Only you can use your Unique ID, and only you can apply that to spells and potions and apparently poop-to-powder machines. Who knew. Once i tried to spoof the unique ID of big boy bill. The fucking machine exploded.
&#x200B;
I took the vile of the powder, added a little water and added it to my new test subject. By test subject i mean Miss Watson's snake plant that looked a little droopy. I swiped it during applied spells today. The first problem was probably the smoke. The soil started smoking, that 12-year-old-i-bought-a-vape-of-ebay kinda smoke. Ignoring the poop smelling smoke. Nothing really happened.
&#x200B;
"Jerome you really are a weak ass engineer and Wizard."
&#x200B;
Damn, i really thought that one would work. | 2019-04-26T06:12:53 | 2019-04-26T02:17:58 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] When people arrive in heaven they are assigned a wing color that dictates their role. White wings help guide the living, red wings fight against and ward off demons, golden wings guard the gates of heaven. But when you arrive, your wings are black. | “Black wings,” Steve said.
I knew his name was Steve from the name tag pinned to his chest. The other guy didn’t have a tag, but from the way they sat together staring at the monitor on the reception desk, it was clear the other guy was just as upset as Steve.
“Black wings?” he said.
Steve chuckled. “April fools?”
“Nope,” the other guy said.
“Son’s birthday?”
“Nope.”
“1st of the month?”
The other guy checked the wall calendar. “Nope.”
“Black wings?” Steve said.
The other guy shrugged. “Black wings.”
I frowned. My head still throbbed and my arms and legs ached with each movement. I couldn’t quite remember how I’d arrived at this hospital. The last thing I saw were the beaming headlights of a freight train. For whatever reason the barriers hadn’t come down. I was sure I was dead.
“Right,” Steve said. “Mr. Kendal.”
“George,” I said, rubbing my head.
“Whatever,” the other guy said.
“You are dead,” Steve said, “and we are going to give you wings.”
“Wings,” the other guy said, pointing at the pair on their backs.
I hadn’t noticed until now. Either this was a well played April fools joke or one of those candid camera shows. I checked the wall Calendar.
“Not April fools,” the other guy said.
“Unfortunately not,” said Steve.
“I’m being punk’d?” I said.
They both frowned.
“In a hospital?” said Steve.
“Really?” The other guy looked at me with disgust.
They had a point, even if I wasn’t buying it just yet.
Both receptionists looked at each other and smirked. “Black wings.”
“Black wings?” I said.
“You see,” said Steve. “Everyone that enters Heaven gets a pair of wings like these beauties. Your wings decide your role.”
“And yours about as black as they come.”
“That’s right. You’ll be the only angel with a pair of them.”
I chuckled. I’d hit my head but not this hard. I decided I’d play along rather than be the buzzkill that I’m sure every other patient had been.
“And what do Black wings mean?”
“Some Angels guide the living, others fight against evil, some guard the gates.”
“It’s a busy job,” the other guy said.
“Savage job,” said Steve. “But you, you’re there to ruin it all. You’re the angel of chaos. The great trickster. And you, sir, make sure that everyone - including us - appreciates the job that they’ve been given.”
“Boredom will turn a good guy bad faster than Satan’s new sales pitch,” the forth guy said.
“That it will. Anyhow. . . what do you say new guy?”
This was mild as far as pranks went. They could have added in more people, made the job I had to do far more embarrassing. In fact, they be much scarier if their name tags were ‘Lucifer’ and ‘Judas’. Maybe I was more fitting of these wings than these two thought.
On top of all the humour, my head really really hurt.
“I’ll take two black wings and all the Panadol you’ve got.”
Steve grinned. “Coming right up.”
I didn’t expect the black wings to just appear on my back. Then again, that was nothing compared to the Panadol. | The coldness of the rock demanded my body awaken. Instead of slowly opening my eyes, though, my mind was focused on the excruciating pain that pierced through every muscle in my body. Sure, it wasn’t the worst pain in the world, but it still hurt pretty bad.
I had to force myself to finally see what was around me. I noticed that I was on a rock that appeared to be the same color as the sky; white. Everything was white. Looking downward, inhaling sharply from the required movement of my neck, I was decorated with a white robe.
Memories came back. The accident buried itself into my mind. I could still smell the car freshener, taste the lettuce that had buried itself in the crevices of my teeth. I was driving that night, coming back home from my shift. I had only one thing on my mind, and that was to finally come home and start to watch the television while on my phone. Somehow, I could keep my attention on both.
And then… It happened. I was on the highway, and I spotted a car that was precariously turning from side to side on the opposite lane. I hadn’t had any time to react before it started to come into my lane, almost like whoever was behind the wheel wanted to hit my car head-on. I remember trying to hit the brakes, but that alone wouldn’t stop the giant hunk of metal that was barreling for me. I froze, and the car got closer until it finally was close enough to overload my ears with the sound of metal scraping on metal. My head snapped forward and was cut numerous times by the shrapnel before I blacked out.
And now, here I was. I knew what happened; I must’ve died. How else could my scratches vanish? I forced my arms to push me off of the rock, grunting under the pangs of instant regret. My legs popped and cracked when faced with the sudden force I was applying to them.
As I stood, I noticed something else behind my back. Reaching with already exhausted fingers, they touched a plethora of soft feathers. Wings? I swiveled my neck around and yes, there was a pair of jet-black wings that were attached to me.
“You must be wondering where you are,” a voice suddenly asked. I turned and saw an old man, one that wore a golden set of wings. Another person. I approached them, my eyes plates.
I nodded. “Yes, yes.” I already knew, just wanted to seek confirmation.
“You, sir, are at the gates of heaven. I will help guide you.”
“Oh, sir,” my wings quivered. “I… Thanks.”
The man laughed. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just doing my job. It’s the first time I’ve seen a Blackwing, though.”
“Blackwing?”
“Yes, Blackwing. Here, we separate the deceased’s roles by which color their wings are: Whitewings guide the living back on Earth, and they act almost like a parent to whoever they are assigned. Redwings are warriors, and they work day and night to rid of impurities and evil that may have risen from Hell.”
