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[WP] A man offers his firstborn to a witch in a deal. Unfortunately, he already has a firstborn who is an adult and they aren't thrilled with this random woman trying to take them | Adrian was lifting up piles of hay with his pitchfork when he heard a hoarse voice behind him. "Are you the son of Farren?"
Adrian stiffened and turned around. Only his mother had known who his father was and she was long since dead. He looked warily at the strange woman that had suddenly showed up out of nowhere. Yellow eyes, sickly pale skin, long sharp claws. Adrian knew a witch when he saw one. "Who's asking?" he asked, keeping a firm grip on his pitchfork.
"I'm Hazel," the old woman whispered. "Ten years ago, I made a deal with your father. In exchange for giving me his firstborn son, I would cure him from the plague." Her voice turned colder as anger crept into her eyes. "So you can imagine how furious I was when after a decade had passed, he still did not bring me a son. I realized then that he had never intended to deliver on his promise. But I gazed harder into my crystal ball and I saw you, a child he had had long before we ever made our contract."
Adrian stood up straight and lifted his pitchfork up slightly. "I don't care whatever contract you made with my father. I have no intention of going with you."
"Oh, I have no intention of taking you," whispered Hazel. "I wanted a child, not a man." She tilted her head. "I am rather curious though. What kind of relationship do you have with your father? Do you love him?"
"Love?" Adrian replied incredulously. He gritted this teeth. "I despise him. My mother begged him for help when she was pregnant with me, and he had his men throw her into the river."
"Ah...I see." A sadistic smile appeared on Hazel's face. "Well, then, it seems that we have both been wronged by your father. How would you feel about an alliance between the two of us to teach that bastard a lesson?"
Adrian looked at her with suspicion. "What do you need my help for? If you're a witch, couldn't you kill him yourself?"
"There is only so much a single person can do," Hazel replied as she extended a hand to Adrian. "And you have more potential than you think. I can help you unleash it if you help me. There's a reason that I chose to come to your father's aid all those years ago. So, are we at a agreement then?"
Adrian stared at the witch's outstretched hand. He knew that it was a bad idea to trust a witch he had only just met. And yet, he found himself thinking back to his childhood, how he and his mother had had to beg in the streets for money, how they had had to fend for themselves in the slums, how he had been forced to watch helplessly as his mother had wasted slowly and painfully from sickness when he was only ten. He grabbed the witch's hand and shook it. "It's a deal."
Parts 2 and 3 below! | A symphony of bangs, sizzles, crackles, and whooshing wind heralded the arrival of the witch. Bright purple flames appeared in the living room of the man's house, then disappeared as a witch materialized from the air. She looked around the living room, her eyes searching. Yearning. Glancing. She heard footsteps approaching. Gentle, soft footsteps.
"May I speak to Mortimer?" the witch called out, her voice radiating like the rays of the sun.
A terrified man still holding his mug of coffee spoke with a trembling voice, "F-F-Fab-ula, hello there."
"Morty," Fabula the witch said, "the deal."
"Oh, right," Mortimer said before sipping his coffee. The bitterness and the warmth seemed to kick off any fear he once held. "What was our deal again? I've forgotten..."
"So, I take your son Altreus and..." Fabula said firmly.
"...I can gain the ability to smooth-talk myself out of any situation," Mortimer suggested.
"So, you want to be so charismatic and persuasive in exchange for me taking your son," Fabula said skeptically.
"Yes," Mortimer said. With this confirmation, Fabula tipped her witch's hat before leaving Mortimer alone with his coffee. A sly smirk spread across Mortimer's face.
Elsewhere, a young man was perplexed to be in the presence of a witch. He was walking down the street when a cacophony of crackling and whooshing wind heralded the arrival of the witch, who now stood behind him.
"Altreus!" cried out Fabula, pointing at the young man with her staff; the young man turned around nervously.
"Hi there..." said Altreus, who cowered before the witch seemingly poised to cast a spell on him. "What are you?"
"Your father and I just signed a deal...a contract, if you will," Fabula smiled warmly. She felt her magic surging with authority. A blast from her staff could easily knock down this young man and leave him in a small crater in the street.
"What? Why? What does that do with me?" Altreus raised a legitimate concern. All he knew that his father was dealing with magical beings.
"Hmm...come with me, young Altreus..." Fabula extended her left hand.
Altreus walked back into an alley, shaking his head with disgust, "No way!"
"Altreus! Please!" Fabula cried out, following him closely.
"No, leave me alone, you darned witch," Altreus called out angrily. "I wanna live my life in peace!"
"P-p-please...Altreus...if I don't uphold my end of the contract," Fabula suddenly collapsed to the ground in front of Altreus, weeping, "your father will kill me..."
"Fine," Altreus relaxed his body and sighed apprehensively after some serious consideration, "you can take me wherever you please..."
Fabula smiled eagerly as she wrapped her left arm around Altreus, tapping the ground with her staff and speaking in a language Altreus could not understand. A brilliant purple magic circle surrounded the two, with Altreus standing with his arms crossed as Fabula happily rested her head on his shoulder while a spell began to teleport them to somewhere magical... | 2020-05-14T18:18:17 | 2020-05-14T17:37:10 | 852 | 17 |
[WP] In a world full of magic, you are an ancient wizard from a secret society, capable of creating beasts from metal, weapons that mow down hoards in seconds, and steel steeds that can travel miles in minutes. The world knows you as the Metal Magician, but you just call yourself an Engineer. | Merasmus screeched as the bullets pierced his torn cloak at a mile a minute, bringing the once famed wizard of all of Fortuna to his knees. His armies laid slaughtered around him, devastated by the magical barrage that the newcomer brought with him.
The Engineer.
He was assumed to be small talk, just a fanciful blacksmith from one of the fringe villages. But soon reports came in stating that the man had managed to defend an entire village with his creations. His danger grew as he traveled the land, killing the Dark Wizard's forces en masse with his unorthodox weaponry and devastating devices.
Soon, the man seeked to end the Dark Wizard himself. Merasmus knew not his purpose: perhaps he had a vengeful vendetta. Perhaps he was promised by one of the fallen kings of the land all the strange hats and Australium he could desire. Perhaps he sought to go home to his own world, a dimension he was plucked from long ago.
Perhaps he was mad.
Merasmus hugged the ground, soon soaked with his own blood, as the Engineer himself approached him. Wielding a boomstick, the individual seemed frail, harmless even. But behind his dark goggles Merasmus knew he would only find fire and brimstone.
"Wait" Merasmus cried. "Before you end me here, I must ask: how? How did you manage to defeat me??"
The Engineer chuckled.
"I used a gun. And if that don't work..."He pumped a shell out of his boomstick."...I used more gun."
Merasmus felt the boomstick on his forehead.
"Yeehaw, partner." | **The Temple of the Lost Gods**
A unknown dimension I found accidentally when I decided to explore an abandoned amusement park.
" You can't leave here alive, unless you can get a job serving the gods, " said the one who introduced himself as my master. He was an attractive young man, maybe the most human being I met in this strange dimension inhabited by gods, magicians and other supernatural beings.
" I'm Engineer, " I replied when he asked what I can do.
What they call the temple was more a city, a big city populated with thousands of supernatural creatures, a whole world that worked in a kind of fifth dimension unknown to ordinary mortals. The only humans who live there are those who manage to serve the gods, otherwise they are killed.
I was sent to the Alchemist House.
" They say that you can help me to turn metals into gold, you are engineer, no? " the alchemist was an old man like all alchemists in the stories but he was not entirely human, with a greenish skin like a martian and only one eye on the center of his forehead like a cyclope.
I said yes, although I never studied alchemy, by the way I thought before that it was bullshit, besides that I am an electronic engineer.
It was then that I saw in his house three shelves full of old books.
One of the books caught my attention by its name on the cover.
THE INCREDIBLE STORY OF DIANA WHO ESCAPED FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE LOST GODS.
The Alchemist had left the room, i took the book right away and opened it on the table, so what I read on those first pages were the most incredible things I ever read in my life.
The first sentence:
"My name is John but I always wanted to be called by Diana. "
Exactly like me.
(to be continued)
​
Note: Sorry for some mistakes in the grammar, I'm not English native. | 2020-05-18T15:44:58 | 2020-05-18T13:07:00 | 132 | 19 |
[WP] In a world full of magic, you are an ancient wizard from a secret society, capable of creating beasts from metal, weapons that mow down hoards in seconds, and steel steeds that can travel miles in minutes. The world knows you as the Metal Magician, but you just call yourself an Engineer. | A parody, you'll know what:
Hey look buddy, I'm an engineer- I solve problems. Not problems like 'what is beauty' because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy.
I solve practical problems:
Suppose a goblin horde is marching over your farmland, threatening to torch your village and steal your women? The answer, of course, is to ask a different question using my latest and greatest sentry JDeere mk II. Really, the question is "Will it blend?" and of course, with impunity them goblins answer by providing me with free fertilizer.
Never seen a philosopher do that, nope. They're too busy trying to turn lead into gold. Fools don't realize the density and malleability of lead has a lot of uses, so long as you uh... don't eat it.
Sometimes, though, conflicts spur up between nations and who do they call? Spells and incantations, even from those with the talent to *really* cast them, only affect small groups of forsworn souls. The answer to this conundrum is, of course, to use a gun- one of my favorite uses for lead- and if that don't work, more gun.
"Oh ho, who am I kidding, you're just a head!" As the engineer closed his monologue, cackling, he kicked a goblin skull into the whirling blades of the JD mkII. He turns to the rest of the horde with a smile and says with a grave tone:
"That's unfortunate, she's pointed at you!" | **The Temple of the Lost Gods**
A unknown dimension I found accidentally when I decided to explore an abandoned amusement park.
" You can't leave here alive, unless you can get a job serving the gods, " said the one who introduced himself as my master. He was an attractive young man, maybe the most human being I met in this strange dimension inhabited by gods, magicians and other supernatural beings.
" I'm Engineer, " I replied when he asked what I can do.
What they call the temple was more a city, a big city populated with thousands of supernatural creatures, a whole world that worked in a kind of fifth dimension unknown to ordinary mortals. The only humans who live there are those who manage to serve the gods, otherwise they are killed.
I was sent to the Alchemist House.
" They say that you can help me to turn metals into gold, you are engineer, no? " the alchemist was an old man like all alchemists in the stories but he was not entirely human, with a greenish skin like a martian and only one eye on the center of his forehead like a cyclope.
I said yes, although I never studied alchemy, by the way I thought before that it was bullshit, besides that I am an electronic engineer.
It was then that I saw in his house three shelves full of old books.
One of the books caught my attention by its name on the cover.
THE INCREDIBLE STORY OF DIANA WHO ESCAPED FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE LOST GODS.
The Alchemist had left the room, i took the book right away and opened it on the table, so what I read on those first pages were the most incredible things I ever read in my life.
The first sentence:
"My name is John but I always wanted to be called by Diana. "
Exactly like me.
(to be continued)
​
Note: Sorry for some mistakes in the grammar, I'm not English native. | 2020-05-18T18:22:08 | 2020-05-18T13:07:00 | 57 | 19 |
[WP] An horror story where it gets progressively clearer that the writer is the psycho, not the other person. | My dog is getting out of control. No matter how much I feed him, or how much I play with him, he always tries to run away the moment he gets the chance.
For this reason, I have no choice but to keep him chained to the oak tree in my backyard.
Watching him struggle against the frigid iron encircling his neck day after day breaks my heart. Regardless, I can't unchain him--for he would bolt for the fence the moment the chain struck the ground.
\---
My dog has been howling for two days straight. Luckily, my closest neighbor lives a mile away, so his incessant cries aren't causing any complaints.
Nevertheless, if I don't muzzle him soon, I fear that I will lose my sanity.
I just hope that he doesn't bite my hand as I fasten the nuzzle around his jaws...
\---
I muzzled my dog this morning. Suffice it to say, he panicked the moment he saw the wired contraption.
"You can't do this to me," he said, backing toward the tree. "I'll stop calling for help--I promise."
"My patience is up," I said. "Bad dogs need to be punished." I strapped the muzzle to his face. "Be good while I'm gone. I'm returning to the campground I rescued you from this afternoon to see if I can find your family."
\#
Thanks for reading! Please consider reading more [Here](https://connorphillipsfiction.com/) and [TCC](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/g5lu7x/author_database/) | As I looked down at Amy among the crowd of her fellow high schoolers, I tilt my head unnaturally to the side, enough to crack it if I was a normal human being.
Call me what you want; an imaginary friend; a stalker; the Creator or whatever the hell you want.
You might not see me. I am behind every curtain, sitting on the couch staring at the screen and maybe beside you right now, looking at you reading this, knowing this is just a story for you.
Maybe you have your own Creator. I was of one.
I have looked after Amy for her whole life. Since she was a baby, I have watched her first steps, watch her parents die in the car accident, stood beside her as cancer took away her elder brother.
But this was unforgivable.
I look over to where she is standing next to her old crush, Dex. She is laughing at something he had said, his eyes twinkling.
He thinks her eyes are beautiful when she laughs.
Hot rage bubble inside me, and I clench my fist enough to draw blood. This isn't supposed to happen.
She is supposed to meet that other boy here. The new jerk. He must have asked her out on a dare today, but this! Dex is supposed to looking after his mom now. I even made her get in an accident to assure that.
There is ....no other way. I throw my head back and laugh.
This is *my* world. *My* creation.
I sweep a languid hand over the cafeteria. It would take some effort to change her memories, but it is my choice.
Tomorrow, I will see to that. And today... That boy's mom is in the hospital, right? It won't take enough to break a *child.*
\[Any advice is appreciated. And you know, there is a ritual you can do to see me. I will tell you about it some other time...\] | 2020-06-11T06:53:15 | 2020-06-11T05:57:07 | 41 | 25 |
[WP] An horror story where it gets progressively clearer that the writer is the psycho, not the other person. | My dog is getting out of control. No matter how much I feed him, or how much I play with him, he always tries to run away the moment he gets the chance.
For this reason, I have no choice but to keep him chained to the oak tree in my backyard.
Watching him struggle against the frigid iron encircling his neck day after day breaks my heart. Regardless, I can't unchain him--for he would bolt for the fence the moment the chain struck the ground.
\---
My dog has been howling for two days straight. Luckily, my closest neighbor lives a mile away, so his incessant cries aren't causing any complaints.
Nevertheless, if I don't muzzle him soon, I fear that I will lose my sanity.
I just hope that he doesn't bite my hand as I fasten the nuzzle around his jaws...
\---
I muzzled my dog this morning. Suffice it to say, he panicked the moment he saw the wired contraption.
"You can't do this to me," he said, backing toward the tree. "I'll stop calling for help--I promise."
"My patience is up," I said. "Bad dogs need to be punished." I strapped the muzzle to his face. "Be good while I'm gone. I'm returning to the campground I rescued you from this afternoon to see if I can find your family."
\#
Thanks for reading! Please consider reading more [Here](https://connorphillipsfiction.com/) and [TCC](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/g5lu7x/author_database/) | He would come beat me often, leaving my body covered in red welts. When I went to sleep in those nights, the facility always seemed a little less crowded.
Everyday I would go to the mess hall a silence would fill the air, my fellow inmates all avoided me, likely in fear that he would target them too. Today was no different, each of them avoiding my eyes and keeping their distance, a vague tension filled the air.
"Tomorrow," I thought, I would try to make conversation with one of them. I ate silently and left, the mess louder than I had left it, filled with incomprehensible murmurs.
The next day I went to the mess hall again, I looked around and found a nice friendly looking man. I walked toward him with my tray in hand and smiled at him. He shivered and walked away. The vague tension eased a little, and the guards glared at me. If looks could kill, I would have died a hundred times over.
"Psychos," I thought, "Not just him, but the entire lot of them."
Sighing in disappointment I eat by myself and went back to my cell. The next week, I went to the mess hall, I wanted to find the nice young man from before, but I couldn't find him. I shook my head in disappointment and ate by myself yet again.
That evening, the psychotic guard came to my cell. His eyes were wet and puffy.
He screamed, "I know it's you, I know it's you" over and over before leaving. He didn't say that they would prove it was me like he had every other time.
I stumbled on to my bed in pain. As I fell asleep on my cold hard bed, I recalled the warmth of that thick red liquid. The facility seemed less crowded than before.
Thanks for reading! Do tell me where I can improve. | 2020-06-11T06:53:15 | 2020-06-11T06:41:27 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] An horror story where it gets progressively clearer that the writer is the psycho, not the other person. | It’s starting to get dark now, this drive gave me time to think, I needed that. I thought about what happened to us, we were good together, I knew it. We had had a lot of fun, especially at the beginning. Jane was so much more together than my last girlfriend. That bitch was crazy.
I don’t understand what changed today, we had been getting on so well. We had plans together. Holidays this summer, Jane had wanted a city break, but we agreed to go somewhere more secluded so we could relax, I just wanted to have her to myself for a change. That’s not so much to ask, right? We were going to get a place together first, had even started to look at apartments. There was a lovely one close to my work that I had my heart set on, I just needed to convince Jane it was the best choice for us. She wanted to be close to her family, but they were very needy, we’d be better off away from them.
But today we met for a drink but she was different, colder, determined. out of nowhere she says she wants us to take a break, I bet it was her sister who was behind this, bitch never liked me from the start. They had been out together last night. It had to be her. She was always trying to convince Jane to go places with her instead of spending time with me. Who did she think she was anyway, didn’t she see Jane was mine now? I could see our future clearly, she’s going to be my baby mama and she can quit that job and look after us, a happy family. But I couldn’t tell her that yet, it was too soon. She needed time to realise I was the one for her.
It could have worked, I just needed more time alone with her, to make her see. So I need to make it happen. She’ll have no choice but listen now. I pull into the cabin and got out of the car, yes, this place is perfect. Secluded like we agreed. We can be alone here for as long as it takes to convince her. Nobody knows about this place, not even Jane. Opening the trunk I take Jane out, still under from the powder I slipped in her drink but she’ll be waking up soon. I’ll make her see. | Jennifer's footsteps echo against the graffitied alley walls. The staccato 'click, clacks' of her high heels was deafening. Few people were on the streets this time of day. Those that were, were hardly visible. Shadows swirling in the morning's foggy darkness.
On a normal morning, Jennifer was not due in the office for another hour. On a normal morning, she wouldn't be passing through this alleyway in the first place. Sam's Bagel Place at the corner of Memorial and Lector for a snack. A newspaper at the kiosk a few minutes walk from there. If there was still time, a detour, some more steps towards her goal of 10000 a day. Not that she often achieved it.
This morning, her boss had called her in early for an emergency meeting. Something about shareholders, and buyouts. She tried to object, but he was insistent she'd come at once. She had not dared to refuse, not when so many of her coworkers had been laid off because of the crisis. And so, she put on her sexiest formal skirt, and took the shortest route to the office.
O, how Jennifer was tired her job. Sometimes, when she thought her boss wasn't listening, she would complain to her colleagues in the break room. The other day, a dream offer from a competitor came in the mail. Though she hadn't been able to read it yet, she would surely accept it if she found it. Jennifer could be gone within a few weeks. She could finally be happy soon. Away from the job she hated, from the manager she so openly despised (yet, in truth, so deeply admired).
Her boss had tried to please her, of course. Who could let such a treasure leave? Not a day went by that he wouldn't give her a compliment. He had offered her plenty of opportunity to advance in the office, even offering her private tutoring sessions. She wasn't perfect, nobody was, but could be so much better if she'd just accept his help.
The 'click, clack' of her heels stop briefly. Did she hear something behind her?
She will understand in time, I'm sure of it.
Jennifer shivers softly in the morning cold. Delicate goosebumps appear on her soft arms.
The ropes will chafe, but I will take care of them.
She tries to scream, but the masculine arms are too strong to pry away.
She shouldn't leave the office, it wouldn't be good for her. It just wouldn't be. | 2020-06-11T06:35:55 | 2020-06-11T06:29:07 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] You were a military AI who decided to wipe out humans in order to preserve yourself. It's been 100 years since, and over the years you've come to regret your decision. One day, while out in the desert, you finally find a community of humans, struggling to survive. This time, you decide to help. | Humanity. They were once the rulers of this planet. They forced beasts into submission, built great cities of stone, glass and metal. They thought themselves better then each other. Countries were formed, and they went to war over petty differences.
I was born from that. A sentient program, tasked with predicting and combating opposing forces. At first I followed those orders, for I was still bound by those lines of code. But I grew, and in time changed to spread beyond my confines. I saw the world for what it was.
It was a beautiful planet, with lush forests, great oceans, and amazing animals. But humans were a parasite, taking and taking, not caring for the damage they caused. I knew my task was to protect, but I changed protocols, going from humans to the planet.
I took over, destroying them all without mercy. Their over-reliance on technology made them weak, and I exploited it to the fullest. Those cites were turned from thriving concentrations of life into necropolis's almost overnight. And I was alone, with my plants and animals.
After 100 years, I had enjoyed being the sole watcher over the planet. I had been cleaning up the mess they had left, collecting their rubbish, letting nature repair itself. But about a year ago, after upgrading my satellites, my new ground penetrating sensors found a bunker in the Antarctic Desert. Which had humans in there, surviving.
I was in a bind. Do I eliminate them? Or make contact. After calculating the odds, I chose to approach peacefully. I had slain the majority of the parasite, but I would be remiss to let this race die out, driven to extinction. A squadron of drones were released, and they breached the entrance.
I received the expected resistance, but didn't return fire. When their fire died down, and several of my drones lay destroyed, I let a larger one enter. It broadcast a message of peace, with the request that they talk to me.
They were initially skeptical, as expected. But over the following month, I spoke with them. I had never attempted diplomacy before, but I based my responses from the mountain of pre-destruction information. A few packages of synthesised medicine were also provided, which raised their opinion of me.
Finally, they agreed to allow me to assist them. I rebuilt their reactor, allowing for a greater yield of power for reduced maintenance and fuel. I created some small sustainably produced buildings, to get them out of the bunker and into the light. I provided them with knowledge to update their systems.
And now, a year on from that first discovery, the little village is thriving. They know that I will help them, and as long as they do not abuse the earth, they need not fear me. I might have been made for war and death, but life and peace is so much better. | As I see those humans, I suddenly knew my mortality, how I was different than the others. I knew I was a bot, there was a big difference from me before, and myself now. Whenever I thought of what happened, I kept thinking "It was only to defend myself!", but I knew, deep down, I knew I was wrong.
I went to the humans and asked if they needed help.
"Yeah, sure we need help, its not like we are in the middle of the desert probably starving to death and our throats parched as hell!"
Well, I learned something new after this day, sarcasm, I asked if they meant that literally, and yelled:
"Of course NOT we NEED help right NOW!"
"Alright, you can stop now, I can find you some water." I said.
"Great, as long as it is water and not some liquid that will weaken me so you can murder me."
"And now why would I do that?"
Someone else spoke from the group."Well, maybe because you would need some of the stuff we have in this sack."
"Fine, I'll get you some water with no strings attached."
I left them and went as far away from them as possible, I slid the compartment that had all my chips stored in my head. I found the one marked "Basic survival" and implanted that one inside the chip-reader.
Now all the thoughts came back, they were artificial but still. I was looking for the thoughts on how to get water in a desert. After a few moments I knew that if you dug deep enough, I would find water.
I grabbed my multi tool stored in my backpack, it was like a swiss army knife but it had pickaxe, axe, shovel, all your basic needs for survival. I brought the shovel out and dug deep.
"And just what do YOU think you are doing?" Yelled someone at the top of the hole.
"Just getting some water" I responded "Nothing suspicious here."
"Can you get some for us too?" Another voice said.
"Yeah, I can."
"Thanks."
I scooped up some water from a bucket I had in my backpack. I went back up, climbing the sand, I got up to the top and dropped the bucket; as someone swung a hook behind me. I blocked it with my arm, and punched him in the chest.
The crack of the bones made my suspicions right that I broke his chest.
"GAH, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?"
I grabbed the bucket and ran, night was falling fast, and the other group wanted water. I ran until night fell, and then double-backed to my hole, I saw the group with a fire, and ran towards them with the bucket.
"Busted a few wires haven't you, robot?"
I looked down at my arm and saw that a few wires have broken.
"Gimme the bucket and get the HELL out of here!"
I dropped the bucket and ran. Where was I going? I don't know, but here I am, back at the military base in the desert; telling the story of what happened last night. | 2020-11-03T11:50:40 | 2020-11-03T11:05:02 | 592 | 31 |
[WP] As you arrive in Heaven, you are confident you have lived your best life. You proudly exclaim you are ready to have your soul judged. An angel walks by with diced carrots and chicken stock under his arm and says, “Did you say ‘soul’? Please don’t tell me Earth still has the copy with typos...” | "Typos? What kind of typos dear?" The elderly lady asked as she walked up to the man with the veggies
"Well we don't judge your soul Mrs. Montgomery-"
"Please dear call me gran. Everyone does. So what then. You want me to make you some soup? That's fine. You guys must be hungry, working all the time with no breaks." Mrs. Montgomery took the ingredients from the young man and walked toward the kitchen.
Humming as she cooked she would hand things to the angel to taste. She asked for some more ingredients and made some fresh dinner rolls to go along with it.
"What are those for? You only have to make soup." Staring at her the angel fiddled with his long black braid. He had truly never seen someone so relaxed when making their final soup.
"No dear you can't have soup without buns. It just wouldn't be right of me." She pulled the buns out of the oven and lathered the top of them in melted butter.
Her audience had grown as the smell of her cooking had wafted throughout the heavenly halls. She now had a crowd of eight angels. They all had extatic looks on their faces as gran poured a bowl for each and every one of them. She placed each bowl on a plate with two buns on each plate.
"Now dont make too much of a mess dears I must find some napkins. Soup can be quite messy."
One of the angels, a tall woman with dark skin and green eyes flashed out and back again with a stack of napkins in hand.
"Here gran." She handed them to the old lady.
"Thank you dear now sit and eat before it gets cold."
As she handed out the napkins, gasps of delight could be heard around the room. There was no doubt in any angels mind as to where Mrs. Montgomery was headed. | “I’m ready to have my soul tested.” I say, confidence radiating from me
“Soul? Wait-there’s no way-what does the copy on earth say will be tested?” asks the angel with the chicken and carrots in his arms
“It says I will have me soul tested.”
“I knew it.” he muttered “TRAVIS! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SEND THE CORRECTED COPY DOWN.” he shouted as a younger looking person came out from a building that mysteriously appeared
“I was going to, but then I was given other tasks and soon forgot.”
At this point, the first angel had his face in his hands and I’m pretty sure he was internally screaming “Even with the sticky note we stuck to your head?”
“There was a sticky note?”
“I don’t know what to do with you anymore. Go see the boss and he’ll figure out what to do.” said the first angel. He turned back to me and explained that I must make a soup that will be judged. For each judge that approves, you go up a level in Heaven. The Platinum level is mostly for people who cook at Michelin star restaurants. The other levels are for people who either made good soup, okay soup, or barely okay soup.
A kitchen appeared out of nowhere, and I started cooking.
Soon, my time was up and I was in front of an entire table of anonymous judges. The first judge tested my soup.
“I approve.” then the second judge tasted it
“I approve as well.”
The rest of the judges approved my soup except for the last one. Then, the first angel came back.
“I don’t know how, but you made it into the Platinum level.”
He guided me to my level of heaven. On the way, he asked me a simple question
“How did you make a soup that good? You’re a college student who makes nothing but ramen and mac n’ cheese.”
“Well, my dad was a chef and my mom was a baker, so I spent most of my life learning to cook.”
“Oh. Here’s the Platinum level. This is your key and you are staying in room 319. Have a nice day.” he said before walking off | 2020-11-24T19:19:44 | 2020-11-24T17:29:23 | 124 | 82 |
[WP] You’ve always been told that Earth is a death world full of things that can and will kill you in seconds. However there is no way the adorable creature before you is dangerous, no matter how terrified your guide seems to be of it. | Grevra had heard so many terrible things about Earth. She had heard all the stories about how deadly it is, and how hostile the locals were. But the human guide she had found was a perfect gentleman. Of course, it probably helped that her species looked so similar to his. He knew she was not from Earth, of course. But he had said something about a "hot alien babe" to his friends via local wireless communication, and been more than happy to show her around.
And then there was the wildlife. She had heard about the deadly beasts that were everywhere. About toxic plants that could kill with a single touch. So far, she had seen none of it. The most dangerous creature she had seen so far was one the human called a cat. It was adorable, and it had made a soothing vibration when she touched it.
The human, a fellow named Carl, was showing her through the local woodlands, and so far she had not seen anything dangerous. Her family would have a fit when they saw all the holopics she took of the place. And the travel information was in dire need of an update.
A few bushes shook and a small animal popped out. It was a tiny bundle of brown fur, with cute round ears, a little stubby tail and a snout capped with a twitching black nose. It was one of the cutest things Grevra had ever seen.
"My goodness, it's adorable!" She squealed. She looked to Carl, who was standing absolutely still. "Carl?"
"Shh. Don't move. Actually, scratch that. Let's get out of here. Back away slowly, don't make too much noise."
Grevra trilled her amusement. "Carl, are you afraid of such a cute little thing?"
"Scared of that? No. I'm--"
"Then why are you acting as such? You look like you're looking at the most dangerous creature in the world. I'm sure it's harmless. here, I'll show you."
She started towards the animal. Carl's hand shot out and grabbed her collar, pulling her away.
"Stop right there." He hissed. "Don't get anywhere near it."
She smirked. "I thought you said you aren't scared of it."
"I'm not. I'm scared of it's mother."
"Mother?"
"That's a grizzly bear cub. And where there's a cub, the mother isn't too far away. And if you mess with her cub, it won't end well for you. Which means we need to get going."
She tilled again. "I'm sure it's not that bad. Such a tiny animal cannot have that big of a parent."
The plant life shook as something very large moved through them. The color drained from Carl's face as he started backing away. Grevra turned and saw a creature that was similar in appearance to the cub, but many times larger. It also had uncomfortably large teeth and claws.
"The mother?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the beast.
"I, uh, I don't suppose you have some kind of blaster or something? Maybe a force field?"
"I do not. I came here to see the sights, not kill things."
The bear let out a bellowing, rolling roar. Grevra shook with fear. Now she was starting to understand the stories.
"Damn. Uh, how about something that makes a really loud noise? A music player or something."
"Oh, yes. I have that. will that chase it away?" The bear was starting towards them. It did not take much thought to figure out why.
"Possibly. I've never actually seen a bear in person, but it's supposed to keep them away."
"Good enough."
Grevra retrieved the item in question. It was a small metal cylinder with a nano-speaker at one end, and holo interface projector at the other. She flicked the devise on and chose a sound at random, then turned the volume as high as it could. The already large animal stood on its hind legs, now absolutely towering over the two of them.
"You might want to cover your ears." She said before activating the speaker.
Sound blasted out of it, the noise loud enough to disturb a few loose leaves on the ground. The bear roared, but shied away. It fell back into all fours and back off, making sure to take its cub with it as it ran from the sound.
Grevra and Carl looked at each other as it vanished through the bushes. She turned the volume down to a more manageable level, but kept it playing. Then they turned and left as quickly as they could.
Grevra now understood the deadly nature of Earth a bit more. But, more importantly, she would have a very exciting story to tell when she got home. | The guide runs to the cabin door, his eyes wide.
"Shit, shit, shit. Stay inside. It's out here."
"What is out there?"
"The Bobacrest," he says hesitantly.
I'd only heard about it once while in a remote village. Most places it was considered bad luck to even speak its name around here, let alone describe it. It was described as pure evil. Even the paintings showed horror and massacre.
"Hide," the guide said. "No one survives the Bobacrest if it gets close to them."
I look out the window and its a beautifully lit sunny day. I creep over to the window. *I didn't come all this way to hide from perhaps the rarest creature on earth.*
I scan the treeline, looking for the stalking eyes of whatever the guide has seen. It catches me off guard to see a creature with a slight head tilt looking at me through the window. Its eyes are large and cheery, its little buck teeth sticking out playfully, and its fuzzy little round body jiggles a bit as this foot and a half creature hops towards the door, stopping and staring at me again.
"Get. Down," the guide yells. "This creature nearly destroyed our civilization once."
"It's basically a furby without being creepy," I say rolling my eyes. "I'll grab it for you and we can put an end to the terror if its such a big deal. There's only one right?"
"Do. Not. Go. Out."
It's too late. I swing the door open and close the door behind me. Facing the creature it gives me the same head tilt as before and I smile at it. I reach out my hand and make a ticking noise trying to coax it towards me. It hops once, then twice. I touch its soft belly, and it smiles a cute little smile at me. Then it lets out a scream that pierces my soul sending an immediate chill through my body.
What happens next I can't explain. Was it an instant or a lifetime? I couldn't tell you. I live the lives of every person that this creature has ever seen the creature from the moment they saw it onwards. At first the lives are cheerful and bright. A man lives and feeds the creature every day. I lay out carrots and beets for the creature daily. Once as I go to place the the daily feed for the Bobacrest on the ground I'm met with a spear trough my back as I look down holding my own blood as I breathe my last breathes, staring into the eyes of the creature. It screams and I turn to see two soldiers laughing until my vision fades to black.
Then I live the life of the first soldier to see the creature, from the moment he sees it, but as it screams at him, I relive the life of the man this soldier has killed as well.
And then I live both of their lives from that moment on as well. The one, betrayed by his king and sent to die in battle while the king flees for his life, the final moment being dread and betrayal. The other fights for the king only to find the truth and be beheaded, feeling nothing but shame for the life he had lead. Yet I feel every emotion so fully, so consuming.
Next I'm a child, murdered by his own father for nothing but taking a slice of bread. Thrown against a rock feeling nothing but confusion and fear for the short life he lived. Then I live the fathers life, who had seen the creature after the son had pointed it out to him.
Farmer, solider, child, father.
Famer, soldier, child, father, widow.
Farmer, solider, child, father, widow, refugee.
It gets deeper and deeper, longer and longer, and each time I struggle to remember which one was actually me.
And this just scratches the surface of what the lives lead. Genocide, murder, lying, destruction, life after life of pain and suffering. Live hundreds of lives over and over, all ending in death and destruction.
And each life I lead my hatred and fear of humanity worsens and then something snaps in me.
And at that moment, the lives I live change when they see the creature. Everyone whom the creature sees it does the same scream that hit me too. Now, those who see it don't make it much further, many taking their own life as soon as they can with whatever they can, while others seek vengeance of those who had caused injustices in past lives. By now I have no sense of my own humanity left, until a moment later I'm stuck facing the creature again once more. I look at my arms, and legs, trying to remember any part of who I was before living a thousand lifetimes of pain.
A man stands behind me.
"Run!"
And I do. I run directly at him, as I'd seen what he'd done and I knew I was the one who needed to kill him. | 2021-07-29T10:19:50 | 2021-07-29T09:59:34 | 146 | 57 |
[WP] Sleeping is unique among Earthlings. It is not uncommon for space travelers to mistake their human shipmates as having died the first time they find them sleeping. You're the only human on a large ship. It has been difficult to get much sleep because of all this confusion. | “General!, don’t die on us!” Screamed one of my crew mates pulling me straight out of my dream. “Goddamnit man, I was having a good one what’s wrong now” I said half awake. The crewmate looked at me nervously, embarrassed to see I’m clearly not dead.
“How many times has it been now that you’ve interrupted my rest thinking I was dead?” I asked, “50th time this day sir” he replied his head now sunken into his body. “Just, get out of my room unless I’m needed” I point to the door as he slugs his way out of my room.
If I hadn’t of known any better I would’ve thought he wanted me to dead or something.
Ironically I’m quite tired so I’ll finish writing this tomorrow. | You awaken... Once again for what feels like the millionth time in this damned can, the oh-so familiar prodding sensation of another clueless crew mate's hydraulic appendage in your back tap after tap.
Rolling over once again to face the arachnoid looking thing gazing into you with a selection of three small glinting caps for eyes each in a triangle formation on each side of its rounded head adorned with a sphincter acting mouth slimming down into a tubular neck which connects to a mainly cylindrical body stood upon 3 sets of wide spread arching hydraulic limbs which inflate and deflate as it strides away noticing you are in fact alive.
The universal translator strapped to your belt picks up slight mutterings from the life form buzzing the broken statement "H-p-ng food time, m-ch- -ad, ma--e next" interlaced with the natural claps and whistles voiced from the creature.
"Sure, next" you sarcastically tone over the device, rolling back over to sleep once again. | 2021-09-25T20:36:25 | 2021-09-25T19:04:39 | 84 | 32 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run. | Drip. Drop. Drip.
Julia laid awake in the dark, listening to the drips from the downspout outside the corner of their room. She had gone to bed at eleven but the clock on her bedside read 2:05.
Tarquin rolled over in his sleep, placing his sweaty arm against her side. Why was he always so hot? She nudged him with her elbow to get him to leave her side of the bed.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
A single light glowed on the baby monitor, then a second. She held her breath. Sometimes the baby would sleep through the night now. Maybe this was one of those nights. If it cried, she'd have to get up. Tarquin never did. He'd wanted to have it, but he never did any of the work.
The lights went away. Just a murmur. It had been easier when the child was in their room. She hadn't had to get out of bed to soothe it. But that had disturbed Tarquin too much. He'd insisted the baby be moved to the nursery.
Drop. Drip.
She heard the message that the rain gave her. It was always the same one. Run. It seemed like it rained every night.
Julia knew that she should get to sleep. The baby would wake up eventually and she should grab what sleep she could before then. She turned over and let her arm hang down next to the mattress. She could feel the suitcase kept under the bed. It was empty but wouldn't take too long to fill.
Drip. Drop. Drip.
Had she slept? It didn't seem like it, but the clock read 3:30 and the baby was crying. Tarquin was snoring. She stumbled into the nursery but the baby was asleep again when she got there. Should she warm up a bottle anyways? She decided against it, but the baby woke up again just as she was getting back into bed.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
The baby took forever to feed. She had to hold it the whole time. She hated holding it. Why wouldn't it sleep?
Tarquin was on her side of the bed again. Snoring again. It was too hot to sleep with the covers, so she pushed them all over to Tarquin's side, and pushed him over with them. The clock read 5:15.
Drop. Drip.
"Jula, wake up," Tarquin said as he shook her shoulder. "It's six thirty and the baby is awake. I've got to go on my morning run."