I stood straight. “So what do I do?”
The man acknowledged my existence, zoning back in from his interrupted explanations. He smirked. “You Blackwings, are more… Corporate. Your job on Earth was primarily accounting, am I correct?”
Confusion rippled through me. “Err… Yes?”
“There’s quite the backlog of paperwork that needs to be filled out, and we’re trying to recruit figures that share your same type of job.”
My frown deepened. “So… I work?”
The man avoided eye contact. “Yes, essentially. There are still some things that need to be done to make Heaven work behind the scenes that the living don’t see.”
Oh. I hung my head low and massaged my neck. “So what are my hours?”
r/osmiumwrites
Feedback is appreciated! | 2019-05-17T14:43:36 | 2019-05-17T14:27:52 | 75 | 30 |
[WP] Everyone has superhuman powers based on one of their emotions, and the magnitude of their power is based on how strongly they feel that emotion. You're an average, mild mannered person, but your power is more intense than any other. However, you don't know what emotion your power draws from. | It's hard living in a world where everyone gets a super power. we all get one when we turn 20. Apparently twenty is the age where all our emotions plateau enough for our superpowers to manifest.
I've never particularly been excited about getting my powers. It'll just mean I'll be like everyone else. To me, normal was the super power. When my Big birthday came up, I woke up to a flood. Our 67 year old neighbor Mr Fitz changes the weather with his sadness. His is one of the strongest powers I've seen. He causes storms when he wants to, and this particular storm was a long time coming. His wife, who could control fire based on her anger passed away four days ago. And Mr Fitz tried to stay cheery for us, but I suppose the sadness won in the end. Sometimes, people can't always control their powers.
My powers were meant to start showing any time that day so my parents had me stay inside. They kept asking me what power I think I'd have and my answer was; I don't know.
"You don't even know what emotion is strongest for you?" My mum asked smiling.
For her, she always knew, her joy makes plants grow around her. One time, she got promoted at work, and she made roses grow in her office, twenty floors above the ground.
"I'm not sure." I say, pretending to think. Really , I hope my power is boring and easily concealed. With any luck I could be Normal yet.
"Son, that's how I was too, I didn't know what my gift would be." Dad says.
My father has X ray vision because of his curiosity.
I spend the day mopping up our patio from the flood and watching Harry Potter for the 12th time. In the evening, I decide to go outside and enjoy the cool breeze. As soon as I sit down on the top step of our porch, the most extraordinary thing happens.
Lighting strikes, right on our lawn.
I jump to my feet and lightning strikes again. In. The. Same. Spot. I blink and think I should probably head back inside if another storm was coming.
As soon as I walk into the house, lights go out. I test the bulb, flicking the switch on and off but nothing.
My mum materialises from the kitchen, a worried look on her face. Her silhouette is illuminated as lightning strikes again and she jumps back. I open the door to check if there was damage done and I see lights have gone throughout the houses in our neighborhood.
Lights then flicker on again then go out.
My dad, who was asleep on the couch, wakes up wondering what was going on.
"Where did the lights go?" Dad asks, looking back and forth between mom and me.
"Umm.." I start, mum interrupts me
"I don't know, they just went out. We should call the electrical company, maybe they know."
She reaches for her phone from her back pocket and the phone seems to short wire and die. The sparks make mum drop the phone and we look at it as if it'll stand on its own and jump out at us.
We hear a helicopter sound coming closer until it sounds like it's over head. On our roof we hear thudding sounds and when we get out to check, we see men dressed in black, coming down the helicopter with ropes.
A big man with wide shoulders and a stern expression comes up to us in military clothes.
"Excuse me, does a twenty year old live here?"
My parents look at each other, then at me and before we ask why, the man walks into our house.
" We've tracked a level 6 power to this location. Thirty minutes ago, we received news of a new power. Now, where's the 20 year old.
The lights flicker on and off.
Everyone looks at me
" Umm, what's a level six?"
" The highest level of power there is... We only discover someone this powerful once every 30-50 years. I don't think I've met one in my life" the man says sizing me up.
Me? I'm the most average, most mild mannered person I know. This wasn't supposed to happen like this. It's like a bad dream.
My father clears his throat and finally speaks up.
" Does this meter of yours or whatever you're tracking with, tell you what type of power this is we're dealing with?"
" Yes, this person has the ability to control all matter that pertains to electricity. They've caused a power outage over the entire tristate area. Not only that, they've shut down a number of our satellites."
I gasp and start backing away towards the door. I accidentally hit another military clad officer.
The man, by now I assume he's the commander, walks towards me and grabs my shoulder. Squirming under his grip, the lights flicker on really strong and bright and our bulb blows.
" Kid, I'm sergeant Miller. Now, what's your strongest emotion?"
"I-umm I don't know" I reply." I'm as dumbfounded as he is, as they all are.
The sergeant sighs, and tells my parents they have to take me into military custody | I remembered it as clear as a crystal the day it happened, where chaos was in the air instead of love, where people were raging instead of walking and where the sky was no longer a piece of blue canvas but a swirling pack of fire in motion, raining down on mortals.
&#x200B;
No one knew how it happened but six months ago people gained superhuman powers. Overnight, governments were overthrown and all hell broke loose. Later, this day would be known as the Day of Surge. There were many kinds of powers people had, night-vision, hyper-speed, telekinesis and, last but not least, the ability to fly. Naturally, the strongest power of all established himself as the alpha of the pack, his powers are peculiar, it is the combination of possessing others and shadow-walking. Due to his powers, his true form was never witnessed and his identity was never learned, thus earning him the nickname, Unlighted. The scary thing about Unlighted is the fact that any bodies after being possessed by him would instantly rot and fold itself like a box into nothingness. He demonstrated this in Times Square where an estimated amount of three thousand mortals instantly disappeared, as Unlighted traveled through the shadows they cast and into them, like a blackout, those mortals were gone in a blink of an eye.
&#x200B;
The magnitude of these powers such as Unlighted's are amplified by emotions, it may vary from individuals but everyone could tell his power's source came from joy. The face carrying the emotion of thrilling fun and intoxicating glee was reflected on every victim's face, right before Unlighted leaves their body and leave them erased from existence.
&#x200B;
Those of us with powers are referred to as Vessels, and right now, as Unlighted announced with the body of our president, it is the Epoch of Vessels. Rules were broken and laws were abolished, this world now operates on pure savageness and barbarism. As Unlighted would say, retreating to our primordial instincts. Unlighted, then, built a dome in the center of the country made up of pure crystals with the help of a Vessel and claimed it a sanctuary for him and his cult, Midnight. Anyone with any desire to live steered clear of that area.
&#x200B;
The Day of Surge left my family gone, my father, mother and two sisters and a brother. Miraculously, I survived against all odds and is still breathing currently, though, how I managed to survive was another question as my memories of that time was muddy and bleak. For as long as I know, my powers are a very weak version of manipulation, only being to lift inorganic objects and I never had a chance to find out what emotions boosts my powers. I now live in an abandoned luxury apartment, below me is a cathedral and a group of nuns who are the closest thing I have to a family. They would preach and pray while I would read and play Sudoku. Although, we do share a common interest in Monopoly, Scrabble and Chinese food.
&#x200B;
It was another inauspicious day when it happened, I just started on a new page on Sudoku when the cathedral doors went flying with a loud bang. A group of people dressed in pitch-black clothing, entered the room silently with the sense of eeriness you could expect to find in a graveyard. My breathing went shallow as my heart raced, what business do we have with Midnight.
&#x200B;
They called out a single name that matched mine.
&#x200B;
Everyone was still silent.
&#x200B;
Then, as Sister Lily stepped forward and attempted to deny the knowledge of this person, her head was off in an instant, rolling on the floor like a bowling ball.
&#x200B;
The screams of the other nuns pierced the bleak morning. Someone clamped my mouth shut as Sister Anne pressed my head down below a row of pew and tied me with invisible ropes with a swipe of her hand. Then, after planting a kiss on my forehead, Sister Anne locked my mouth up and I went quiet.
&#x200B;
Struggling and thrashing, I could do nothing except listen to each of my family's voice fade and disappear.
&#x200B;
The ropes around went slack and I knew Sister Anne was gone.
&#x200B;
The beating of my heart slowed.
&#x200B;
The tears stopped flowing.
&#x200B;
My mind went blank like a piece of white paper.
&#x200B;
As the members of Midnight was heading out, I rose into midair just by thinking about it and likewise, the members were, as if grabbed my invisible hands, levitated and turned to face me. I rained down wrath painfully. Bodies were crumpled, heads were disfigured and remains were left grotesque.
&#x200B;
Mechanically, I flew to Unlighted's place and, like a flip of a switch, disintegrated the whole place into shards of glass. The crushed glass were mixed with a tint of maroon, making it look an artwork on display from a distance.
&#x200B;
Turns out not only could I manipulate certain things. I could manipulate everything, provided I feel nothing. Three years later, I was known everywhere as the Ventriloquist and was something like Unlighted, but with much more violence and tyranny. Welcome to the Era of Exodus. | 2019-05-20T04:36:27 | 2019-05-20T03:58:31 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "Well, fuck!" boomed a deep voice from the sky.
At first, the only ones startled were the few people who absolutely, positively knew they were nowhere within reach of a P/A system.
"Peter, can you believe this mute button? Could it be any more hidden?" rang the heavens.
Panic began to set in.
Multicultural friends tried to translate the words to each other -- God speaks in a language everyone understands.
Entire cities froze, confused. Nightclubbers, hearing music so loud it was hard to breathe near a speaker, heard the words. Some thought it was the drugs kicking in, most knew this was different.
Underworld meetings promptly turned into shooting galleries -- "he's got a wire!"
Military maneuvers went awry; airplanes fell from the sky.
"Seriously, Jesus, was this you? This is what happens when you get a carpenter to do an engineer's work," commanded the firmaments to the Muslims and Christians.
The Jews heard a complaint about how one God was expected to do everything, the Hindus a joke about how four hands can't find a button.
One guy in Seattle heard a red frog tell a blue frog "mics are so passé."
Turns out one God was the same as many gods as no gods and everyone was right about what happens when you die.
Which was a good thing, because the sudden reappearance of deities after 2,000 years made many people die.
"Ok, ahem, testing, testing. I want you all to be nice to each other, got it?" bellowed the sacred voice from above.
The two billion humans who heard it started cleaning up right away. | The tiny little creatures I looked after had turned their world into crap. Thousands of years had passed in their time and yet, they had decided to ignore me when I tried to talk to them. Every single human who wanted to hear me, could not. It was like someone had built something to block me from them. Or maybe? Hmm, I wonder. I rooted around inside my little room and found the microphone lead tangled among all the other cables. I found the little switch on the side and my heart dropped. The world couldn't hear me anymore because I had been on mute. I face palmed and my stomach sank. I'd left my creations alone for so long that they thought they were alone in the universe when they were in fact a very loved pet. My friend had also chosen to create his own universe, but his creatures had turned out far less intelligent. We weren't supposed to do it, but early on, I'd added a bit of my own DNA after my idiot little brother had nearly destroyed the planet with a massive rock. I didn't think anything had survived, so I sent a little of myself down there to kick start the planet again and my god did it work. The little creatures, the humans, they slowly evolved into sentient species, just like us. We were scarily similar with some minor differences. I'd tried to curb their sexual desires as that's all they would do given half the chance by making it into a sin, but with the lack of my voice out there, people were reproducing all over the place and my calm and quiet planet was now full of this one species that was now starting to kill everything.
It was now or never. I switched the mic back on, located the man with the blond hair who ran that big country they called America and started talking to him. It was time he joined with the other leaders of the world to tackle climate change whether he wanted to or not. | 2019-06-03T09:40:22 | 2019-06-03T09:07:34 | 111 | 21 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | The first voice that came through was one of anger. The self-righteous indignation that the words came with at once jolted me to earth. The words came again this time in a mocking high-pitched tone.