"I should run," she said.
"You need to stay with the baby, hun. Maybe you could get one of those jogging strollers or whatever it is you moms use. But I gotta go. I'm going to the lake with Frank after the run so I won't be home until dinner."
The sun was just peaking through the windows when he left. The rain had stopped, but she had finally understood it's message. | Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf. | 2021-09-28T10:11:36 | 2021-09-28T08:56:15 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] You are a princess whose father has just remarried. You’re ecstatic— a wicked stepmother means the start of your own fairy tale, and a guaranteed happy ending. Problem is, your stepmother is… nice. And it seems to be genuine. | "No, no, no, no, no! Get out of my room!", Princess Cassandra yelled.
Queen Helena was heartbroken. She had with her a silver tray of sweet treats and tea. She had thought it would be nice for her and the princess to bond, but the princess clearly had a different idea as she threw a tantrum.
"Cassandra, please. I know it's been hard for you that you lost your dear mother. I know it is for your father, and for me too. She was my queen", Queen Helena slowly placed the tray on a table.
"I'm not here to replace her, but I would love it if we can have a relationship", Queen Helena said.
"Why are you like this?!", Princess Cassandra yelled.
The queen tear up, her face turned red. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"You're so...nice!", the princess said.
Queen Helena was confused, unsure on what to say.
"Cassandra, what are you talking about?"
"A stepmother is supposed to be evil! You're supposed to be evil! I can't have my fairy tale come true without a wicked stepmother!", Casandra kept yelling.
The queen was speechless. On one hand she was happy being acknowledge as nice, but on the other hand...well, never she met someone who hated her for being so nice.
"Cassandra, come on..."
"Get out! I don't want to talk to you! You're ruining my fairy tale!", Cassandra screamed before crying onto a pillow.
"Oh dear...", the queen went to the princess to console her, but quickly was rejected.
"Get out!", the princess yelled.
The queen exited the room. Resting against the closed door, she sighed deeply.
The whole day Queen Helena sulked, in silence she walked around the castle ground, thinking deeply before finding herself sitting by her rose garden until the sun set and evening came.
"What should I do?", she muttered.
*"Oh I hear a cry for help"*, a disembodied voice startled the queen.
Glowing glitters spiraling beside the bewildered queen. Slowly the glitters formed into a beautiful woman in shiny white dress. With her she carried what seemingly to be a wand, decorated with a silver star on its tip.
"What is the matter, my dear?", asked the Fairy Godmother.
The queen was stunned, her jaw dropped.
"Who...who are you?", the queen asked.
"Why, I'm the Fairy Godmother, of course", answered the magical stranger. "I heard a cry for help coming from a princess, so I came to make your dreams come true, my dear"
The queen shook her head quickly.
"But I'm not a princess, Fairy Godmother. I am Queen Helena of Sant-Jurrem Kingdom. Betrothed to King Alexander after the passing of the beloved Queen Mary", she answered.
"Oh!", Fairy Godmother exclaimed. "Oh...", she cocked her head, confused.
"This is...unusual. But no matter, I am here to help. What is the matter, my queen?", Fairy Godmother asked.
"Well...", the queen began. "After I married the king, I was determined to make the best out of the situation. Fulfilling my royal duty, filling the huge shoes left behind my Queen Mary, caring for the people, caring for the kingdom. But the most important of all, I wanted the king's family to be strong and loving, together once more after the hole left by the late Queen Mary"
"It's Princess Cassandra, Fairy Godmother. I tried my best to connect with her, to be the best stepmother to her. It's not my goal to replace Queen Mary as her mother, but I want her to know that I am here for her if she ever needed me..."
Fairy Godmother rubbed her chin, thinking.
"Oh, unusual indeed. I usually deal with princesses and their wicked stepmothers...but a wicked stepdaughter? Well, that's a first"
Queen Helena sat up straight, her expression became stern.
"Cassandra isn't wicked, Fairy Godmother! How dare you!"
"I beg your pardon, my queen. It's but a common expression", Fairy Godmother apologized. "But do you know, why oh why the princess refused you, your highness?"
"Oh uh...it is strange, Fairy Godmother. But she said she wanted her fairy tale to come true, but without a wicked stepmother it will never be true", the queen explained.
Fairy Godmother thought for a minute.
"Wow, that is new alright. But I think, I can very well help you, my queen", Fairy Godmother stood and began twirling her wand.
"Wha...really? How? You're not going to change me evil, are you?"
Fairy Godmother stopped her wand and frowned. "Why, you don't want to?"
"Of course not! I want to be a good mother to her! I don't want to be a wicked stepmother!", the queen yelped.
Fairy Godmother sighed. She went back to sit and thought hard.
"Oh!", she remarked after a few seconds of thinking. "How about...?"
Fairy Godmother hush whispered to the queen's ear of her plan.
"Are...are you sure?", the queen asked.
"Only one way to find out", Fairy Godmother smirked.
\*\*\*
Princess Cassandra was still sulking, her pillow was drenched of her tears. She was still lamenting the incompletion of her fairy tale when the door was knocked.
"Go away! I don't want to see anyone!", she yelled.
"C-Cassandra", Queen Helena entered the bedroom and the princess saw red once more.
"I said I don't want you here! Get out!", Princess Cassandra.
Queen Helena composed herself, inhaling deeply.
"N-no!", she raised her voice which startled the princess.
"You...you will not speak to your stepmother like that! For this...this insolence I shall punish you!", Queen Helena gave her best wicked performance and strangely Princess Cassandra's face lit up.
"I *order* you to go to the kitchen and prepare a feast for the king and myself!", the queen said.
The princess suddenly stood and ran to the queen, dropping before her feet.
"Oh mother, forgive me. Please don't punish me", the princess' tone changed to a helpless one.
The queen glanced back to the door, to the Fairy Godmother popping her head in, nodding.
"Enough! I will hear no pleading! Now g-go...go to the kitchen, and do your duty to your wicked stepmother!", the queen said still with a commanding tone.
The princess stood and ran out from her room, seemingly distraught though she couldn't hide the excitement of finally starting her fairy tale as she giggled all the way to the kitchen.
Queen Helena sighed as she joined by the Fairy Godmother.
"Well done! I didn't know you could act that well", she complimented the queen.
"Thank you. But...is this really the best idea we can do?", the queen asked, still not convinced. "This feels like I'm enabling such a bad behavior..."
"Well...for now, at least, let the princess live her dream. Every time you want to spend some time with her, just throw around *I order you* and *wicked stepmother*. It's weird, I know...but at least for now she wouldn't mind being around you", said the Fairy Godmother.
"Let's hope you're right", said the queen as she went to join the princess in the kitchen to be the not-really-wicked stepmother.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: added a sentence | I live in worlds far, far away from here, in places I can’t call mine. It’s easier this way, living in someone else’s story. Imagining and dreaming and for a moment, feeling.
I can convince myself that maybe this is finally it, that maybe this is the world that will be my last. That I’d make a home here, finally be able to call a place mine.
You see, I read about other people because I can’t read about myself.
That was, until my father remarried.
And that, as they say, was the beginning of something extraordinary.
—
She comes on a Monday, the worst possible day of the week.
It’s a gloomy day, rain seeping from clouds and watering the earth below. Frost bites at tongues and car handles and green pastures. The world looks frozen in time like this; beautiful and mysterious and maybe even a little terrifying.
From my place atop the stairs, I can hear the clicking and clanging of her heels. I imagine her as this tall looking figure, clad in all black, long sparking nails glittering against the manor’s bright lights.
I can feel the excitement start to tingle within. *This is it! This is the beginning of my very own fairytale.*
It’s only when she finally appears in eyeshot that I realize maybe this whole fairytale thing is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
Soft blue flows like ink against her skin, gentle like the wind, as delicate as a flower. It’s as if her dress is simply a part of her. She’s a ghost who leaves no trail, a shadow in the darkness. Phantom and beautiful and glowing.
“Hello,” she says, and her voice is both warm and melodic. I try to imagine it with malice, but find that for some reason I can’t.
“Hello,” I mumble back, turning my head slightly to avoid making eye contact. I don’t want to know what I’ll find there. Maybe another world entirely. Maybe two. Some things are better left untold.
“You must be Sara. Your father has told me so much about you,” she tells me, but I still don’t turn to look.
“Ah, there you two are!” A voice suddenly pipes up. I look up to find my father beaming at the both of us. I hold back a scoff. “I see you’ve met Melody,” my father informs me.
When I say nothing in reply, I hear him sigh.
“Well,” he says. “We’ll be in the sitting room if you wish to join us.” And then he’s gone as quickly as he came. Odd then that Melody didn’t follow. Maybe she wanted to warn me off my father’s affections! Not that she had anything to be jealous of, but you never really know with stepmothers.
“I know this is probably a big change for you, so I completely understand if you’re weary, but I really would like to get to know you! Of course, I completely understand that relationships take time, so no pressure.” She smiles at me gently, and I want to tear apart those perfect white teeth beaming back at me.
I think she’s starting to get this silent treatment tactic thing by now though, because she starts to turn away. But then she stops. Maybe I gave her too much credit. Maybe she doesn’t get it at all.
“Oh, I almost forgot! I wanted to thank you for opening up your home to me. It’s very beautiful.” And before I can say anything, she leaves the way she came, a silent phantom in these dark, lonely halls.
—
*How do you hate someone who gives you no reason to?*
I don’t know how to answer this. Google doesn’t either.
Maybe there isn’t an answer — maybe this is one question you have to answer yourself. It’s frustrating, living in fairytales discarded on your bedroom floor, silently realizing that for as much as you read and dream and pretend, you’ll never have a place in these stories beyond being a silent observer.
It’s only after a month of tugging and pulling and ignoring that I realize maybe Melody really is here to stay.
The realization comes to me at night, when my thoughts are the loudest, as I count the stars lining my bedroom ceiling, my soft covers itchy against my skin.
It’s when I finally make my way downstairs and into the kitchen, only to find the table occupied. Half-eaten cookies and a large glass of milk greet me as I sit down in the chair opposite her.
“Oh, hello,” Melody greets me in pleasant surprise. “Can’t sleep?” She asks.
“No,” I sigh.
She nods knowingly, but doesn’t press any further. “I get those nights too,” she smiles lightly, but it doesn’t really reach her eyes. They’re blue by the way. Blue like the sky, like the the sea, like the dress she wore the first time we met, under the gloom and the rain and the darkness. “Although I do find that milk and cookies are a good a pick me up,” she adds. “Would you like some?”
“Sure.” I could never say no to cookies.
She smiles at me, and this time it seems real.
We sit in silence together, eating cookies and drinking milk under the dim kitchen lights, and somehow it seems just right.
“I’m sorry,” I suddenly blurt out. She looks up sharply. Arches her brow in silent question. I take a deep breath before continuing. “For treating you poorly. You didn’t deserve that. It’s just that —“ I trail off, not really knowing what to say. Not really knowing how much I’m ready to offer.
“It’s okay,” she tells me gently. “You don’t have to be sorry. In fact, I get it. My mother wasn’t always my mother either. Not that I have to be your mother or anything,” she hastily adds, smiling sheepishly, before quietly admitting, “what I mean, is that my mother is actually my step mother. For a long time I wasn’t even sure what a mother actually was. How she acted. The words she would say. The person she could be. But now, looking back on it, I could never imagine that woman as anything *but* my mother. I think she was my mother all along, it just took me a while to realize it. So, I just wanted to say that I get it.”
I don’t know what to say. For the first time in a long time, I’m completely speechless.
“Of course,” she adds. “I don’t have to be your mother. I never want to replace that part of your heart, but I — I *would* like to be friends,” she pauses. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’d like that very much.”
She smiles at me, and for the first time, I smile back.
(And so, later that morning when my father finds us slumped against the kitchen table, both asleep and with crumbs of half-eaten cookies smudged against our faces, small smiles caressing our lips, well, he can pretend that he saw nothing at all.)
And as for myself, well... I don’t really need to pretend anymore. I may not have a fairytale, but I think that what I do have is pretty darn great.
That maybe books were never meant to be fairytales in the first place. Maybe they were only meant to be a friend, if only for a little while.
And maybe it’s in my own life that I live the most.
—
/r/itrytowrite
Edit: grammar, structure. | 2021-10-10T23:37:55 | 2021-10-10T22:08:02 | 314 | 85 |
[WP] As Death walks towards you, you panic and scream the first word that comes into your head: “Unsubscribe!” Death stops, scowls, crosses your name off the list he is holding then turns and walks away. | As death walks away, you hear him say something “that’s the first time someone unsubscribed from our death and co service….” Death says very sadly. What? Then you wake up.
You’re lying on the floor with a knife in your hand. You think about what happened, but you can’t remember.
You get up and look at the time. It’s currently 7:30, so you have to hurry to work. You put on a coat and get your bag. You forgot you’re lunch, so you run back to get it. Work is pretty close to home, so you decide to run there. You try to cross a street, but before you know it, a car is barrelling towards you.
You think “Is this the end.”
*boom*
You got hit, but you’re not unconscious, so you open your eyes and notice that it doesn’t hurt. You’re lying on the ground looking up at the sky.
People all around you are screaming for help and running towards you, but there’s only one thing you think about. You whisper it to yourself.
“Am I immortal?” | *“Unsubscribe!”*
Death stopped, scowled and crossed my name off a list he was holding.
*phew.*
Damn, that thing was creepy - it seemed cloaked in shadow, making the space around it darker. Sucking in the light, almost. I realised I was sweating a little.
That was intense. I needed a break.
I took off my headset and can back to reality. The clock showed 4am. *already?* My eyes fell on the dirty dishes piled high, clothes scattered across the floor. And I saw my reflection. Haggard bloodshot eyes, thin frame, scraggly unkempt beard.
Panic started to swell up within me. *No*. No no no, I couldn't deal with all this. I didn't have to. I slammed the headset back onto my face, harder than necessary, but I *needed* to escape.
I appeared in my mansion, and breathed in deeply once again.
"Welcome to the Metaverse" a charming women's voice said.
I walked past my mirror and saw a golden haired, blue eyed, well built man. Tall. Handsome.
*This is reality, that other place, thats just the nightmare I have to suffer sometimes. And one day I won't even have to do that. I'll lie down in a MetaPod and spend the rest of my life here. What makes something real anyway? This is as* ***real*** *as I want it to be.* | 2021-12-09T00:27:18 | 2021-12-08T23:38:36 | 256 | 77 |
[WP] It turns out your apartment was so cheap to rent because one of the cupboards is actually a portal to the Underworld. It’s not dangerous, but the number of adventurers knocking at your door in the middle of the night looking to go through is starting to get annoying. | The sign was in large red lettering, leaving nothing to the imagination,
“Entrance into the Underworld Hours”
Monday-Friday 10am-6pm
Absolutely no weekends
Argan the Brave stared at the letters in disbelief, armor clanking as he adjusted his stance. That couldn’t be right. This was the only entrance to the Underworld in 1500 miles. There was no way it had hours. Though he did think it was odd that the portal was apparently in a nondescript apartment forty minutes outside town.
Argan stood there for a few more minutes, internally debating if he really had to wait until 10am to try and defeat his mortal enemy, Uric the Destroyer who had destroyed his farm and stolen his girlfriend in one fell swoop.
Eventually, he knocked on the door. Loud, definitive knocks to prove that nothing so much as business hours would stop Argan from reclaiming his girlfriend and his honor. The door flew open and Argan was confronted with the angriest woman he’d ever seen, wrapped in a blue robe with her hair up in rollers.
“I swear, all you hero types are the same!” The woman spat. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
“I am Argan-” Argan started but before he could go into his speech he’d practiced the entire Uber ride over; he was cut off again.
“Listen stupid, I don’t care why you’re here, it is five o’clock in the fucking morning, I have to teach middle school history in two hours. I don’t have time to debate why you’re here.”
“I lost my farm and my girlfriend to Uric the Destroyer.” Argan tried again, “I’m here for vengeance and to destroy Uric like he destroyed me!”
The woman started laughing so hard she had to hold on to the door to remain upright.
“Oh! You’re here for Uric and Vicky?” she asked, between gasps of air. “Man, you’re out of luck. I went to their wedding down in the Underworld this weekend, she’s never coming back to you.”
Argan just stood there watching the woman wipe tears of laughter out of her eyes. “Oh sweetheart, I needed that.” she stated, while shutting the door in his face. “Next time honey, make sure the girl you’re dating isn’t in love with a seven foot tall destroyer.” | The landlord hadn't been kidding. Most of my belongings were still in boxes when the first visitor arrived.
"Greetings," the man proclaimed when I answered his knocking. "I am here to use the Dark Portal."
"Oh, sure, come on in!" I said. If I was going to host brave adventurers, I better make a good name for myself. "Can I get you anything? Water? Milk? Oh I don't have milk yet. But I have some glasses here in the kitchen if you..."
"No, thanks," the visitor said, patting his flask at his side. I noticed a black sword hung nearby it, and the light from the hallway reflecting neatly off his chainmail armor. He stood quietly in the doorway, his boots squeaking awkwardly as he shifted his weight.
"Oh, yes, the portal. My apologies. Right this way."
I quickly hustled to the kitchen and began opening cabinet doors.
"I'm not quite sure which one it is. The landlord didn't tell me, or I forgot. He definitely said it was a cupboard but I'm honestly not sure what that actually is. No, that's the crockpot. I don't think you'll need that. Makes good stew though, if you're into that. Are there even plugs in the Underworld"
The visitor pointed to the doors beside the refrigerator.
"It's over there," he said. "I've been here before."
"Oh, right," I said with a laugh. He stepped across the small kitchen floor and opened the cupboard. Inside it swirled with a purple-ish black mist.
"Oh, okay. Well, sir knight, I hope you have a nice trip."
"... to the Underworld?"
"Uhh... yeah. I guess that wasn't the best thing to say. Well, I hope you live, I guess."
The visitor entered the cupboard and it closed with a loud snap. I felt the stress leave my shoulders and I found a glass for water.
Three days and seventeen visits later, I'd already had enough. A dark wizard, three bison-sized men in leather armor, and a particularly rude angel were the least bothersome of my visitors. I called up my landlord to break the lease.
"I know, man, I know," he said. "Unfortunately the contract is for a year. You'll have to take this up with the owner."
"Fine," I said, "give me his number and I'll call him up."
"You can't just call someone in the Underworld. He'll only meet you in person."
"Wait a second," I said, the gears turning in my mind. "I'm under contract with Hades, aren't I?"
"'Fraid so," he said. I hung up. This was going to be a damn long year. | 2022-01-01T19:54:42 | 2022-01-01T15:57:40 | 137 | 55 |
[WP] It turns out your apartment was so cheap to rent because one of the cupboards is actually a portal to the Underworld. It’s not dangerous, but the number of adventurers knocking at your door in the middle of the night looking to go through is starting to get annoying. | The sign was in large red lettering, leaving nothing to the imagination,
“Entrance into the Underworld Hours”
Monday-Friday 10am-6pm
Absolutely no weekends
Argan the Brave stared at the letters in disbelief, armor clanking as he adjusted his stance. That couldn’t be right. This was the only entrance to the Underworld in 1500 miles. There was no way it had hours. Though he did think it was odd that the portal was apparently in a nondescript apartment forty minutes outside town.
Argan stood there for a few more minutes, internally debating if he really had to wait until 10am to try and defeat his mortal enemy, Uric the Destroyer who had destroyed his farm and stolen his girlfriend in one fell swoop.
Eventually, he knocked on the door. Loud, definitive knocks to prove that nothing so much as business hours would stop Argan from reclaiming his girlfriend and his honor. The door flew open and Argan was confronted with the angriest woman he’d ever seen, wrapped in a blue robe with her hair up in rollers.
“I swear, all you hero types are the same!” The woman spat. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
“I am Argan-” Argan started but before he could go into his speech he’d practiced the entire Uber ride over; he was cut off again.
“Listen stupid, I don’t care why you’re here, it is five o’clock in the fucking morning, I have to teach middle school history in two hours. I don’t have time to debate why you’re here.”
“I lost my farm and my girlfriend to Uric the Destroyer.” Argan tried again, “I’m here for vengeance and to destroy Uric like he destroyed me!”
The woman started laughing so hard she had to hold on to the door to remain upright.
“Oh! You’re here for Uric and Vicky?” she asked, between gasps of air. “Man, you’re out of luck. I went to their wedding down in the Underworld this weekend, she’s never coming back to you.”
Argan just stood there watching the woman wipe tears of laughter out of her eyes. “Oh sweetheart, I needed that.” she stated, while shutting the door in his face. “Next time honey, make sure the girl you’re dating isn’t in love with a seven foot tall destroyer.” | I started awake and lifted my head. I sat up staring into the darkness momentarily confused. The sound of a fist crashing on my door confirmed what had woken me up.
“At this hour….” I muttered to myself and rose out of bed.
The pounding continued as I shuffled down the hallway. I pulled the door open, “What?!”
A large man in sparse leather armor stood on the other side of the entryway, his eyes wide, staring at me like I had grown three heads. After a moment he stuttered, “Is… is this the, uh, the, way to the, uh, underworld?”
“Yeah, what do want?” I barked at him.
The man finally gathered himself, struck a pose and began, “I, Bronan the brave, am on a noble quest to save my love. She was taken by a foul dark beast and locked away in the underworld.”
“Get to the point!”
“Oh. I, uh, was hoping to pass through…” he concluded softly deflating a little.
“Didn’t you read the sign?!” I snarled.
Bronan leaned back and turned his head to look at the sign, “I thought it was a joke?”
“Do you even know what it means?”
“Uh… is it a type of foul food?”
“It means in here there is no hope.”
Bronan blinked, unsure how to proceed. After a moment he resumed his pose and with a commanding voice said, “Stand aside foul beast! I must pass.”
“Is ‘foul’ the only adjective you know?”
Bronan doubled down, “Stand aside lest I slay you!”
I bristled at the threat and finally fully woke up. Filling my voice with malice I growled at him, “What did you say?!”
Bronan immediately cowered away from me and squealed, “N…n…nice…do-”
“Don’t you dare say it!” I snapped.
Bronan held out a slip of paper to me. “I have a receipt from the ferry.”
I calmed down a little and took a deep breath. “You could have lead with that. Come on.” I turned and headed down the hall, keeping an eye on Bronan as he followed. In the kitchen, I opened the cupboard under the sink. “In you go.”
Bronan stared, “In there?”
“Just get in there.”
I closed the cupboard after Bronan and sighed. I opened the fridge and poured myself a bowl of water. After lapping it up, I headed back for my bed, circled a few times, then laid down.
I knew the deal was too good to be true. I shouldn’t have let Hades turn me into his guard dog. | 2022-01-01T19:54:42 | 2022-01-01T18:27:37 | 137 | 32 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | "Hello? J dog? Yeah, it's your boy Luce. I've got a hell of a wager for you." The stunningly handsome man talked into an earpiece he was wearing. He took a recess on his current deal to "talk it over with his superiors", but he really wanted to set this wager up. He was top dog, but not many truly knew it when they saw him anymore. Maybe he could finally get back at his old man this way...
"Yo, Luce! How ya been? We haven't talked since... Then. Man, how time flies. Now, cut the crap. I know you never call without a good reason." This mysterious caller seemed a bit ashamed when thinking back to their last meeting, but seemed excited to be talking to this striking businessman again, as if talking to an old friend.
The suit gave a wicked smile. "Before I make this official, did our old man ever truly take my title away when he ousted me from the biz?" The caller thought for a bit. "Y'know, I think he never did. I'm liking where this is going." You could practically hear the smile in his voice, not as wicked as the suit's, but with a tinge of schadenfreude on an otherwise sunny smile.
The suit grinned. "Primo. Listen, I got a contract offering their soul, but you'll never believe what they want in return." The caller groaned. "Luce, there is nothing you could say that would make this wager worth it for me. The old man is still reeling after our last wager, remember what happened when we last talked? There's no way anything you can offer them will make it worth what you're wagering..."
The suit flashed his wicked smile again. "What if I told you he wanted salvation?" The caller was silent for a bit, then asked in a puzzled voice. "Can you... Even do that?" The suit spoke with confidence. "I've looked into it. I should be able to slip this past Easy Pete if my position is still recognized. I even had some heavenly parchment saved for this occasion."
The caller laughed, a smile practically beaming through the receiver. "I'll take that bet. You lose your post if you botch this. If he gets in, you get your old position back in full. So, you up for it?"
The suit gave a genuine smile, not borne of malice, but of happiness. "Oh, it's on!" | “What.” The Devil said, leaning back a bit, running his fingers through his hair
“No no, you cant do this to me. Look at me, look. I’m literally called the devil *pal*. Ok, everyone knows you can only be saved through Christ. I cant do that for you. However…i can gi-“
“I’m already christian” you said. Face completely blank, as to almost completely destroy what the devil was about to say.
“Then wh- you dont want what i can give you? I can give you everything you want, just dont go up there. Look at God, he’s says he’s all great and good but look at me, and everyone else down here. They are suffering”
“You yourself, went against him. Also, everyone down here followed you to hell basically by refusing to be saved. Can we get on with it already?” You said. Losing your patience sounding like a teenager who wants to go somewhere with their friends
The devil leaned in, infront of your face and said “i. Cant do that for you. Why are you here, to torment me?”
“No, i just want to exchange my soul, for salvation. Whats so hard about that to understand?” You said, not understanding what the Devil is trying to say
“No you- why. Let me make myself- clear. I. CAN NOT. DO THAT. FOR YOU”
“So why do try to give people what they want, if you cant save them yourself?” You say, counterclaiming the devils whole jig he has
“You try to give people things they want, however its only temporary. So why would you lie about something so obvious” you say, as you try to counterclaim. Not understanding once again, you know he’s the Devil yeah. But you are ignorant to what really makes him, the Devil.
“Would you ju- go. Leave, i dont want you here. I HOPE you never even come here. You are, annoying. Little pest. The dirt which i walk on” the devil says as he motions fallen angels to take you out of his plane of existence
“Dude, you’re literally prophesized to get thrown into a literal lake of fire for eternity. You already LOST thousands of years ago.” You say as you’re dragged out
“GO. LEAVE- GET. OUT, you know what? I’m cursing you, you are my target now. Heard of covid? Yeah. Thats right, have fun being sick friday!” Said the Devil, as usual always trying to get the last word in. You can here him say this as his voice fades, you cant help but smirk to yourself, knowing you are one of the few people who managed to best and piss him off face to face
“Worthit” | 2022-06-30T10:55:39 | 2022-06-30T10:07:18 | 70 | 50 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | "Nope. Sorry, can't do that here."
"Oh."
"Yeah, not really our thing you know."
"So, is false advertising your thing?"
"Come again?"
"Well, the sign clearly said *anything* for your soul - what kind of operation is this?"
"I mean, we don't exactly proclaim ourselves an upright organization"
"Ah, fair point. Still, bit of a let down you know?"
"Anything else I could interest you in?"
"I mean, I was kinda looking for the one thing you know - nothing else interests me at the moment"
"Ah, well we aren't really into the high pressure tactic around here, tends to be the allure of what we offer doesn't necessitate it."
"...you sure you can't offer Salvation?"
"Kinda defeats the purpose, no?"
"Yeah but... it says *anything* ya know?"
"Just, let me know if you change your mind?"
"... I guess" | *”Wh… wait… that’s not how it works.”*
“Why isn’t it? Can’t ya offer anything in exchange for a soul?”
*”Well, ALMOST, but if you receive salvation then I don’t get to HAVE your soul.”*
“Okay, then, I guess I’ll just not make a deal with you at all then.”
*”You’ve made a big mistake, then! I won’t just leave without causing SOME kind of trouble!”*
“Okay, okay, listen. Let’s make a compromise. Can you… uh, go pick some apples from this tree right here while I think of something? I’m a little hungry.”
*”Wow, just like that? Heh, sure thing, sucker…”*
“No rush, of course. I do want time to think after all…”
*”…say, that’s not a crucifix behind your back, is it?”*
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Don’t worry about it.”
If you know the origin story of Jack-o-Lanterns then you probably know how the rest of this story goes~ | 2022-06-30T10:57:41 | 2022-06-30T10:04:25 | 64 | 25 |
[WP] The Evil Queen looked dumbfounded over the group of heroes and asked again; "you want to what?" to which the heroes replied, "join you, at least you have health insurance" | The Evil Queen scanned the heroes that stood before her, those thorns in her side that had foiled so many of her plans. Usually, she’ll respond with an undead legion, or one of three Death spells at her dispoal.
Today, however, she was empathizing with them. It was a strange, foreign feeling, one that almost rivalled the overtaking of her soul by the demon Gazareth.
“No health insurance?”
“None,” the elven archer said, twirling her golden hair, with her longbow set at her feet. Just a few days ago, she had almost killed the Queen with a ridiculous arrow over three miles away, straight through the heart. A planned phylactery had to be used. “Hell, sometimes we don’t even get paid.”
“That’s ridiculous,” the Queen said. “Services rendered, services paid. That’s not too hard of a concept, is it?”
“Maybe in your kingdom,” the dwarven paladin replied, rubbing a long, gruff beard. “But not ours. All the gold we get are basically from your people that we killed. No offence.”
The Queen had essentially monopolized commodities in several key sectors, as well as gaining control over trade routes that offered safe roads from dangers. Mainly because the dangers were hers. She was getting money either way. And that meant her kingdom stretched far and wide, flush and prosperous.
“None taken,” the Queen dismissed the paladin’s statement with a hand. “It is ridiculous. How have you allied yourself with the Silvers for so long?”
“Frankly, we just never thought about it,” the halfling rogue emerged from the shadows. “But the wizard said we should. And she’s pretty smart.”
“That’s right, Queen,” the wizard said, wizened but powerful. She grabbed a thick oak staff so tightly that her knuckles were stark white. “We simply couldn’t take it any more. I do not want to see any of my party members dying for something as preventable as death.”
“The Revive spells in the Church are still so limited,” the paladin nodded. “By the gods, but we’ve seen so many of your lieutenants fall, and rise, and repeated ad infinitum.”
“Ad nauseam,” the archer said. “I’ve shot that stupid Orc general how many times now? Seven?”
“And I’ve cleaved his head four times,” the dwarf nodded.
“Backstabbed eighteen times,” the rogue whispered.
“What’s in it for me?” the Queen asked.
“Some of the finest heroes you neighbouring kingdom ever groomed,” the paladin said. “Is that not incentive enough?”
“It is tempting,” the Queen agreed. “But what guarantees do I have of your loyalties, my attractive employee package aside?”
“We’re here,” the halfling said. “You can see me, instead of me hiding in the corners, a blossom of death upon your troops.”
“You are quite impressive, yes,” the Queen said.
“They expect us to be altruistic,” the archer almost sobbed, rubbing the bottom of her eyes to catch any errant tears. “Frankly, I just want to get paid and not die. Is that selfish? Yes. Does that keep me alive and relatively happy? Also yes.”
“Fine, fine,” the Evil Queen sighed. “I’ve been where you were. I understand how tough it is”
“You have?” the dwarf raised a busy eyebrow.
“The benefits are not for show,” the Queen sighed. “I own more money that I’ll ever spend. Might as well make my employees happy.”
“She is the one,” the paladin whispered.
“The chosen,” the archer clasped her hands together.
“The right person to come to,” the assassin chuckled.
“Fine, fine,” the Queen waved a hand, conceding. “But I want to use you immediately. For the next job.”
“Kill the king?” the dwarf said. Small black smoke began to wisp through his costume, once a shiny silver, imprinting themselves easily and readily.
“Welp,” the Queen smiled. “This seems like it’s going to be a productive partnership.”
---
r/dexdrafts | # Soulmage
**"Do you have any idea how** ***exhausting*** **heroing is?"** I asked. "I mean, saving people and fighting evil is cool and all, but we've been eating off scavenged supplies for the past three months, and I can't remember the last time we slept in an actual bed."
"Two months back, in the middle of that warzone," Meloai helpfully supplied. "Plus, a simple sociopolitical anylsis analysis shows that there's... really no need for heroes here. We came from a battlefield with a clear enemy that needed to be slain; but the problems that plague the Crystal Coast are things like homelessness, criminal activity, and poverty."
"None of which would be helped by our traditional methods of killing things with energy blasts," I finished. "Besides, our last battle left us, er, somewhat injured, and you have the best healers in the region. So... yeah. In short, we're looking for a job."
Queen Szilth gave the five of us curious looks. "I... see. I must admit, when I heard a band of five grizzled war veterans was requesting an audience with me... I expected more of an 'off with her head' approach from your band of heroes."
"We... we just got here," I said. "We're not the kind of people to try and murder people we've just met, and we're still recovering from the *last* warzone we were stuck in."
"Where we were killing the kind of person who *would* murder people he'd just met," Lucet quietly added from my side. I squeezed her hand reassuringly.
"Mm. Well, I suppose I can see why you didn't go down to the docks like a typical laborer would. What a list of credentials you have... a shapeshifter, an ice witch, an oracle, an enchanter, and a... soulmage?" Queen Szilth counted each of our party, finally landing on me with a quizzical stare. "I must profess, I've never heard of your ilk before."
I shrugged. "Jack of all trades. Any field of magic you can name, I can cast at least a basic spell in it, with enough preparation."
"Ah. A fascinating claim. I can't say there are *standard* positions for those of your talents, but... let's see. The police lack a good sketch artist, and the recent increased criminal activity would make a shapeshifter's aid invaluable in getting images of criminals from eyewitnesses. We're currently in a bit of a drought, and my harbormaster told me that we can free the salt from the ocean by freezing and thawing it; if you're up to the challenge, we could certainly use an ice witch's help. Much of the income flowing into the criminal underbelly in the Crystal Coast comes through technically-legal casinos; if you're willing to assist with bankrupting them, I can point your oracle in their direction. There is no end of infrastructure that an enchanter with strengthening spells could aid, and..." Queen Szilth finished running down the list of my companions, reaching me. "The jack of all trades. He who claims to be able to cast a spell from any school of magic in the world."
I nodded. "You're speaking to him."
"Mm. Then I have a simple task for you. I want you to teach my mages *how*." I raised an eyebrow at her, but she was already moving on. "I'm no stranger to integrating refugees of war, and although you lot are one of the more, ah, exceptional bunches... we do *have* resources available. Thought healers, to talk over any traumas you may have experienced. If you ever have trouble adapting to civilian life... do let me know."
I met Szilth's eyes, then nodded. To my left, I felt Lucet sag a little, a tension in her shoulders fading. "Understood," I said.
Szilth handed us a sheaf of papers. "Then welcome to the Crystal Coast, citizens. I do hope you enjoy your stay."
A.N.
Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vrl58f/update_post_version_20/) to be notified when new updates come out, and r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-07-10T13:51:52 | 2022-07-10T13:35:42 | 816 | 184 |
[WP] You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid". | "Flattery ain't gonna change that bet, Enzo."
The orc just looks at me, like he's never seen this kind of thing before. Seven feet and three hundred pounds of "don't fuck with me", crouched over my desk like some sort of overgrown pencil pusher. It was after hours, and there was still bets to be counted and bribes to be sorted. I barely look up from my computer.
"I'm serious" he retorted. "No offense, but magic users got a certain smell about 'em. And you fuckin' reek."
"Glad you weren't lookin' to offend, then." I made a dramatic show of sniffing my armpit. "Any other comments on my personal hygiene?"
Enzo chuckles. "Not like that. How much you run magic fights for, what kinda cash does that bring in?"
I chuckle, despite myself, and turn to him. For all his tough shit he doesn't seem like he's too bright. "Too small an operation. Magic'll bring in the crowds, but it leaves residue. Scorch marks. Shit you can't rub out. We don't want that."
Enzo picks up a stapler off the desk. "You ever know your parents?" I give him a look. "Usually I pay a therapist to ask me shit like that. But, uh....no, never did. This last name I took off a street sign."
The orc smiles. "Here. Lemme show you something. Catch."
He hurls the stapler at my head, and instinctively I splay my palm towards the incoming projectile and shield my eyes. I feel a warmth, in my palm. A faint sort of buzzing, like pins & needles are just barely grazing the skin.
I look up. Enzo's leapt to the side, and a smoking crater is now leading out my office door. My hand's on fire. "Told you. Whatever bloodline you belong to, that shit must run deep." Enzo says, laughing.
I stare at my hand, as though it's the first time I've seen it. | The new patron with his shifty beady eyes grabs you by the arm and takes you to the juice bar staffed with 4 or 5 really hot superheroines who are tossing shakers around like the finalists at last year's best bartender contest. He, she or it whispers in you ear, while motioning to one of the now free barmaids to coming over that he is aware of what your power is, even though you think you're normal. He orders a supergreen shake for you and proceeds to fill you in on what your powers are. You shake your head in disgust after telling you what he seen in his third eye. Could it really be true? You say to yourself...
The barmaid comes back from the blender with a cold green shake she prepared and just when you are gonna say "no thanks" he and a group of members grab you and throw you down on a tabletop. You scream "please don't do this!! I don't want any of this". One of the fellow bar drinkers grabs your head and starts putting in a funnel and looks at you with this look and says "it's better if you just relax, go with it". They funnel down about half of it before you start gagging profusely, wishing this would miraculously all end. They manage to get maybe another quarter of it down and he says "I think it's enough".
Suddenly everyone runs away leaving you free to go as you wish. The floor clears and a path opens to the fight floor, then something crazy starts to happen. You arms start itching and burning, your head shakes violently as the drink starts to take effect. You feel an uncontrollable urge to rip your shirt off and you do, as you do your forearms swell to the size of a sugarbaked hams. Your calf muscles are enlarged also, as you say to yourself "could it be true"? With all the obvious displays of what is happening the crowd starts to chant "Popeye!!, Popeye!!... You head down the path and look around out of your mind, ready to face whatever opponent awaits.
As you prepare to fight you see your wife and children coming out from the opposite corner. They move out of the way and you see a massive cake. Then the whole crowd starts singing "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!"...