"Please God, answer my prayers Lord they big bad pagans are winning god."
He was prancing about a group of worshipers. My mind connected to his in an instant and I saw who he was. He was a non-believer with the strong belief that I was a figment of people's imaginations. He had spent his life going from believer to believer the same way my disciples did. Only he did it to convince them they were wrong.
My anger was telling me to smite him but I was no longer of that nature.
"Say something baloney!" he yelled looking upwards.
How long had it been? 2000 years since I had spoken to them like this. I had sworn to keep it secret but the secret was that I hadn't spoken to them. Maybe I would make an exception.
The skies around Alex began to darken for the lord made them darken. Then the wind begun to howl. A bolt of lightning hit a few feet from him and he and the worshipers cowered in fear. The lord's voice boomed over the storm. "I prefer to work in silence but your insolence has no limits."
My face, the one I chose for this, formed in the clouds and it lowered until I stared him in the eye, "speak child, your lord is listening." | The tiny little creatures I looked after had turned their world into crap. Thousands of years had passed in their time and yet, they had decided to ignore me when I tried to talk to them. Every single human who wanted to hear me, could not. It was like someone had built something to block me from them. Or maybe? Hmm, I wonder. I rooted around inside my little room and found the microphone lead tangled among all the other cables. I found the little switch on the side and my heart dropped. The world couldn't hear me anymore because I had been on mute. I face palmed and my stomach sank. I'd left my creations alone for so long that they thought they were alone in the universe when they were in fact a very loved pet. My friend had also chosen to create his own universe, but his creatures had turned out far less intelligent. We weren't supposed to do it, but early on, I'd added a bit of my own DNA after my idiot little brother had nearly destroyed the planet with a massive rock. I didn't think anything had survived, so I sent a little of myself down there to kick start the planet again and my god did it work. The little creatures, the humans, they slowly evolved into sentient species, just like us. We were scarily similar with some minor differences. I'd tried to curb their sexual desires as that's all they would do given half the chance by making it into a sin, but with the lack of my voice out there, people were reproducing all over the place and my calm and quiet planet was now full of this one species that was now starting to kill everything.
It was now or never. I switched the mic back on, located the man with the blond hair who ran that big country they called America and started talking to him. It was time he joined with the other leaders of the world to tackle climate change whether he wanted to or not. | 2019-06-03T09:36:57 | 2019-06-03T09:07:34 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] When the captain saw that you were human, he accepted you immediately as a member of his crew. Unfortunately, the captain's understanding of humans quickly turns out to be distinctly...off.
EDIT - Wow, didn't think this would be anywhere near as popular as it turned out. Thanks for the responses, all! | “It’s time, Steven.” Captain Genissi’s tentacles undulated nervously as he entered the restroom I was working in.
“Time, sir?”
“The ship’s sensors have picked up Limewir pirates approaching. They were hiding in the shadow of Gas Giant 14b. Now it’s too late to escape—they’ll be on us in less than twenty minutes. I need you to do your job.”
I looked down at the mop I was holding, then back up at my captain. “You want me to… mop up the pirates, sir?”
Captain Genissi’s articulated beak opened wide in what my universal translator assured me was a smile. “Yes! Mop them up, get rid of them, make them gone. Do your human thing.”
I tapped the translator at my throat. “I think this thing is malfunctioning, Captain. I meant ‘mop’ literally. I am a janitor. Perhaps you should be discussing this issue with First Mate Boran? Or our security marines?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Steven! I’ve seen enough human documentaries to know that you’re more than capable of tackling this problem. Our defenses could never handle a boarding party of professional Limewir pirates, but you ought to be more than up to the task.”
I scratched the back of my head. “I’m really not following here, sir. You hired me to clean the ship. What am I supposed to do about pirates?”
The Captain’s bulbous eyes blinked rapidly. “You mean you’re not a highly trained special agent merely disguised as a janitor, planted on my ship by a shadowy Human intelligence service?”
“No. Planted? You hired me yourself—"
“Not a super-soldier, infused with the mightiest augmentation serums science has ever produced?
“I need help just pushing the durasteel tables we use onboard to the side of the mess hall when I’m cleaning in there, sir. No super-strength.”
“Not a retired martial-arts master, tired of the blood your hands have spilt and longing for a peaceful life, despite knowing that danger will seek you out wherever you go?”
“Sir. Where are you getting these?”
“Are you absolutely certain that you’re not actually a wizard, hiding among us common space-folk, confused by modern technology and choosing to instead stick to charmingly anachronistic antiques such as brooms or mops, biding your time until you can unravel the spell that brought you into the future and return to your own timestream?”
“That was oddly specific.” I frowned at the Captain. “I think the documentaries you watched may have just been, well… movies, sir. Fiction. Humans are just like any other species; we merely happen to have very active imaginations and a penchant for storytelling.”
“Oh. Well, shit.” Captain Genissi’s tentacles continued their gentle wave for a moment, their pigmentation turning paler and paler as the seconds passed. “The pirates are going to kill all of us, aren’t they?” Then he fainted.
I sighed, looking down at the collapsed form of my captain. Then, resigning myself to my duty, I reached under my janitorial cart to detach the tactical vest and grenades that I kept hidden there. There was a shimmer of coruscating light as my wand fell out of sub-space, landing in the palm of my hand with a satisfying smack. Magic fountained from the tip.
“I swear, this shit happens every week,” I mumbled, and, stepping carefully over my Captain’s insensate body, I strode off to face the pirates. | “Please don’t eat me,” the squirming pirate says. It helplessly waves its tentacles around. We only captured this one alive from the boarding party.
Captain Arfkhan looks at me with all three eyestalks. His translator box makes that crackling noise I so hate. I only know it signifies excitement.
“Do it, Slade. I’ve always wanted to see how humans devour their prey,” says Arfkhan. His voice comes out distinctly feminine. Then again, his race has four sexes, so what do I know.