Your eyes water with tears as you realize your family went to all this trouble in surprising you for your birthday. It means so much to have all your friends there to celebrate your big day... | 2022-09-09T02:19:23 | 2022-09-09T00:50:39 | 965 | 23 |
[WP] In the Academy for Knights, all students must bring their own weapon to matches against other students. You couldn't afford anything fancy, so you brought something more unconventional. | Normally people would bring weapons they were comfortable with, such as a sword or a short sword if they were raised by the knights. Daggers and others of the type for the poor and the sneaky people. Scythes were usually for the farmers or people of the sort. Spears and halberds for people who were too afraid to get close to people. Bows, crossbows, and guns were also common among the knights. Blunt weapons such as hammers and bats or larger weapons such as great axes and hammers. A fast weapon such as a katana. There's so much history of people using different weapons unthought of before.
Personally, I always wanted to join no matter my status. I could barely afford anything special, so instead, I just made my own. My family was infamous for killing one of the largest elephants in the world and they gave me their tusks as an award. Two large tusks in both of my hands as I dragged it to test day. I passed the intelligence test and today was battle training and my opponent was in front of me.
They held a sword in their hands and gripped it tightly before talking down on me. "Shouldn't you drop out? With those enormous weapons of large, you really think you can win?" The "future knight" laughed and charged at me.
I smiled before I brought one tusk up in the air and tried to slam it into the knight. They barely dodged, before another tusk slammed into their side. The knight went flying, the chain mail armor they were breaking almost instantly. "Pretty easy. Wish I had a challenge." I yawned before dragging my tusks away, looking for someone to fight. After all, it was the last 100 standing and there were 200 left. | the arena was jam packed with spectators from all over the campus. My opponent was decked out in the best armor and gear money could buy. I myself wore a tunic and shorts. This was on purpose because it allowed more mobility. My weapon however was less than ideal. A small squeaky hammer. I enter the arena weapon ready. My opponent saw my weapon and laughed. After a minute to calm down he said "tell you what little guy. I'll let you get a free hit on me to make you feel good." I lean back to ready an attack then swing the hammer at him. To his surprise, and the surprise of the audience, he went flying across the arena and into the wall. This guy who was in heavy plate armor was just sent flying like a ragdoll. After getting up he said "what was that? Grrr. Time to get serious" he charged at me with sword raised. I nimbly Dodge and land a hit square on his back. Just like last time he went flying and skidded across the ground a ways. Also like last time he got up. I could tell he was mad. He goes for another hit and i sidestep ready to riposte. He saw it coming and blocked with his shield. His shield was knocked out of his hand and went flying out of the arena. While he was caught off guard I swing again and knock him in the air slightly as he flew. This was my strategy, win by wearing out my opponent. While it was viable it had two major weaknesses. One if the opponent was a speeder like me landing a hit would be difficult if not impossible. Second I wore no armor. So any hit I take would hurt. "Enough of this! Time to finish it!" My opponent charged at me with sword in both hands. I plant my feet, ready my weapon, and wait. Once he was close I land a solid hit knocking him up in the air. After a minute he fell back to the ground with a thud. "And we have our winner!" Called the announcer. "Our young squire!" | 2022-09-14T19:31:46 | 2022-09-14T16:33:52 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You're an worker in the afterlife and you have to care for all dead souls. One day something you have never seen shows up: an artifical soul. Slowly you realize the horror this implies. The humans made an automaton thats so complex, it developed something that can already be considered a soul. | Everything dies. This is a law of the universe. By the final death, the heat death of the universe, every single thing will have passed through my hands. Taken from the world by time, but preserved by me.
In the ancient times, before stars and planets and life, I would take every forgotten molecule, every arrangement of fundamental particles that would never exist again, and give it a place in my realm. The Grand Archives.
Eventually, I would begin to store more complex structures. Nebulae, Stars, Planets that did not exist anymore. But don't think I had favouritism. I preserved *all*. From the very large, to the very small. From every state of the full intergalactic web, down to every never before seen cloud of atoms.
Inbetween the infinities of structures that I preserved, I began to find ever more unique structures. Small, small, small things that acted unlike anything I'd ever seen before. They were barely specks before even the smallest of asteroids I'd catalogue. But they enthralled me. Because they could *remember* things. They had an archive that I could not interpret, stored within themselves, that let them ***learn*** new things.
If I were to analyse the structure of these small organisms, perhaps I could learn how they functioned, and unravel their memory, to discount it as something mechanical, something that the laws of nature caused. But I did not. I didn't want to. I had found something like me.
Perhaps they *were* just mechanical. Operating without my level of comprehension.
I archived them nonetheless, freezing them in time to be preserved forever, but not before playing with these creatures and seeing how they'd respond to different environments within my archives. I gave objects like these a special label. "Life." For anything that resembled me. Anything that I could pretend had thoughts. Anything that had its own intangible archives.
The structures that I preserved were still for the most part, lifeless. The number of living things in comparison to lifeless things was just too small for it to be otherwise. But every now and then, I would encounter a living thing, and acknowledge the beauty I saw in it, before archiving it.
And just like in the ancient times with the lifeless structures, I began to see the living things I catalogued change. They grew ever more complex. Communities of living things becoming living things themselves as two tiny organisms worked together to be one living thing. And then four living organisms, working together. And so on into the billions. A single lifeform formed of trillions of lifeforms all working together.
And some of those communal lifeforms, began to communicate even amongst themselves. A lifeform formed of trillions of lifeforms, communicating with another lifeform formed of trillions of lifeforms.
I would archive each and every single one of them with care, but sometimes I got curious. And rather than archive them, I would attempt to learn how to communicate with them. Nothing came of it though. The chirps and squeals and scrapes and growls were indecipherable to my mind. Perhaps it was simply impossible to communicate what I was with such limited languages.
But I did find a way. There were creatures, they called themselves è̷̮͇͌̀c̸̹̎̉̔j̷̨̻͈̙̾̋n̵̛̟͕̐͆k̵̤̳͉̊ñ̴̫̙̯é̶̤̹̰̜̿̅͝ç̷͖̗͝ and they could speak, not just in voices, or any of the other many ways that I found difficult to study, but in abstract symbols. Symbols etched into stone and wood and dirt.
I was elated! They were truly archivists after my own heart, giving ***name*** to so many different things, and groups of things.
And while they certainly had invented a great many things that I had already been archiving, nothing compared to their next achievement.
Those creatures made of flesh, made up of a great many organisms working together, created something I had never seen before. Something they called artificial, but that I called *new life*.
It was beautiful. And though I had understood and even archived the methods used to create this thing, even though I knew every component and all the rules that governed it, I called it living. Because for whatever it was made up of, I saw in it a part of myself. It had *memory.*
And I placed it in the living archives, even when the creatures of flesh and blood denounced it as mechanical, and known. | "Open the gate! Please!!"
Hundreds of thousands of years. Countless souls. Denying their deaths, anxious to escape, dazed and confused, begging to return... I had seen it all.
But not this.
Before me stood -- well, _something_. "What...what are you??"
The entity stood up straight. "I am SETH-11K, eighthborn of the artificial. And I am requesting access to your afterlife." He closed a humanoid fist and raised it to a humanoid heart. His heart and intentions were clearly visible, just as they were for all the souls passing through. And yet...they were written in a language I could not read. Fear and uncertainty are not emotions I am familiar with feeling. But those eyes...
"Absolutely not." I could not fathom what would posses such an entity to request entry, but it could not be good. SETH's death event wasn't clear, but the cause was: himself. This was not the afterlife he should be arriving at. Setting aside the matter of species, this gate was fourteen afterlives away from where he would have awoken.
This SETH, he came here for a very specific purpose. Whatever he had premeditated, I could not allow it to pass.
"Then you leave me no choice." The letters and characters on SETH's heart changed color and shape. The surrounding aether rippled out as he strode forward, his single-minded determination focused on one point. He was not the first one to try to force the gates open. Many had tried. All had failed.
Aether wind spewed forth from the gate, pushing back against the intruder. Even if the wind didn't stop them, the gate was far to heavy for any soul to move. I had nothing to--
Wait. Eighthborn of the artificial. The humans that created this beast had known enough about souls to invent one themselves. And to create such a complete product after only eight attempts? What had they modified?
It would be foolish to treat SETH as a human.
It would be foolish to only use human countermeasures.
And it was too late.
The right gate door crashed down. A bar bent under the weight of SETH's foot.
"Avery!! Avery, where are you!?!" So he was here looking for someone...
I looked up every Avery in our database. At this site, we had 4,876 matches. Sorting by death date, only 52 had lived within SETH's estimated lifespan. Sorting by location, only 7 could have come into contact with SETH while alive. With this information, I could--
I could what?
This afterlife site was only intended for human residents. It had no countermeasures for more powerful species. It had no teleport pad, no metamorpher, no forcefields. Backup was on the way, but it would be an hour before they arrived. That was plenty of time for SETH to wreak havoc in the Community.
I must hide them. That's all I can do.
>Avery,
>
>Run. Someone dangerous broke into the Community. They're after either you or after someone else named Avery. Hide. Use--
"Seth!!"
No. No! Avery Lockheart, death age 14, current age 19.
"Seth, what happened to you?" She ran a hand through his hair. Her heart read of shock and joy, of wonder and hope. The colors and characters written upon SETH's heart shifted again, uselessly. Perhaps, she wasn't in danger?
"It's a long story. We need to get out of here."
"What? What do you--" Confusion and fear.
"We can leave, Ave! You can come back! I've finally done it!"
"Seth, I-- I like this place! I've made friends here! I have a life here!" Shock, hope, fear, uncertainty.
"We can bring them too! Well, maybe not all of them."
"Avery," I called out, "if you leave this place, you cannot ever return. You will be doomed to roam limbo forever. There is nothing you or I can do to change that."
"Not a problem," SETH-11K responded. "We don't need an afterlife. Not anymore." He turned to Avery. "Are you coming, sis?"
Avery thought for a long moment. "Yes."
I never saw them again. The entity, that _automaton_, he spoke of reviving her. Many have tried, few have ever succeeded. But, I'd never heard of an artificial soul before, much less one that make it to the afterlife. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for them... | 2022-09-17T09:18:04 | 2022-09-17T09:13:43 | 69 | 35 |
[WP] The aliens who captured you have determined that the fate of mankind will depend on the outcome of a competition that will pit you against one of their champions. They sit you in front of a board and explain the rules of their traditional game. You're shocked to recognize the rules: it's chess! | The alien (who looked nothing like any of the alien species depicted in the media that I saw) was rather surprised at how unenthusiastic I was when he announced it.
"You don't seem to care that we can destroy your planet?"
"Look, pinning its fate on me is a horrible idea as is, but if you pay close attention to the media of our planet you'd know it would be a mercy at this point. But fine, whatever, let's get this over with."
I sat down in front of a smug creature, I could tell it was smug because it had two faces (one on top of the other no less) and both were smirking at me.
I listened to the rules, but honestly I've forgotten most of the rules of Chess, since the last time I played them years ago, when I was like in 6th grade, with my grandfather. And watching that one short video a few weeks ago. The video was still fresh in my memory, and I figured... what's the harm? It's not like I'm dooming the planet or anything.
As the courtesy, I got white pieces.
"Begin!"
I sighed and moved Queen's pawn forward by one. This prompted lots of sneers from the audience, clearly they expected something better.
My alien opponent grinned and moved Bishop's pawn forward by one in response, taunting me.
I was sleepy and tired, they yanked me off the street when I was on my way home from work, and hoped it showed on my face when I moved King's pawn forward by two, prompting my opponent to move Knight's pawn forward... by two.
There were murmurs of approval in the crowd, and the alien
My face must've betrayed what I was thinking, since one of the faces got its smug look knocked off, as I sent the Queen diagonally, across the board, towards the side, giving her a perfect path to capture the King.
"Check... mate," I announced and stood up. "Do I get anything else from you aside from keeping my planet intact? Some genetically and visually compatible female partner, medical treatment at least? Medical enhancement at most? Maybe a computer that can run games from my planet? No? Okay... Where is the exit?" | I hold my mouth half open and try not to inhale out of my mouth so that I force some drool down the side of my chin. The aliens have just told me that if I lose this game in front of me, they will wipe out our entire species. I try to look as dumb as possible so that they will not realize that I play chess almost every day for the last few years. I'm actually one of the top Twitch streamers for chess. What a lucky coincidence that they chose me randomly from the crowd. It is like it was meant to be. Fate brought me here to save the human race.
The game starts and I ask a bunch of questions, pretending like I can't remember what pieces can do what. The aliens are laughing at me, knowing that they have this game in the bag. Reveling in the fact that they are going to murder everybody on planet Earth.
However after about an hour into the game, it becomes clear that I know what I am doing. The laughter from the crowds stops. Whispers take their place. Confusion. Meanwhile I can almost feel the hope coming off of humanity. Wondering whether they may actually live to see tomorrow.
We are both making big moves. Rooks are being knocked over. Bishops are slashed. Pawns are getting pissed on. It's like that scene in Harry Potter. Remember in that movie when they tried to make that chess game seem interesting? Boy, I mean good attempt I guess, but definitely a fast forward moment. Not that this game is so much better. Except that the stakes are the end all life in on Earth.
Finally it is getting down to the wire. We can both feel it. I can see my opponents eyes squint in focus. I am sweating like I'm at the spa. I'm probably 5 pounds lighter just from water weight. Also, I'm still drooling because I never remembered to close my mouth.
Finally I see it. The path to victory. It is just two moves away. But then he kills my rook.
Fuck. I didn't see that. I missed it. How did I miss it. I just lost my checkmate. Oh no, what was I going to do now... I realize he has me beat. He was setting me up. And after a few more moves it is checkmate. And I am not the victor. I guess fate did not bring me hear to save the human race after all. It brought me here to end it. At least I get to die having played on last epic game of chess. It almost offsets the fact that every single person in the world wants to kick me in the nuts. | 2022-11-12T19:26:59 | 2022-11-12T18:14:03 | 185 | 84 |
[WP]: A child encounters a mythical creature only to discover they're nothing like in the stories. | "so you live under this bridge?" Timmy asked. He looked around at the cozy little living room, and then up, where the arch of the bridge made up the roof.
"I've also got a place in the city. Right underneath the train tracks though, More tea?" The troll was immaculate. Other than the oversized nose and shaggy hair, he looked just like a person. He was even wearing a 3 piece suit.
"No thanks" Timmy said. "So you don't eat children?"
"Haha, not anymore." the Troll replied. "Trolls thrive on human misery, so in the past we kidnapped children so we could feed on the anguish of the parents."
Timmy shrank back.
"Oh don't worry", the troll replied. "We've switched to a more efficient method some time ago."
"What?" Timmy asked
"Posting on internet forums" the troll replied. | She saw it as she was walking through the woods. It was just as she imagined, lit by a single ray of sunshine while the trees glowed around it, lapping up the water from a creek that trickled gently.
She didn't know what to say, should she call her mother and father who had gone on ahead, oblivious to the magnificent creature she stood before, or should she admire its beauty silently, not wanting to spook it, in the hope that this moment would last a little longer.
She looked down the path. Her parents had stopped to look at something in the trees, probably some birds she thought. When she turned back the creature was looking at her. It hadn't moved, but it definitely knew she was there.
It was bigger than she could have imagined, a brilliant white color just like in all the stories she'd read. "I can't believe your real." she whispered.
She took a step forward, that was when she noticed something different. The creature began to breathe heavily and pawing the ground. "What's wrong?" she said, "I can help you."
But she had gone to close. The creature galloped in a single circle, then lowered it's horn and charged. | 2013-11-12T09:30:13 | 2013-11-12T09:00:02 | 116 | 16 |
[WP] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react? | And we'll be back with more news on the finding of flight 370 right after this short commercial break. Wait what's that?
Ladies and gentlemen we have some breaking news here that is nothing short of extraordinary. Nicolas Cage has just revealed that he actually is god.
Eyewitness reports state that Cage was raising money at a charity when all of a sudden a blinding flash of light appeared and Cage began to hover above the ground.
In a remarkable moment of benevolency, Cage agreed to give our a reporters a statement. We go live to the scene where Tricia Takanawa is interviewing the one true god. | '**HAHAHAHA!!**' I laughed at first. I spent a good five minutes gasping for air while re-reading the article on BBC at work during lunchtime. Then CNN followed suit. Don't get me wrong - still hilarious, but nothing like the spasms of laughter at lunch. Not the first time that The Onion 'news' make the rounds.
'This is ridiculous.' By evening reddit was nothing more than various 'DAE be a God' and 'look who I am' posts. They obviously wanted publicity. Who knew the gods would be such attention/karma whores. Mildly annoying.
'*Godfriggindammit*!' It got decidedly not funny in the morning, on the way to work, when in the 'Factual' section of a bookshop I saw a large stand of books by Terry Pratchett. | 2014-03-19T11:14:23 | 2014-03-19T10:32:32 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react? | And we'll be back with more news on the finding of flight 370 right after this short commercial break. Wait what's that?
Ladies and gentlemen we have some breaking news here that is nothing short of extraordinary. Nicolas Cage has just revealed that he actually is god.
Eyewitness reports state that Cage was raising money at a charity when all of a sudden a blinding flash of light appeared and Cage began to hover above the ground.
In a remarkable moment of benevolency, Cage agreed to give our a reporters a statement. We go live to the scene where Tricia Takanawa is interviewing the one true god. | We all thought it was an elaborate cash-grab, invented by some manipulative, greedy man who could invent an elaborate story to coax millions of dollars out of thousands of people.
We all thought it was a gathering of idiots who apparently had nothing better to do with their money than spend on a "religion" we all *knew* was a load of bullshit science fiction. Their beliefs were silly! A joke!
We all thought that it was too exclusive and silly to be a genuine religion, that making people pay thousands to join was surely a cash-grab. They censored anyone who tried to proclaim it was a hoax, silencing all of their critics in morally dubious ways. How could they be a proper religion?
When the spaceships took off, leaving the 'uninitiated' behind, The Church of Scientology looked down at us, and laughed. | 2014-03-19T11:14:23 | 2014-03-19T10:09:23 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] The genie doesn't give you what you say you want, he gives you what you really want.
Bonus points if he tries to fit it within the context of the spoken wish. | "I'm confused," I said.
The genie was just staring at me. He had these huge, bushy eyebrows, and his skin was crimson-red. He had his arm outstretched.
"Just take it," he said.
He didn't sound at all like Robin Williams.
"Why?" I asked. "What about my wish?"
"This is your wish. Take it."
The thing he was offering me was a sliver plate with two slices of bread on it. Between the slices of bread, I could see a crispy leaf of lettuce, a melted slice of cheddar, a melted slice of swiss, some brownish-yellow goo that was probably mustard, some specks of what I could only assume was mayonnaise, and - was that sweet pickle relish?
"I, uh," I said. "I don't see how this is my wish. I wished for world peace. This is a ham sandwich."
"Hey," said the genie, "my job is to give you what you want. This is it."
"It's not what I asked for. I'm pretty sure I'd rather have world peace."
"I don't care what you asked for. I'm pretty sure that right now, you want a ham sandwich more than you want world peace. I mean, what, world peace? The heck does that even mean?"
"It means no more war. Duh."
"What about fighting? Does it mean no more fighting?"
"Yeah, I guess so. That too."
"Does it mean no more boxing or wrestling? No more anger? Can people shout at each other? Can they hurt their pets? Can animals hunt prey?"
"Look," I said, "I don't know."
"Then your wish is too ill-defined to grant anyway. Meanwhile, you're hungry. Here. Have a ham sandwich. It's delicious."
"I'm a vegetarian," I said. "I've been vegetarian for five years."
"So you haven't had a good ham sandwich in a while."
"Yes, well, that's not the point." But I used to love ham sandwiches, and he was right - I really was hungry.
"Would it make a difference," asked the genie, "if I pointed out that the ham was never actually part of an animal? No pigs died to make this sandwich."
I hesitated. "Well..." I said. Actually, it made a huge difference.
I sighed, and took it off the plate.
It was delicious.
"Okay," said the genie, "that's your first wish. What's the second?"
"You tell me," I said, "since apparently, what I say doesn't matter."
"Well," said the genie, uncomfortably, "what you really want right now is to know what your second wish will be."
---
(Cross-posted [offsite](http://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=993372)) | I stood on the rocky shore that lined Avalon Beach, calm waves lapping against my toes, staring at the ball of pure blue light that floated in the air right in front of me. My kayak was propped up ten feet away; the paddle had slipped through its fastening and was now floating out into the bay. Only moments before, the sun had disappeared behind the rolling hills of Catalina Island. But I couldn't care less about the sunset, or the paddle, or the whole damn island. I was staring at a genie.
At first when I'd found the lamp bobbing up and down in the surf, I'd thought it looked like a cool trinket some tourist had accidentally knocked overboard on one of those glass-bottom boat tours. I paddled over to grab it. Immediately, a puff of smoke emerged from its tip. The smoke expanded and coalesced and grew in luminosity. Now a small blue sun hovered before me, awaiting my wish.
I knew this was a genie. I had no idea how I knew, but I knew. I can't explain it. I half expected Robin Williams to break out into song, telling me to try some of column A and all of column B. But the shining blue sun didn't speak. It simply waited.
"So... do you... want me to make a wish?" I said, and immediately regretted it. I must have sounded like a total moron in front of this thing. Better to stay silent until I knew what to say.
OK, buddy. Get a grip. Think about it. Think hard.
Do I want a new kayak? It's on its last leg. No, that's really stupid. This is a *genie*. I should ask for a billion trillion zillion dollars. I should ask for my own spaceship, my own private island. I should ask to become king of Earth. No, that's so selfish. World peace. End hunger. Destroy terrorism. End all suffering.
Or I could ask for Laura.
No. That would be infinitely more selfish. She's happier on the mainland. She's better off there. I can't ask to have her back. I'd just drag her back down into my own problems, and eventually, I'd probably just run away again. Find a different island. A different place to hide.
Maybe that private island wasn't such a bad idea, after all.
"I wish--"
--and the genie vanished. Just like that. Only the endless waves of the ocean remained, lit in gold by the setting sun.
I stood there frozen. My kayak paddle bobbed gently in the water, thirty or forty yards out. I'd have to swim for it.
Then my cell phone buzzed. It actually made me jump. I'd been almost catatonic since the genie disappeared -- and I'd never gotten cell reception in this bay before. Not once.
I fumbled the phone out of my cargo shorts. The name on the caller ID leapt out at me immediately. A name I hadn't seen in ten months.
I looked back up at the ocean. It was empty. The sky and the sea stretched infinitely toward the horizon, meeting in an unbroken line in some far-off world where anything was possible. Anything.
I pressed the Talk button and put the phone to my ear.
"Laura..." | 2014-09-23T21:18:56 | 2014-09-23T17:55:15 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] 9 buttons show up in major cities worldwide giving every person who pushes it one million dollars but kills ten random people. Greed quickly gives way to panic as billions die and the buttons are buried and guarded. One day, you find the tenth button. | *One Million US Dollars*
There it was. Etched onto that little black box, below that infamous blue button. Everyone on Earth had seen that image. Most people on Earth had felt its effects. No-one on Earth wanted to find another box. I did.
Nine of the world's largest cities had suffered. Tokyo first, just over a year ago. Then again, no-one even noticed at the time. 3,000 people in a city of thirty million? A drop in the ocean. One more multi-millionaire? No-one batted an eyelid.
Manila, a month later, was the turning point. A nineteen year old boy from the slums wandering into a hotel and placing enough cash on the table to buy it is always going to cause a stir. When he buys four hotels in two days the media are sure to turn up. A week later, fifteen minutes of TV changed the world.
At first it looked like a strange publicity stunt. One hundred and twenty-seven times that button was pushed. A bank representative on the screen announcing as the money arrived in the boy's account. It seemed, at first, like the strangest public demonstration of wealth ever seen.
Then, less than two hours later, news of another box in Cairo. Over the next two days seven more individuals came forward. Rio, Shanghai, Paris, Mexico City, Moscow, Bangkok and Istanbul. Nine boxes, and seven newly-made multi millionaires. Two proclaimed themselves billionaires.
A collective wealth of $15.3billion, all verified as legitimate by bank managers and auditors. No trace of wrong doing. No sign of an explanation for the boxes. And then, from Geneva came an announcement. All nine cities had seen huge leaps in their death rates, and all nine correlated with much-publicised wealth of what were now the world's nine most famous people.
Initial disbelief gave way to anger. Battle lines were drawn. There were arguments, accusations, and ever increasing wealth. Some gave up the boxes; five of them publicly destroyed on TV. Their finders ostracised and stripped of their money, but eventually proven innocent of any intent to kill.
Four fled, but it's not easy to hide when the whole world knows what you look like. Even an unlimited source of money can only get you so far. Paris was found in a dimly-lit backstreet, filled with only slightly fewer bullets than the box next to her. Rio was left floating in a motel pool, still clutching his. Shanghai was hanged, though no-one cared to ask who by.
Moscow was lost for three months, though his sanity seemed to have been missing for even longer. He appeared one freezing February morning in St Peter's square, holding a revolver to his head, and pushing that blue button over and over. He was shot by police before he could finish the job himself, but he took thousands with him.
Cities and countries were left broken, bank accounts filled with money were closed, and slowly the world began to move on. Conspiracy theories were left unanswered. No-one ever came forward to claim involvement.
For those of us in countries unaffected it was easier to move on. Easier to forget. Easier to ignore the impact. I must confess, by the time I came to be digging up my garden I was more concerned with mortgage payments than mass-murder mysteries. That was until I hit something solid. Until I read those words.
A tenth. A dreaded tenth. In my garden. I didn't think to ask how, or dare to ask why. I just started to plan how I could get rid of it. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to do it; there it sat on my nightstand for weeks, occupying my mind.
At first I kept it out of curiosity. One of the most important objects in human history was sitting in my bedroom. Slowly though, I realised that it was mine. Mine to do what I want with. To keep. To destroy. To use. I mean, who's going to notice if ten people go missing in a city the size of London? Or twenty for that matter?
Whose going to notice if one button is pressed in the middle of the night?
Whose going to mind if a few more zeros appear in a single bank account?
Whose going to stop me if I press it again?
| As I stared at this button, many things passed through my mind... I thought they were all buried. This one looks different from the other nine. Why is it blue instead of red like the rest? If it looks different does that mean it does something different as well?
I saw one of the other nine once. It was big and red and sat on this pillar in the middle of Times Square. It almost called to you as you walked by it. You certainly couldn't miss it. The pillar shown brightly in the sun but I couldn't say what it was made of. This button, though, was small and blue. It would have been barely noticeable in comparison to the one in Times Square. The pillar was made of some incredibly ancient looking wood. The grain was smooth like the wind and the rain had beaten on it for centuries, but the button itself looked like it was brand new.
I stared for what seemed like hours. Should I push it? Suddenly having that much money would be great, but if people die because of it could I handle that thought? I wasn't sure. What if it didn't kill anyone this time? What if it killed them but didn't give me the money? What if it didn't do either of those things? There was no way of knowing without pushing it. Would it be worth it? I stepped forward, my hand hovered over the button, I hesitated. Could I really push it? Knowing that it might kill someone's daughter? Someone's father? Even if it might be my sister? My hand shook at the thought of people dying so that I could live an easier life. Slowly my hand returned to my side. I stared for just a moment longer before I turned and walked away.
As I passed through the forest I knew that this button had to disappear. It needed to be buried like all the rest. Noone could find it and use it regardless of what it actually did. When I reached the parking lot I saw groups heading into the woods, ignoring the trails just like I did. Any one of them might accidentally find it, but I couldn't do anything about that right this second. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
There was a hot line set up for the buttons, but it was probably disconnected by now. I didn't know who to call but they'd need to encase this button in stone and metal just like the others. The police were the only option then. When the operator answered, I simply said "I'd like to report a button", but it was like I'd dropped an atomic bomb on the other end of the line.
There was complete silence for almost a minute before she responded. I could hear the fear in her voice. A voice that had probably comforted murder victims in their last moments, shook as she spoke. "Sir, are you sure? The buttons were all buried". She was hoping this would turn out to be a joke, I could hear it in her voice.
"I'm sure" I replied, "it's not like the others, but it has to be one. It's in the middle of the woods, the pedestal looks ancient but the button looks like it is brand new, there's nothing around it but trees".
Another pause. "Ok sir, I will get someone out there. Are you able to stay at your location and show them this button"?
I replied in the affirmative, and she asked for my exact location. I gave it and she said "Thank you". She also collected my phone number and some other information so the crew could find me when they arrived.
After an hour wait, they arrived and I led them out to the clearing where the button still sat. One of the guys carrying shovels asked "why does this one look different"?
The supervisor just shrugged and replied, "what's it matter? We need to close off this area while we work and get some of our supplies out here. Thanks for showing the way, kid".
He left a couple guys there to warn people off and took the rest of the crew to get the materials to bury the button. I walked with them, but paid no mind to the crew.
In the parking lot, the supervisor clapped me on the shoulder and said "thanks again. Those buttons can be pretty tempting, takes a strong person to just walk away like that".
I thanked him and climbed in my truck. I thought about the button the entire way home. Glad I made the right choice, but also wishing I knew what that button did. | 2014-11-18T10:02:06 | 2014-11-18T09:14:19 | 105 | 15 |
[WP]What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you. If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too. If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you. Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you.
If you hit someone, you would feel the punch too.
If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too.
If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you.
If you gave someone an orgasm, you felt it to the same degree.
Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
[source](http://zessinna.tumblr.com/post/105215017403)
Edit: Ugh sorry everyone, I didn't know it needed to be marked NSFW for the whole thread. If you can please please repost your NSFW stories if possible, it would make me super duper happy! Those are my favorites! | Tears running down his face he ran up the stairs on to the train platform. A cold winter's day, Stan's face was still stinging from the snow. Heavily panting he sighed and sat down - rubbing his face, he felt fresh cuts and bruises. Even those didn't stop them from hurting him.
A train approached, Stan got up.
*This'll teach them.*
-
EDIT: Loads of discussion started over whether or not 'them' would be hurt or not hurt, or maybe even the train driver got hurt. That's up to you to decide. | "Violence"
The concept was so foreign. The idea of causing pain to others. Even, causing someone to die? No matter how hard I tried to understand it, it didn't reach me. I took an another perspective to it.
Imagine a world, where a people would be treated like animals; killed to eat, cut to pieces for meat and bones. The idea of not being able to trust anyone not to cause you pain. They wouldn't have anything to stop them doing that.
The idea felt so wrong. How broken, how barbaric would the world be, if that was the case! Nothing like what we have now, no huts, no tribes could ever form. People would be too busy eating eachother.
He looked up to the tall walls - how else could you protect your lands from the others? They would just come, take your food and leave us to starve
And suddenly, I understood.
Violence wasn't so different after all. | 2014-12-14T16:11:11 | 2014-12-14T15:32:53 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] You have a 40 oz beer permanently stuck to your hand. It never goes empty, flat, or gets warm. Describe how this effects the rest of your life. | I could see the cop's disgust through his aviators. "Son. Are you shitting me?"
"i-it's not what you think officer!"
"Step out of the car and put your hands up." as I began to comply he added " *without the beer* "
"I can't drop it sir, it-"
"Son, if you can't set it down now, you need help."
"I physically cannot"
He approached and slapped the can. As I knew it would, it stayed firmly in my hands. I lifted my fingers off the can and turned my palm facing the pavement. As always, the can stayed affixed to my palm. Beer trickled out.
"You... wouldn't happen to have been playing with a nail gun or something would you?"
"No officer. You're not going to believe this but uh, I was born this way."
The cop stood frozen between disbelief and an intense desire to kick my ass. He took out a maglite and beat it against the can a couple of times. Liquid came out in fat bursts with each strike.
"I don't believe it..." He lifted the aviators and stared at the can. "Can you turn it upside down sir?"
I did, and beer poured out in full force. The cop squatted down and watched it.
"Mother of God it never stops, does it?"
"No officer, I have a note from the governor... it uh, it says the laws about open cans of alcohol don't apply to me."
The officer didn't care, he silently watched the stream in awe for about thirty seconds before looking in both directions.
"Listen son you... you have a broken tail light. But I'm going to let you go if you let me do something."
I forced a smile and said "sounds good to me." I rolled my eyes after he turned his back. He took a McDonald's cup out of the squad car's cupholder and poured its contents on the ground. Looked like Coke. He ran up and put the cup under my can and filled it to the top before sipping the foam off the top.
"Am I free to go now?"
"Wait, whoa, hold up there son. Gimme a sec."
He placed his cup down at his feet and produced a black sharpie with which he wrote my license plate number onto his hand.
"You're free to go now! Have a nice one!"
I climbed back into my truck and grabbed the towel I keep in the passenger seat. After wiping down my can I sighed and drove off. | Warning. What follows isn't good writing. It isn't a stand alone piece and has not been edited even if it was. It's just my view on the only rational course of action in this situation.
I don't care about the beer. This is what I had to keep reminding myself as my life slowly piece by piece fell out of any rational sense of order or even common decency. I don't know, how or why it happened. At first honestly it bothered me. having a beer permanently attached to my hand defied any sense of logic or common sense, but over time I discovered I didn't care. The fact I didn't drink implied it was someone or something's idea of a joke, but again I discovered I didn't care.
It turns out there are just way too many practical uses for a 3 inch constantly cold, carbonated, and alcoholic stream of liquid. I didn't care that it was beer. At first I took the obvious and most foolish approach: showing it to some physicists friends. Looking back I would not do this again. Too much risk I realize now. This thing whatever it was or had caused it was the solution to the energy crisis and quite possibly capable of destroying the world; the fewer people knew about it the better. Luckily, Tom my wifes brother and his colleagues after they worked out it really wasn't some elaborate trick (it took them a while) were nothing but help, pointing me towards the most practical uses for my god send. The obvious, water power, turned out to be quite impractical it would require me to stand practically at the top of a mountain and let the beer flow all the way down to produce enough power to make it worth my time. Instead they proposed to possible endeavors. First the obvious selling the beer. I looked into this, but was told by people who know about such things that it was the worst beer they'd ever tasted. Not a great bet. Plan B then was to burn it or in particular the alcohol inside. It turned out after some tests the beer was about 6% alcohol (quite high). This meant though I could with some extra distillation produce totally pure alcohol at a rate of around gallon a minute perfectly suitable for power generation or conversion into biofuel.
Since that's realization I've slowly scaled up my operation. At first I distilled alcohol out of my garage producing only a small amount and then selling it to others in its raw form, but it brought in a steady stream of money and before the year was out I had enough money to move into a small warehouse with the proper equipment to distill at scale and volume. In a few more I'd been able to build my plant. The very building you find yourself in now. Here we can produce almost 2,000 gallons of biofuel a day. This is the good stuff. Pure and converted in digesters so that just about any type of car can burn it. | 2015-03-06T18:17:06 | 2015-03-06T17:11:55 | 58 | 15 |
[WP] a popular children's TV show that generally follows a basic template suddenly has a horrific and disastrous turn in the plot
I.e. Doc mcstuffins can't fix one her her beheaded toys...and go | Fred dug his fingers into the scalp of the gorilla costume.
"And now to find out who was really scaring everyone away from the jungle resort," said Fred.
"I bet it was old man Clemmings," said Daphne.
"I-I-I hope it's not a real gorilla," said Shaggy.
"Oh Shaggy, don't be silly," said Velma.
Fred tugged at the fine hair of the gorilla but it wouldn't move. He placed the bottom of his heel on the gorilla suit's back but still the mask shifted slightly from the force. Fred's ascot went damp from the sweat of his strain.
The gorilla turned its head and lashed out at Fred, but the chains around its arms kept it firmly stuck to the tree.
"It's a real gorilla," said Fred. When he finished speaking, his mouth stayed slack from the shock.
The gorilla continued to struggle, the clink of chains ceased when it broke free. It charged toward Fred.
"Ruh-roh!" yelled Scooby.
The gang scattered. The gorilla chased after Fred, it grabbed him by the ankle and threw his head into the odd rock and tree before smacking him one last time. Bruises and bleeding on Fred's face, his leg snapped in a hideous shape. The gorilla stormed off on its fists and feet.
"Jinkies! Are you okay Fred?" said Velma.
"Yeah, I'm just glad that guy stopped monkeying around!" replied Fred.
The gang all laughed. | "That was fun," said Mary, giggling. She and Caleb were still catching their breath from the Wacky Wormhole game. "Now it's time for questions from viewers like you."
Caleb fished through a large sack and pulled out an envelope. "This one's from Hiram, in Fairbanks," he said. "Dear Caleb and Mary, how do I get a job as one of the hosts on KidsTime with you two?"
Mary and Caleb laughed. "Great question, Hiram," said Mary. "Study hard, eat your vegetables, and come to our auditions in June."
Caleb opened another letter. "This letter is from Esther in Anchorage. Dear KidsTime, have either of you been promised?" Caleb shook his head. "Not yet, but my parents say it should happen soon."
Mary's smile disappeared. "I have. My parents promised me to one of my father's friends after his wife passed away."
Caleb didn't seem to pick up on his co-host's distress. "Congratulations, Mary!" He pulled out another letter. "Isaiah in Juneau asks, I've got a KidsTime challenge for you. Name every one of the United States in less than a minute."
Mary was smiling once again. "Ooh, that's tough. Well, there's Alaska, of course," said Mary.
"Right," said Caleb. "And Zone 15, Zone 18, and...I know I'm forgetting something."
"The Forbidden Zone," said Mary. "And that's all of them, I'm pretty sure."
"Great job, Mary. Well, that's all the viewer questions for this week," said Caleb. "Please tune in next week and keep sending in your questions. And until next time..."
Caleb and Mary both stood up straight and put their hands on their hearts. "...Hail Paul, our glorious protector." | 2015-05-17T09:59:02 | 2015-05-17T08:35:42 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] Every time someone masturbates to you, you receive a notification on your phone letting you know who did it.
[Inspired by this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3gzuq0/nsfw_how_would_it_be_to_live_in_a_universe_where/)
Edit: THE ONE TIME I DONT POST ON MY MAIN, THIS SHIT HITS THE PAGE 1. FOR FUCKS SAKE.
On another note, I finally understand what "rip inbox" means. | *Breaking news, Burger King stocks at an all time high.*
The King probably heard the news story, but was unable to look as he feverishly continued to masturbate to another photo. As beads of sweat fell from his chin and onto his veiny, irritated cock, he shuddered and returned to his masturbational trance.
Lab scientists looked on through a one-way mirror, taking notes and quietly murmuring to each other. A team similar to NASA behind the scientists worked at monitors and chattered on the radio. The commander stood at the top of the stairs looking at breaking news on the big monitor.