“Excuse me, Captain, but humans don’t eat sapient creatures. As a matter of fact, we don’t usually kill our food, since it’s all artificially grown in vats now,” I reply.
“But, but, that’s why I hired you human! The first contact report said humans are ruthless hunters that devour all opposition before them,” says Arfkhan. His voice takes on a shrill tone. Still focusing on me his eyestalks start waving around.
“Not exactly. That’s a translation error. Let me show you,” I say.
I holster my sidearm. Moving over to the pirate, I grab it by a cluster of tentacles. I drag it towards the airlock. It squeals the entire time. Opening the airlock, I shove the pirate in and close the door.
“Now that I have your undivided attention, pirate, I will ask you some questions. You will answer, or I push this red button,” I say. Wiping the green blood off my helmet visor, I stare through the window at the squirming mass of tentacles.
“Yes, yes, whatever you want. I heard what your race did to the yelhsk barbarians,” the pirate squeaks.
That’s what everyone calls those little buggers, huh? Humanity’s first contact randomly dropped out of hyperspace and bombarded our planet. Then they dared ask for tribute. Evidently, they thought we played by the same playbook.
I say to the pirate, “I want to know the security codes for your ship.”
The pirate stops squirming. I don’t know if it has sight as a sense, but it’s probably staring at me.
It replies, “Please, this is just business. We’re only pirates and no threat to your growing hegemon-“
I interrupt, “Tell me the codes, or I press this button in five seconds. Five, four, three-“
“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you the codes,” the alien panickily says.
Captain Arfkhan speaks, “Why do you want the codes, Slade? We repelled the boarding party and damaged their ship’s engines. We now can leave and make our rendezvous.” His translator box’s latest update now adds tones. He sounds genuinely curious.
Turning back, I look straight at Arfkhan’s central eyestalk. I say, “You get attacked by pirates in forty percent of your hauls. Wouldn’t it be nice if that percentage dropped to zero?”
Arfkhan’s eyestalks form an upside-down triangle and open all the way.
I smile and say, “We’re going to commandeer their ship and send it into the pirate base. Their station’s shield can stop a thermonuclear charge from the outside, but not inside the dock.”
Arfkhan’s voice box lets out an eerie laugh. He then says, “Ah, now I know why they say humans devour their prey. You truly are magnificent hunters.”
---
Check out r/ProfessorCynical to see more stories by me, including my current serial, [The Heretic Skull](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProfessorCynical/comments/d3tx2i/the_heretic_skull_chapter_1_the_dragon/) | 2019-10-11T09:29:57 | 2019-10-11T08:59:20 | 2,819 | 544 |
[WP] you wake up and realized you skipped a day, everything in your house is organized, since then you always switch bodies with this friendly entity that does your tasks for a day, until one day your windows are barricaded and theres blood on your hands and a note "You must hide" | “Initiating fast forward protocol...”
“Stabilizing...normalization achieved.”
I’ve been waking up with a grin every morning since the last software update. It was a little tough getting used to sharing my mind with Her, but after a week of a clean house, regular exercise, and eight hours of sleep every other day, I don’t mind it one bit.
I reach for my glass of water that She always places on my nightstand. The perfect amount of ice to still be cold in the morning.
The glass slips from my hand and shatters on the ground. My hands are slick. Weird. Maybe the cup was sweating?
I reach for my blinds to let in some light. I hear them reel back, but it’s still pitch black. Is it still night?
“Lights on,” I command the room. Nothing. Must be some kind of malfunction. I groan and amble out of bed to the manual switch. The light flicks on.
Blood.
On my hands. My sheets. On the walls.
Terror grips my heart.
I scramble to the bathroom to wash it off. The more I scrub the more pink bubbles seem to never stop. It’s not enough. I tear open the curtain to the shower.
There’s a body. A woman. I think she’s a stranger until I recognize her. I noticed her at the gym. We shared a smile.
That’s when I see it. The wall of the shower is covered in writing.
“MINE ALL MINE ONLY MINE MINE ONLY...” repeating until the entire wall is covered.
I rush out of the room, head spinning. Feeling sick. I lean back to fight the nausea.
The ceiling is covered in photographs. It looks like all strangers, but I vaguely recognize them. Momentary crushes. People that made me blush. The pictures form words.
“ALL MINE”
And there’s one in the middle. One I definitely recognize.
I frantically search for my phone, but I can’t find it. She must have hid it. She must have planned this.
I find a scratch piece of paper. If She can see everything I can see, I have to be careful. If She can hear my thoughts...is there anything I can do? But I must try.
It takes me most of the day to break the barricades off the door. She was as clever as She is jealous, and hid all the tools. But I’m determined.
I run as fast as I can. I have to drop off the note and get as far away as I can.
Exhausted, I arrive at the apartment door. I take one last look at the note I’ve written for my fiancée and hope it’s enough.
“You must hide”
I kiss the note and slip it under the door. Then I run. As far as I can get before...
Oh no.
“Initiating fast forward protocol...” | I'd gotten into a habit of letting the other side of me take over for a day. It was a crude sort of Jekyll and Hyde, but it played out well enough that my house didn't look like the FBI shot up my house. But today, I woke up to something different.
As I opened my eyes, something just felt wrong. My spot on the couch was right by the window so I would wake up with the sun shining in my eyes, getting me up to start the day. But today, it was dark. It took a couple of seconds for my brain to register that there were boards on my window. I rubbed my face, not wanting to get up... and promptly bashed my head on the boards as I felt something crusty roll down my face.
I curse, looking down at my body, and realize I'm wearing the same clothes I wore the day I met Deux, the other side of me. "Deux, whatever you're up to, this isn't funny." I say, realizing that my hands weren't covered in tomato sauce like I thought - it was blood. I sprinted across my room to the door, where I opened a drawer sitting to the right of it, where I kept my wallet and phone. *Please,* I thought, *just let this be a joke.* Where my phone should have been, there was a sticky note. *Hide,* it said, *you must hide.*
I jumped as Deux whispered in my ear. "Please, James," he said, "This is going to be weird for you, but you have to stay quiet."