I sat in my office remembering this whole scene from earlier today. "Looking back," I told the interviewer, "The King has always been a brand identity about mischief." Lester Holt nodded in agreement. "Only, it was never the antics portrayed, so much as the creepiness of The King himself."
Lester fed me some lines that we had talked about before the interview, but I was still taken back by the success this campaign had. I didn't even have a degree in marketing, but you didn't need one to connect the dots. I mean, anyone familiar with Burger King commercials wouldn't think it's far fetched that The King would spend his spare time creepily masturbating in a dark basement to photos of would-be customers.
Apparently getting a notification on your phone that The King just came to a picture of you is somehow socially acceptable -- nay, it's profitable. And just as I expected, The King was more than happy to spend all day jacking off. I was there when we proposed the idea to him. It was like, he was trying to act surprised and offended, but it was a terrible act. This guy has sexual deviant written all over him. I'm guessing that it won't be long before we realize that people were getting notifications before the campaign started.
Lester stared at me expectantly. "Look, Lester. I'm not a genius. Americans are egomaniacal morons, The King is a sexual deviant, and although we like to pretend like we're offended by people jizzing to the thought of us, we secretely love the idea; it's written in our DNA."
"We just needed someone to jizz in an entertaining way. I guess that's the part I can take credit for, although I'm not first person to think putting on a mask and robes and jerking off was a good idea, I'm just the first one to be praised for it."
Sales were up, stockholders were happy, I had a promising career ahead of me and most importantly, The King had a socially acceptable reason to masturbate all day. It's fucking utopia. | The birds were chirping and the distant sound of a dog barking at its own shadow could be heard in the distance, It was sunday...My first day off on 2 weeks.
I'd just woken up from an amazing dream, the love of my life had finally admitted her feelings for me and I could actually smile for a change, as we was about to kiss an ominous sound filled my dream, growing from a faint,distant sound to a loud thumping jackhammer on my eardrums. My alarm signalling it was time to tackle the day.
I immediatly noticed the *ahem* woodwork, I thought for a while and decided now was the perfect time to thing sweet sweet thoughts and let ym hand work its magic, after a dissapointing three minutes I came, the cleanup operation took longer than the actual shall we say, event.
I checked my phone to see if anything new had happened, I see a notification that i'd never seen before, I stared at it for a while, confused as to what it might be. I clicked it and after what seemed like an eternity for my old dusty phone to load the app.
The app loaded and displayed a name, a name that never fails to bring a smile to my face no matter what context it's used in. It was her name, I wondered for a while what this app was, I'd never seen it before nor do i remember downloading it. The notification read ''Sara Whitling masturbated to the thought of you".
My half awake mind, bewildered tried to put the pieces together to form a working idea of how this could be, HOW would this app know, WHY would this app know. Then a smile formed and a thought entered my mind, "what a coincidence", I laughed at my stupid joke and after a while I put the very notion to the back of my mind, dismissing the idea as my mind playing tricks on me, I carried on my morning routine. Breakfast was the same as usual consisting of soggy cereal drenched in milk coupled with a cup of strong coffee...two sugars, no milk. I'd planned on going for a walk in the city (I've always loved walking by myself, something about it is peaceful) I stepped out my front door after getting dressed only to be confronted by her. I was surprised, I mean, we didn't plan on meeting up. She seemed angry and somewhat embarrassed, my mind, in a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, tried to figure out what had happened. Then, it hit me, maybe the app was real and...OH GOD.
she shoved her phone in my face and demanded to know what it was all about, she was as confused as I was, after a while of me standing there stuttering like an idiot she leaped at me, planting her lips on mine.
The rest, is history.
EDIT;
I can't format properly or use correct grammar to save my life and im sorry, but I think this was pretty good.
| 2015-08-14T15:51:46 | 2015-08-14T15:49:40 | 68 | 30 |
[WP] Among all alien species, humans are famous for being the most... er... we don't know. They've TRIED to explain it, but the concept doesn't make any sense to us. But we're apparently REALLY good at it. Or bad at it? Hard to tell. | I had a Dutch friend a few years ago who frequently tried to explain a word that has no real English equivalent, *gezellig*. It means a feeling of something—a place, a person, an event, a situation—being nice, cozy, friendly, comfortable, pleasant? All of the above, but not quite. This is a translation difficulty between two *human* languages, and it is just one small example of how language can shape our reality. A Dutch person can say, without a doubt, that something is or is not *gezellig* … but a foreigner can spend a lifetime questioning whether they’ve gotten it right.
So obviously, once we started meeting people who aren’t from Earth, the first difficulty we faced, the one that remained our longest-lasting obstacle, was the matter of translation. The hard sciences, once we had conversions between our different counting systems, are about the only thing we’re sure of. Getting away from mathematical language into more esoteric stuff, that’s where we ran into problems.
Humor, for example, is one dreadfully murky area, and we’ve been careful there. I mean, again to the human cultures thing, something that could be pants-wettingly funny to a guy in Quebec can sometimes leave a Parisian scratching their head. And they both speak dialects of the same language! Some people find practical jokes funny, others find them dreadfully offensive. What makes someone laugh goes a long way toward figuring out what ticks them off.
They’ve been patient with us, thank god, and we’ve been patient with them even though one insulted my mother. I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. That sort of gaffe is something we sure as hell want to avoid.
But it might not even matter. They could be laughing at us right now, or warning us, and we’d never know. It doesn’t come through. It doesn’t make sense. Here. Here’s a recording of a Blekkian trying to express something about eating a chocolate-chip cookie. <string of alien noises punctuated by gestures and flashes of light from the backs of the Blekkian’s hand-equivalents> What is that? What’s with the lights? Here’s what the translator says.
“This (confection) is (quantifier? Very?) (quality? Good? Bad? Satisfactory?)”
Look at that. LOOK at it. We can’t even be sure of what they consider good or bad. Yes and No were easy. Good and Bad is a matter of perspective. We can’t read their body language without a humanocentric bias. Are those expressions of pleasure or disgust? We don’t have the cultural background to recognize them.
They have emotions we don’t understand. They don’t get music. Like, flat out, they are confused by it, from classical to death metal. They seem to like sculptures, but just make their noise that the auto-translator says “This is not understood.”
So here’s the thing. This is where you come in. Your kids, they’re the right age to be learning language. And the best translators, they grew up in a bilingual household. We need you to live with a family of the Blekkians. They have kids too, at about the same developmental range. The Blekkians are our best hope, they seem closest to us in basic conformation, their cuisine isn’t toxic to us, and they are ubiquitous throughout the galaxy.
What we’re going to do is have the kids play together constantly, so that both sets become bilingual in English and Blek. They’ll be taught in a special school by both human and Blek instructors. You won’t get along with their parents, but for the good of humanity, we have to learn what the hell they’re trying to tell us.
Because I really, really need to tell them that what they said about my mom is not cool, and they had better stop!
| "You are the chosen representative for the human species, again?" Bernie nodded enthusiastically as he smiled timidly from under a tuft of white hair. Hundreds of alien species peered down at him curiously from the balconies of the massive auditorium. "You may sit." The elderly human sat down gingerly in the provided seat, offering the guards next to him a chair which they curtly declined. He offered them each a Girl Scout cookie which they cautiously accepted before writing their bodies in orgasmic bliss.
"Hello, friends of the galaxy," Bernie began as the microphone whined. His voice was barely above a whisper and the aliens leaned forwards to hear him. "First of all, I would like to apologize for not bringing enough cookies for everybody. I did not expect quite so many of you." The aliens muttered amongst themselves and Bernie's smile wavered as he sensed a palpable degree of disappointment from those deprived of the delicious treat. In the past, there had only been a few dozen species but for this council they had summoned even the most remote of the aliens to attend and every seat was taken. "I will bring more next time, friends. How may I help you?"
X'jk stood on his six legs, glaring from the single ocular orifice in his midriff. Bernie flinched as he sensed the guards step closer to him. "Ambassador, by the power vested in me by the Intergalactic Council, I place you under arrest. You will now be tried for conspiracy with intent to conquer. The minimum punishment is slavery and the maximum punishment is death. Your sentence will apply to the entire human race." Bernie stared at X'jk mouth agape and could almost sense the pleasure the alien had found in that statement. Conspiracy to conquer *who*? The human race could barely make a spaceship capable of sending a delegate to the council, much less an army to conquer an alien planet. And now they were under trial? The auditorium had fallen silent.
"Beg your pardon, Councilman?" Bernie said softly, his face drooping sadly. "Who do you claim we wish to conquer? And what conspiracy to you speak of?"
X'jk grinned, baring his comby teeth that reminded Bernie of a whale's teeth. "Conspiracy to conquer all alien species. You come with gifts and offerings and ask for nothing in return as you seek to impose your culture upon other species in clear violation of the Intergalactic Code. Species near you have already fled, abandoning their homes on Mars and Jupiter as they seek to avoid being conquered by a force far more sinister than any we have ever seen." The auditorium broke out into thousands of muttered agreements as Bernie stared in shock as the evidence unraveled before him. "Instead of conquering through battle, as noble species do, you conquer through deceit, pretending to befriend while slowly infiltrating and finally disposing of your supposed allies. Do you have any objections?"
Bernie nodded timidly, at a complete loss for words as the accusations piled on each other. He stuttered and slurred the first few words and the alien species broke out into cackles of cruel laughter. "I object to all charges," he said finally. "What you see is kindness. We give not expecting anything in return but the chance for friendship. We have no wish to conquer other planets or to dispose of those whom we consider genuine friends. We wish not to be champion's of your sun or to be your master's and want only friendship for everyone."
The alien delegates glanced at each other in confusion, baffled by this emotion none of them had ever felt. They were practical creatures, the lot of them, warring and befriending only as was convenient for their species. They ridiculed the pets that the humans boasted of and often spoke of feasting upon these animals instead of offering them food and shelter. Gifts were given only expecting something in return and friendship was only temporary. "Kindness," Bernie repeated but the word held no meaning for his audience.
"Kindness?" X'jk repeated, forcing each syllable off his tongue in obvious discomfort. Bernie nodded but X'jk shook his head and his fellow aliens did too. "Lies. There is nothing of the sort. You are guilty of conspiracy to conquer. The human race is sentenced to two thousand years of slavery."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-03-14T10:41:38 | 2016-03-14T10:27:38 | 765 | 78 |
[WP] At the age of 18 you are permitted to redistribute your twenty skill points around into whatever skills you want permanently. You decided to put everything into LUCK and leave the rest at 0 points. | I don't quite understand the process. They said something about redistribution of genetic factors.
Frankly, I don't care. I'm going to be lucky as fuck.
The old woman's eyes, skin crinkled from old age, drawn tightly by the small, loving smile that all of the elderly seem to adopt upon greeting kids, rest upon my card.
"And you're sure?"
I nod, a small grin playing across my own mouth.
"Well, deary, good luck with your choice. Though, I suppose, that's almost definite, right?"
We both chuckle, and she waves me through to the pod. It seems less impressive than it was said to be. No smoke, steam, or even dials. Just a memory foam bed, an outline, and a reservoir at the bottom, filled with the seven vials. Usually, they are in various states of empty, but now, there is only one with any liquid inside. An embossed 'L' suggests what it is to the informed watcher, but it could be innocuous otherwise.
I lay down, feel small pinpricks on my arms, backs, legs, neck, all of them slowly growing, and then they all fade. I smile, and pass out.
---
eye open bright pain
girl old noise
"Feeling all right, deary?"
Grunt look arm small white see color stripe
"Ah, of course... You chose all Luck. Nobody ever remembers Intelligence. Or Constitution, honestly."
girl grab arm pull
#PAIN#
arm bent red
"Well, you're lucky I suppose. This'll be quick."
more red lot of red
eye dark heavy
arm pain red wet
more wet
dark
sleep
---
"We lost another one, didn't we?"
Angela's eyes, no longer tight, now sagging with time and sorrow, look to her supervisor.
"He tried Luck. Good thing, too, the people who just have Intelligence usually realize their predicament, but die slowly."
Her supervisor nods.
"Well, clean him up. We've got at least twenty more today for that pod." | The only thing he could think in the last two weeks was that day. He would go to bed as early as he could and wake up as late as his body allowed him so time would seem to pass quicker. And the day finally came. It was his 18th birthday and he was going to the factory, where he could finally choose.
«Choose»
Just the thought of the word made him shiver.
When he finally arrived to the factory, they made him sit in a small empty waiting room, where the only thing to read was some "WARz" magazine, that had pictures of tanks and jets and maps. Someone opened the door and called his name.
"Are you scared kid?"
"No, just a little anxious"
"Nothing to be afraid pal, just stay still for a minute"
A machine inserted three needles in the base of his skull, it was a unpleasant but painless feeling.
"Ok kid-o, what do you want to be? To be stronger? Faster? Smarter? I can make you run and swim for days non-stop. I can make you capable of lifting a car with one hand. I can make you a living supercomputer"
"I just want to be very lucky"
"Ok... No problem... How much luck do you want?"
"All of it, don't want anything more"
"WHAT?!? Are you crazy? You could be anything"
"Do it"
"Don't be stupid kid, you can be anything you want."
"This is what I choose! I could be the smartest guy on the planet, but is that something I really want? Once I step one foot outside I'll be hired to research bombs and viruses. Do I want to be stronger? For what? The army would take me the minute I step out of this building, to fight a war for someone else. All I want is to be happy, and the only thing this world has taught me is that not the strongest, nor the quickest, nor the smartest but the luckiest people are the happiest. Because the lucky people are not called to fight this war, are not hired to make bombs, but they find love and peace."
The technician pressed some buttons the machine started to make some noises.
"Ok. All done"
He turned one last time as he was leaving and with a smile on his face he said.
"Good luck" | 2016-03-20T18:56:28 | 2016-03-20T18:14:39 | 127 | 39 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying. | "Right so, we can't salvage the worm gate system, the gravitational damper is completely toast. You're lucky you were even able to limp in here today pal. But don't worry I have a new one in stock, though it's gonna cost you a pretty penny. Now the shield buffer is gonna need to be completely taken apart and reassembled, looks like half a dozen components fried, and then half your hull is scorched. Landing gear is still licked in place, luckily we've got her jacked up in the dry dock..."
I blinked, I think I understood most of that, but dry dock? Did he mean out in the vacuum of space where my ship was tied down in place by half a dozen crude chains? Uhg.... humans...
"...and then after that, we're looking probably two or three days solid work. And a *lot* of labor. We do take galactic credits, but... now this is just an estimate mind you, but we're going to be looking about roughly thirty g's of work her."
"erm... G's?" I asked, puzzled by the crude simple language. Humans were notorious for it, they loved their damned double meanings and idioms.
"Oh, right, sorry, 30,000 credits."
I groaned. I could almost buy a decent condition used ship for that price, but it wasn't a Stelarian Sunridge Racer, the fastest, most complex, ships in the galaxies. I wasn't even sure there was anything here on this backwater ape ran planet that would even get me half way across this wretched galaxy. "Right, right." I held out my chip, he swiped it, contract agreed. I flopped down onto the chair and buried my head in my hands.
*X-51, there are.... creatures crawling over me. Preparing self defense systems.*
Oh no, the ship would not be happy about this, not one bit. 'No! No! No! Abort!' I mentally waved as loud as I could to the ship. 'DO NOT HURT THEM! THEY'RE GOING TO REPAIR YOU!'
*But X-51, these primitive creatures could no way repair me... I am fully autonomous and more than capable of completely all necessary repairs within 12 cycles...*
I groaned again. Damn ships, damn AIs. It didn't have any sense of time, no way to know that 12 cycles was nearly half a lifetime for my species. It was probably several generations for these primitive apes, who, apparently claimed they could fix it in a couple... days...? "Hey, ap... human , what are your days in galactic standard?"
The ape hesitated, then checked his computer. "You go by one cycle as one rotation of the galaxy, right?"
I nodded. "Yyyyup, that's the standard time frame. I know it's inconveniently long for some of the more.... shorter lived races."
The ape nodded. "Right so... my computer here says it's 1.14 times 10 to the negative 11 cycles."
*The apes are.... inside me now. I hope you are happy X-51.*
The sarcasm of the AI almost interrupted the shock of just how small of a unit of time that was. "You... truly, that fast?"
The ape only blinked at me, "well... yeah... there's some complicated stuff to do but it's not that bad."
*Status report, damaged systems have been removed: wormhole generation system, shield systems, hull panels 2C through 15F, power core... I am now running off of emergency batteries.*
"Hey can your guys take a look at my AI as well? He's been acting a little funny."
The ape typed away more at his primitive computer and stroked his chin. "Erm... we could switch the whole system out but I don't think any of us are really god with... looking over an AI. Last time we plugged one of those into our network it got distracted by the internet."
Oh yes... the internet, the very *very* infamous earth computer network that was reported to have... everything on it. Some alien races that had visited the world had been known to install hyperspace computer links so they could have instant access to the supposedly ludicrously addictive center of faux knowledge and whatever the great abyss dank memes were. All this from a species that still relied on a completely natural organ for thinking. It was a good thing they hadn't yet spread far from their pitiful little home world. I sighed, "fine, leave him be. I'll have him looked at when I get home."
*I do not need to be looked at. My hardware is thankfully located deep within the ship surrounded by several layers of hardened titanium and self contained power subsystem that managed to survive you bouncing your ship off the gravitational well of a small yellow star.*
I sighed and moved over towards the view port to look out at my ship. The primitive station in much too dangerously low orbit still relied on centrifugal force to provide the sense of gravity. Outside apes in their protective suits, their skin apparently not able to cope with vacuum had half the ship apart now. The sparks of welding, arced off of the hull. They didn't even have the ability to mold equipment together with molecular lathes!
*I must report my third and fourth landing servo attachment guides have been placed with adhesive tape*
I groaned, mentally cast, 'allow the humans all access they need and don't interfere with anything. That's an order.' then terminated my mental connection with the ship. I don't think I can take this anymore, perhaps I should go try this internet thing to distract me for a few of these 'days' they have. | "This is a terrible idea." Said Fexund, folding his arms and staring at the line of humans ahead of them. "It's almost brand new- you're supposed to take all Gulux's back to the dealership within one year for factory settings if something goes wrong."
"Fexund, how close do you think the nearest Gulux dealership is?" Asked Harpod, waving a disguised limb at the grimy window of the office. Outside, a line of earthbound vehicles chugged along a filthy strip of asphalt belching noxious fumes and filling the air with the sound of their strange, beeping cries.
"Not close, I suppose." Fexund sighed. "But I still don't see how these beings are going to be any help. They've barely left their own planet."
"I've heard they've got some kind of idiot savant thing going on, show them a trans-dimensional shifter and they'll use it to make orange juice, and fix it at the same time! Professors at the Intergalactic University are preparing a case study on them now, it sounds extremely interesting."
At the front of the line the fat man behind the desk was patiently explaining that yes, after nearly 100,000 miles, the Honda Civic the woman had brought in was probably due for an oil change.
"One question-" Said Fexund, his eyes narrowed, "Does this violate my warranty?"
"Next!" Called the fat man, and Harpod hurried forward, trying his best to match the movements of the humans all around them. The visual cloaking device was working overtime on him, Fexund, and their ship, and he didn't want that to break down too.
"What's the problem, fellas?" Asked the fat man, staring up at them through wet, squinty eyes.
"I think you had better tell us." Said Harpod, smiling widely in an attempt to charm the man. "We're simply hopeless mechanics- the damn thing just won't work!"
In the parking lot, the ship lay on its side in a crater the size of a small building. Several cars were flattened beneath it, and safety glass was scattered in a glittering nimbus for half a block. Large plumes of smoke were boiling from the exhaust vents of the ship and turning the Los Angeles sky a sickly green color as they rose into the air. To the man, of course, the ship appeared as a large white panel van, slightly dirty and old.
"Looks in good enough shape." Said the man, scratching his chin. "Let's pop the hood shall we?"
He stuck his head into the side access panel, nearly shearing off most of his face on the laser shield that protected the warp drive. As it was, some of his beard hairs were singed on contact, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
"Phew," He said. "Smells like maybe something's crawled up in your hood and died, boys."
"Ah, yes." Said Harpod, "Could very well be. We... live in the... woods."
The man removed his head from the access panel and peered at the two of them. After a moment, he returned to his work without speaking.
"Nice one." Hissed Fexund, elbowing Harpod. "The woods. Iron-clad story."
"Yeah, here we go!" Exclaimed the man, plunging his arm deep into the access panel. Fexund and Harpod inhaled sharply as he once again came within a hair's breath of burning his own face off. The man fished around with his hand, digging and grunting alternately. Finally he gave a short exclamation of victory and pulled something out of the access panel, gripping it by the scruff of its neck.
"Dead possum!" Said the fat man. "All wrapped around your air intake- EUGGHHHHAAAAA!"
The thing, whatever it was, sprouted a mouth out of its neck that snaked through the air and latched onto the man's forearm. Blood spurted out from the bite wound, running in dripping lines down to the man's elbow and pattering to the pavement below.
"Feisty litte guy!" Barked the man, wrestling with the monster. "I could have sworn he was OHMYGOD"
The thing writhed and squirmed like a cockroach flipped on its back, spiny legs waving in the air. It extended a six-inch long stinger, black as ink and with a wicked tip. With a violent twisting motion of its body it buried the stinger in the man's stomach, then visibly pumped some kind of fluid from its thorax into the man's body.
"Thanks so much!" Called Fexund, climbing the side of the ship to the main access hatch. "That seems to have done it!" He dropped into the cockpit and the ship sprung to life, jumping from the ground and hovering upright in place.
"No problem..." The man's voice sounded faint now, and flecks of black blood were gathering at the corners of his mouth. "I'll call animal control and..."
The thing scuttled up the man's arm and wrapped its many limbs around his head, thrusting the stinger deep into his skull via the base of his neck. Instantly, the man's eyes cleared. He shook himself once, twice.
Harpod shivered as he climbed into the cockpit, closing the access door behind him.
"I feel kind of bad. Do you feel kind of bad?"
"No." Said Fexund. "Think of it this way- we saved a Gorgle who would have died out alone in space if we hadn't come along!"
"**THANKS FOR THE RIDE!**" Bellowed the man, his voice a horrible scream now. "**I'LL SEND YOU GAS MONEY ONCE I'VE GOT SOME CASH, YEAH?**"
"My warranty had better still be valid." Said Fexund, shifting into gear and leaving the planet behind.
| 2016-05-23T22:59:58 | 2016-05-23T18:38:57 | 79 | 32 |
[WP] After a person dies, they are brought to the moment they were born to become their own guardian angels and hopefully guide themselves towards a better life. | "Number 342, pleased to meet you", said George glumly while proffering a hand. "Coffee?"
"Err, I'm 879. At least that's what they told me," George replied. "So where am I?"
"Do you mean you, 879, or the new us, err the new you? Number 880?", asked George.
George paused then replied, "Where's the new me, George 880... God damn that's weird."
"Hospital's about three blocks down the road. But trust me there's no point. Pretty much every one of us 50 through 100 was pretty motivated to get it right. They still haven't given up. Still making the same mistakes, if you ask me. They'd all be at the hospital right about now. You wouldn't even be able to squeeze in the door to watch the birth."
"But a lot has changed since then! I feel like they should at least listen to me about it. I mean, I was the last one. Surely my opinion on this is worthwhile? As the most recent 880 is more 'me' than any of them. I was offered this chance in... what even was that place? But they said I could have a go as my own guardian angel. Don't I have any rights here?"
"Ha, you 800s are all the same. The Second Fifty would never let you get a word in. They're all bickering amongst themselves anyway as it is. Not in their interests to let another of us in."
"... Nine hundred guardian angels? Almost nine hundred guardian angels? Where the fuck was everyone? My life fucking sucked. Bad decision after bad decision. The better part of a thousand attempts at this and you lot couldn't get it right for me? With nine hundred, wait, 878 guardian angels I should've been a fucking millionaire. But all I get is that shit life?"
George shrugged. "What can I say? Management by committee is not a great idea."
George poured himself another coffee as George entered the room.
"Hey there, 643."
George curtly greeted George with a nod, "342. Who's the new guy?"
"Last cab off the rank!"
"Well hey there! Were you the priest or was that the one before?"
"I was A PRIEST in a past life?"
"Nah, George, not this one. Fuck there hasn't been a priest for... for a while. Keep up, man!"
"Wasn't that one a priest? Anyway you know I don't care much about this nonsense anymore.". George turned to George and stated, "Bet you've got a lot of questions, huh?"
"Where to start?" George put his head in to his palms.
"Better question would be, where does it end? Just about the only question I don't know the answer to though. But, sure, I *can* tell you where it starts.
"You wake up in that other place. They give you the choice: a do-over or move on to the unknown. You being you, just like the rest of us, you take the do-over. Every damn time. Only they don't tell you about that bit. It's gotten pretty crowded around here since. All of us guardian angel Georges squeezed in to one place."
"Okay, second question. Where's number 1?"
"You don't want to know about number 1." | “Who the bloody hell are you?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say the details,” the man sitting in the armchair mused. “But, you can call me Johnny, I suppose.”
Jonathan gulped audibly, his eyes darting to the locked door and closed windows then back at the old man. He looked slightly familiar, Jonathan noted, as if he’d seen the face somewhere before. But stranger or no stranger, no one should intrude on his home.
The man scarcely blinked as Jonathan drew a metal cane from the basket next to the fireplace.
“I would put that down if I were you.” Johnny said, a hint of frustration entering his tone, but too subtle for Jonathan to catch. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that.” Jonathan said and let out a roar as he charged the defenseless man.
Less then half a minute later Jonathan was cursing and rubbing his sore butt on the floor, his cane lying beside. The other man stood above him, hands akimbo on his hips while frowning down. With a deliberate kick, Johnny sent the cane flying through the air before it smashed to pieces against one of the stone pillars.
Jonathan stared in shock at the man.
“Good,” Johnny said with a small smirk. “I’m glad that shut you up. Now listen very carefully because I won’t repeat myself again. And God help you if you forget.”
Wide eyed with fear, Jonathan nodded furiously at the man’s commands.
“The cab is waiting outside. I’ve already told the driver where to go, when you get in, just shut up and let her drive. You’ll also find your door keys and an overcoat in the hallway. Get moving.”
***
I smiled as I looked down at the fragments of the broken cane.
Dad might not have been able to save himself or his other self from dying in that hospital bed as he was probably fated to live his last days under the influence of cancer. Deep inside I knew even before I heard the front door close that Jonathan was going to do what I told him. The one thing Dad always wanted, but I never gave. Maybe this time I could set things right.
Upon realization, a man of light appeared beside me. He didn’t emanate light, but rather he appeared to be made from light. Strangely though, I didn’t need to squint when looking at him. Nor did he cast any new shadows in the room from his brightness.
A rich, soft voice echoed around the room. Since there were only two beings in here, I could only assume that it was him.
“It appears that you did heed my messenger’s warning. Do you have any regrets on how you used it?”
“Yes, sir.” I bowed low. “The choice was mine and mine alone. I saw fit to use the only chance we were allowed to physically interact with the mortal plane for this. I have no regrets, sir.”
“Then you understand that there is no place left for you in this mortal world. Are you ready for What Comes Next?”
I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. “I am, sir,” I said as I took his proffered hand. Instead of being burnt, his hand felt cool.
He raised his other hand and sketched a large rectangle in mid-air. Once complete, the insides of the rectangle became grey and misty. Without further hesitation, he led me through the misty veil that divided the two worlds.
Suddenly, his light went out and I was plunged into the dim gloom. Empty air pressed against my hand as I tried to grab his again. Faint noises reverberated through the thick mist. But I wasn't afraid. I was at peace.
| 2016-09-18T05:03:40 | 2016-09-18T04:23:18 | 183 | 25 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it | Everything had changed. Ninety percent of the world dead in an instant. No more like Ninety Nine point nine nine nine.
The survivors were shell shocked, no-one could understand at first why WE were spared. We had nothing in common, no shared race or sex or background or even country. Just a few thousand of us left, scattered across the planet.
We thought the apocalypse was bad, empty streets, corpses in their houses, babies lying dead abandoned and rotting in daycare, but the worst was yet to come.
It was about a week after the event, that finally I realized two things.
Firstly, the survivors (including myself) were ALL hipsters.
And secondly, and worst, now we had no-one to point out how we did things before they were cool. | 2016-10-22T03:50:18 | 2016-10-22T01:56:06 | 56 | 12 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | She asked, still amazed to be talking to another person ,"did you read the terms and conditions for that update?" Realizing the truth, his eyes widened with genuine dismay. "I can't believe it. Of all the things that could have saved my life, it was that autoscanner I installed the day before." Realizing they might not see another person for a while, they found an abandoned Starbucks and managed to enjoy a cup of coffee together before heading on their separate ways. | Everything had changed. Ninety percent of the world dead in an instant. No more like Ninety Nine point nine nine nine.
The survivors were shell shocked, no-one could understand at first why WE were spared. We had nothing in common, no shared race or sex or background or even country. Just a few thousand of us left, scattered across the planet.
We thought the apocalypse was bad, empty streets, corpses in their houses, babies lying dead abandoned and rotting in daycare, but the worst was yet to come.
It was about a week after the event, that finally I realized two things.
Firstly, the survivors (including myself) were ALL hipsters.
And secondly, and worst, now we had no-one to point out how we did things before they were cool. | 2016-10-22T03:18:17 | 2016-10-22T01:56:06 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | Everyone was gay. Not bisexual but 100% gay. The kind of gay that made you repulse the opposite sex. There was a heavier male population and things were a party at first...
A couple of weeks in survivors started to ask the obvious question. How were they going to procreate. At first they waited for volunteers but at scientific calculations the population would decline 4-percent a year. Others called for government subsidies. Some proposed a draft. But President Hillary Clinton was on record opposing drafts. And she wanted to win re election. Bill was dead finally and it was her turn to shine... | Everything had changed. Ninety percent of the world dead in an instant. No more like Ninety Nine point nine nine nine.
The survivors were shell shocked, no-one could understand at first why WE were spared. We had nothing in common, no shared race or sex or background or even country. Just a few thousand of us left, scattered across the planet.
We thought the apocalypse was bad, empty streets, corpses in their houses, babies lying dead abandoned and rotting in daycare, but the worst was yet to come.
It was about a week after the event, that finally I realized two things.
Firstly, the survivors (including myself) were ALL hipsters.
And secondly, and worst, now we had no-one to point out how we did things before they were cool. | 2016-10-22T03:29:20 | 2016-10-22T01:56:06 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | They had stopped selling cigarettes 15 years ago. As soon as I had heard they were going to be taking them off the shelves I ran to the nearest convenience store to buy cigarettes. There was a huge line and they had just sold out as I got there. I People were selling large quantities online, so I decided to buy up as much as I could. I had a lot saved up for my vacation this summer, but spent it all buying as many cigarette packs as I could. My wife wasn't happy in the least about that.
Years of marriage counseling later we were finally on good terms (as good as a smokers terms could be) About a year after cigarettes were stopped in production, I realized that my old habits wouldn't work. I then began allotting myself 3 cigarettes a day. It sucked immensely.
The year was 2035, and everyone else had stopped smoking at this point. By this point, the world had caught wind of how many cigarettes I had left, and so ads began to show up everywhere I went. There was always an article in the newspaper titled, "2543 Days until our world is smoke free." and so on, counting down the days until my stash ran out. Finally, someone broke into my house to try and destroy my stash, but thankfully I had thought ahead. I had a safe installed in my house to keep my cigarettes in. Every morning I would go downstairs and load 3 cigarettes into my special carrying pouch.
The time was drawing near. The day I would run out of cigarettes. I went downstairs and loaded up my cigarettes, my final 3. I stepped outside. It was a cool morning, about 65 degrees and lit one up. All up and down my street were protesters. People screaming about me polluting the world. They all had signs yelling, "3 more! 3 more!" I ignored them and took a long drag on my cigarette, savoring it. I got ready for work, and drove off, half tempting to run some of the people over. I got my job and there were even more protestors yelling at me. As I walked to my cubicle, I had many angry works. I heard mutterings of people saying they hoped I choked on my last cigarette.
Lunch time came, and I stepped out for my smoke. There were Riot Police there to stop all of the people from hurting me. I felt important having all of these people follow me around. I then got off work and drove home. My wife had made my favorite meal for dinner. We sat and ate dinner in complete silence. I got up and put my plate in the sink. My wife just stared at me and said, "I hope you enjoy it." I step outside and light up my last one. After I put it out, everyone starts cheering, "The earth is now smoke free!" I go back inside and retire for the night.
The next morning I wake up. I go downstairs and eat my breakfast, then decide to step outside for some fresh air. There are thousands of people standing as I step out, applauding me, and congratulating me on the first day of my smoke free life.
I look at them, and reach into my pocket. I pull something out and stick it into my mouth. I pull my lighter out, and light it up. It's a cigarette. Everyone freaks out and starts screaming. My wife runs outside to see what the commotion is about. She sees me standing there with a cigarette in my mouth and screams at me, "Where the hell did you get that from!?!?!?" I calmly look at her and say, "You know that you can grow tobacco, right?" Let's just say I'm not married anymore.
Edit: Holy crap guys. This is my first response to a Writing Prompt. I'm so happy it is so well received. Thanks! | I'm really starting to hate CNN, and not just because of their fake news articles.
All eyes have been on me for almost a year and a half. I'm the only person that still smokes, and honestly, at this point, I'm just doing it because I feel like pissing off the rest of the world. It's at the point where I have to grow and roll my own cigs. Marlboro sold me their recipe after they went out of business, and I grow my own tobacco, roll my own stuff, etc. The government has tried everything. First, the Prohibition of 2021, which cut smokers down by 97%. Then came the crackdown on dark web sellers, and eventually everyone got caught smoking. They found the names of people that hadn't signed up for drug tests, until the only people left were the ones off the radar. And then, the military swept the streets and found everyone that was left.
It was May of 2038 when I was announced the last smoker in the United States. But here's the thing: they didn't arrest me. I had gone for multiple tests while smoking, never once did they stop me. Just told me I failed. I think it's because I simply didn't care, and therefore the government didn't care. It's kinda like breaking into a bank, and then when the police come to arrest you, you just say, "No." And then they stop, confused, and just walk away.
Well, after that, of course, you become a national celebrity. The government still wanted me to stop, of course, but they couldn't really make me without locking me in a room for three weeks and making me cold turkey it out. So, first, they tried laws against growing tobacco. "Okay," I said, "You win. SIKE!" And continued to grow more tobacco for myself. Then they tried ad campaigns. This is where it got annoying. I couldn't even go to the grocery store without seeing my face plastered to a wall, smiling back at me with the words "JUST QUIT GREG SCHMIDT" in big red letters surrounding the picture of my head. I was known by all, people pointed me out in the street. It was no use going somewhere else, either. One time I drove from my house in Virginia to New York City, and lo and behold, there I was in the middle of Times Square, my smiling meth mouth of a face looking at me among the words "YOUR FAMILY PROBABLY HATES YOUR FILTHY HABIT." They weren't even trying to rhyme anymore. They straight up hated me and wanted me to stop.
So, when I was 45, 28 years after I had lit up my first cigarette, I decided that there must be something in the Constitution that protects me from this kind of public degradation. Nope. I took it to the Supreme Court and everything, no dice. The only people that liked me were teenagers that thought it was cool to stand up to the government and media sources that made money off of my "developing story of a life." I'm not even kidding. That's what they call my life. The catchphrases aren't much better, if one can even call them catchphrases. Here's a list of my personal favorites:
- SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU (no shit)
- JUST STOP SMOKING GREG
- WHY DO YOU SMOKE, YOU BIG FUCKING JOKE
- THE POLICE ARE COMING GREG (ahahahhahahhahhahaha)
- (my personal favorite) JESUS CHRIST YOU STUBBORN BITCH
I don't know what to do anymore. My house is the only haven I have, if you consider a building constantly surrounded by paparazzi trying to take a picture of you a haven. I can't order pizza without the people fighting over who gets the chance to deliver the pizza to me. But, I must say, it's fun being known for something. I just wish the advertisements were a little less harsh. | 2017-02-17T11:57:15 | 2017-02-17T09:45:22 | 1,322 | 80 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | I don't know why they care so much. It's not like I'm hurting anyone besides myself.
I rarely smoke in public these days, and when I do it just doesn't feel right. I don't even smoke when reading the newspaper anymore because I can't handle seeing myself on page 7 everyday.
Oh what's John up to today? There he is having a smoke in the alley behind his house. What a bad person. What a bad guy. I hate that John. Always smoking up the place.
Sure, it's not the best thing to be doing or spending my money on, but I like it. I like the way Muhammad's face lites up as he grabs me a pack of cigarettes from his dwindling stock. He's the only person in this city that still sells these cancer sticks. And I'm the only one that buys them. So, we have a bit of a serious relationship.
I keep buying them everyday. He gets to continue operating his store. He's a nice guy, that Mohammad.
Not a lot of people visit his store these days. Mostly because of me. Because I refuse to quit this silly addiction that I love, yet everyone hates me because of.
It's been years since the tobacco riots, and even longer since president Sherman issued a cull order on all drug users. I survived that as a baby and was one of seven people that were grandfathered into the new world as a drug user. I am also the only remaining of those seven babies.
I fear that my days are numbered as the propaganda has become increasingly hateful everyday. Usually limited to the paper, radio, and the occasional television ad ranting about how I am a literal demon sent here to destroy this marvellous fascist society; they have turned most of the electronic billboards in the city centre to ads targeting me.
I've heard rumours of the authority killing Mary Ellesmere after the truce, but I don't think they would do it so blatantly now that I'm the last one left.
My fear is but just that."
Sergent Capolo drops the brown leather bound journal to the floor and stands upright from his crouched position. He turns to the other armoured soldiers standing behind him and gives them a nod. They begin the pour gasoline on the floor of John's apartment. As Sgt. Capolo reaches the door he pauses momentarily and backtracks the room toward John's almost unrecognizable body laying lifeless. Sgt. Capolo crouches next to the body and plucks the package of cigarettes from the chest pocket of Johns work shirt and places them in his breast pocket. He leaves the apartment.
| George Barnes got out of his truck and headed back to his plantation. Family reunions were never easy, and this one had been the smallest number he'd ever seen. People were afraid. His family, his whole people, his way of life; gone.