"What's happening?" I ask, climbing the ladder to the attic, where I have a clear view of everything around me - tinted glass denying anyone or anything from looking inside. "What...?" As I look outside, my voice stops.
Two dark, shadowy figures were approaching my house. Somehow, I just knew they weren't human, that they didn't fit the natural pattern of this world. "Who are these guys?" I demand, starting to shake with fear.
"Wraiths." Deux replied, "Immortal, extremely powerful. They died out centuries ago, but they must have been hiding." I bolt down the ladder and hurl myself out of my window. Hitting the ground hard, I take off for my uncle's house, just two blocks away. "No!" Deux whispers frantically, "They will kill you!" As I swing left onto the block Uncle lives on, I hear an unearthly scream, like the crying of thousands of animals. To my right, I see a flicker of darkness dart towards me.
A white streak of light suddenly parts from my body, and I realize I don't feel Deux's emotions anymore, as it darts towards my dad's bother, standing on his porch. "Uncle!" I scream, watching the streak of darkness move closer and closer. But it was too late.
I gasp as the wraith passes through my body, and feel my body shudder. Searing pain erupts from every nerve in my body, and I collapse. From the edge of my vision I can see my uncle sprinting towards me, yelling frantically. Suddenly the wraith leaves my body and dives into the ground.
Then my vision flickers, and everything goes dark.
———————————————————————————
Should I continue this? | 2019-10-14T21:10:50 | 2019-10-14T20:35:42 | 77 | 53 |
[WP] You bought a pair of headphones that are acting up. Every time you plug them in, you hear a different sound - first crying, then a war-zone, now just static. You plug them in again and are frightened to hear a desperate, tearful warning: "Whatever you do, DON'T unplug the headphones again." | I unplugged the headphones.
My hackles stood tall as needles as I threw the headphones across my room. They landed on paneled floor with a crack.
I grimaced but I stayed 10 feet away as I eyed them for damage. They were faulty so surely I could refund them. Do pawn shops even do refunds?
With a sigh, I realized why they were so cheap. Studio quality headphones like these don't get sold at my student's budget. It really was too good to be true.
I ran my hands through my mop of hair. Dad's voice rang through my head. "We told you not to pick Music. Now you're going to be a good for nothing, jobless bum. Why couldn't you pick Engineering like Edmund?"
I just needed a little something to inspire me for my final project. The offers would roll in then, I knew it. I just needed...
My eyes trawled to the headphones. They lay placid, silent. I picked them up and hesitated only a second before plugging them once again into my phone.
I listened until *In The End*'s second chorus before releasing bated breath. They say headphones need breaking in right?
I skipped through my library, nodding as I went. Bass was solid, treble was sweet. Next up was *Bring Me to Life*. I smiled. The piano rang like glass chimes and-
I froze. A voice like winter wind trilled, harmonizing like rivers and shoal. Amy Lee had a pretty voice but this... This was not Amy Lee. But it was beautiful. My knees buckled and I sat on the floor. Entranced, I let the whole song play out.
I don't know when the song ended. When I blinked back into my room the headphones were silent. I raised my phone. It was already loyally halfway through the next song, its time bar trudging along like a sure snail. I tapped the headphones. Broken after all?
A smoky wisp caught my eye and I looked up. In front of me stood a girl. She wore a tattered rose swing dress with a ribbon tied around her waist. Long, matted hair framed a pale face ringed with dark eye shadow, which didn't look like makeup. She was translucent.
"Please," she said, "don't unplug me again." |
I opened up the package that I had ordered from Amazon and took out my brand new pair of headphones. My old headphones had gotten more glitchy as the years went by, so I was hoping that this new pair would be more successful. I sat down in my chair, went to Youtube, put on my headphones and plugged them into my laptop.
Almost instantly, I jerked backwards in my seat. Instead of hearing soothing music, I heard the sound of a baby screaming and crying. Worse, I could hear someone yelling at them in the background, though it was in some language that I couldn’t understand. What the fuck? I unplugged the headphones and checked through my tabs. Nothing else was playing. What weird shit had I just listened to?
Shrugging it off as a glitch, I plugged the headphones in again before almost immediately yanking them off. Even two feet away from me, I could hear the loud sounds of explosions and gunfire. What in the actual hell?
At this point, I was more cautious. I held the headphones in my hands and plugged in again. This time,all I could mostly hear was static. What really freaked me out though was that at certain points, if you listened closely enough, the static would get quieter and you could hear someone faintly giggling and humming.
I unplugged the headphones and decided to plug it in one last time before I returned these obviously cursed headphones back to whatever pit they had crawled from. At first, all I heard the sound of something crackling and burning. Then, the voice of a girl weeping suddenly echoed in my ear. “Please, please, David, don’t unplug the headphones or --” A cold chill ran down my neck and I yanked the cord out from my laptop. What the fuck? What the fuck was going on? How the hell did she know my name?
Suddenly, an unholy combination of screaming and explosions rang out from the headphones as they caught on fire in my hand. Screaming, I fell out of my chair and scurried away from the twisted mess of wiring and metal that was currently burning on my bedroom floor. Before I could even process whatever the fuck I had just seen though, I heard a loud shouting from my neighbors outside. Still scared out of my mind, I ran to the window. They were all staring at the night sky and chatting about it. I followed their gaze upwards. There in the sky, was a star shining brighter than any star I had ever seen before. My heart sank as I thought about what I had just heard. Had I done this? Had I unwittingly destroyed an entire world? | 2020-04-01T23:38:44 | 2020-04-01T21:37:42 | 409 | 42 |
[WP] You bought a pair of headphones that are acting up. Every time you plug them in, you hear a different sound - first crying, then a war-zone, now just static. You plug them in again and are frightened to hear a desperate, tearful warning: "Whatever you do, DON'T unplug the headphones again." | I unplugged the headphones.
My hackles stood tall as needles as I threw the headphones across my room. They landed on paneled floor with a crack.
I grimaced but I stayed 10 feet away as I eyed them for damage. They were faulty so surely I could refund them. Do pawn shops even do refunds?
With a sigh, I realized why they were so cheap. Studio quality headphones like these don't get sold at my student's budget. It really was too good to be true.
I ran my hands through my mop of hair. Dad's voice rang through my head. "We told you not to pick Music. Now you're going to be a good for nothing, jobless bum. Why couldn't you pick Engineering like Edmund?"
I just needed a little something to inspire me for my final project. The offers would roll in then, I knew it. I just needed...
My eyes trawled to the headphones. They lay placid, silent. I picked them up and hesitated only a second before plugging them once again into my phone.
I listened until *In The End*'s second chorus before releasing bated breath. They say headphones need breaking in right?
I skipped through my library, nodding as I went. Bass was solid, treble was sweet. Next up was *Bring Me to Life*. I smiled. The piano rang like glass chimes and-
I froze. A voice like winter wind trilled, harmonizing like rivers and shoal. Amy Lee had a pretty voice but this... This was not Amy Lee. But it was beautiful. My knees buckled and I sat on the floor. Entranced, I let the whole song play out.
I don't know when the song ended. When I blinked back into my room the headphones were silent. I raised my phone. It was already loyally halfway through the next song, its time bar trudging along like a sure snail. I tapped the headphones. Broken after all?
A smoky wisp caught my eye and I looked up. In front of me stood a girl. She wore a tattered rose swing dress with a ribbon tied around her waist. Long, matted hair framed a pale face ringed with dark eye shadow, which didn't look like makeup. She was translucent.
"Please," she said, "don't unplug me again." | I strolled into my neighborhood dollar store for a pair of headphones to replace my 99-cent earbuds that only worked when I wrapped the wire tightly around my phone. Buying another shitty pair of earbuds only for them to break after a day wasn't at the top of my shopping list. A wise stranger once said, "splurge on the things you love." So, I set my sights on a pair of ten-dollar headphones--a knockoff with rosy plastic and purple scribbles--with care and a bit of luck they'll last for a couple of months, maybe longer.
At the checkout, I zoned out watching live updates on the Iowa Democratic primary pop into my for you page on the New York Times app. A nudge from the man behind me reminded me that I was holding up the line. I handed my headphones to the cashier, paid, and powerwalked to my car, ready to rip into the plastic clamshell and tear out my headphones.
Using my hands to open the package wasn't my best idea: the clam bit back, making small cuts on my right ring and index finger. My blood trickled down into the container and down my palm. With a baby wipe lazily wrapped around my right hand and the brilliant idea of wedging my keys in between the, for some reason, sharpened plastic clam; I avenged my wounded fingers and plucked my rosy pearl from the plastic.
I plugged the headphones into my phone for a quick jam session before driving back home and pressed play on my feel-good playlist, but nobody sang to me--they were broken. Just like my crappy earbuds, I only heard a faint buzzing and crackling. I tinkered with the end of the wire where the rubber insulation widened. I pinched and twisted it until the crackling loudened to popping. It felt like someone was sabering champagne bottles and let the corks hit my eardrum. I took off my headphones and unplugged them.
"worthless," I muttered, then plugged it in again.
I put my headphones back on and heard someone breathing--unsteadily like they were holding back tears. But apparently, my headphones weren't totally useless. The right side of my lips curled upward. I grabbed my phone from the front cupholder. The back cupholder was reserved for coffee and other beverages, and the occasional snack since it sunk deeper than the front one. But my music was paused. Nothing was playing, so why did I hear sobbing? I pinched the end of the wire again.
"Please don't!" a voice shrieked. | 2020-04-01T23:38:44 | 2020-04-01T23:18:06 | 409 | 16 |
[WP] An alien replacing your father and pretending to be him sounds like everybody horror's story, except for you and your mother since it is affectionate, caring, helps you with school and has even been promoted at work and is an absolute dork for SciFi movies. | My father was replaced by an alien.
He used to be a terrible father. He would get drunk, and then lash out at us. Blaming us for his troubles, blaming us for our debt, blaming use for everything.
He used to yell at mom, hitting her. Then he would leave to go hang out with his buddies.
I honestly dont remember much from then, other than those times where he was the worst.
But one day, he was particularly bad.
Mom was trying to shield me and my little sister. He hit her several times. Then he stopped.
There was a change in his eyes, and he just looked at us.
Then he started to cry and he kept apologizing over and over and over again.
After that he started working on himself. He stopped going to bars all the time, and he got himself a job again. He set up a schedule with a therapist, and was able to sort through his problems.
He became a much better person.
He stopped talking to the people who encouraged him to drink, and he fixed up all the damage done to the house.
I found out that he actually enjoyed SciFi, and we would watch the movies sometimes.
It took a while before we were able to be happy around him. Not flinch if he moved his hand, and to not feel fear while around him.
It helped that he shaved off his beard, and cut his hair. As it made him look like someone else other than the man who used to hurt us.
Sure, sometimes he would get angry, and nearly got violent, but over time he got better at controlling his actions.
Mom said that he was a lot like how he used to be, when they first got married. He was back to being the man she fell in love with. But she didn't know if she could love him anymore.
They stayed together in the end. Whether if it was just for us, or they had begun to love each other again, I'm not sure.
But my dad became someone else.
My father was replaced by an alien, at least that's a joke me an my friends make sometimes.
I've only told him about it once, and he just laughed, and walked away.
My father is an alien. At least compared to the man he used to be.
He is so much better now. Not perfect of course, but better.
My father, The alien. | “I love you, son” said the impostor.
Tears well up in my eyes. “I love you too, Dad”. For a second, I really mean Dad. It’s hard knowing that your dad has been replaced by a stranger, but times like this make it all worthwhile. Maybe in time, I’ll forget about my first ‘father’. Maybe I dreamt him up. It’s hard to be sure when I started to like this new Dad more than the original, but if pressed to pinpoint an exact moment, it would be three minutes after he walked in the door. In he crept with a large cardboard box. I expected it to be him hiding his beer or cheap whiskey––He never liked us knowing that he was slamming ‘em back. But we all knew. You could smell it on his beard and his breath and his body odor. It was all-permeating. My father was a terrible liar, but no one ever called him out on it, because we didn’t want to get into the inevitable shouting match that always followed.