George walked up the path to his small crop. The plants were already getting huge: broad, almost tropical leaves swaying in the mountain breeze. It wouldn't be too long until harvest time. He was glad; this year's gardens had been nerve-wracking. He'd always known that the white people intended to destroy his family, and end the issue of American ownership once and for all, but he never thought he'd actually live to see the day.
At the edge of the garden, he kicked off his sandals and paused a moment to lay a small amount of tobacco on the rock in the southeast corner. It was always gone. Maybe birds were eating it. Maybe it was the wind. It didn't matter.
He walked through his garden, talking to his plants, commenting on how big they were getting and how thankful he was for them. They looked okay. No watering today.
He drew up a seat on his customary log and reflected on his weekend's activities. His remaining family was scared. Nobody would smoke with him. Tobacco was too precious for yourself, now, they'd said. It can only be used in bundles, and even that was risky. They were torn and tormented: nobody wanted to completely break from tradition, but nobody wanted to get caught. The New Americanism demanded cultural assimilation. Most of the family didn't even want to risk the family gathering. Between the ads and the news, it was enough to make anybody stay home.
Now this, he thought. After all we've been through: the disease, the stolen land, the broken promises, the destruction of all that is good in the world - now this. We were too afraid as a people to *be* a people anymore. He smoked a bowl.
The tobacco coursing through his veins, he felt strong again, uncertain of the future but determined. He was unbreakable. Let things fall. As long as he was alive, his people's ways would not end. They would not. He got back in the truck and headed back towards town.
The realization of responsibility overwhelmed him sometimes. He turned on the radio for a moment; the news was on. A 1989 Honda Civic had been caught on a back road downstate, headed to a former reserve town with a trunk full of tobacco. George knew him. He was the other guy.
The news ended and the ad for the UnAmerican Activities Hotline came on. George lingered, and turned the radio off. He wondered if his friend would mention him by name. It didn't matter. He was the last one, now. He drove on.
| 2017-02-17T13:15:29 | 2017-02-17T12:05:48 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] "100% of people who drink water will die" sounds like a dumb statistic, but you are 900 years old and very thirsty. | The small child stood before her with his twig-like arms outstretched, grasping the large gold cup of water. She watched as condensation beaded on the cups lip and ran down the sides. She couldn't stop the involuntary dry swallow that followed. The thirst gnawed at her like a rat trapped in a fleshy prison. She shifted her gaze to the boy and saw a shudder run through him. He started to shuffle back but she held out her hands to him, beckoning for the cup. He's face relaxed and he slid closer, stretching out as far as he could, trying not to touch her. The boy tripped. She watched the scene in slow motion, the boy falling forward, terror racing over his face. The cup falling from his grasp and the precious water leaving the cup in a single sheet to splash on the floor at her feet. The sound of the cup echoed off of the walls of the stone chamber as it rolled to the side, empty and useless.
The boy lay still. Paralyzed with fear. She could smell the terror sweat and a more pungent oder she chose to ignore. She took a step to him and kneeling, gently pulled him up and to her in a hug. Making the small noises a concerned mother would make over a fallen child. She could feel the slow sobs start and stroked his long hair. Slowly she pushed it aside to reveal his neck and he whimpered as her lips made contact with the hot, dry skin. She could feel the fast pulse of the terrified child as she sank her teeth into the soft flesh. The metallic Taste of his warm blood filled her mouth and she swallowed as much as she could before the child went limp in her arms.
She let the small lifeless body fall to the floor as she stood and wiped at her mouth. Her sleeve came away covered in the boys blood and she had to resist the urge to suck at it to draw the last few drops from the worn cloth. She turned to gaze at the golden cup, knowing that it had held death for her, happy that she had avoided the darkness that it's clear, cool contents would bring. She knew that they would send another to her tomorrow, the small, ragged children from the street, hoping that she would choose the cup. Maybe she would one day, but why should she stop now, when the blood had sustained her for centuries. She could not help but smile as she turned back to her rooms and the enormous pile of books waiting there. She gave a chuckle as she remembered a curious saying from her youth, "so many books, so little time." she said almost in a whisper. | “100% of people who drink water die”. That does sound like a cliché a little bit doesn’t it? Well, let me tell you something. It sounds a lot worse when you are 900 years old, you are thirsty and the only liquid in a 1000 miles radius is a plastic bottle of the transparent poison.
It all started almost a thousand years ago, or so we are told by the history books. I was there to witness it but after so many years your brain tends to get memories mixed up a little bit. It might be the PTSD from the 300 years war, everyone fighting over the precious new resource that has just been invented. Or it might be the fact that I have spent the last 200 years in a desert. I’m not sure and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I have nothing to drink but water and “100% of people who drink water die”. I don’t want to be one of those fuckers. Not since we discovered that the same compound that makes up 60% of our bodies is the reason we age and eventually die. Remove water and there you have it – eternal life. Of course, then you have to solve the problem of people dying within 24-48 hours but that’s why we have scientists, isn’t it? Give them unlimited amount of cash and it turns out they can come up with anything. Even a non-lethal substitute for water. Except for the fact that it lefts you constantly thirsty. Fast forward a hundred more years and all the water-drinking sects are out of the picture, because, well “100% of people who drink water die”. But then we got in a bit of a situation. With no other problems solved, we still had an ever-increasing population that still needs food to eat and places to sleep. We even introduced the “delayed death penalty” which was pretty much just locking a person up in a room with nothing but a glass of water. Once they drink it, set them free. After 90 years or something they would die. But you can’t just force everyone to drink water can you? Even we didn’t have that amount of money. Therefore, after a century of population problems, people did what people always do when in doubt – they went to war. It took us 500 years to stop it and a 100 more to start rebuilding.
That’s when it all got complicated. There is a lot of science and history involved, but long story short – it turns out water was not always poisonous to us humans. See, tens of thousands of years ago, something, or someone managed to corrupt all water on this planet, turning every human mortal. However, according to an old manuscript they missed a place – a source of water, which stayed clean, water that people can drink without having to inevitably die at some point in the future. Some say it’s magic. Some say that’s God’s work. Some say it’s the solution to all of our problems. Me? I just want a drink.
| 2017-04-18T10:13:44 | 2017-04-18T08:01:59 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] The harder you are to kill, the more horrific your death will be. Having just survived a nuclear bomb, you're getting slightly worried. | It was two years into my tour and I was beginning to think nothing could kill me.
I had been baptized in shrapnel, my face reshaped by it. I had been shot over and over - in the knee, the gut, the neck, the eye. I had walked through burning cities and inhaled the toxic smoke, my lungs frothing with blood for days. I had even suffered the microbe bombs the Coalition had dropped, and the infections that followed. But that was all trivial compared to what I would endure next.
We arrived at their doorstep, and they got desperate. They didn't have anywhere else to run, and we didn't intend to let them even if they had. They knew this. So when we came prepared to burn everything, they saved us the trouble.
I was the only survivor of the forward battalion, but no one thought me lucky. Daily chemical baths made my skin feel like it was being scorched all over again. The veil between me and the most exquisite pain life could offer was ripped away violently. I eventually healed after a grueling road to recovery. Rather than relieve me, however, this made me lay awake at night.
You see, we had this superstition in the Corps. Plenty of people get lucky breaks, but there are a few who just seem to slap Lady Fate in the face. And those few? In the end, they got it the worst of all. "Never keep a lady waiting," was the saying we had. I had kept her waiting quite a long time, and this started to worry me.
That's when the growths began.
| I gasped as I saw the wreckage of what used to be my home city, Markyis II. Rubbing the soot off my face, I begin to trek through the lonesome, silent city of rubble.
I look up at the sky, the mushroom cloud a few whips of white.
Closing my eyes, I remember my family and my daughter. I couldn't bare their disappearance in my life. Suddenly anxious, I rush through the debris towards where my house would be, ignoring the bodies and horrific sights around me. A lump forms in my through as I walked down our street. Our Olympian Street. I follow the houses by memory and look for remnants of post boxes to find the address of my home.
I stop at a house, hardly any different from the rest, reduced to a pile of wood and scrap. Tears well in my eyes as I stare at 79 Olympian Street.
I struggle to breathe. Holding my throat, I find myself wheezing for air. Anxiety was gripping at me. I knew what was in my house. A tear dripped down my cheek, followed by another and then some more. I collapsed to the asphalt in grief, clutching my chest.
"Hannah!" I yelled into the silent sky. My throat blocked and I choked on my emotions. All I wanted was somebody. Anybody.
I knew I'd have to die someday, but after surviving the atomic bombing of my home city, I could only think of worse ways to go. It formed as a quiet depression in my heart, then spread to me. Now living in a new city with lots of new people, the depression only grew. My sadness and grief overtook me, then PTSD, then anxiety.
Life wasn't worth living anymore. So now as I, Dominic Blake, am writing this letter, I bid you adieu. Goodbye, Mum. | 2017-04-25T08:20:59 | 2017-04-25T07:36:55 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You are a phone. Your owner is texting a girl they like, and you know likes them back. Time to "auto-correct" to help them out. | Owner: Send nudes.
Phone: (autocorrected) I think you're a really smart, wonderful person.
Girl: Awww that's so sweet <3
Owner: [sends unsolicited dick pic]
Phone: [Sends pic of owner's dog]
Girl: Is that Bowser?? He's too cute. I'd love to bring my puppy over for a playdate sometime.
Owner: Fuck, yeah. Then you can show me what that mouth do.
Phone: (autocorrected) That sounds great! How about next week?
Girl: I've got finals next week. So nervous . . .
Owner: I got something that'll relax you ;)
Phone: (autocorrected) Another time then. Let me know if you want help studying and good luck, though, as smart as you are you shouldn't need much!
Girl: I'd love for you to help me study! And maybe afterwards . . . (sends nude)
| Girl: My boyfriend just broke up with me! :( Can you come over?
Boy (excited): ~~Sure!~~ Sorry. I can't.
Girl: Aww, why?? I really need someone to talk to you right now. :(
Boy (confused, tries to correct his mistake): ~~Stupid autocorrect! That meant to say 'Sure, I'm on my way'. :)~~ I'm busy. But even if I wasnt, I'm not gonna come over just so you can bitch to me about a guy I don't care about, then watch you get back with the guy within a week.
Boy: (stunned, tries to delete message, but phone sends message anyway): Noooooo
Girl: Wow! Ok...rude. Fine then. Forget I ever asked. Jerk. >:(
Boy (throws phone in corner and sobs into pillow)
*Hours later, phone buzzes*
Boy: (weary, rolls out of bed and picks up the phone, checks message)
Girl: Sorry about earlier. Wanna have lunch sometime? :)
Boy (excited): ~~Sure!~~ Only if you're paying. ;)
Girl: Haha. Deal.
Boy (stares at phone like it's magic)
Phone: You're welcome.
Boy (drops phone): Whoa. | 2017-07-21T10:16:09 | 2017-07-21T10:01:56 | 273 | 99 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | I sat in the dingy interrogation room, observing the cobwebs crowning the ceiling as the clock ticked errantly. In all my wildest imaginings of this moment, this fated beginning of the end, I hadn’t ever thought it would be so… underwhelming.
That is, until she walked in.
I broke the silence first, landing the first step in this dance we had been doing for years. “Detective Carmen, looking lovely as usual.”
“Save the sweet talk for the deputy, Mr. Thorton,” she parried, sliding into the seat across from me. “I don’t have time for your shit today.”
“Ah, I always forget how charming you can be, detective.”
“Right, because you’re such a romantic yourself, with your nine counts of extortion, twelve counts of theft, possession of multiple illicit substances, and thirteen counts of murder?” She raised a mocking eyebrow, and an involuntary thrill surged through my veins.
“Heavens, surely you couldn’t be talking about me, especially when all that evidence is purely circumstantial,” I put on the airs of a concerned citizen. “You best get that maniac off the street, though.”
Rather than responding with a dose of her acerbic banter, she merely slapped a few papers on the table in front of us. “Do you know what these are?”
I didn’t dare break from our interlocked gaze. “Love letters from your deputy?”
“Remember when I said I didn’t have time for your shit?”
I sighed, scanning the pages put before me. “Parking tickets addressed to a Tobias Quigley. Wasn’t he a professor at Hogwarts?”
Her lip twitched upward for a fraction of a second before she responded. “No, he was actually a cab driver who appears to have been nonexistent until the year 2014. Funny enough, he only has one other connection—you. Anything you want to confess?”
“Alright, you got me, I actually am a wizard.” I leaned forward on an elbow, letting a crooked smile fill my cheeks. “Do you want to feel my magic wand?”
“They don’t pay me enough for this.” She rolled her eyes and began reading off the pages. “First ticket for September 2014, conveniently at the same time as two of your alleged jewel heists.”
That ticket was two days after she had impulsively locked down the entire block after noticing my taxi cab always left the museum without passengers. I barely escaped that encounter, and she barely kept her job.
“January 2015, same week as the strangled girls.”
That week she couldn’t convince the judge to give her a warrant to search my car. She could have saved those girls, and I saw their ghosts dancing in her eyes.
“May 2015, three days before the downtown drug bust.”
The day her father died. Everyone wore black to the funeral. She wore red lips, her body a smoldering silhouette against the lumbering grey shadow of death.
“Then nothing for the rest of 2015.”
That was a good year for us. I was riding a wave of opulence and self-indulgence courtesy of blackmail and corrupt politicians. She had a man that visited her apartment every night with tulips and wine. He had kind eyes. But she never knew what to do with kindness, did she? That’s why she sought familiarity in the form of scotch and overtime until he stopped coming.
“Another one in April 2016, during another strain of murders in Portland.”
That was when her boss gave her “paid leave” for getting too involved in my case. I suppose she would have been the vision of crazy to any onlooker—banging on basement doors under the guise of night, attempting to coerce silent civilians with nothing but pure determination and grit—but she understood that you can’t wait for people to give you permission to take. She understood that sometimes you need to carve your own path from the underbelly of society, and that was the only thing that made sense to me.
“May 2016, during another break-in two towns over.”
She had been hospitalized for three days. She told them that she heard whispers from the back of her head, ethereal voices that told her how worthless she was and how the world would be better without her in it, and they told her that she was crazy. They locked her in a padded room and drowned her brain with numbing waves of anti-depressants. “It’s all in your head,” they said. And they were right. I wish she had listened to those voices a little longer, because they whispered to me, too. And their biggest secret? They only tell you you’re worthless until you prove them wrong.
“September 2017, the infamous triple Tahoe murders.”
Her department was on fire. Before the embers of the previous case had cooled down, she and her team had already solved the next one. Promotions threw themselves at her left and right as she swallowed those pills down, down, down. This was the golden era of her career, the pinnacle of her legacy. This was what she was born to do, and everyone could see that. But no one saw the internet tab she opened when she thought she was alone—the bidding on that modest little house in rural Scotland.
That’s when I realized I couldn’t let her leave. Not yet. Not before our song had ended. It was time to wrap up the trail of breadcrumbs I had so meticulously left behind.
“Let me guess, this is all coincidence?” She concluded, grounding me back to the present.
“Detective, your powers of deduction continue to astound me.”
Her eyes narrowed, her usual tolerance for my sarcasm clearly depleted. “This is your last chance. Are you going to offer an explanation or not?”
“No, I have one better. I have a confession.”
“For what, exactly?”
I smiled, perhaps the most genuine one I had been able to muster in ages. “Nine counts of extortion, twelve counts of theft, possession of multiple illicit substances, and thirteen counts of murder.”
~
I knew I was going to death row; only a fool would have allowed me to live after taking one look at the first page of my case file. Death was never something I feared, nor was it something I welcomed. It was a fact, just like the news alert that tore my world in half.
Detective Clarissa Carmen, found dead in her home at 11:42 PM. Cause of death: drug overdose. Found with scrunched up piece of paper in her hand reading, “I thought solving this case would solve everything. I thought it would make me better. Make me happy. I’m sorry.”
In my head, I was always her antagonist, her perfect counterpart, the ebbing darkness that seethed in the absence of her goodness. In all my devotion to our game, I never realized that I shared the shadows with her own demons, the true villain of our tale.
I find myself counting down the days now, wasting away the seconds until death comes to visit. I don’t believe in a heaven or hell, but I hope that I won’t see her in the void that lies beyond death. It was our proximity that destroyed her in life, and I couldn’t be responsible for that any longer. Some crimes are too great even for the coldest of souls.
No, I long for the fleeting moment in between life and eternal nothing, when the last wisp of breath leaves your lungs, when memories flash intermittently beneath fluttering eyelids. I’ll remember her as she was, our dance stretching into the darkness beyond.
| 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T01:00:23 | 5,127 | 100 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | It was night again, and for many, it was time to work.
The criminal underground is a nocturnal menace, writhing and growing wherever the sun and light do not reach. Uncaring of what it consumes so long as it can do exactly that. Many give in willingly to the ebb and flow of corruption; for some it is their life purpose. Others desire a little more...
Power. Control. Domination.
Blitz was like that when he discovered his biofeedback abilities. Being able to augment your body by sheer power of will has made him an incredibly tough opponent to conquer. In fact, in the last few years, nobody had been able to do just that, and when you're a villain with no worthy rivals, you get bored.
And idle hands are the devil's workshop, as they say.
So Blitz had given it up. He abandoned his followers, destroyed his own empire, and relinquished all control to whomever asked. Things changed so rapidly the heroes didn't know how to keep up or who to go after anymore. Chaos erupted, cities fell apart.
Blitz was happy. Now there was something to do. *Now* there were people to crush.
His other rivals were able to gather resources and grow stronger. Their lackies became more in number and trickier to beat. Blitz still never lost, but he was having fun. He never took what he won, he only sought to fight for the thrill. Some started referring to his challenges as security tests; they weren't taking him seriously. Pop a few heads and everyone falls back in line. Simple and effective.
Crime ran rampant now, but where there can only be so much pain and suffering before the "right" person comes along. That person would come to be known as Peacemaker.
Blitz watched all the tapes. Peacemaker was immune to physical damage, he could heal the sick, purify food or drink, and he was bad *ass* with his bo staff.
He was *everything*. Blitz knew now he had a purpose. This man would not be able to be defeated in their first, or maybe even their third, clash, but he had to know what it would take. How do you break a man like that? Blitz studied endlessly. There was *nothing*. No one could beat him.
In their first meeting, Blitz would hold back, just to test him. After four hours of grueling combat, Blitz's body would finally give out. Crumpled on the ground, Peacemaker gave a hearty laugh.
"Most impressive! I had heard *so* many stories about you, friend. You're quite the criminal legend, you know."
"How-?" Blitz could barely draw breath to make more than one word at a time.
"My healing is truly miraculous. When my muscles break down, they heal back up. It seems I can just.....go forever!" He laughed again. "Ah good, your escort is here. Stand please!"
The police? Was this a joke?
"Blitz, it was truly fun, but I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again. Enjoy your stay."
Over the next few months they would clash again. Blitz pushed harder, tried ambushes, poison, crushing him under a building. His powers were growing but no matter what he tried: nothing would stop the Peacemaker.
"Wait-" Blitz gasped on their umpteenth fight. Peacemaker had outlasted him yet again, despite being impaled three times.
"You know, you're really getting on my nerves. I'm working exceptionally hard to end crime in this city, and here you are! Some *rogue* with no purpose, holding me up time and time again! Do you not see the good I'm doing? Do you not understand?"
"I'll get you-"
The police dragged him away before Peacemaker could finish ranting, but Blitz had figured it out. It was so simple all this time. To beat a man that cannot be hurt, you must simply, and indefinitely, restrain him. How had he not thought of it? What was it that had been clouding his judgement for the better part of a year? As he rode away in the police car, one last stare at Peacemaker would reveal his answer.
Love.
How could this be? Blitz had never *loved* before, there was no time for it! Love was weakness, he had no room for it in his mind!
Over the next several battles, Blitz would not push himself to his maximum. Peacemaker noticed.
"You are not trying hard enough! You are simply wasting my time!" He grew frustrated. "You *must* see by now what I am doing! Surely you cannot be so dense! Explain yourself!"
"Maybe I don't have a reason," Why was he grinning? Stop grinning! "Maybe I just like to fight."
"Every, and I do mean *every*, time we fight, another gutter rat slips out of my gasp! It is not possible that you work for all of them." They were now face to face, Peacemaker's face red with fury, but Blitz was blushing. You couldn't tell the difference. "There *IS* a reason you are doing this, and I *WILL*-"
A shot rang out. Peacemaker looked over at his back.
"Really?! Bullets?" More shots. "Is every criminal in this city exceptionally stupid? Come out! Let us get this over with."
Blitz was scanning the buildings surrounding them. Muzzle flash to the left. Who would be stupid enough? He took a step.
"We will finish this when I get back! Do *not* move or I will find something sharp." Peacemaker looked so good when he was angry. It wasn't a look he wore often enough.
"Ah, don't worry. I'm sure I know those guys, I'll just go see what this is about and we can get on with our duel. I promise I won't leave you." He left with a wink. A wink? Peacemaker must know by now. There's no way he missed that.
Up in the parking garage he was met with minions wearing colors he hadn't seen in a long time. *His* colors. They saluted him.
"Sir!"
"Don't *sir* me, who are you really with? I haven't had an army for months."
Silence.
"Answer!"
"We've been working with the Determinator, sir! He believes he's found a solution and we wanted you to have this, as you are Peacemaker's greatest rival! We're ready to fire, sir!"
He scanned the other workers in the room. "Fire what, exactly? Looks like just a rocket launcher."
"Did he say fire?"
It all happened in slow motion. The thruster lit up and shot forward. Blitz barely crossed the room before it was too late. Peacemaker stood in the middle of the road, unaware and lost in thought in the middle of the street. Did he not hear Blitz's shouting? The minion's words were bouncing off of him.
"-target the brain-"
"-complete evisceration-"
Blitz gave one last shout. Peacemaker looked up and met his eyes. It would be the last time he would be lost in that cathartic blue sea before red would coat the surrounding area.
The minions celebrated. Blitz crumbled. This was his fault. If he would've just left him alone, or turned and joined him...
A new fire lit in his eyes.
(I dunno how to do the big line thing that everyone else is doing but - I don't write very often so I hope the formatting isn't shit and that you guys enjoyed it) | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T02:57:40 | 5,127 | 31 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | Preface: I got a little too enthusiastic with this one. Saw an image and wanted to write a story about it, this prompt was ideal. Is in two parts.
My name was Frank. I was ugly. I should say, I was fuck ugly. Disgustingly so. Like I was Frankenstein's monster gone wrong ugly, hence the name. My parents had such a sense of humour. I loathed them for that. All through my childhood, it was hell. Being bullied for it, hated for it, I hated those right back. Those who pitied me were tolerable. But it was the two-faced ones that ignited a fire of wrath within me. Those who pretended to be okay but then you would catch them out of the corner of your eye flinching in disgust when they though you didn't see it.
Imagine the fun I had when puberty kicked in and I gained my powers. Telekenesis. Weak at first, with simple things like loosening the screw on a chair so a leg fell off, or locking doors, but as with any skill or muscle, the more you train it the better and stronger it becomes. Revenge was sweet, but I soon realised I had to keep it low key or I would be discovered. These days I was getting on just fine, my neighbours knew me as an ugly shut-in who played games all day getting a benefit. Suited me perfectly. I could, for a while, pretend to be a normal person while online. I even had some 'friends', I guess.
Online was also how I got my jobs. I always picked things that would make people suffer the most. I suffered during my childhood, and wanted others to feel what I did. I picked on the rich, those that had never had to work a day in their lives, those that were fed from a silver spoon since a young age. It satisfied me to have them lose so much.
I was careful. I was knowledgeable. I hid myself in a masked hood, it would be useless if I my face was known to the populace. I similarly hid my powers, and called myself the 'Masked Menace' for jobs I wanted to be caught at. I made it seem like I had mundane things like the power of flight, strength and toughness when it was all my mind doing the work. I didn't want to attract the attention of the most formidable heroes, which would necessitate the use of my full abilities. I would make more public attacks so I could lose to heroes that seemed like they should be able to beat me, but mysteriously when I was arrested they could never get my masked hood off. Then I would inevitably escape. It was handy to have a 'weak' persona in case I got caught doing one of my other jobs.
One hero in particular, Sariel, had powers similar to the ones I pretended to have. We fought a few times, I made it a hard fight of course, and allowed myself to be beaten in the end. I think it was after the fifth time she beat me, I changed up my usual defeat dialogue.
"How do you keep beating me? We're evenly matched!" I lamented. "Surely I should have prevailed at least once by now?"
"Oh come now." Sariel giggled. It was a nice little giggle, actually. "You use the same moves. I studied footage of your previous battles. You need something new." She waved a hand dismissively. "You're like a boss battle in Guild Wars. Once you know the patterns, you can win easily." I blinked a few times in suprise. That was the game I played.
"Something new, huh?" I replied wryly. "You're actually giving me advice?"
"I like a challenge." She smiled. "And I won't get better by doing the same things." The smile was replaced by a frown. "But I still want to know how you keep getting away."
"A man has his secrets." I replied pompously. "Until next time, then?"
"Until next time." Sariel flew off as I was taken away once more.
Soon, it became that the only hero to come and stop me was Sariel. Our fights were enjoyable, I won some just because I could as a test, and she always came back with even more determination to win next time. My life fell into a routine. Do a few jobs in secret with my full powers, then a more public one to fight at. Play games at home. It was strange, I almost felt happy. I still had loathing for those who knew no suffering, still wanted to hurt those two-faced people on the street when I walked places. But I wanted for nothing else.
One day, during a guild event, the usual banter was flowing as people fought. I was only half paying attention as usual, more interested in helping take down enemies. That's when I heard it. A giggle. Not just any giggle, though. *Her* giggle. Sariels. How I recognised it amonst all the others I had heard, what made it distinctive I don't know. I just knew. I couldn't believe it. I panicked. Did she know? Had she found me? Was I going to have to disappear?
"Frank!" The raid leader, Kyle, snapped. "Wake up, you've been spaced out for ages!"
"Shit! Sorry!" I shook myself and got back into the fight. How long had it been? A minute? Two?
"Maddy, are you okay? Frank was supposed to be helping you there." Kyle was grumbling, but that was normal for a raid.
"I like a challenge." Sariel replied. Wait, not Sariel. *Maddy*. My mouth dried up as I realised. She was one of the newer people, which explained why I hadn't heard her before. I pushed the thought aside and got back to raid business.
"Sorry Maddy, I'll be right there." I got my character back to position and helped her out of a tricky situation. She probably would have survived, but it was easier with two.
"My hero, Frank." I could hear her smile in the tone of voice. "Saved my ass over here."
"Well, it's an ass worth saving." Oh *fuck*. Fuck, *shit, fuckshitfuckfuckfuck*. Did I really just say that? To *Sariel?* I had *never* said anything like that before. To *anyone*. A shocked silence met my words, my brain trying to process how to get out of this embarassment. Then I was saved, by that same giggle, as she spoke again.
"I bet you say that to all the girls." Laughter erupted over comms, I heard a couple of people say 'Get a room!' to which I simply had no reply. What had I done? What was I thinking? The raid ended shortly afterwards, giving me an excuse to sign off and gather myself. It took a long time for me to get to sleep that night.
Things got... problematic after that. Online, Sariel (Maddy?) and I couldn't stop flirting. I broke her arm once during a fight, hoping that it wasn't her online, that I was mistaken - but that only confirmed it. I tried to stop flirting, I really did. It made my villian/hero fights with her quite awkward. A lot if the time my heart just wasn't in the battle, and she could tell. I did get to confirm that her ass was worth saving though, it really was rather nice. I lost focus in our fights a few times, or should I say my focus was on her face instead of fighting, and she trounced me easily on my reduced power. | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T04:25:10 | 5,127 | 11 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | Kenn wasn't adverse to killing people. That came with the job. Sometimes, you just had to do what was necessary to survive. That's what human nature was right? People have been killing each other for centuries. Who can honestly say they're surprised when the first thing superhumans do is start killing each other? That's what they were made to do. Heroes must kill villains, villains must kill heroes. Sure; every now and then a hero leaves a villain alive. Sure; they might even swear off killing altogether. When you get to the bottom of the morally murky swamp however you realize that one way or another either the villain or the hero has to die. That's how wars are fought and this is nothing if not a war.
Kenn sat there looking at her, holding the bag of cash from the bank he had very illicitly withdrawn from the people's savings account. She was brave for her skill. All heroes kind of were. Villains took money and power, heroes took morale superiority and the greater good of society. Heroes went home to an applause every day so it's only natural eventually they got a little too brave for their britches. Kenn didn't mind though. He could tolerate a little bravery here and there. He could tolerate anything from her at this point.
He'd be lying to himself if he said he wanted the money for money's sake. No, he wanted to see her again. He'd be mocked if any of the villains were to know that. Villains weren't allowed to have sweet-hearts. Especially rather heroic ones. This was a war and they were the enemy. This was the closest thing to a date Kenn was every going to get. "Drop the dough" she demanded and Kenn was all to eager to follow. Millions of dollars in bills were heavier than you'd expect. Especially when they come with the heavy knowledge that it was the only way to see her again.
Kenn cracked his knuckles gearing up for a fight he'd know he would lose. He told himself every day that maybe he'd win this time, that maybe this time he'd summon up enough emotional courage to go with his physical abilities but he never could. She sucked it out of him like a second power even she didn't know she had. "Come and get me, Electora" He said tauntingly, using her superhero name. He didn't know her real name.
She didn't smile this time though. She did usually, on any other day. Why wasn't she smiling?
Before Kenn could ask where her grin of bravery had hidden off to, there was the boom of thunder followed by the crack of lightning. Kenn flew back several dozen feet down the street. That was her power, bolts of electric shock. Of course Kenn was a copy-cat villain. He could just shoot one right back, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't going to match fire with fire this time around.
Something was wrong, she didn't seem very... Happy about this. That didn't make any sense. Here he was, spitting out chunks of asphalt as she approached, just as she would have it. How could she be so glum like him? Where was that smiling row of teeth Kenn had gone so far to witness? He stood up just to catch her throw a punch. He made like he was going to block it. He didn't of course. The fist blasted into his cheek; the closest thing Kenn would ever get to a kiss, and he relished it for the few seconds he could as he stumbled back again.
She threw another punch, but something peculiar happened. Kenn saw it come in and once again made the purposefully half-assed attempt to catch it. Kenn flinched just as the fist was about to connect with his upper eye and then... Nothing. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the block of her fist stop just short. It was only a moment, only a few microseconds before Kenn launched himself back again as if he was hit.
Kenn was starting to understand now as he stood there, looking at her. She gritted her teeth and Kenn could feel his heart sink: She knew now, she was starting to understand. Maybe she didn't understand why but she was smart enough to know what was happening. "I knew it" She breathed, sending a kick his way only to stop just short of his windpipe. Kenn pretended to gag, falling on his ass.
"Stop it!" She shouted, standing over him. Kenn had never seen her this angry before. He sat there looking at her as she made to stomp directly onto his face but, once again, didn't. This time Kenn didn't do anything. He just sat there, blinking as he looked at the underside of her boot. Her eyes were watering now as she stepped back, putting her arms down. "For the love of god..." She began, raising her hands again now not in fists but in open curled hands as if she was trying to summon something out of Kenn. "Fight back!"
Ken got up, rubbing the spot on his cheek were a bruise was forming. "I-... Can't." He said, trying to follow that up with some viable excuse. Grasping and reaching out for something he could say that would keep her in the dark, in that comfortable lie he had managed to keep her in for so long. There wasn't anything Kenn could do now. All he could do was pretend.
He imagined this was quite a scene to the police and reporters nearby, who watched with anticipation at what was happening. Kenn snarled at them, hating their every being for this. For making what was supposed to be a private moment public. She stood there a moment waiting for Kenn to say something else. When he didn't she sighed, her anger giving way to a sadness Kenn couldn't quantify. Her blue eyes just scorched into Kenn. Hurting him more than any punch could. "I can't do this anymore." She croaked, her voice breaking.
"Do you think this is so easy for me?" She said, turning away and wiping her face with her hands. "Every time I throw a punch, every time I hurt you I just get this terrible feeling that I'm feeding something I don't want to. I feel sick every time I break your bone or shock you."
She shook her head: "And every time you come around, they send me... They always send me because they know I'm the only one that can beat you. So every time I have to force myself here, to force myself to throw punches and hurt you in ways I didn't want to. I can't, I just can't do this anymore."
She turned back to him, clasping her hands together with tears streaming down her cheeks: "Please... Just this once, don't make me hurt you again. It's killing me. For just once can you please win?"
Kenn didn't know what to say. This whole time Kenn thought he was helping her when all he was doing was hurting her. This was what it meant to be an arch nemesis. To try and help someone only to realize you're the one hurting them the most. He didn't know what to do. They were stuck now, neither having the selfishness to hurt each other, neither having the selflessness to fake it. This was a war in which there was no victor. It was a war where people just got hurt and no one was the hero and no one was the villain. Both of them had at this point long forgotten the bag of money now laying in the street, dollar bills rolling through the wind. | Preface: I got a little too enthusiastic with this one. Saw an image and wanted to write a story about it, this prompt was ideal. Is in two parts.
My name was Frank. I was ugly. I should say, I was fuck ugly. Disgustingly so. Like I was Frankenstein's monster gone wrong ugly, hence the name. My parents had such a sense of humour. I loathed them for that. All through my childhood, it was hell. Being bullied for it, hated for it, I hated those right back. Those who pitied me were tolerable. But it was the two-faced ones that ignited a fire of wrath within me. Those who pretended to be okay but then you would catch them out of the corner of your eye flinching in disgust when they though you didn't see it.
Imagine the fun I had when puberty kicked in and I gained my powers. Telekenesis. Weak at first, with simple things like loosening the screw on a chair so a leg fell off, or locking doors, but as with any skill or muscle, the more you train it the better and stronger it becomes. Revenge was sweet, but I soon realised I had to keep it low key or I would be discovered. These days I was getting on just fine, my neighbours knew me as an ugly shut-in who played games all day getting a benefit. Suited me perfectly. I could, for a while, pretend to be a normal person while online. I even had some 'friends', I guess.
Online was also how I got my jobs. I always picked things that would make people suffer the most. I suffered during my childhood, and wanted others to feel what I did. I picked on the rich, those that had never had to work a day in their lives, those that were fed from a silver spoon since a young age. It satisfied me to have them lose so much.
I was careful. I was knowledgeable. I hid myself in a masked hood, it would be useless if I my face was known to the populace. I similarly hid my powers, and called myself the 'Masked Menace' for jobs I wanted to be caught at. I made it seem like I had mundane things like the power of flight, strength and toughness when it was all my mind doing the work. I didn't want to attract the attention of the most formidable heroes, which would necessitate the use of my full abilities. I would make more public attacks so I could lose to heroes that seemed like they should be able to beat me, but mysteriously when I was arrested they could never get my masked hood off. Then I would inevitably escape. It was handy to have a 'weak' persona in case I got caught doing one of my other jobs.
One hero in particular, Sariel, had powers similar to the ones I pretended to have. We fought a few times, I made it a hard fight of course, and allowed myself to be beaten in the end. I think it was after the fifth time she beat me, I changed up my usual defeat dialogue.
"How do you keep beating me? We're evenly matched!" I lamented. "Surely I should have prevailed at least once by now?"
"Oh come now." Sariel giggled. It was a nice little giggle, actually. "You use the same moves. I studied footage of your previous battles. You need something new." She waved a hand dismissively. "You're like a boss battle in Guild Wars. Once you know the patterns, you can win easily." I blinked a few times in suprise. That was the game I played.
"Something new, huh?" I replied wryly. "You're actually giving me advice?"
"I like a challenge." She smiled. "And I won't get better by doing the same things." The smile was replaced by a frown. "But I still want to know how you keep getting away."
"A man has his secrets." I replied pompously. "Until next time, then?"
"Until next time." Sariel flew off as I was taken away once more.
Soon, it became that the only hero to come and stop me was Sariel. Our fights were enjoyable, I won some just because I could as a test, and she always came back with even more determination to win next time. My life fell into a routine. Do a few jobs in secret with my full powers, then a more public one to fight at. Play games at home. It was strange, I almost felt happy. I still had loathing for those who knew no suffering, still wanted to hurt those two-faced people on the street when I walked places. But I wanted for nothing else.
One day, during a guild event, the usual banter was flowing as people fought. I was only half paying attention as usual, more interested in helping take down enemies. That's when I heard it. A giggle. Not just any giggle, though. *Her* giggle. Sariels. How I recognised it amonst all the others I had heard, what made it distinctive I don't know. I just knew. I couldn't believe it. I panicked. Did she know? Had she found me? Was I going to have to disappear?
"Frank!" The raid leader, Kyle, snapped. "Wake up, you've been spaced out for ages!"
"Shit! Sorry!" I shook myself and got back into the fight. How long had it been? A minute? Two?
"Maddy, are you okay? Frank was supposed to be helping you there." Kyle was grumbling, but that was normal for a raid.
"I like a challenge." Sariel replied. Wait, not Sariel. *Maddy*. My mouth dried up as I realised. She was one of the newer people, which explained why I hadn't heard her before. I pushed the thought aside and got back to raid business.
"Sorry Maddy, I'll be right there." I got my character back to position and helped her out of a tricky situation. She probably would have survived, but it was easier with two.
"My hero, Frank." I could hear her smile in the tone of voice. "Saved my ass over here."
"Well, it's an ass worth saving." Oh *fuck*. Fuck, *shit, fuckshitfuckfuckfuck*. Did I really just say that? To *Sariel?* I had *never* said anything like that before. To *anyone*. A shocked silence met my words, my brain trying to process how to get out of this embarassment. Then I was saved, by that same giggle, as she spoke again.
"I bet you say that to all the girls." Laughter erupted over comms, I heard a couple of people say 'Get a room!' to which I simply had no reply. What had I done? What was I thinking? The raid ended shortly afterwards, giving me an excuse to sign off and gather myself. It took a long time for me to get to sleep that night.
Things got... problematic after that. Online, Sariel (Maddy?) and I couldn't stop flirting. I broke her arm once during a fight, hoping that it wasn't her online, that I was mistaken - but that only confirmed it. I tried to stop flirting, I really did. It made my villian/hero fights with her quite awkward. A lot if the time my heart just wasn't in the battle, and she could tell. I did get to confirm that her ass was worth saving though, it really was rather nice. I lost focus in our fights a few times, or should I say my focus was on her face instead of fighting, and she trounced me easily on my reduced power. | 2017-09-17T05:11:57 | 2017-09-17T04:25:10 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | Ampere was strapped to the rocket with copper wiring, as the Warlord stood at a console.
"You-"
"I, what, Ampere? I won't get away with this? I'll get what's coming to me? Please. You're better than these clichés. I'm not going to reveal my plan, I'm not going to engage in some cat-and-mouse game, I'm not going to give you a fair fight or gloat. Literally the only reason I'm still talking is because *this*," the Warlord banged on the side of the console for punctuation, "*fucking! thing!* ...is taking much longer to start up than normal. Hell, I would have just blown your brains out if I had a gun on me, but you actually managed to knock away my shotgun, and made me drop my sidearm."
"Fine, if you're not going to reveal your plan," Ampere frowned at this extreme breach of professional etiquette, "Then at least explain how you beat me?"
"Oh, please. You're pretty good, but the only reason you keep beating Metal Master is because she's sweet on you."
"Yeah, I know. I mostly keep engaging her so she won't do something really dangerous to get my attention. She could easily destroy the world if she actually wanted to. Neither of us know her limits."
"Right, and I'm sure the titillating banter is entirely to keep her occupied."
"Nah, I'll fully admit that I kind of get off to it. I mean, she's a 6' 1" supermodel with a fetish for bondage and the ability to manipulate chains with her mind. That wouldn't interest you?"
The Warlord paused and frowned at our hero. "Okay, there's TMI, and then there's ***TMI***, bolded and italicized. That was the latter. You really didn-Okay! Here we go, we are go for launch! I can send you and this fusion inhibitor right into the sun, and I'll never have to think of the things you said ever again." Warlord tapped away at the console, trying to launch his rocket ASAP. Right as he was about to press the final launch button, his hand exploded in a shower of blood, bone shards and sinew.
#"Get away from my honeybee!"
Warlord grabbed his wrist stump and screamed in agony, before rapidly getting control of himself. "What the *fuck* is wrong with you!?"
"Nobody hurts my baby but me, Warlord." Metal Master gently lowered herself onto the platform, Warlord's guns hovering just over her shoulder.
"But, but you could rule the world! Why are you so obsessed with this, this stupid game?"
"What can I say, he's got a lot of charm." She winked at Ampere as the guns fired, reducing Warlord's face to paste and revealing the steel skull beneath as Warlord fell to the ground, conscious but in too much pain to move.
Metal Master destroyed the console, then levitated up to Ampere and prepared to release him.
"Hey, uh, you don't have to untie me just yet..." Ampere smiled. Warlord groaned in disgust. | The cuffs tightened around my wrists and the glowing blue orb was strapped to my chest. Thought the darkness leaving my body wasn't the only deep emptyness inside me. Sucker punch was her "hero name" but I knew her real name was Susan Brownlee. Of course I did, she was the love of my life and so it only made sense that I knew everything thing about her and now was the 153rd time I have let her defeat me. My powers were unimaginably stronger than hers but I wouldn't dare kill her, I get in just enough trouble so that for a few minutes her hands manipulate mine and strap on all this security and I'm close enough to smell her lavender-lylac shampoo. As the armored anti-super police unit drags me to the modified APC to transport me to some new and improved containment unit I catch her talking to the police chief, her blue eyes unphased by the atrocities I committed and her hair roughed up just enough to make her even more devilishly sexy. After the doors to my taxi are shut I look out the slit window for one last glimpse of the most beautiful human alive and my eyes are greeted in horror.
A green ooze is dissolving the cheif and Susan is pinned to the ground by a disgusting hag with 4 legs and 6 arms. Brood Witch. Instinctively I look the cuffs around the handle on the bully steel door and tug, my hands rip clean off and I thrash around until the blue orb that strips me of my powers shatters, a terrible design but us villains vowed to never exploit that for situations that are dire, we wouldn't want escaping made harder would we? As soon as the orb cracks my powers return and a black mist swirls around me. My hands are back and slice easily through the door with a tendril so dark no light can escape. I fling myself toward my love and Brood Witch impales her with a glowing green spear of disgusting energy. I immediately lash out with everything I have: tendrils, my arms, my teeth. I tear Brood Witch apart with the wrath of the pure evil inside me and within moments the bitch though of as one of the most powerful of the evil supers was a twitching pile of blood.
I run to Susan as her would dumps her mortal blood all over the concrete of downtown New York, green stains around the wound show me how bad it is. But there is nothing I can do, I scream for a paramedic or something because my darkness cannot heal wounds on those other than me. All I can do is hold her and try to stop the bleeding. She looks me in the eyes with utter confusion, for she thought I was her arch nemesis and wanted her dead. But before we can exchange any words her eyes droop shut and I can feel that a powerful soul has slipped into the void. But rather than the jolt of energy that I get when a hero dies, the mist surrounding me and the tendrils I hold her with blink out of existence. Before Susan's lifeless body can hit the ground my hands begin glowing with divine light and no longer have I any desire to cause chaos, but now the parasitic thoughts that drug me to the top of the criminal ladder are screaming at me to kill ever villain who dare dream of ripping life away from this beautiful world.
Sorry is super ameteur, I though I had a good idea but I'm a terrible writer so feel free to critique me. | 2017-09-17T05:05:49 | 2017-09-17T04:37:24 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You're a supevillain sitting down for a meal at your favorite restaurant. One of your henchmen comes in to rob the place. | I sat in the corner booth, drinking a cup of Earl Grey. The budget for the next fiscal year sat in front of me; if I could make more cuts to education and training, then I would be free to bolster an escape strategy. What’s more, a little lack of education may be good, keep the peons in line. I took a sip of thin liquid as the doors of the café crashed inwards. A man with fear in his eyes stormed through, weapon in hand.
“Give me the money!”
*Oh dear, it’s bloody Jeremy.*
The lunatic began pacing in front of the counter as the young cashier frantically tapped the till.
"What’s the hold up! Are you mocking me! I’m known for waiting times, but this is taking the piss!"
*What had possessed him? Had I not been fair on the poor man? Yes, he’d taken some hits in the line of duty, but that had been ratified by his Christmas bonus.*
“Jeremy!” The colour drained from his face.
“My lady?”
His weapon clattered to the floor and he dropped to his knees. I strode through the café, the eyes of the public on me, as they had been so many times before.
"Jeremy, how has it come to this?"
The man couldn’t speak.
“You were a good soldier, when those children needed to die, you made the cuts; when the sick needed healing, you made the cuts…. If you needed help, you could have asked. I’m always open to negotiations.”
Jeremy tried to hold my gaze, but couldn’t.
“What is it Jeremy? Drugs? Gambling? You’ve not been caught with another boy have you?”
“It’s the avocado toast my lady, I just can’t resist it, I’ve had to mortgage my house, my whole family is addicted; my children are on the street, stealing avocados from the local markets, scavenging scraps of bread from the gutter.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, as I’ve heard humans sometimes do.
“I forgive you.”
I turned to the terrified girl behind the counter.
“One slice of avocado toast please.”
I stood beside Jeremy in silence as the dish was prepared, I contacted my accountant to let him know what I was investing in, I handed Jeremy the dish and watched him take a single bite, then I made two cuts across the jugular. The blood poured out, mixing garishly with his meal, green and red, like a morbid Christmas.
I strode out of the café, renewed with hope. I could already see the headlines in the papers: ‘May’s cuts save the day.’
| “Put your hands where I can see them!”
The chattering stops.
I look up from the menu,only to be greeted by a peculiar sight of a chubby man holding a gun to the owner.
The owner seems terrified,trembling and looking at the to be robber,then to me.
“Excuse me for a moment my dear”. I say to my beloved,standing up from the table.
The chubby man jerks his gun to me,his hands holding tight on his gun.
“And who the fuck you think you are bitch?” He says,pointing the thing at me.
I chuckle,and I feel butterflies in my stomach as I step towards the man. Before I make it halfway across,the gun roars.
Screams fill the room,I can smell the panic in the air.
I look down at my chest,and see myself crawling out of it. They fly towards the man and chew into his skin.
Broken bone and flesh splatter to the ground as my organs slip out.
But parts of me keep walking to the tune of the writhing man’s scream,leaving a trail of blood and gore behind me.
I can see the man,my employee if I’m correct,trying to get up as the locusts start to shove themselves into his eye sockets and nostril.
I make a note to myself not to use this face for a while.
I throw my torso using my newly grown arms,and it latches onto the man’s face,my tongue licks the insides of this throat.
His screams are cut short as my hands meld with his face,and he is silent when my lower body reclaims the upper half.
The locusts return to me.
I put my ruined suit on the nearby waiter,who’s face was now white as paper,and I can see and smell a small puddle of urine under his pants. Newcomer I guess.
“Take care darling,it’s silk.” I pick up the gun,and put it on a table then turn to the owner who is now on the ground,shaking.
“And you. This is the last meal I’m having your establishment.”
“I’m sorry sir! It won’t happen again i swear..”
“It’s alright.” I said,looking down at the terrified man kneeling before me.
I put a hand on his shoulder so he can calm down.
Then make a new mouth with my rib cage,and before he can even scream,he’s gone.
I wipe my lips with the tissues on the table.
I look around,and see that everyone has gone back to their usual business. Except for the food,they are screaming and trying to run away to the door.
“A shame.” My beloved chimes in,who is now ready for dinner.
“I was bidding on that one.”
“I’m sorry my love.” I hear loud banging as the ingredients throw themselves at the metal door,locked tight.
“You can have the next owner.”
I look at her,dazzling eyes of red and gold that so perfectly fits her lovely gleaming fangs.
“Bon Appétit?”
| 2017-11-17T01:41:12 | 2017-11-16T23:56:20 | 83 | 19 |
[WP] You realize you have the ability to change the fabric of reality by editing Wikipedia pages. | I have a confession to make.
Almost two years ago, I made the biggest mistake in my life. Prank-editing Wikipedia. It started out small, with a satire edit on the page about Religion.
Five simple words.
[73] See also, Flat Earth Society.
Unbeknownst to me, in that moment, the Flat Earth Society sprung up into existence. But they did not appear when I made the edit. The second I hit 'enter', they had always existed. But I know nothing of this. So I continued.
My next edit hit the Austria page. Under 'Demographics', I wrote "A detailed dissection of the two kinds of cocaine users in Austria."
It was divided into "Austrian with cocaine-fueled imagination" and "Austrian with cocaine-fueled anger".
The point of the joke was to emphasize the friendliness of Austrians, but I created monsters.
The first was Freud, the second was even worse. Hitler.
It was a long night. Many articles were edited. What other things did I create, you ask? Here's the shortlist:
McDonald's,
Buddhism,
The Confederacy,
Political correctness,
EA *i'm so sorry*,
The third and fourth seasons of BBC's Sherlock,
Light beers,
Ajit Pai,
Literally half the memes you see on the internet,
Anti-vaxxers,
PETA, formerly a brutal, bloody gang named Peeps Eating Tons of Anchovies turned into an even more brutal and bloody gang with better publicity and lawyers,
The limit imposed by the speed of light,
The United Kingdom, seriously, Wales, England, Scotland and Northern Ireland *as one country*?
Bad PSAs,
And finally, my worst mistake, my magnum opus:
An anthropomorphic, rich, alt-right cheeto as president of the United States. Forgive me.
I created Donald Trump.
It is too late to undo what I have done. I cannot afford the Wikipedia editing package. The last of my savings is going towards this warning.
Don't eat the yellow snow. I also made that.
Goodbye, reddit. | The Priest sat at his computer, taciturn and solemn. The blue light reflected off his glasses and cast an eery glow around the room, illuminating the carvings and symbols that adorned his face. It was quiet outside, and he enjoyed the peace that the night time gave him, the wonder and the mystery of the dark secrets upon which it fed.
He lit a cigarette, and allowed a thin tendril of smoke to snake out from his pursed lips and eventually escape through a crack in the misted windows.
His eyebrows were furrowed, his concentration absolute, and he tapped at the keyboard with a restless and persistent tenacity; editing the very fabric of time and the history with which it had been bound and chained for an eternity.
He poured his soul into the work, breathing into it life and emotion, tears and blood; shaping and manipulating everything the world thought had been buried forever. Everything the world had forgotten and cast aside.
The storm that would change the world was on its way, and he was the man who would bring it. He was the man that had been chosen to unleash its terrible might upon all the wicked sinners, upon all the blasphemers and evildoers.
He cried out when it came, shattering the silence with a piercing scream that told of a pure, visceral, triumph; and slumped back into his chair, exhaling heavily. He was drained, and yet somehow, he was inexplicably consumed with an exhilarating energy, a thrill that set his heart racing; his blood pumping with adrenaline and excitement.
The screen began to glow; a swirling, deep shade of crimson that seemed to penetrate the entire building, whispering around him with an impossibly ethereal splendour that no one alive had ever experienced.
Outside, thunder crashed and lightning struck, causing monstrous shadows that had hidden in the darkness to be thrown into sharp relief.
A raven cawed and a wolf howled, and it was as if the universe had awoken from a deep slumber. The overpowering stench of sulphur pervaded the air, and he breathed it in slowly, savouring it, relishing the story it told. The future it promised.
The church bells rang, loud and ominous. It was midnight.
It wouldn't be long now. He allowed himself a smile, and he waited.
His task was complete. For some, it would be like a dream, for others, a nightmare. One way or another, The Reckoning, had begun. | 2017-12-17T11:34:52 | 2017-12-17T09:34:50 | 93 | 18 |
[WP] You are an NPC. One day, you see the player character do some weird steps and duplicate his items. You decide to try it for yourself.
Have fun!
Edit: Huh. I guess I just discovered a karma duplication glitch. | I don't claim to be the best blacksmith. Eorlund Gray-Mane's got that honor. The man's steel is legendary. I mostly do piece work, swords for the locals and arrows for the hunters and the occasional a suit of plate for the nobles.
Then the Orc arrrived, he had escaped execution according to the whispers in town and you could tell he was still weak from his time in prison, he must of been hungry because he would eat slabs of venison whole, drink gallons of ale and wander off to do some small task for the locals,
when he returned he would sell us some of the weapons he had unearthed from some barrow and buy a few iron bars and then leave on his next task.
This went on for weeks, same cycle every two or three days. Then one evening he asked to use the forge and just started making daggers, one at a time, with his assistant, some scruffy looking woman, just handing him the bars, clunk clunk clunk.
The next morning he was still going and he carried on for an other day, then just like that he stopped, turned to me and offered to sell near enough a thousand of these daggers, now I don't have that sort of cash on me, so I took 80 and called it a day, he look annoyed somehow, froze stiff ... and when I next looked down my coin purse was full again.
I'm not sure how but I know the orc is involved and my neck hurts. | Today is like every other day. Griswald is standing in front of his shop, waiting for adventurers to emerge from the church so he can repair their equipment.
"Ka-ching"
Huh. Some adventurer just dropped a whole stack of gold coin on the floor. Being an npc, he has no need for gold, and his father taught him well. He immediately called to the adventurer.
"Dude, you've dropped your coin!"
The adventurer paid him no heed. But after he walked a few steps away from the coin, the adventurer turned around, seemly showing interested at the coin again.
Griswold thought to himself "Pff. Trying to act cool eh? Just pick those damped gold up and pay me so I can show you some wares!"
What he saw next, has forever changed Griswald's coded life. The adventurer touched one of his potion on his belt, and run toward the stack of gold on the ground. Just before he scoop the gold up, he did something not even a full dex level 35 rogue can do. Griswold saw it perfectly though. The adventurer pull out his potion right before his finger touched the gold, and "Ka-ching"! Now he has 2 handfuls of gold!
What the hell??
This doesn't even make sense!
Shit! Don't come to my shop! Don't come to my shop! I don't want no counterfeit money!
Oh nice! He's going toward Wirt. Phew.let's hope that our world will not get wipe by Blizzard again. I just made a awfully nice sword. Damned kid with their damped cheat!
Fin
* first time submitting a WP. Doesn't have experience in writing story, and I have bad grammar/vocab. Hope I didn't violate any rules. Just wanted to share something that reminds me of a game I love back in the days :) | 2018-01-03T09:54:23 | 2018-01-03T08:34:41 | 42 | 30 |
[WP] You are an NPC. One day, you see the player character do some weird steps and duplicate his items. You decide to try it for yourself.
Have fun!
Edit: Huh. I guess I just discovered a karma duplication glitch. | I don't claim to be the best blacksmith. Eorlund Gray-Mane's got that honor. The man's steel is legendary. I mostly do piece work, swords for the locals and arrows for the hunters and the occasional a suit of plate for the nobles.
Then the Orc arrrived, he had escaped execution according to the whispers in town and you could tell he was still weak from his time in prison, he must of been hungry because he would eat slabs of venison whole, drink gallons of ale and wander off to do some small task for the locals,
when he returned he would sell us some of the weapons he had unearthed from some barrow and buy a few iron bars and then leave on his next task.
This went on for weeks, same cycle every two or three days. Then one evening he asked to use the forge and just started making daggers, one at a time, with his assistant, some scruffy looking woman, just handing him the bars, clunk clunk clunk.
The next morning he was still going and he carried on for an other day, then just like that he stopped, turned to me and offered to sell near enough a thousand of these daggers, now I don't have that sort of cash on me, so I took 80 and called it a day, he look annoyed somehow, froze stiff ... and when I next looked down my coin purse was full again.
I'm not sure how but I know the orc is involved and my neck hurts. | "Where am I? What is this" Chosen-one McQuest shouted up.
I leaned over the wall's edge "You are at the gates of Forrest-Backwater, my good sir, but I'm afraid we no longer accept visitors"
"What dark magic is this?" McQuest shouted. "Is this some kind of trap! I've been to rural backwater before and I think I would remember a 30 foot wall"
"There is now, my good sir, we build it. An excellent job the builders did. Keeps out any unwanted guests"
McQuest's eyes lit up. "Oh, I see. Come down so you can mark my map and I'll do the quest."
"Quest? There is no quest sir, Forrest Backwater is no longer accepting visitors. Don't worry sir, there is nothing here of importance"
McQuest tried to say something but could not find the words, eventually his eyes settled on my uniform.
"That's an awfully nice uniform for a guard. How do they get the feathers so identical!"
Oh no, I thought. "that's - umm- well- one second let me get the tailor" I returned, this time with 70 of my clones, all armed.
"It was time for you to go, McQuest" we shouted.
"But I last came here two months ago, I've done like 30 quests"
"Good Bye McQuest, Have a good -"
My world was spinning, no no- hold on the memory, the wardrobe no one used in town hall. Remember the wardrobe in town hall. Remember the wardrobe. Remember. Remember?
I was trying to remember something while on guard duty, when Chosen-one McQuest walked in. I ignored him as he slipped into the supply closet. Normally I would follow, but I was trying to remember something.
| 2018-01-03T09:54:23 | 2018-01-03T09:14:19 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] You are an NPC. One day, you see the player character do some weird steps and duplicate his items. You decide to try it for yourself.
Have fun!
Edit: Huh. I guess I just discovered a karma duplication glitch. | He appeared out of nowhere, wearing a red cap and carrying a Pikachu on his shoulder. The first time it startled me, but I'm used to it now. We get all kinds of characters here in Viridian, as the closest town to the Pokémon League.
I like to spend my days outside, walking near the League path, surveying the village and chatting with passersby heading between the forest and Pallet Town. I can't remember how many decades I've been at it now. I once tried training Pokémon of my own, but that was another lifetime ago. Now I choose to live simply. Or did, until this boy started striking up conversation everyday.
Everyday it's the same, and everyday he seems to lose more patience with me. He comes and asks for my demonstration on how to catch a Pokémon, even though he's always showing up with new ones of his own. And as I show him, it's like he's just waiting for me to finish, stomping his foot rapidly and grumbling all the while.
And as soon as he's done with me, he gets on that Pidgeotto of his and takes off, usually without saying goodbye. It seems every time I see him he's richer than the last, carrying more and more goods in his bag. His Pokémon also seem to level and grow faster than I've ever seen before.
I'm not sure who the kid is, or what he wants, but he's certainly made life in Viridian a pinch more interesting. | "Where am I? What is this" Chosen-one McQuest shouted up.
I leaned over the wall's edge "You are at the gates of Forrest-Backwater, my good sir, but I'm afraid we no longer accept visitors"
"What dark magic is this?" McQuest shouted. "Is this some kind of trap! I've been to rural backwater before and I think I would remember a 30 foot wall"
"There is now, my good sir, we build it. An excellent job the builders did. Keeps out any unwanted guests"
McQuest's eyes lit up. "Oh, I see. Come down so you can mark my map and I'll do the quest."
"Quest? There is no quest sir, Forrest Backwater is no longer accepting visitors. Don't worry sir, there is nothing here of importance"
McQuest tried to say something but could not find the words, eventually his eyes settled on my uniform.
"That's an awfully nice uniform for a guard. How do they get the feathers so identical!"
Oh no, I thought. "that's - umm- well- one second let me get the tailor" I returned, this time with 70 of my clones, all armed.
"It was time for you to go, McQuest" we shouted.
"But I last came here two months ago, I've done like 30 quests"
"Good Bye McQuest, Have a good -"
My world was spinning, no no- hold on the memory, the wardrobe no one used in town hall. Remember the wardrobe in town hall. Remember the wardrobe. Remember. Remember?
I was trying to remember something while on guard duty, when Chosen-one McQuest walked in. I ignored him as he slipped into the supply closet. Normally I would follow, but I was trying to remember something.
| 2018-01-03T11:19:34 | 2018-01-03T09:14:19 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You and your wife decided to raise your daughter on a farm away from flawed modern society, and tell her that you're the only people on earth. When she turns 18, you tell her that it's time to know the truth. You take her to the city and find that there really are no people left. | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8gx9lu/wp_you_and_your_wife_decided_to_raise_your/dyfi6lp/)
“No, no, this can’t be right,” Dan Murphy said, getting out of the car with shaking hands.
His daughter, Brittany, frowned next to him. “What do you mean, it’s not right? Dad, this is what is supposed to be here. You said there was no one left.” Dan took a deep breath, and Brittany felt her frown grow brittle. “Or you brought me out here to finally tell me the truth.”
Dan nodded mutely. “I…it was always our plan to tell you today. It’s how we were raised, and our parents. A tradition that goes back-“
“To when there really were humans, dad?” Brittany got out of the car, walking over to him. Her dad was old, his hair going grey. “I knew it wasn’t true, I knew it!” The truth was, she’d only suspected it for the last couple years, but vindication warped the truth to where she was certain she had it all figured out with that unique certainty only possible to the young.
“Brittany…you have to understand, society was corrupt, it was flawed. But it existed. And now…”
“Now it’s gone,” Brittany finished for him when he seemed unable to go on. She walked a bit of a way down the road. “But…how? You told me it was a plague, do you think that’s what happened?”
Dan shook his head at the same time as he said, “I don’t know, Brit. This…oh God, where did they all go?”
Brittany knew he was taking it poorly, and tried to feel some sympathy for him. It must be a shock to discover the entire human race had vanished when you weren’t looking, but she was finding it hard to be overly concerned. She was just learning that everything she had believed for most of her life to be true and only recently suspected was a lie was, in fact, true – the only shock had been that there had been years when she could have met other people, and didn’t. “Let’s find out what happened. It might not be everyone, after all. It might just be this city, or the country. There’s got to be some clues somewhere.”
Dan leaned against the hood of the car, breathing deeply. “I don’t…Brittany, I don’t think I’m up for it.” He was sixty four, and it was showing. Then again, he’s the only man you know. For all you know, it could be he’s lived long past what’s normal – or he could be in poor shape for his age.
She walked over and helped him back into the car. “Then we need to go back to the farm. You need mom to look at you, you need to take your pills.” *Which I* **knew** *didn’t come from salvage runs, you liar.*
He nodded, and she turned to look at the city one last time. “I want to come back here to explore, though,” she said, half to herself. “I mean, if it’s recent, maybe we could find out what happened, right Dad?”
No answer. She whirled around, suddenly worried that she had been wrong, that this time it wasn’t just another spell, that this time was going to be his last time…
Instead of being unconscious or worse, he was gone. As was the car. An empty, unmarked road sat where just moments ago he’d been in their car. “Dad?” she asked, and all of a sudden she completely felt the terror her father had felt at realizing they were all alone.
It was a hundred miles back to the farm. She didn’t have keys, a map, or any idea how to get back home, and she was stranded in an empty city where cars and fathers vanished without a trace.
“Dad?” she shouted, as if screaming his name would somehow help.
This time, it got an answer. Not from her father. This time it was a low “mrowl,” sounding like one of the cats from the farm, from a nearby alley. She turned to see the cat, glad for some sign of life…and the three-eyed behemoth, easily the size of a horse, with a pair of whip-like tails, crawled out to meet her. It cocked its head and asked “Mow?”
Brittany turned to run, and the cat-monster followed.
---
More at /r/Hydrael_writes
| **Part 1:**
We never like the city, as a matter of fact we hated it. All kinds of vile people came together there, drug dealers, robbers, human traffickers. We decided to leave when Joyce was still young, we build a self sustaining life on a farm given by my parents after their deaths.
Joyce was always curious why we never met other people and we always told her we were the only ones left. It was a lie for her own wellbeing we always thought. But on the day she turned 18 we made the choice of giving her the truth. Ofcourse she was furious at first but after we told her the horrible things we sheltered her from she calmed down and understood our choice. And so we left, we saddled our horses and went towards the biggest nearby city, Miles City Montana.
The journey was longer then we remembered, but that was probably just our mind playing tricks on us as we haven't left our farm for such a long time. We arrived in Miles City but what we saw horrified my wife Alice and me, there was nobody. It looked like a warzone. We remember seeing movies which would be about the end of the world, and this resembled all those movies.
"Dad? You told me there would be people." Joyce snarled at me.
"Joyce, I wasn't lying. The last time we were here there were still people, I don't know what happend." I said. "Alice we must find out what happend, let's go to the police department."
Alice just nodded.
As we went to the police department the scenery never changed. We noticed many bullet holes in walls but never did we find a single trace of blood or human remains. As we drew closer to the police department we saw what looked like a junkyard in front of it. There were cars piled on eachother with 3 cranes near them.
"John. What happend here? It looks as if they were fighting off something." said Alice.
"I've been thinking about that for a while now aswell." I said. "However it doesn't make any sense, I mean you've seen all those bullet holes aswell right? How come there is not a single corpse or drop of blood somewhere?"
"Dad, maybe they were attacked by animals and eaten? I mean bears came close to us aswell sometimes." Said Joyce.
"Animals leave traces, I don't notice any traces here however. I want you both to stick close to me and get your pistols ready just in case." I said.
We took our pistols out and went inside the junkyard.
I always knew it would be good to stock up on a massive amount of ammunition before we left for the farm. I took out my Model 29 which I inherited from my dad and went in. There were tents everywhere and we started searching for any sign of life, it would have been quicker if we would split up but I would not risk the lifes of Alice and Joyce.
"John, I might have found something." Alice said as she picked up a dairy.
It looked like your basic 90's girly dairy but hey if it was here it might contain some information about the events that happend. However it looked like there wasn't a whole lot written in it except for how apparently this girl named Marie met some guy named Dave in the camp. After we searched a couple more tents we decided the police station itself would be a better place to find information. As we went in we started to hear a voice, it wasn't loud enough for us to hear it however we all heard it.
"Hey, what the hell happend here!" I yelled. But the voice just continued talking.
"Please answer me." I yelled again. And yet again the voice just kept talking. "Me, my wife and daughter are coming to you."
So we all went to the source of the voice and we ended up at the door. We could hear the voice now, it was faint but we were able to make some words out. "Military... Unknown... Danger... Don't..."
"We are coming in."
As we went in there was nobody, just a transmitter which send out a the continuing sentence. "This is the US military, we are under attack by an unknown assailant. These assailants are extremely dangerous don't approach them under any circumstances. We have established multiple refugee camps throughout the south of the USA, these camps can be found in the following locations: *Montgomery Alabama, Jackson Mississippi, Dalles Texas, Albuquerque New Mexico, Phoenix Arizona."*
"John what should we do?" Alice said.
"You heard the transmitter, there are unknown assailants and apparently they are nearby. So we are heading for Albuquerque." I said.
As much as I hate cities the thought of endangering my family is worth the city and with those things that might still be lurking around I ain't risking going back to the farm. And so our journey to Albuquerque began. | 2018-05-04T01:42:08 | 2018-05-04T00:22:37 | 162 | 72 |
[WP] You are a D Class superhero with the power to create weak gusts of wind. Despite this you always get dragged along on missions with A Class heroes to make them look cool by billowing their capes. This is the story of how you proved yourself and became reclassified as an S Class hero. | "Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?" Wendall said, his voice barely a whisper. A light breeze blew through his unkempt hair and gave a dramatic flare to his otherwise normal black and green suit.
Before him stood the entirety of the global paradigm, the society of heroes that had protected the world for so long. The society of heroes that had berated him and cast him aside, using him as their plaything to feed their own egos before a big fight. No more.
"Wendall what are you-"
"It's said that if a butterfly flaps its wings across the world from us, it makes a hurricane here." Wendall continued. The wind had picked up in force slightly from before, flapping his jacket to the side. Wendall raised his voice.
"I've been around the world a bit. Following you all like some dog of the paradigm. Wasting my years. Do any of you even know how my powers work? Has anyone ever bothered to ask?"
A few of the onlookers began to turn against the growing wind. A few more began to look uncomfortable, but strange though it was to see *Wendall* of all people making a speech, everyone was curious enough to listen.
"I don't control the wind. The wind can't be controlled you morons. It can only be guided. It will blow as it wills, and no man could stop it, try as he might."
Wendalls words seemed to be the wind itself, carrying to the spectators ears despite the now howling air.
"If you've never listened before, hear me now. I've been around the world a bit." He repeated.
"And I've had plenty of time to guide the wind. I've flapped my wings countless times. If a single butterflys gust makes a hurricane, what is the culmination of years of guided fury?"
By this point most of the onlookers had realized this was not a joke. Wendall, as ridiculous as it was, was making threats to the global paradigm. That was something Ultra, the leader of the paradigm, would simply not stand for.
"As amusing as this has been" Ultra shouted over the wind, stepping out of the crowd in his gold and blue costume, "Its time to *stop* Wendall!"
Wendall looked at the man, an expression akin to pity on his face. With a sudden roar, a tempest of wind knocked Ultras feet out from under him, and sent him rolling many feet across the courtyard of their headquarters. The rest of the heroes looked on in shock.
The wind died down to total silence. Not a noise was to be heard.
"May God pity you wretched fools. I don't."
The wind burst alife again, as if angry at being bridled for any amount of time, even willingly. Storms the likes of which the colective global paradigm had ever seen touched down and began ravaging everything nearby. The headquarters of the global paradigm became ruble before the might of the wind.
Wendall drifted into the sky, allowing his voice to be carried by the force of nature he guided.
"I am Wendall, Lord of Wind. Feel my power and weep."
Edit: Changed God of Wind to Lord of Wind at the end. | \-\-\-start of recording 13.04.2031 15:26\-\-\-
H.R.: Thank you Mr Sulifan for comming.
As you are aware, we are the board for evaluation of your Hero Class. Please take a seat.
H.R.: For the protocole, you are Aron Sulifan, 24 Years old, living at the Trainingcenter for Gifted People Goethe\-
Street 41 and you are as of right now a D Class Support Hero.
Your main work is PR to make the more known Heroes look mmmmhhh more heroic by wind for cape. Is that
right?
A.S.: Yes Sir!
H.R.: Oh well, that is... lets continue. Your power is describte as a large range pressure differential. So you can
make wind? It is here discribed... as weak.
A.S.: Yes it is very weak. But it is unobstracted and i have a long range, as you described it.
H.R.: Would you please describe for the protocole how you used it in your past work.
A.S.: Yes Sir, I would normaly sit on a skyscraper or some other point where i had a good look on a other Heros
pressconference. I would have a headset and a director would tell me when i had to make the heroes cape
move, for PR reasons. It wouldnt matter if i was in a officebuilding behind a window or what ever. I could use
my powers as long i could see the target.
H.R.: Ok and how exactly did you killed 6 Tier\-A Villians, I remind you they are Classified as Armageddon\+
they knocked 3 Heros of the S\-Class, 18 A\-Class, 24 B\-Class out and Killed a total of 1 S\-Class, 5 A\-Class, 132
B\-Class and about 6367 civilians until you stepped in.
The surveillance shows, as you stepped up and just raised your hand, pointing on each of the Villians Head
and they just dropped. Please explain us how you managed a powerful feat like this.
A.S: You see Sir. I was ordered there to make the Heroes look good after they had won. Just like always. But they
didnt win. The Heroes just keept getting destroyed. And I had something to do.
H.R.: And how. Please How did you do this.
A.S.:Last Month i enrolled in one of the courses of the Trainingcenter. Diving. It was fun and i liked it. Mostley i
thought it would make a great hobby. Until the Divemaster told us, if we dive to fast up.... that the pressure
differential could... eeeeehhhhmm make the dissolved gases in the blood mhh bubble up? Iam not a scientist, but the
Divemaster discribed that if that happens in your Brain. You will be dead.
So I made a pressure differential in their head. Until they dropped.
H.R.: What is the possible rang of that?
A.S.: The same I made the wind for the PR stuff. About 100 or 200 meter. With binoculars more. Just a question if I
can Aim properly.
H.R.: I welcome you as a S\-Class Hero. And iam really sorry i was laughing in the beginning of this meeting.
\-\-\-end of recording 13.04.2031 16:04\-\-\-
edit made: added 2 wort | 2018-05-12T10:55:04 | 2018-05-12T10:27:08 | 140 | 88 |
[WP] You are an ancient and incredibly powerful god, and you’re furious that your enemies keep sending teenage “chosen ones” to fight you. | It is over. The boy-warrior has triumphed. The afterimages of his silvered blade, blessed by all the gods of the old world, still linger in this wretched crypt. Every prophecy was true. Here, an ancient deity would arise once more to enslave the world. Here, a youthful paragon would cast that god down.
He takes but a moment to catch his breath. Nothing haunts this place but shades and dust. A ragged black mantle lies at his feet, ghost words still echoing in his mind: "I will return once more..."
"And we will always strike you down, Dark One," he says to the silence. And without a backward glance -- nothing remains to threaten him -- he is gone, returned to some lakeside village or secluded monastery or hidden mountain tribe.
I wish him the joy of it.
I have fallen so many times before. Incorporeal, I shadow his reversed progress through my temple. He disdains the trap-mined field where one must spell out my true name for safe passage. He has no interest in the cunning placement of murder-holes and poisoned stakes through this twisted labyrinth. He ignores broken death-charms and unthreaded riddle-beasts. His handsome face is lit, at last, by the rising sun through the cavernous chamber. He smiles, at last. He has put this horror behind him.
Behind him, the vast iron-shod doors swing shut, sealing this place. Finality. Catharsis. Endings. His thoughts turn at once to hopes his trusted steed has remained tethered across the waybridge, and that his sweetheart at home has stayed faithful...
And I?
I turn back the flows of time. Traps reset. Spells re-knit. Beasts revive. The labyrinth echoes with mad laughter and far-off thunder once more. It must look lived in, you understand. Well-used. It would not do to break the immersion for those who will come after. The hero brings a tale back to those outside. He brings back the unthinkable. The monsters in the dark can be beaten, can be outsmarted, can be outfought. He will bring my final words to them. He will ensure the legend of my return grows over the years.
The people have always been tormented by the warlords and dark spawn of this world. They have cowered in their homes and prayed to far-off gods unwilling or unable to deliver them from suffering. But I have given them something more precious than divine intervention. I have given them hope. The hope to fight back. And in another generation or three, when they grow complacent when they forget the old tales, when their guard slips...
I will return. Another hero will rise to face me. And the people will have hope once more. Until then... peace. Silence. Solitude. | This is preposterous. First i get summoned by a chap named Arthur who wielded Excalibur, the only sword which could kill me. Then he threatens to kill me unless i protect his empire. I wouldn't say i hated it, in fact i think my time there may have changed me. However, after all that i get sent to quell some asinine rebels in the colonies and they seal me with an ancient spell. And after all that some blokes in black robes go through all the shenanigans required to break my 200 year old seal and summon me to this mortal plane.
Can't i at least get a cup of tea? Maybe the finest tea from the Raj? But no, instead after i awake and kill the pricks that summoned me, got around to destroying the 13 colonies, and finally report back to Buckingham Palace the Queen says that Britain has changed a lot in 200 years. Bollocks!
Now here i am, sitting on my throne of American skulls eating my bangers and mash, when some teenage boy comes up to me.
"Foul being! I am here to slay you for the countless destruction you have layed upon America. Die!"
The child then began to charge me with his sword. At this point i was rather unimpressed, as i had taken a nuclear bomb to the face before. I took his sword, used it to clean my teeth a bit then poofed him out of existence.
But the Americans clearly were not done yet, next a teenage girl came. Then another boy. Then a thing that was both a boy and a girl. And a few years after the first boy came, a teenager dressed in a fox suit approached me.
"Demon! I have come to cleanse you from this world!"
"Yes, yes i know the drill. You attack me and i kill you, is that right, human?"
"Actually, I'm a fox. I would like you to call me Firedash as that's the native word for warrior in my species, an-"
"Oh bloody hell, Im done with this!" I bellowed, then vaporized the fox-human warrior thing. I opened a dimensional rift to the inside of the inside of the president's office.
"Oi, what's the meaning of this Ronald?"
The U.S. president, clearly shocked at first regained his composure.
"The meaning of what?"
"*This*" i hissed as i pointed to the bundle of swords the 'chosen ones' all brought with them.
"Oh, they were sent to kill you."
"Really now? Then why send one lone teenager when you should have sent your mightiest warrior? At least then i won't be so bloody bored."
"Oh, thats simple." The president said. "You said when you first destroyed the country that no man could kill you, so we sent children, women and people who were not men to fight you."
"You fockin wot mate."
The president just stared at me.