“I’m not drunk!” Punches the wall.
“You’re the drunk!” Slams the door.
“Idiot!” Car pulls out of the driveway.
I’ve never been yelled at by my new dad.
I’ve never even thought about running away.
In that cardboard box, New Dad had bought the complete collections of the Twilight Zone, Star Wars, Stargate SG1, Battlestar Galactica, Cosmos with Carl Sagan, and all the Star Trek series. My first father had never cared about space before. He sat down with us that night, made popcorn with a lot of butter and salt, and we all sat together on the couch and just relaxed and watched. It was the first time I felt like we were a family.
Neither me or my mom know what happened to the original father. At first, I thought that maybe my new dad ate him or something. That was a year ago. Every once in a while, I wonder to myself where my original father would be. I can never focus on it for too long, it always brings me down. I don’t think he would be thinking about me. I never bring it up with Mom either. She’s been smiling a lot more ever since New Dad walked into our lives. Sometimes she even wears makeup. I think she might be in love again. Not that my original father was so terrible, apart from the drinking and the yelling and the fighting, but New Dad really takes care of her, you know? He really loves her, and Mom really loves him back, face tentacles and all. | 2020-04-23T09:51:30 | 2020-04-23T09:30:56 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | As Nobu walked away with his pair of pumps, Aiko came up with her flats.
"Sexy, Nobu. Looks classy! Aiko teased.
Nobu smiled. "I'm glad that the managers have a sense of humor. Better for morale I think. Though I thought it would be mandatory for everyone, especially since health and safety sent out the poll."
"Yeah, well I guess they have a playful side. There are so many men in this company, I say it's high time the odds are evened up. Maybe more men will start making way for us ladies."
They got back to their cubicles, and sitting side-by-side they put on their new foot wear. After taking a few steps, Nobu sits back down, visibly annoyed.
"They're really pinching me!"
Aiko tosses a box of band aids on Nobu's desk. "That should help."
Tending to his already sore toes, Nobu strategically covers up rubbed skin.
"Looks good though. Even after a few steps, I wouldn't minding following you to the copier." Aiko was loving the new rule.
Suddenly, an alarm bell came on the PA. Red emergency lights start flashing.
*Employees be aware. The National Emergency Alarm has been activated. Proceed towards your nearest emergency exit in an orderly and brisk fashion. This is not a drill*.
Nobu and Aiko walked together. The hall was ringing with the taps of mens' heels while everyone started filing out. Flashing red lights lined the halls and stairways, lighting the faces of the concerned employees. As they got downstairs, Nobu could see a growing chaotic scene. Fellow employees being pushed down and trampled by other panic bystanders.
"Nobu, what's going on?"
"I don't know Aiko! C'mon!"
As Nobu grabbed for Aiko's hand, he started to move to the side and twisted his ankle. Falling down, he grabbed his leg. Aiko knelt down to tend to her friend.
"Are you alright?"
"It's impossible to run in these!"
As they lay on the sidewalk, a number of their colleagues lie around them falling down as they try to run away.
"What the hell is going on!" Nobu yelled out in frustration as he focused on his fast swelling ankle. "Aiko, please help me up. Aiko!"
Gawking up at the unbelievable sight, Aiko didn't hear Nobu's request. Slowly trembling away from Nobu, with watering eyes and quivering lips, she runs at full sprint in the opposite direction.
Incredulous, Nobu looks back in the other direction. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, as he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Godzilla!"
Edit: typos | As a collective of women and men at the office approached the counter to pick up their shoes to follow the new work protocol, the women gave an apprehensive side-eye. A few of them sneered, dropped their jaws, gawked, scratched their heads, and even rubbed their chins.
One of them said. "Why? Why would any of you want to wear something so uncomfortable as well as something only women wear? The whole thing is rather silly, isn't it?"
The men on the other side were all beaming. There wasn't a single frown out of the fifteen of them waiting in line. The man who was supposed to be next to collect his sharp black stilettos, stepped out of the queue. It was Kosuke, the male counterpart who was responsible for collaboration of the company-wide poll.
"I was planning on making an announcement later today at work, but I wanted to let you know since you have asked," he took a deep breath and shook his head with a nervous twitch.
"I understand that some of you are currently judging us men, wearing something that is typically seen on a woman. That is something I one day hope to change. These societal norms of fashion inhibit us in a lot of ways. They are mental shackles. My whole life I've always preferred wearing clothes that were meant for women. I'm not sure why, and in fact, I wish I wasn't that way because of all of the jokes and bullying I endured through my life made me hate myself all the more.
"One day my mother and father saw me sobbing after a day at school where I was wearing a new outfit that I actually purchased in the boys section, but I was ridiculed by all of my classmates for looking too much like a girl. Fortunately, I had very kind-hearted parents who supported my clothing preference. They let me walk around the house wearing whatever I felt most comfortable in. An important lesson they taught me is to embrace the things I enjoy, and not hate myself for them.
"I wanted to collaborate on this project at work because I knew there were other men like me. Friends here at work that I became close with found out about my fashion preference and I was amazed to find a few of them felt the exact same way. The support I received was overwhelming," Kosuke trembled and a mist fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry you'll hear this speech again later today, but just know that some of us want to change the norms. This isn't a novelty, but a way of life. I know some of the men here don't really care to wear heels, but they're doing it out of support for me, and it's still early in the morning and it's already been the best day of my life."
A few of the men from the line drifted over to Kosuke and patted him on the back, every one of them grinning from ear to ear in their new heels. All of the women stood by, and nodded.
"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you Kosuke," the woman said.
r/randallcooper | 2020-05-11T09:57:11 | 2020-05-11T07:33:41 | 2,942 | 112 |
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