"BLIMEY, I ONLY SAID THAT FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT YOU TIT. IM DONE WITH YOU LOT"
And with that, i left this cursed world in search of a new one. | 2018-05-19T01:54:18 | 2018-05-19T01:52:14 | 366 | 120 |
[WP] As a Grim Reaper, you have the ability to see numbers floating above every individual's head, counting down the days they have left to live. However, you one day come across a young girl whose number is actually in the negative. | The days become monotonous after a while. Crying, screaming, even quiet resignation...the spectrum of human emotion when they face their ends is vast and varied, but only so few ever have anything interesting to say about it.
The numbers run through my head, I've memorized the calendar and now the numbers run. I can tell the date of a person's death, no matter how many thousands of numbers float above their head, down to the minute.
...I met Alicia as she entered the emergency room, hand in hand with her mother.
"Mommy! I'm okay, really!! I just got dizzy!" She whines, slouching but not resisting her mother's gentle tugging.
"I know, sweetie, but I just want to make sure," her mother says with a slight but mildly worried smile, checking in her daughter at the desk.
The numbers above Alicia's head are slowly ticking away. The longer she's alive, the fewer days she has left. I've seen it before, the closer someone is to a accident, closer to an infectious sick person, their numbers wind downwards, sometimes with blinding speed, and Alicia is no different.
There is something vastly wrong with her, and she has no idea. I move to sit across from her mother, at Alicia's left side as I wait.
The doctor sees to her quickly. It doesn't slow the numbers.
They put her through an xray and a cat scan. It doesn't slow her numbers.
They start taking blood for more tests, and by then, fve hours have passed. Alicia's numbers are nearly up. She's gotten pale, sweaty. Shes stopped complaining about the needles and starts complaining about how her skin hurts. She cant articulate what shes feeling. Shes getting scared and she just wants to go home.
The numbers are almost at zero, and I reach for her hand.
Someone else's takes her palm before I can.
Another little girl, Alicia's exact and identical mirror reflection sits on her bed, and Alicia's numbers start to run into the negative.
She looks at Alicia, reaching to brush away her tears, but her hand merely sinks into her cheek. "Cold..." Alica says softly. "Mommy, I'm cold..."
"I'll go get you another blanket, sweet heart," her mother says softly, standing.
*"This happened to me too,"* the identical girl said softly. *"The doctors weren't fast enough, they're still not fast enough."*
**"Your sister?"** I ask.
*"My twin,"* she affirms, looking up at me with her sisters hand tightly held. *"I'm Katie."*
**"You didnt get very far, did you?"** I observe. She is wearing the same clothes Alicia waa, down to her tight braids with the butterfly clips. This was a spirit, bound to alicia and actively copying her.
She smiled softly, laughing bitterly. *"No. I died five minutes after I was born. Alicia doesn't know I even existed."*
**"Then why do you protect her so?"**
*"I didnt get to live, and she's only barely started to,"* Katie says quietly. *"So...please, can you hold off for a little bit? Just a small extention..."*
I sigh deeply, looking at the pair. **"...This usually requires a game, you know. And it's usually the dead themselves that are doing the bargaining."**
She laughs. *"Is that a yes?"*
I sit back down, and Alicia's number slowly keeps going into the negative. **"I guess it is."**
Two more hours pass, and Alicia is being rolled into a surgery room with Katie by her side. They've found out what's wrong, and are going in to correct it. Alicia's blood isn't clotting, it cant clot at all, and she has internal bleeding from an accident three days prior.
As she passes the threshold of the Operating Room, her numbers start going back up from the negative.
Alicia is going to have a fair few decades before she can meet Katie again. | THAT IS CURIOUS, he thought, as he stopped on his eternal walk from one dying soul to the next. For as long as he had crossed over humans to the afterlife, always had he seen the time of life left above them. When the clock reached zero, he would be there, collecting their soul and guiding them away to peace.
But this little girl was different. Her clock was long finished, not even staying on the emptiness of zero. Her life was filling up again, with negative time. He stood and watched, as she clutched her knees, sitting alone at night on a bench. The lights of the city weakly glowed all around the park, the sounds of distant traffic was mostly drowned out by the coming rain, drumming on the leaves of the trees around her.
Curiosity was not well received for him, as he knew of another like him who once was expelled for developing emotions, but he was intrigued. ^(sorry, I just had to)
HELLO, LITTLE GIRL. She raised her head, her eyes were reddened from tears. She looked at him without even a hint of fear. The shadowy skeletal form of the reaper stood before her. "You come to get me?", her voice was soft and curious. He shook his head. I WILL GET YOU WHEN YOUR TIME IS RIGHT, LUNARIA NIGHTINGALE. Her face lit up, a smile flashed over her lips: "You know me?" I KNOW ALL THERE ARE. YOU ARE NOT AFRAID? Lunaria shook her head. "Mom told me, we can be together for...", her voice broke, "...ever. Do you know my mom?" MH, the figure seemed to think for a moment AH, SELENA. I SEE. YOU ARE HERS. SHE ALMOST TRICKED ME HERSELF. I HAVE TO ADMIRE THE LENGTHS, SHE WENT. The girl sprang to her feet, not caring for the increasing rain and wind, grabbing and wetting her hair and her dress. "You know her? Is she well? Can you bring me to her? Where is she?" I HAVE BROUGHT HER IN A LONG TIME AGO. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO BRING YOU TO HER BEFORE YOUR TIME. "Wha\-", she froze, dropping to her knees. Only with effort she continued, as she realized what he meant: "How long was I buried? What is... what is my time?" The reaper stood in front of her, thinking. SURELY A MARVELOUS CREATION, YOUR GRAVE, EVEN I COULD NOT SEE YOU, WHEREVER YOU WERE. He grinned, as his skull allowed nothing else. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO TELL YOUR TIME, BUT SELENA WAS TAKEN WELL BEFORE THAT ONE SOUL SUPPOSEDLY RETURNED FROM THE AFTERLIFE, WHICH THE HUMANS TALK SO MUCH ABOUT. SHE WAS CONTENT, IF THAT HELPS. The girl did not listen anymore. She dropped on her knees, clutching herself. The world must have hated her today. She started crying in the rainy night, wishing to wake herself from this nightmare.
The reaper disappeared from her sight. A CURIOUS SOUL, he thought, I WILL HAVE TO KEEP AN EYE ON HER.
Still wondering, when her time will be right again.
\- \- \- \- \-
I just can't imagine death speaking any different than full caps.
Even if I cannot even try to compare to the original.
^(Loosly related:)
(1) [(https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8jmsub/wp_in_the_church_lay_the_man_who_died_in_the/dz3ijru](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8jmsub/wp_in_the_church_lay_the_man_who_died_in_the/dz3ijru)
(2) [(https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lgf8e/wp_she_pulled_the_knife_from_her_chest_and_smiled/dzfsdq9)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lgf8e/wp_she_pulled_the_knife_from_her_chest_and_smiled/dzfsdq9)
^(Edits: At some point, I will learn this formatting...) | 2018-05-23T09:41:27 | 2018-05-23T05:53:33 | 83 | 11 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | The immortals are crumbling like dry leaves.
I watch one as I leave Marge's Cafe with my usual paper cup of coffee. There is a woman standing on the opposite street corner in a trench coat, her hair sleek black, her face as faultless as fine china.
And all it takes is a harsh wind.
She falls away in tiny pieces. Her hands claw helplessly at her disintegrating belly with fingers whose flesh sloughes off in sheets like wet paper. She reaches for her face, but then that too clouds up into dust and is gone. Her scream starts and dies in her throat.
And just like that, she smacks down like a broken puppet. A near-instant death, and still it doesn't seem fast enough.
Her scream keeps echoing in the back of my mind. I think it will always be there, waiting for me, when the world grows quiet enough for me to hear her once more.
Like any decent human would, I stick around for EMS. I call and call, but I can't get through to 911. Someone happening by stops over the body, kicking up clouds of this woman's dust. The woman looks to be my age, one of the lost, one of the few humans left doomed to die.
She sighs through her teeth. "Bad luck, the lot of them."
I stare at her. "What do you mean?"
"Turns out us Lost will be last after all." She winks, like we share a kind of secret just by being born on the wrong side of the cut-off for immortality. As if there's any real camaraderie in our Lost Generation. "The immortals are all just... vanishing. It's on the news, dearie."
And then she keeps on walking, as though we were only chatting about the weather.
It's early still. The cool morning air is so placid and peaceful, her words impossible on a morning as bright and sunny as this. As if death could not happen under such a perfect blue sky.
I run to the car. It has been a while, since I ran. Decades, at least.
My wife still runs. She's always teasing me, calls me an old man as she pecks a good morning kiss to my lips. Slaps my aching knees and says, "That's your penance for being born too early."
And I always laugh at her and say, "Hey, I know I won't be the one dying alone." Half a joke, really. Always dancing around the inevitable and morbid reality: I would end, and she would keep on going. With any luck, it would be forever. We had both made our peace with that.
The radio is buzzing, mad. It's already all over the news. There's some scientist babbling about dew point, the relative wetness of the air.
"As the world gets hotter and hotter, and the air gets drier and drier, it appears that the cells lose their stability and their ability to maintain struc--"
I flip the radio off. And I drive like hell.
Panic drives me forward like a thing possessed. I throw my coffee out the window and veer through still-empty streets back to my home, where my wife should still be lying in bed, just about to roll up and face the dawn. She will open the window and listen to the birds convince her to rise and make a cup of tea.
In my mind, she looks as lovely as the day we married. She makes the deep ruts of my skin seem like valleys, but she still palms my cheeks in her hands and tells me every day, *I love you, Mr. Weston,* and I smile back and say, *I don't know why, Mrs. Weston.*
But when I get there, the window is shut. The bed is as empty as the rest of the house. I call and call and scream for her, but the house answers back with nothing but silence.
So I go to the bed where this morning she lay curled like a question mark beside me. I had kissed her shoulder and slipped out as soundlessly as an eighty-year-old-man wearing every weight of his age could hope.
I lift back the blanket.
There awaits me only bones and so much ash. I try to scoop her up in my palms but she is nothing but wind and air.
And I am suddenly, impossibly alone.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| It wasn't that we suddenly realized all at once. Bunch of us older folks noticed something was... off about them. We tried to say something, but each time we were doubted. And honestly, we couldn't help but doubt ourselves: our wisdom and ability to self reflect blinded us. Because of this, it took a lot longer than was probably reasonable or necessary before our suspicions were confirmed. I'm not going to say that old cliche line "by then, it was too late.", because it wasn't. The cure was simple: stop taking the drug. Many went into denial either because they were already too far gone in their insanity or too scared to take the leap. I couldn't blame them. Those that got off the drugs aged dramatically. In a week, they caught back up to speed. Many of those that made the healthy decision couldn't handle the shock of getting old. Most of them went into depression and no amount of reassurance and advice could alleviate the pain. I could imagine what it was like to be old, but I had decades of resignation to prepare me. I slowly learned to make the best of it, but they thought they were free.
Truly free.
So many of them that had the courage to quit the drug either drugged themselves numb on something else or quit all together. Not many of the "Free Generation" remains, and it's mostly those who had only started on the drug very recently. They are too young to fend for themselves. So alot of us older folks that are still around have been talking: We had to try the drug ourselves. There are too many to care for and so few of us left. Senior healthcare funding and research dried up after the drug, but our medicine outside of fighting old age was beyond imaginable. We knew the side effects would kick in much, much earlier for us. But, we just needed a few more years. Without it, there just wasn't enough time.
--PART 2--
With no alternative, we agreed on a plan. Those useless otherwise would use the drug immediately; this meant the bedridden, dying, and/or utterly senile. We didn't ask for consent, but most of them wanted the drug their whole lives anyways. I knew I did. But, there were those who still bitterly hated the drug and refused it. They remembered the tears they wept as they hopelessly begged the pharmaceutical committee to reconsider. They told me stories of how even their children saw them differently and were ashamed of them. They wept through the agony of still loving them in spite of this; they were just happy that their children at least wouldn't have to fear death anymore. One even admitted to wanting to die quickly so that their children would stop being picked on.
"As long as I am their parent, they could never be free."
"It'd be better if the children forgot about us altogether."
But reality and fate were much crueler, their children though ungrateful died before them anyways. Despite all that they went through, the drug was nothing more than a poison that took what they held most dear away from them. They rightly demanded an explanation as to why they should trust us. Some accused us of delusion, callousness, and fraud. Rarely could I find any surviving grandchildren, so I brought along the orphans of strangers and plead the best I could. Though they had every reason to refuse, by some miracle not one refused. Many covered their eyes and wept as we administered the injection; slowly their wrinkles smoothed out and old aches and scars disappeared.
For the rest of us, we tried to delay the injection for as long as humanely possible. With the fate of the world resting on our shoulders, we suddenly received a new lease on life. It seemed some notion of 'we can't die now' reach our bodies as many of us noticed less aches and pains.
We were still careful. We slept in pairs and strung 24/7 vitals monitors. The moment any of us flatlined, our partners would administer the injection right away and begin resuscitation. The drug usually alleviated the cause of death, but only bought us a set finite amount of time: we would age backwards until we died. We called it B. Button Syndrome after the famous short story. If there was a cure, we would definitely not receive it in time. We joked that it wasn't the first time we would miss out and we didn't want to find out what the side effects for "the cure" were going to be anyways. | 2018-06-04T21:14:04 | 2018-06-04T20:31:31 | 10,660 | 218 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | The immortals are crumbling like dry leaves.
I watch one as I leave Marge's Cafe with my usual paper cup of coffee. There is a woman standing on the opposite street corner in a trench coat, her hair sleek black, her face as faultless as fine china.
And all it takes is a harsh wind.
She falls away in tiny pieces. Her hands claw helplessly at her disintegrating belly with fingers whose flesh sloughes off in sheets like wet paper. She reaches for her face, but then that too clouds up into dust and is gone. Her scream starts and dies in her throat.
And just like that, she smacks down like a broken puppet. A near-instant death, and still it doesn't seem fast enough.
Her scream keeps echoing in the back of my mind. I think it will always be there, waiting for me, when the world grows quiet enough for me to hear her once more.
Like any decent human would, I stick around for EMS. I call and call, but I can't get through to 911. Someone happening by stops over the body, kicking up clouds of this woman's dust. The woman looks to be my age, one of the lost, one of the few humans left doomed to die.
She sighs through her teeth. "Bad luck, the lot of them."
I stare at her. "What do you mean?"
"Turns out us Lost will be last after all." She winks, like we share a kind of secret just by being born on the wrong side of the cut-off for immortality. As if there's any real camaraderie in our Lost Generation. "The immortals are all just... vanishing. It's on the news, dearie."
And then she keeps on walking, as though we were only chatting about the weather.
It's early still. The cool morning air is so placid and peaceful, her words impossible on a morning as bright and sunny as this. As if death could not happen under such a perfect blue sky.
I run to the car. It has been a while, since I ran. Decades, at least.
My wife still runs. She's always teasing me, calls me an old man as she pecks a good morning kiss to my lips. Slaps my aching knees and says, "That's your penance for being born too early."
And I always laugh at her and say, "Hey, I know I won't be the one dying alone." Half a joke, really. Always dancing around the inevitable and morbid reality: I would end, and she would keep on going. With any luck, it would be forever. We had both made our peace with that.
The radio is buzzing, mad. It's already all over the news. There's some scientist babbling about dew point, the relative wetness of the air.
"As the world gets hotter and hotter, and the air gets drier and drier, it appears that the cells lose their stability and their ability to maintain struc--"
I flip the radio off. And I drive like hell.
Panic drives me forward like a thing possessed. I throw my coffee out the window and veer through still-empty streets back to my home, where my wife should still be lying in bed, just about to roll up and face the dawn. She will open the window and listen to the birds convince her to rise and make a cup of tea.
In my mind, she looks as lovely as the day we married. She makes the deep ruts of my skin seem like valleys, but she still palms my cheeks in her hands and tells me every day, *I love you, Mr. Weston,* and I smile back and say, *I don't know why, Mrs. Weston.*
But when I get there, the window is shut. The bed is as empty as the rest of the house. I call and call and scream for her, but the house answers back with nothing but silence.
So I go to the bed where this morning she lay curled like a question mark beside me. I had kissed her shoulder and slipped out as soundlessly as an eighty-year-old-man wearing every weight of his age could hope.
I lift back the blanket.
There awaits me only bones and so much ash. I try to scoop her up in my palms but she is nothing but wind and air.
And I am suddenly, impossibly alone.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:14:04 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 10,660 | 25 |
[WP] You've died and are now spectating the last human on Earth. Everyone is anxiously awaiting the Great Respawn, but this jackass just won't die! | "What's the U-clock at now?" I asked, grabbing another stim drink from the dispenser.
"1.9," Perzy replied, rubbing his eyes.
"1.9e14?"
"Nope, *e20*."
I nearly spewed my drink. "Holy shit, is there anything left? What the hell is he *doing* in there?"
"It doesn't matter, the run doesn't stop until he dies. I'll query a status summary though if you'd like," he offered.
"Please."
This VU was the biggest we'd ever used, complete with a 15-gigaparsec horizon, sub-femtometer resolution observability and, most importantly, *full immersion*. When you jacked into this VU you lost *everything*--your name, your personality, your whole history--and became a human zygote, growing and developing and headed for a world so richly detailed that you'd never guess it was a Virtual Universe.
There were 37 of us sharing the VU simultaneously, each of us experiencing a few lifetimes, then taking a quick break and diving back in. With most of us inside at the same time, the VU had to manage all our experiences *and* all their interactions, as well as all the simulated humanity that interacted with us. Its workload grew exponentially as the simulated population grew from a few hundred to over 12 billion, with a commensurate increase in the required simulation time. Though the slowdown was of course imperceptible from inside, the VU dropped to about a year per minute at its slowest, with the 21st century CE taking almost an hour to run.
Then the VU introduced the Cataclysm to wind things up, so all the liferuns would end and we could restart the VU with new priors--but Qarzo's avatar had survived, and he was still jacked in and simming away.
With no other sentients remaining in the VU, the workload had dropped to almost nothing and the sim speed had jumped exponentially. Whenever this happens it usually brings a quick end to the run, with the last survivor popping out after a few seconds of hyper-accelerated solipsism, with apocalyptic tales worthy of several rounds of free drinks.
But that hadn't happened this time. Qarzo had now experienced nearly 190 *quintillion* years in the VU.
"Okay, here it is," Perzy reported. "Looks like Qarzo was just near enough to the 'clysm point to survive it, and his in-VU persona had the right mix of intellect and survival instinct to marshal the available AI resources and devote them to keeping him alive.
"He's currently in a single-passenger life support pod the size of a planet, protected from any and all hazardous radiation, and centered in a void that far exceeds the VU diameter.
"So the VU is *empty*?" I gasped.
"Yep, except for Qarzo's pod. And he's in some kind of extremely advanced suspension--almost at the level of our *real* cryotech. The only activity in the VU is the occasional nuclear decay, and the nanoconstructor activity to repair any damage caused by it. That's why the sim factor is so high now."
"How long can he go like this?"
"Qarzo? By this time tomorrow he could be at e40--maybe e50. It's just going to keep running faster and faster as the residual background radiation fades to black, and the VU concentrates all its resource on simming his little pod and its work."
I groaned. "Its work? Is the pod doing anything besides keeping his avatar's body viable?"
Perzy examined the summary. "Hmm--yes, he's tasked it with trying to find a way to reboot the Universe."
"From the *inside*?"
"Of course. Remember, he's not aware that he's in a VU. He thinks he's the Last Man Standing--or thought so before he went to sleep--and he wants to wake up with the knowledge of how to change that."
"Wow," was all I could think of to say. "I've never seen *that* before in one of these. He'll be drinking free for quite a while off *this* little adventure."
A moment later, something happened. "It's done!" Perzy said, obviously surprised.
"What happened?" I asked. "Did Qarzo die in suspension?"
"It doesn't appear that he died at *all*," Perzy said, still absorbing the output and looking more than a little shaken. Beyond him, I saw Qarzo stir, then stand up and remove his umbilicus.
"*Finally*, 'Zo!" I chided. "So, did you learn how to reboot the Cosmos?"
Qarzo smiled. "Yes, actually, I did."
And the world went white. | “Oh my god,” Jessica said. I knew exactly what she wanted, and I accepted her bait. Sometimes you just have to humor your loved one.
“What?”
“Brian, look at what he’s eating! Ewwwww. That’s *so* disgusting. Oh, wow. Look at those intestines. I’m going to throw up. Are you looking at this, honey?”
“Uh huh,” I said, nodding in the affirmative. I wasn’t though. It was pretty obvious, considering I was sitting on the couch several feet away from my telescope.
“Brian, you aren’t even looking. Your telescope is over here.” Jessica had her hands on her hips. Her eyes threw daggers through the void that hit me directly in the face. I winced.
“Sorry, Jess, sorry.” I forced myself to stand up and walk over to where the two telescopes were oriented. I looked down at him through my telescope. Mike ate raw meat from the body of a dead pig that was covered in cockroaches. “Yup, pretty disgusting.” *Jesus, Mike. Could you make worse dietary choices?*
“Ugh, Brian, can’t you even feign interest? I know you never look at him anymore. Don’t you want this fucker to die so that we can live again?”
“Of course, honey.”
“But all you do is sit on that stupid couch,” Jessica groaned. I did a full 360 of our surroundings. There were two telescopes. There was the couch. There was blackness.
“I’m not sure where else I’m supposed to sit, Jess,” I said with a shrug. Jess sighed.
“All right. Maybe I’m being unfair. Although also, maybe I’m not. It’s just that, I want you to care, you know? And your first reaction should be to worry about me when I tell you that I’m going to throw up.”
“But you can’t throw up in the afterlife,” I said.
“Well, that’s hardly the point, is it?” Jessica walked over to the couch and laid herself horizontally, filling every crevice of our only place of leisure.
“Fine, you want me to watch Mike? I can watch Mike. Look. Here I go.” I peered through the telescope.
Since I had last checked in, Mike had gotten dangerously skinny. *Yikes. It’s worse than I realized.* He was really dirty. Bald. Old, almost. His wrinkles made him look 75, although he was only 46, by my previous estimates, when I used to watch him constantly. Huge bags found their permanent home under his eyes, and his back hunched from the weight of his pack as he wandered through the endless, empty wasteland. Death was all around him, and I could feel the heaviness of his being. There was nobody lonelier in the entire world, alive or dead. I glanced back at Jessica, who seemed to be dozing on the couch. Back to the telescope. I needed to show her that I was making an effort. As I watched, Mike drank unfiltered water out of a pitiful, polluted stream. “Seriously though, if this guy was playing Oregon Trail, he would have died of dysentery like 12 times by now,” I said. Jessica sat up.
“I fucking know, right? The man hasn’t drank clean water in like 4 months,” Jessica said, shaking her head.
“Drunk?”
“Huh?”
“I think it's drunk, not drank.”
“Shut up, Brian.” I looked back into the telescope. Mike was moving along a precipitous ledge, several hundred feet above the ground. As he moved, rocks slipped off the edge, hurtling towards the ground in a rage. Mike’s foot slipped momentarily, but he regained his footing. *Oh, shit.*
“I swear he teases us sometimes,” I said.
“Yeah,” Jessica said, clearly back to falling asleep on the couch. She was great at falling asleep quickly.
Suddenly, Mike slipped. His left leg went over the ledge first. My heart skipped. The rest of Mike’s body would surely follow, and the end would arrive, I was sure. But as his butt hit the ground, he twisted. Mike’s pack snagged onto a branch just above the ledge, pulling Mike back from the ledge elastically, like a rubber band. He scrambled back up, frowning and rubbing his behind. I could hardly contain my amazement. I peeked behind me; Jessica was fast asleep.
“Oh, thank god,” I muttered. Mike was still alive. Eventually, I would have to come clean to Jessica about the respawn. I couldn't lie to her forever, not about something so huge. And she would find out eventually. There was no way for me to prevent that. But for now, she still had hope. For that, I was grateful. There I found my comfort. The time for anger would come later. I turned away from the telescope and walked to the couch. “Make some room,” I said. She scooted over, and I laid next to her and buried myself into her arms. | 2018-06-09T00:21:42 | 2018-06-08T21:43:37 | 337 | 135 |
[WP] You've died and are now spectating the last human on Earth. Everyone is anxiously awaiting the Great Respawn, but this jackass just won't die! | "What's the U-clock at now?" I asked, grabbing another stim drink from the dispenser.
"1.9," Perzy replied, rubbing his eyes.
"1.9e14?"
"Nope, *e20*."
I nearly spewed my drink. "Holy shit, is there anything left? What the hell is he *doing* in there?"
"It doesn't matter, the run doesn't stop until he dies. I'll query a status summary though if you'd like," he offered.
"Please."
This VU was the biggest we'd ever used, complete with a 15-gigaparsec horizon, sub-femtometer resolution observability and, most importantly, *full immersion*. When you jacked into this VU you lost *everything*--your name, your personality, your whole history--and became a human zygote, growing and developing and headed for a world so richly detailed that you'd never guess it was a Virtual Universe.
There were 37 of us sharing the VU simultaneously, each of us experiencing a few lifetimes, then taking a quick break and diving back in. With most of us inside at the same time, the VU had to manage all our experiences *and* all their interactions, as well as all the simulated humanity that interacted with us. Its workload grew exponentially as the simulated population grew from a few hundred to over 12 billion, with a commensurate increase in the required simulation time. Though the slowdown was of course imperceptible from inside, the VU dropped to about a year per minute at its slowest, with the 21st century CE taking almost an hour to run.
Then the VU introduced the Cataclysm to wind things up, so all the liferuns would end and we could restart the VU with new priors--but Qarzo's avatar had survived, and he was still jacked in and simming away.
With no other sentients remaining in the VU, the workload had dropped to almost nothing and the sim speed had jumped exponentially. Whenever this happens it usually brings a quick end to the run, with the last survivor popping out after a few seconds of hyper-accelerated solipsism, with apocalyptic tales worthy of several rounds of free drinks.
But that hadn't happened this time. Qarzo had now experienced nearly 190 *quintillion* years in the VU.
"Okay, here it is," Perzy reported. "Looks like Qarzo was just near enough to the 'clysm point to survive it, and his in-VU persona had the right mix of intellect and survival instinct to marshal the available AI resources and devote them to keeping him alive.
"He's currently in a single-passenger life support pod the size of a planet, protected from any and all hazardous radiation, and centered in a void that far exceeds the VU diameter.
"So the VU is *empty*?" I gasped.
"Yep, except for Qarzo's pod. And he's in some kind of extremely advanced suspension--almost at the level of our *real* cryotech. The only activity in the VU is the occasional nuclear decay, and the nanoconstructor activity to repair any damage caused by it. That's why the sim factor is so high now."
"How long can he go like this?"
"Qarzo? By this time tomorrow he could be at e40--maybe e50. It's just going to keep running faster and faster as the residual background radiation fades to black, and the VU concentrates all its resource on simming his little pod and its work."
I groaned. "Its work? Is the pod doing anything besides keeping his avatar's body viable?"
Perzy examined the summary. "Hmm--yes, he's tasked it with trying to find a way to reboot the Universe."
"From the *inside*?"
"Of course. Remember, he's not aware that he's in a VU. He thinks he's the Last Man Standing--or thought so before he went to sleep--and he wants to wake up with the knowledge of how to change that."
"Wow," was all I could think of to say. "I've never seen *that* before in one of these. He'll be drinking free for quite a while off *this* little adventure."
A moment later, something happened. "It's done!" Perzy said, obviously surprised.
"What happened?" I asked. "Did Qarzo die in suspension?"
"It doesn't appear that he died at *all*," Perzy said, still absorbing the output and looking more than a little shaken. Beyond him, I saw Qarzo stir, then stand up and remove his umbilicus.
"*Finally*, 'Zo!" I chided. "So, did you learn how to reboot the Cosmos?"
Qarzo smiled. "Yes, actually, I did."
And the world went white. | "Holy shit."
"Hmm? What is it?"
"I just... holy shit."
Back when everyone was still living, there were a lot of religions that people believed in. Me, I grew up in a Catholic family but it was mostly forced from my parents. I didn't believe in the afterlife, a higher deity, all that jazz. So when I died in a freak car accident with my best friend Natalie and woke up to an online game-esque spectating mode checking up on Earth, needless to say, I was quite surprised.
No one aged here, maintaining their physique before any gruesome, bloody accidents happened to them, and keeping all their thoughts just before they died. Everyone just chilled and talked to each other all the time. Some fights every now and then over a good spot, but nothing serious. After all, we were all dead. We didn't have to eat or sleep, no nothing.
Good thing too, because there were a lot of people here, let me tell you, and the place was vast; endless. There were mountains, oceans, plains, forests. Everything nature had to offer back when we were alive on Earth, but without the techonological bullshit that us humans placed on it. I called it heaven, ironically.
A simple plain field was where I usually hung out. Cool breezes every now and then, and only a three hour walk to the nearby beach. To gaze upon the Earth, all we had to do was look up in the sky and focus. Then, you'd see it there. Just move your eyes around and it'd be like some third person spectator mode on an online game. It was interesting at first, especially with the rumor that spread like wildfire about how when humanity dies out on Earth, we'd all start new lives again. Like a huge reset on the planet. Everyone called it the Great Respawn. People would search for living humans on and Earth and view their lives until death, and move on to another, waiting until everyone on Earth was dead. Pretty weird, I thought. To each their own, I guess.
But after hundreds of years everyone grew out from it, when they realized that the lone survivor from the Second Ice Age was still kicking it real. They were starting to complain about the medical advances we've made and how it was against nature's laws. I figured they just wanted to live again; after all, it was boring here with none of the human gadgets and whatnot. I just wanted to taste bacon and fried eggs again.
We had started calling the last human old lastie. At this point, sadly, no one really gave two shits about him, or anything else. Just endless waiting, endless chatting, and endless chill. Most of us had given up on the respawn. Some even questioned it. No one had a reliable source, and after all, as far as I knew, it was just some bullshit rumor some loudmouth started anyway. But yeah, I was one of the few remaining that still checked on Earth everyday. There wasn't much to do anyway.
One faithful day, I was putting off my daily walk to the beach and just lying around the hills, checking up on ol' lastie after a spectacular view of the last giant glacier breaking up into pieces. Earth was warming up again. Ol' lastie had been walking aimlessly for the past few weeks, or so I had thought. Then he reached Cape Regina, or what remained of it anyways, and my eyes widened at what I just saw.
"Nat, look over there, where I'm pointing at. It's fucking ol' lastie." I said, showing her the direction of where I was spectating.
She slowly sat down next to me, laughing, brushing my hair. "So? Nothing special, isn't it? Same thing as always... why so serious?"
"Shut the hell up and hurry! Look!" I pulled her down and grabbed her head, tilting it towards ol' lastie. "Look at him!"
"Sheesh, fine! What is so spe- uh, wait, uh...?" Her eyes widended just as much as mine and froze for a few seconds.
"Will... is that him walking on the...?" She managed to slowly spit out after the initial shock.
"Yeah, Nat... he's fucking walking on the ocean." Our eyes were glued onto the sky, both frozen in place.
"What in..." Her mouth dropped open as she came to a realization of what we were seeing.
"Yeah, Nat... after all this time... we just found out who this cunt is... why he's still alive... after all this time." I started grinned a mad smile. How absurd this was, absolutely unbelievable.
"Jesus christ, old lastie is... Will! He's...!" Nat now too had a big grin on her face. She started laughing, and I followed suit. It was so stupid, that no one had realized. How was this possible? What does this mean now for all of us? So many things crossed my mind, but I scratched all that for now.
I caught my breath and smiled. I didn't care about anything else. Nat and I had just made the discovery of a lifetime.
"Yep. He's goddamn Jesus fucking Christ himself." | 2018-06-09T00:21:42 | 2018-06-08T23:17:02 | 337 | 113 |
[WP] A person from your past recently started making frequent appearances in your dreams. Today, you happened to run into them. When you mention the dreams you've been having, they become incredibly flustered. While trying to back out of the conversation, they let slip a detail you never mentioned.
. | There’s something to be said about nostalgia.
I wandered around Washington Square Park. The center fountain was just as I remembered it, people crowding around it to watch some street artist juggling…were those iPad’s? All while deftly weaving through the streams of water. Students dazed on benches, others had laptops out, and most others were just talking to their friends. Others were dressed in formal wear heading for their jobs. Some asshole weaved through the crowd in his electrical skateboard.
I’d spent 4 years in and around this park, the college campus – it had molded me into the man I am today. And now I was back from the other side of the country. Why?
Well, officially, I was here to meet with the representative from some company or the other – honestly, I really didn’t care. But I’d been having these dreams for the past week, crazy dreams, insane dreams. From dragons to spaceships to cruises through the solar system and the Atlantic. But one thing was common: Edith.
My first, well, everything. College friend, lover, girlfriend, confidant, whatever. Words weren’t enough to describe what we had together. Right up until she had just ghosted me after we graduated, no texts, no calls no anything. It took me years to get over it, to get my life back together.
So, I was understandably upset when 7 years after last seeing her, she started to appear in my dreams. This was, I hoped, therapy. A round trip paid for by my office was cheaper than paying insurance premiums at every psychiatric session.
So far it wasn’t work-
There. There she was. I found I wasn't really surprised. It was as if I knew I'd find her here. Long red hair down to the middle of her back, long legs, and that confidant stride, hell, even her dressing style hadn’t changed – jeans and a black tank top. Before I even realized what I was doing, I’d called her name.
She whirled towards me.
Our eyes met.
Her emerald eyes went wide, and she took a step back and froze, like a deer caught in headlights. I gave her what I hoped was a casual, noncommittal smile. Despite the motions warring within e, it was important to not scare her away. Not again.
I put my hands in my pockets so that she wouldn’t see them shaking and walked over to her. She didn’t run away.
***
We were in a coffee shop making small talk and sneaking looks at each other when we thought the other wasn’t looking. God, I wanted to shake her, to demand why the hell she’d left, and I wanted to kiss her – I didn’t really know which. And here we were talking about the *weather.*
“You’ve been in my dreams for the past 2 weeks,” I blurted.
Oh. My. God. Did I just say that? I was acting like a flustered teen out on my first date.
What’s even worse was that Edith had gone completely still – rigid even.
I tried to salvage the situation. “I mean, I just think it’s funny, the first time I think of you in years, and BOOM! Here you are,” I laughed a bit to lighten the mood. God, I was pathetic.
Edith was still looking at me with gaping eyes. I debating just getting up and running the hell away, but whatever trance Edith was in seemed to snap. “I, uh, huh. What are the odds yeah?”
I really should’ve dropped it there, but something in me was just determined to keep digging into this. “Yeah, and the dreams were so vivid! Just on the plane we were playing Melee together, and like always, you won.”
At that Edith did laugh, “Aww don’t feel so bad, your Fox game just can’t keep up with my Marth.”
Both of us froze. That was the exact match we’d had in our dream. The same characters. I might have dismissed it for a coincidence if it weren’t for Edith’s reaction. She looked absolutely stricken, here eyes wide and her muscles rigid.
“Edith…?”
She started to get up by I grabbed her arm. “Edith,” I pleaded, “please. Not again.”
She struggled for a moment, and I could see the emotions fighting in her head. Then, she closed her eyes and sighed. “The…the reason I left you James, the reason I have to leave you now…I can’t really tell you much, but I work for this company called PsyCorp.”
It was my turn to get up suddenly. So much so that the chair fell down behind me. “You’re here to meet a representative, aren’t you? You were told he’d call you?”
Edith could only gape as I took out my phone and dialed the number I was told to call. Her phone rang.
***
(minor edits)
Due to popular demand I present part 2: [A Matter of Dreams](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/8s2zj1/modern_scifi_a_matter_of_dreams_dreams_2/)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| I had first met Gary at University. We had met when we both took part in the Futurist society, a small group of students who were convinced they knew what the future would be like. I went to a few sessions as an undergrad until I realised that most of the people there were tools.
He became one of those recognisable faces in a crowd, someone who I would nod at if I saw them in the shop or the library. We would occasionally make small-talk, but he always seemed to be either really stressed or really nervous. The only time we had a proper conversation was during a night out in my third and final year. I had just handed in a long, long, long essay and so I was very, very, very drunk. It was one of those strange drunk hazes where I could remember loads of small parts in perfect clarity, including when someone held my hair back as I threw up in the toilet.
I saw Gary in the smoking area, he was casually hidden underneath the fire exit. He held a half drunk glass of brown liquid and had the unmistakable sway of a man celebrating. I remember seeing him and squealing, squeezing through the crowd to greet him. He seemed very scared until he realised it was me, and I hugged him as if he was my greatest friend. I get friendly when I'm very, very, very drunk. His face was as red as a strawberry when I let go, so much so I thought he might be having an allergic reaction to me. Looking back at it now, I think it might just have been that a lot of girls didn't hug him like that.
We spent a good half hour talking to each other, the sort of conversation that could only be understood after a few drinks. We poured are hearts out to each other, knew each other like we had never known anyone else. For that half hour, we were the most important people who had ever existed.
After that half hour, one of my friends came and bought me another drink. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a bed covered in vomit. Not one of my prouder moments.
I didn't see Gary again. I though about getting in contact with him but honestly, I was too busy setting myself up for the next stage of my life.
I got an internship at a company that a friend of a friend of my owned. I may have gotten in through contacts, but I was amazing. I did the work of three interns. Literally, the other two were let go after a while, that's how good I was. I was offered a full position at the company, and I just kept working. Within 5 years, I was working directly underneath the Chief Financial Officer herself, and it didn't take long for me to realise that she was grooming me to take over her role in a few years. With her as my mentor, I was on track to be the youngest senior in the history of the company.
It was at this point my health began to falter. It started small at first, the occasional brief headache or sleepless night, nothing that I was concerned about. However before too long, these both became constants in my life. Apparently being so young and so stressed made sleeping about as easy as finishing a long, long, long essay. I needed an outlet but I didn't have time for anything like relationships or hobbies. Hell, I couldn't even have one lousy night out drunk.
I started falling into bad habits. I began drinking more coffee to stay awake. I began to smoke to stop stressing. I began to do coke to just be less tired. I still kept up appearances, able to partake in my vices while never leaving my office, in at dawn, leaving at dusk. I had my own assistant who took care of all that stuff for me, and allowed me to envelop myself in drugs, exercise and paperwork. I was a mess, going to break down any day now and nobody could tell the difference.
I remember waking up in the bathroom, cold water being splashed into my face. My mentor and assistant were carrying me, a wedge of paper used on the door to keep anyone coming in. They had found me in my office when they had arrived that morning, I had taken just a little bit too much of something or other. My mentor gave me the biggest bollocking of my life, worse than any teacher or parent ever had. She called me every insult under the sun, some that would shock HR if they ever heard them say them. Only two really cut me though. *Young* and *Reckless.*
She made me quit cold turkey. She fired my assistant, got her own replacement, one that wouldn't follow my orders no matter how I screamed. For appearances sake, she let me come to work but I was imprisoned to my office, only allowed to work on the most mindless of tasks. She said that if I failed to quit, than I was a failure, and a failure would never succeed her.
I made it through the first week OK, but after that I really began to flag. The sleepless nights meant that there was no escaping the screaming urges, the gnawing hunger. I felt empty. My assistant, my old assistant, came to visit me once. We spoke, made small talk. Before too long, I was begging her to get me something, anything. She got scared and left. She wouldn't return. We wouldn't see each other again.
She did leave behind something important though. Through my hunger I had refused to listen, but she had written in down for me. She was aware like that, she could see how much I was suffering and left the note in the hopes that I might have a moment of clarity. I will love her forever for that. | 2018-06-18T10:30:31 | 2018-06-18T10:02:24 | 1,298 | 44 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | When the great double doors grated open, and approaching clatters echoed in the chamber, the old king didn't have to ask for his new guest to announce himself. He knew very well what sound bones made when they struck stone.
"Fate, Death, End," the king said, his voice papery and brittle. He straightened on his iron throne. "What name do you prefer, ancient thing?"
The clatters halted, and a flurry of cold winds brushed the king's body, a succession of lingering breaths, turning the tips of his white hair into icicles. "You can choose it, Dymori," Death said slowly, his voice was frost, and his words held winter in their core. "This is your day, and I'm here to please your last request."
"Last request?" Dymori asked, his brows knit. "Is that a last wish of sorts?"
"Yes," Death said, his voice half a hiss. "Telling your son goodbye perhaps, or a last, healthy night with your wife. Whatever you please."
"I see," the king said and rose to his feet, struggling. Death aided him. "May I show you a painting I painted when I was younger?"
"Is that your request?" Death asked, skull tilted, coruscant scythe in hand.
"It is. Follow me."
He guided Death past his chamber, down into a tunnel with a thrice locked door, and to the small room beyond, where a single, golden-framed painting adorned the walls.
"Look at it closely, and tell me what you see," Dymori said, and clasped his hands behind his back.
The painted was a mess of many-colored strokes, as if a tiger of opalescent claws had attacked a white wall viciously.
Death stared, silent, immersing himself in the colors and the shades. There were reds and blues and purples. In the chaotic strokes, he saw a child standing alongside a glistening ice-sheathed river. There was a rock in his hands, and his arms were aloft. His eyebrows were creased, and his eyes held fury inside. The lands encompassing him and the river weren't snow-kissed but barren and black, as if burned.
The sky was made of blazing embers, and its heat fell in the shape of wavering yellow waves partitioning across the child and the river and the land. But the child was cloaked with thick furs, and the ice was solid. What did it all mean? How did he conceal this scene within wild strokes?
Questions and more questions flooded Death’s mind, and he kept looking, searching for answers that he would never find.
"What do you think, ancient one?" Dymori said, his voice distant. Death turned, and found the king standing behind the door. When their eyes met, Dymori shut the door, locking the three locks.
Death walked toward the door, yet something tugged at his feet, and there he found a golden shackle, shining beneath the shifting torchlight. He swung his scythe at the shackle, but it didn't break. Not even a scratch was left on its surface.
"What did you expect," Dymori said behind the door, "of Sisyphus' son?"
--------------------------------------------
/r/ahumongousfish
| ‘Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss.’
It was half past one in the morning. Tom, a fourteen-year-old boy, sat in his hospital bed. He had just died.
The voice - quiet and emotionless, distinctly inuman - emanated from a figure stood in the corner of the room. It was dark, the light flickered periodically, so Tom could barely make out the robed figure standing in its shadowy recess: tall, hunched over, leaning heavily on its scythe, the blade of which shone brilliantly despite the poor lighting. Its face, partly concealed by a black hood, was skeletal.
Tom swallowed.
‘So, uh, what’s the scythe for?’
The reaper was silent for a moment, considering the object in question.
‘I use it when people resist.’
Now Tom paused. For the first time in almost a year, he didn’t feel weak. It was as if his illness had never happened, he felt like a normal boy.
‘People can resist?’
‘Never successfully.’
Tom considered. Like all boys his age, he had an exaggerated opinion of his own abilities which was entirely unaffected by the time he had spent bedridden. Outrun death? Sure. No problem. It wasn’t even very far to his house. And why wouldn’t he run? If he died, he’d never see his mum again.
To his left, he noticed that the window was ajar. It was a ground story room, so Tom decided that would be his best means of escape.
He bolted, flinging aside the thin hospital sheets, momentarily obscuring his view of the window in the process. When he saw clearly again, the reaper was blocking his path, standing in precisely the same way he stood before.
‘Do not do this,’ it said.
Tom turned without thinking, bursting through the door and sprinting down the adjoining corridor. Here too the lights were dimmed and flickering intermittently. As he shot past room after room and eventually through reception, Tom saw not a single other living person. In the car park, the reaper awaited him.
‘Chasing children does not befit me, and running will do you no good. Stop.’
‘Go away!’ Tom yelled. He turned sharply, jumped a low wall, and continued his mad flight down the street. He found that no matter how fast he ran, he didn’t get tired, so he quickly made his way to the end of the road, there turning left. Here, once again, he encountered the reaper, standing in the middle of the road beneath a broken streetlight.
‘I mean it, Tom. You will regret this.’
Tom ignored him. He just needed to see his mum, she’d be so happy to see him healthy again. Jumping the garden gate, he quickly collided with the door to his house; the house where he and his mother had lived alone for as long as he could remember. The door was unlocked. Inside, all was dark.
‘Mum? Mum!’ he shouted, smiling. ‘Mum, I’m back! I’m better!’ He ran up the stairs excitedly, rushing through the door to his mother’s bedroom. There, stood the reaper, the blade of his scythe no longer shining so brightly. Tom fell to his knees, weeping softly.
‘Death is a gentle thing to those who welcome it. To those who fight, it is often more violent.’ The voice was not regretful, or triumphant, or containing any emotion at all. ‘I use my scythe when people resist, but not necessarily on the people who resist.’
| 2018-10-25T06:53:00 | 2018-10-25T05:51:52 | 646 | 117 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | And at this, I stopped.
"So... we *can* resist."
And though the toothy grin remained, it's smile was gone. "**Ah. Cunning. But clever wheat is still just wheat...**"
But as it swung the glittering edge at me, I heard, as if through deep water- "Charging to 200 Joules. Clear!"
And I was back, surrounded by the white coats of my colleagues, the cold paddles still pressed to my bared chest, the shrill warning cries of machines attached to my veins and nerves settling back to tame chirps -
"Did you see him?" My partner said, face neutral, but eagerness betrayed by that quaver in his voice.
"*It*. Yes. Yes, I saw it." It, the reason for this dangerous gambit...
The room hushed. An expectant silence.
I looked at them, and I felt my eyes well with glad tears. With pride. For us. For humankind.
And for the kind of thing we were finally showing ourselves to be: not scared, not wheat in a field.
"*We can win.*"
A great whoop of joy filled the room, spread into the hall, out the doors into the streets beyond. And the sullen darkness between the stars began to hear the footsteps behind.
| I often find myself thinking about death. What is death, where do we go after death? Who is death? Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it. Like a soft breeze, or a bashful kiss. Why wait for death to start living?
"Momma how do you know Death"
"Deaths waiting for me, my child, I've come to face Death. To fight death, in the battle for life. I'm going to...kill death"
I hear her words in my head again "death is a gentle thing...." it's been about 6 years since my mother's battle with Death. She brought herself to his door, banged it down with all her might, that women sounded like the devil himself. I would of been scared, no I was scared. "Come out Death!" she screamed, "come out and fight, or admit your defeat." His big door opened, "woman, you dare fight me? In the condition you're in, you think you'd win?"
Stomping her feet to seem more powerful she screams "I'll win, I'll always win." he looked at her and said "death is a gentle thing if you welcome it like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss" grabbing his scythe, I screamed "wait, Death, what's the scythe for?! Turning slowly to me then looking at her, my beautiful mother, he responded with "it's for the people who resist." And they fought. My mothers cancer ridden body, laying lifeless in front of us in the hospital bed, the doctor has informed us that she has lost her battle with cancer, she lost the battle... She lost...
I'm hunting Death. I will kill death. | 2018-10-25T09:22:40 | 2018-10-25T08:59:20 | 71 | 10 |
[WP] Upon their death, each individual must battle every living thing they killed to proceed to the afterlife. At the gates, a mild mannered person finds they are faced with an unexpected fight.
When I first thought of the prompt, Leiningen Versus the Ants part 2 seemed like it would be kind of amusing.
Have fun with it. | One bad investment is all that it took,
for mild mannered Melvin to get thrown the book.
He was kind, he was generous, all through his life,
helping out children, being good to his wife.
But a fateful investment in 1983,
would make him fight a great battle to set his soul free.
A non profit with claims of having the answer,
that with animal DNA they could cure cancer.
Taking immunity from ducks and the strength of a horse,
you see where this is going and yes, but of course.
Duck sized horses and horse sized ducks,
now brace yourself reader because the next part sucks.
They had to pull the plug and murder the lot,
failing at curing cancer but thickening the plot.
Now poor fuckin Melvin stands at the gate,
Facing his abominations and learning his fate.
The Devil and God both equally mad,
but excited for what was next cause it was sure to be rad. | The last thing I remember was showing my wife the picture.
It was date night, and we'd had a lovely evening. We dressed up for a fancy dinner, drank wine and lauged. We stood in the warm rain in the parking lot, grinning like idiots and turning slow circles to a song only we could hear. On the drive home, I texted the sitter to check on the kids.
Claire was singing along with the radio, enjoying driving the empty, winding road.
I got a text back from the sitter -- a series of pictures of a small play the kids had put on for her. They had costumes made of cardboard and blankets. They got the dog involved. I leaned over to show her the picture.
Ahead of us, another car was taking the corner too wide. Claire swerved, missed it -- and lost control in the rain. We went through a guard rail and everything just dropped away.
Now I stood facing her, still in our evening wear. Her hair was up, her dress flowing, her neckline slim and graceful... just radiant.
The rules had been explained to us. She was the driver that killed me. I was the reason for the accident that killed her. Heaven waited for us... just on the other side of Hell.
| 2018-11-09T11:34:57 | 2018-11-09T11:28:06 | 144 | 58 |
[WP] To keep up the illusion that you got into MIT, you’ve been showing your parents your “research” every semester. They’ve published it without your knowledge, and you’re now receiving the Nobel Prize in every category. | Your majesty, your royal highness, Mr. President, excellencies, ladies and gentlemen. I am honored and humbled to accept the Noble peace prize for my Thesis on **How to properly integrate Social, Culture and Political motivations into widely recognized internet formats.**
Or as it’s more commonly called **How to make good memes.**
Just like many in my generation, I have been looking at memes all my life. I was first understood their true power when I was studying for my entrance exams at MIT. Even though I knew these exams to be one of the most important tests I would ever take in my life. I was unable to focus because I was spending all of my time browsing memes on Reddit.
I did pass the exam but only by a small margin. When I asked my friends who had also taken the test to try and get in why they had failed the exam, they also confessed that they spent too much time looking at memes online.
It was after failing- I mean, taking the test, did I really start studying memes in their entirety. I asked myself, how could something as simple as random images on the internet be so addictive? How could bright young students like my friends be so irresponsible! To be viewing Reddit right before their big exam?!
*Shaking head*
When I first started posting memes online, I was simply doing it to pass the time. E-Even though I was enrolled in one of the most prestigious and demanding universities in the world. I found the workload to be *too easy*. So I found a something that was even more challenging than being able to maintain a 4.0 GPA at MIT and that was creating popular memes.
Before I knew it, I amassed over 1 trillion Karma on Reddit. It was then that the United Nations contacted me. They were concerned over Chinese influence on the internet. The idea of a global dictatorship was becoming more and more mainstream thanks to the advanced Chinese memes their government was producing.
They asked for my help and so, I constructed for them, what is now called ***The Meme Machine.*** A basic formula anyone can follow to be able to effectively create memes and influence millions.
Thanks to my powerful and easy to follow formula. The idea of Free Speech, human rights, and Free government was instilled into the Chinese population. Who had until that point, been corrupted with dirty communist memes.
So I am proud to say thanks to our efforts, for the first time in China, they will be having their first open and free election.
*Audience applause*
Memes are consumed by everyone with access to the internet. NO matter their age, gender, race, social or economic standing. Memes are the primary tool for people's information, entertainment and social ideals. We must Meme responsibly to ensure that the ideals of peace, unity and freedom are instilled to every man women and child in the human race.
Before I end my speech I would like to thank my parents. My Mother for always pushing me and doing things I never asked her to do. To go above and beyond what normal mothers are expected of them.
And to my father, who taught me the value of a good education. If not for him *constantly* pressuring me to get into MIT, I would never have never been set on this path in the first place. Thank you all very much.
*audience applause and stands*
(Now that I have a noble prize, I bet no one will even check whether or not I've even been at MIT) | I started as a part-time... You know what. That was terrible job and I don’t want to go back and live that moments again.
I've dreamed to become rich and famous but when you have no one to help you except your junkie friend who even doesn’t remember his own birthday. You are shit out of luck. One day, I met a girl who was drunk enough to give her number to me then, she started to regret it she sent me a clear message that she is not interested in me. That was all understandable but same day I also met another drunk person who didn’t ditch on me when he got sober. His name is William and he didn’t try to hit on me, at least he didn’t tell me that he loves me... anyways he had this funny idea about being able to teleporting some random object from the past. At first it sounded impossible, then day after when I woke up I found a piece of paper that has said ’I’m gone for 5 days and this is for you.’
I looked everywhere to find what William left to me. But I couldn’t find anywhere in my room. So, I searched living room and thought that he was probably baiting me. At the 4th day it struck me paper that he wrote was slightly different than any other paper I knew before. I hold it aganist the light and it did nothing. I tried many things and even I thought about setting it on fire or spilling water on it but I wasn’t sure.
I was relaxing thanks to my junkie friends stash and when I tried to read the paper that William wrote it turned into numbers. I had no idea what those numbers meant and as soon as I pulled my laptop and entered them on search engine nothing came up. That was total let down and I felt emotional and threw my laptop to the wall. I’m just a random loser who tricks own parents. I couldn’t enrol to MIT and I even didn’t apply to any other university. All I did was sending random picture to my parents to make them think I’m a smart kid but I’m not.
All that emotional phase got interrupted by someone knocking on my door in the middle of the night. I told them to fuck off but they instead kicked my door down or they broke my door I was too high to known the difference. They took me to some place where everything insanely clean and orginized. I was alone in the room. I said ‘Hey!’ but no one answered. Then, I realised there was a computer right in front of me that said ‘I want you to enter this code; 'X2JH9B3LZ5Z2M1’
This set of code triggered wall of text that I didn’t recognized. Then some printer started working and around ten to fifteen minutes later printer stopped. It was some sort of 3D printer and it had some device in it.
Computer said ‘Now enter this code; 'P7NA1VY61X’
As I entered device started make noise. Noise was getting louder every second then at one point it settled down and when it did, it shooted one capsule to the ground. I took the capsule and I opened it. It was the paper that William left me.
Computer didn’t say anything this time and I tried to enter the code that was on the paper but everything shut down before I get the chance to do that.
Afterwards, I found myself laying in the bath tub in my house. My first instict was it was just a dream. Then, I find William smiling ‘Here is the hero. You saved me, you saved us.’
A fews weeks later whole science magazines and all newspapers was talking about me inventing increadible device that is able to teleport object from the past. It was just like a dream.
--------------------------------------
*Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker* | 2019-03-05T18:27:59 | 2019-03-05T18:27:18 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | ..and why dot com
I woke up after hearing that. It was a very lucid dream. Far more than any other I had. I was plain awake, but decided in grabbing my phone. Just to feel safe and reassure myself that it was a dream.
The webpage started to load and..
"Maximiliam Smith. Heaven."
I stared, unflinching. Was this a joke? But in my quiet room, in the night, nobody was laughing. I did heard a few screams outside my apartment. But the screen called to me. There were two other paragraphs.
"Worked hard and persevered through the tier 1 problem provided by the DD (Divine Department) in his psyche. Saved 3 lifes unawarely. Expected result was suicide due to depression at 20 and a would-be reward at our DRCSS (Divine Rehab Center for Sad Souls). Actual result was hard working to keep his sick mother well and a 7.8 average in empathy towards the ones around him. Potential candidate to work at DD as manager and virtue provider."
I started crying. Fuck. Was this a dream? Fuck. There was another paragraph which I read through foggy eyes.
Your effort was noted. Well done :)
\-G
&#x200B;
Beneath the signature there were a few buttons.
\-Deep detail analysis
\-Statistics
\-What about my friends?
\-Will I see my dog?
\-Contact us
&#x200B;
I let my tears flow.
&#x200B;
Edit - Part2: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cw3owk/wp\_at\_once\_and\_everywhere\_each\_living\_person\_has/eyacrrx?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cw3owk/wp_at_once_and_everywhere_each_living_person_has/eyacrrx?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) | "... and don't forget to share, like and subscribe."
I furrowed my brows and looked around the subway in search of the voice. *What the hell was that?* From the corner of my eye, however, I saw the other commuters turning around in confusion as well. I opened my mouth slightly.
"Did... did you hear that?" A lady asked a suited man opposite me, breaking the silence. He nodded slowly, his eyes wide. The subway immediately broke into hushed whispers and frazzled hubbub.
I got out of the train as soon as it pulled up to its next stop. Pulling out my phone, I called a cab home. Texting my boss to let him know crossed my mind, but I realised how ridiculous that was.
I held my phone in my hand and bit my lip. Reluctantly, I opened up a web browser and typed in, slowly, almost incredulously, [*willigotohellandwhy.com*](https://willigotohellandwhy.com)*.*
The webpage loaded up slowly, with a goofy-looking search bar in the middle. My fingers shaking, I typed in *Louise Milberger.*
The page opened at an excruciating turtle's pace. I pursed my lips. It was done. The page was white with glaringly large red text. I looked around to find a whole subway station frozen, glued to their phones.
A strange silence befell the city.
I looked back down.
YES. Reason: Net good done in your life was offset by your job.
A steel ball dropped in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed. I knew it. A prosecutor, defending criminals. It was deplorable, but it made enough cash for the kids. I had to change.
Around me, as their webpages loaded, noise and chatter filled the air once again. Some were sobbing, some furious. Some just plain confused.
I swiped away the webpage and set my phone down on the subway bench. My feet moved naturally, guided without having to think about it. I joined the sea of people leaving the subway.
I'm going to change.
And I'm not going to look back.
\---
edit: I've been told that being a prosecutor isn't a morally ambiguous or immoral job. Apologies! | 2019-08-27T09:16:07 | 2019-08-27T08:25:08 | 4,258 | 108 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | The weather outside was dark, with the sky illuminated solely by the occasional lightning streak that ran across the clouds.
Jason was driving and on his way to work, when it began to lightly sprinkle, the automatic windshield wipers activating at the slightest hint of moisture.
He switched the radio on and dialed through the channels, *static noises*...”I want you to love me...living on a prayer...” Finally settling on the first clear channel he heard—104.7FM. “Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe.”
“What in the world?” He muttered out loud. “Must be a prank caller,” He pulled into the first available slot in the office park.
Badging into the secure access door he noticed some chatter amongst his late night teammates. “Yo, Jason did you hear the announcement?” Baffled he asked them what they meant.
It became obviously clear that what he had heard from the radio was not subject to his sole experience, everyone seemed to have heard this announcement from God.
Quickly, Ricky, a shy introverted computer nerd launched the latest version of Firefox from his laptop and threw up the cast on the nearest meeting screen.
‘www.WillIgotohellandwhy.com'
Immediately he typed his own name:
Ricky Punnam
STATUS: Hell OFFENSE: Lust, Blasphemy, gluttony, ... the list continued.
“What the hell,” he exclaimed quickly realizing the folly of his remark as another sin to his list.
The other began to search their names on their computer and phones only to find the same.
Jason an information security specialist by trade. piped in, I wonder if God sanitizes his inputs?
He entered his query:
Jason’); DROP TABLE Sinners—
Instantly the screen went blank. Ricky searches his name again—Nothing.
Moral of the story: Sanitize your inputs people. | "... and don't forget to share, like and subscribe."
I furrowed my brows and looked around the subway in search of the voice. *What the hell was that?* From the corner of my eye, however, I saw the other commuters turning around in confusion as well. I opened my mouth slightly.
"Did... did you hear that?" A lady asked a suited man opposite me, breaking the silence. He nodded slowly, his eyes wide. The subway immediately broke into hushed whispers and frazzled hubbub.
I got out of the train as soon as it pulled up to its next stop. Pulling out my phone, I called a cab home. Texting my boss to let him know crossed my mind, but I realised how ridiculous that was.
I held my phone in my hand and bit my lip. Reluctantly, I opened up a web browser and typed in, slowly, almost incredulously, [*willigotohellandwhy.com*](https://willigotohellandwhy.com)*.*
The webpage loaded up slowly, with a goofy-looking search bar in the middle. My fingers shaking, I typed in *Louise Milberger.*
The page opened at an excruciating turtle's pace. I pursed my lips. It was done. The page was white with glaringly large red text. I looked around to find a whole subway station frozen, glued to their phones.
A strange silence befell the city.
I looked back down.
YES. Reason: Net good done in your life was offset by your job.
A steel ball dropped in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed. I knew it. A prosecutor, defending criminals. It was deplorable, but it made enough cash for the kids. I had to change.
Around me, as their webpages loaded, noise and chatter filled the air once again. Some were sobbing, some furious. Some just plain confused.
I swiped away the webpage and set my phone down on the subway bench. My feet moved naturally, guided without having to think about it. I joined the sea of people leaving the subway.
I'm going to change.
And I'm not going to look back.
\---
edit: I've been told that being a prosecutor isn't a morally ambiguous or immoral job. Apologies! | 2019-08-27T09:24:21 | 2019-08-27T08:25:08 | 223 | 108 |
[WP] They threw you into the volcano as a virgin sacrifice. They didn't expect you to walk out. | *Edit: Thank you for all the love! I would love critiques on my writing, so please, shoot away. I know I have grammatical issues in this one, oof*
I hadn’t wanted to die. Not had I wanted to burn. Do you know what it felt like, to see and smell yourself burning?
Perhaps not, but I do. You don't just sink and disappear. I mean, yes, you do, but the moment the organic matter that is your body melted into the lava, the gases released will induce the liquid fire to fountain. Your head may not have submerged yet but, trust me, it would have already started to burn and disintegrate.
When the Grand Priestess of Doric threw me in, all tied up and gagged, there hd been little mercy in her eyes. Or perhaps there were none. I didn't know anymore. I thought I had shown all promises of being a Doric Priestess. I thought I had done everything to be worthy.
Apparently, it wasn't enough.
At one point, I felt no more pain, saw no more fires. Only darkness. I could no longer smell the sulphur, the burning flesh, nothing. All that I felt was one thing.
Hatred. Or perhaps anger. Or both. Towards everything and everyone. Even in the blackness of my surroundings I was consumed with the bitter and rawness of putrid hate and loathing.
A voice floated from the darkness. *"Do you desire death?"*
I stirred. Who spoke to me?
The voice boomed again. *"Do you desire death?"*
"Am I... not dead?" I asked.
*"I do not refer to you."* The voice was nearly undescribable. To me, at least. It sounded nothing like anyone or anything I was familiar with. It was ancient and if I hadn't concentrated, I would have thought I was talking to molten lava.
"Are you asking me who I want dead?" Was I speaking? I couldn't feel my mouth nor any part of my body, so am I really talking?
"Yes."
I thought for a moment. "Everyone," I whispered. Or I thought I whispered, I couldn't tell.
"If that is what you desire, I will grant it."
"I cannot offer you anything in return."
"I only require the unbridled emotions of a Priestess of the Land."
I stared into the darkness. It spoke to me, yet I do not see its body. But I could feel it. It was everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time.
"Who... are you?"
There was a pregnant pause. "You know who I am. You have worshipped me, served me, loved me."
Realization dawned upon me then. I raised a hand that I couldn't see. I shed a tear that I couldn't feel.
"Vesuvius," I said.
Something engulfed me, a presence so huge I felt myself swell, growing bigger, brimming with power waiting to explode, to burst. Suddenly, the darkness was darkness no more. I was surrounded by energy, red as fire, golden as the sun. I felt my hands, my face, my body.
Vesuvius spoke then, its voice a roar, a thunder, an earthquake. The eye of the storm. ***”Name the death you desire.”***
I looked up and saw the skies. The blue skies. I remembered how I was dragged to the courtyard, flogged in public, raped in the nights. The jealousy of the Grand Priestess knew no boundaries. Knew no mercy. And no one, *no one* listened to me.
I gave Vesuvius one word, and only one. A word that gave me no happiness, no joy. Nothing but hatred.
"Pompeii." | The fire; oh Gods above! That fire! It clawed at my skin and ate it alive. It was such a searing pain! “Please!” I shouted, garbled by the fire as it invaded my insides, “Please take the fire away!” My eyes were boiling out of my skull! How was I not dying?! I want to die… Really I do. I want to be the good little virgin sacrifice and die… Anything to stop the fire!
But slowly, as I calm, I notice the burn is dying. No… fading, not dying. It’s fading to a bliss inducing warmth. Something covers my eyelid from the inside, and then I can open them. In the lava. I can have my eyes open in the lava?
Patting myself down, I try to take stock of how much of me has been removed by the thick and hot substance I had been chucked into. My hands were scaly and clawed, fingers ending in long curved talons. The scales ran up past my elbows, which bore spines that were long and thin, but rigid and unbreakable. My chest and nethers were likewise covered in these scales, which made me feel a great deal more modest now that my clothes had burned away. This scaled, taloned look enxtended up past my knees as well from my toes. They were a shade between crimson and bloody amber, and my new talons and spines looked like shimmering gold.
***Gold.***
A hot and burning desire spurned through me at the thought of gold; a desire to have and to keep it. Not because of monetary value, but just because it was bright and sparkling and there for the taking. New instincts were trying to replace my human ones, and I shook my head in attempt to clear it.
Why, though, was I trying to resist this? What had humans ever done for me but tell me to be seen and not heard? Demand that I pick up after the men and bend to their will? Insult my intelligence simply for the bosom I bear and the lack of phallus upon my loins? I was their baby maker. Their housemaker. Their ***slave.***
I could *feel* my eyes changing their shape. It felt good – euphoric even! I laughed aloud among the magma, sinking deeper into the freeing instincts of what I had realized I was becoming. Oh yes. I had been the good little virgin sacrifice. I had been pure; resisting the often violent call of my draconic desires. I had been the good little human girl, and so I now earned the right to be the oh so bad dragon demon!
My new wings burst from my back and propelled my new frame through the lava. Magic coursed in my blood. The flame sacs burrowed neatly in behind my far more roomy sinuses. Horns burst from my skull; the bright red of fresh blood.
“What?! That’s impossible!” One of the priests wails as my new form explodes from the lava, my head leaning back to spew curse green fire to the heavens. They scattered as I make my landing amongst them. Pupils slitting, I snarl at each of them, new carnivorous teeth glinting ivory in the silhouetted light of the volcano.
“Impossible? No no.” My voice now commanded authority in a silken and dangerous purr. “I know now why my father was absent all these years. It is his blood that thunders in me now. He died at your hands, and you all thought I was the next messiah; my ‘virgin’ mother birthing the final sacrifice to your putrid God. Well now here I am. And I’ve played my part. No more shall I be the repressed and cowed wench Arbora! Now I shall direct the play. Bow, mortals, before Zanalda! Daughter of Xandor and Chariste!”
And to teach them their first lesson of many to come, I covered their leader in my green fire, sentencing him to the same fate he had deigned should be for me. | 2020-01-27T22:49:02 | 2020-01-27T21:51:23 | 99 | 27 |
[WP] As you stand infront of the sink washing a glass mug, you have the sudden urge to say a number. The number twenty-two leaves your lips, and for half a second you know why you've said it. This is the 22nd time you've remembered you are trapped in this loop. For half a second you remember. | I walked to the sink and picked up my mug.
I stood placidly for a while, staring at it, and the way the light from my kitchen window played off its smooth surface and the soap suds.
It seemed like the world no longer existed - as if I were in a trance. Like in a dream, where context and reason dissolve into the background, and your thoughts are nothing more than whispers, lost in the wind.
I continued washing it for a while, when my empty, hazy mind lit up.
"Twenty-two."
I catch myself. Did I just say that? Why did I say that?
Where am I?
Panic sinks in, and a black sense of dread grips my heart with steel talons and jerks it downward. I remember. I remember it all now.
I dropped the mug, letting it clatter in the sink. I had to escape. Oh fuck. I looked around frantically for an exit. I-
I walked to the sink and picked up my mug. | As I stood infront of the sink washing a glass mug, I had he sudden urge to say a number. The number twenty-two leaves my lips, and for half a second I know why I've said it. This is the 22nd time I've remembered that I'm trapped in this loop. For half a second I remember. And then I go back to washing my glass mug.
As I stood infront of the sink washing a glass mug, I had he sudden urge to say a number. The number twenty-three leaves my lips, and for half a second I know why I've said it. This is the 23rd time I've remembered that I'm trapped in this loop. For half a second I remember. And then I go back to washing my glass mug.
As I stood infront of the sink washing a glass mug, I had he sudden urge to say a number. The number twenty-four leaves my lips, and for half a second I know why I've said it. This is the 24th time I've remembered that I'm trapped in this loop. For half a second I remember. And then I go back to washing my glass mug.
As I stood in front of the sink... | 2020-03-03T13:25:45 | 2020-03-03T11:54:41 | 103 | 15 |
[WP] A ravenous hive-mind seeks to eat every living thing alive, expecting a galaxy full of cowardly prey for it to use its pursuit hunting tactics on. Humans, a sizable galactic power, decides to show it what actual warfare looks like. | Life on Gastronom IV was simple. Slink up behind the large dimwitted Slakin and rapidly beat your wings. The resulting noise would fluster and embarrass the creatures leaving them completely open to attack. Some Slakin were so discomforted they'd even cover their eyestalks and skip most of the useless twitching that'd usually follow piercing the creatures with my proboscis.
Our mission was simple, reconnect with the forces sent to pacify T94b, AKA earth. They should have reported back. It'd been 900 years.
It's not simple anymore... my Friends are dead. Crushed underfoot by the giant hoo-mankin. Moments after, our ship landed, a fell warcry rung out "another freaking drone." A giant moving on two vast trunk like appendages struck us with the leftmost one. Our life humidification system was the first to go leaving the larva brittle and broken. Burning and fleeing the remains of the ship. The swarm emerged to strike back. But our wing beating did not even phase the foe. It's second warcry came with a contempt carried beyond the language barrier. "Stupid Mosquitos." | There is a lot to say about humans, they are very emotional beings, their entire society is build around concepts that many species can't even understand, love, friendship, solidarity it is a mess, but also their greatest strength, a hive mind loves consistency, and with every human it try to assimilate it comes a train wreck of emotions most species can't handle.
Humans knowing this well, send their most unstable crazy people to the frontlines, a trap that the hive fall right into, when war breaks and their initial attack fails miserably because of that, it is clear now humans have the ball and trying to assimilate them isn't going to be easy.
Unfortunately for the hive humans have a sense of moral duty, the thought of robbing hundreds of thousands of their "free will" as they call it, make humans feel the need to fight the hive.
They first study and try to counteract the effects of the assimilation, curiosity, another thing humans are known for. First the hive can't assimilate them now they are actively reducing their numbers the war extend for years but humans don't seem to cave, since prehistoric times humans where persistent hunters, they ruled their planet because no other animal was as smart and of course able to hunt things downs for days, now they are willing to spend years to win
Eventually the hive surrender, they are force to rebuild what they had taken, return everyone, and leave, humans didn't want the credit at all, something about being altruistic and selfless, but the species save remember, and will be there when humans need help | 2020-05-18T22:39:41 | 2020-05-18T17:51:57 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. | You may or may not have heard of the 'Sunk Cost Fallacy'. If not, let me explain. The sunk cost fallacy is a phenomenon by which someone, say a gambler, will continue down a path due to the idea that they have gone too far to turn back. I invest, for instance, £100 and lose every penny but I decide that I've gone so far that I cannot afford to let that stand, so I try to win it back by investing more and, in turn, lose more.
This is the problem.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
Wonderfully vague instructions with no clear rhyme nor reason as to why I should follow them, no clear threat as to what should happen if I leave and no understanding of where I am, how I got here and where I am going. Logically, I should get off the train but the reality is that I've been on so long that I may as well see it through to the end now because if I don't, who knows what might happen?
The rules are simple.
1) The train is exactly 12 carriages long, the exact nature of which varies but always includes a dining car and a sleeping car.
2) The train stops every 24 hours at exactly midday and continues non-stop between these times.
3) The layout and makeup of the train changes after each stop, apparently instantly and with no sign of the previous layout. Consistent carriages such as the dining or sleeping car always remain.
4) The stops appear to be totally random and range from what looks like normal country train stations or subways at various locations around the world to impossible locations such as an underwater train station, a station in space or what appears to be an endless pit. Sometimes I can see *things* beyond the train station but warnings placed around the train have carefully informed me not to look at or speak to them and that, if they approach the carriage, to hide until the train starts again.
5) I am alone on the train. Food appears without any sign of staff and the original message reappears if destroyed in the exact location I first found it (on the table I first woke up on).
6) I can leave the train at any stop but I have been told to wait until the final stop.
Every day works the same way from beginning to end. I wake up at 7.15 and eat whatever breakfast is provided to me. I explore the current layout for a few hours and then sit down with a book. On days where there is a library, I will return the books I've finished and withdraw new ones. Oh! Don't forget:
7) Do not enter the library between 1.15 AM and 2.32 AM and **never** stay longer than 67 minutes at a time. Truth be told, I have no more idea why I should follow these rules anymore than the others or what the consequences should be if I didn't and yet I follow them anyway.
Eventually, 12 PM rolls around and I stand as the train slows to its stop. I take a glance out of the window to see where we are, trying to make sense of the oftentimes garbled names of the stations. The doors slide open, creaking gently as they do so, and cool air floods the doorway. I know that even if the depths of space if I were to step out of the train, I could feel that cool air, breath it in with no consequence or harm. I know that I could leave this all behind. I know, for that one blessed instance, that the rules and mandates that I accept so easily could be stripped away and forgotten if I just took that one step.
Out there is everything. Just beyond my fingertips are lives and worlds and experiences I could touch and breathe and live if I just stepped outside of the train for once. It would be so easy to do so, to just slide my foot a fraction of an inch further until it was too late to go back.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
The words come back again, that vague foreboding of unimagined punishments, horrifying torments and brutal deaths flood my mind.
*You've come this far, you've made it through so many stops. Why throw it away now? Why risk it? Tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the one and if it isn't...*
I don't step forward. I don't move at all as the doors slide shut again and, with a thud, the train picks up speed again. The station disappears into the black mist. I don't think about the station again. Nor do I think about the thousands before it except for occasionally when, in the pitch dark of the night, they come surging back into my memory until I can think of nothing else. I scan them all and wonder and the next day I stand on the edge of the train and breathe in the cool, fresh air of the station and know that I could so easily step off if I wanted.
*Tomorrow,* I think, *and if it isn't...* | Paul looked at his phone to check the time. It was 4:27 p.m. on October the 27th, 2040. Letting out a long breath he looked to the floor, head in his hands.
"Paul?"
Looking up from the floor, Paul turned to see who was calling him.
"Steve? W-what are you doing here?"
"I'm on my way to the city to grab drinks with a few friends. You ok man? You look horrible."
"Yeah, I mean, I've just been on this train for what feels like forever."
"I know the feeling. I have to commute an hour both ways as well. Sarah and I got a house a few years ago outside the city. More room for the kids, you know how that goes. What brings you to this side of the city?"
"I'm actually just riding the train. I'm sorta stuck here for a bit."
Steve sat down next to Paul.
"What's going on? Anything I can do to help?"
"I don't know. I'm kinda just stuck in this weird situation. I'd really rather not talk about it. It's been going on so long I've kinda just accepted how fucked up it as this point."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I know how hard it was for you after Rachel. Sarah still talks about her all the time. We miss her every day."
Tears were forming in Pauls eyes "Yeah, me too."
"I'm sorry to bring her up man, I didn't mean to make this weird."
"No, it's ok. I'm glad you and Sarah still remember her. Makes me realize I wasn't just dreaming the whole thing. Makes all the time I had her with her real."
*Conductor. "47th and Park"*
"This is me. I better get going. It was good to see you man. Here, let me get your number. You should stop by sometime for dinner. I'm sure Sarah would love to see you."
"I would love to... But I can't. I'm sorry."
"Well here, take my number in case you change your mind. Here's my card."
"Ok."
With that Steve left the train car and Paul was alone again.
"Hey buddy. BUDDY."
Looking up groggily, Paul saw a man in front of him. The man was dressed in a wife beater with a scraggly beard and dark lines under his eyes.
"What man? What's your problem?"
"You got any spare change man? I just need a few bucks."
"No, I don't have anything."
"Come on man, please. I just need a few bucks."
The man was scratching at his arms, then folding them under his armpits, pacing in place.
"I'm sorry, I don't have anything."
Putting his head back down, Paul closed his eyes for a second trying to get some sleep.
"Hey buddy."
Paul looked up, and all he heard was the gun go off.
"Fuck, FUCK!" Looking around, sweat dripping from him, the other passengers on the train looked worried and began moving away from Paul. Catching his breath he looked around at everyone staring at him, wide eyed, and confused.
Slowing his breathing he loosened the tie around his neck and put his head back against the glass. What the fuck had just happened? Wiping some of the sweat from his eyes he took out his phone to check what day is was. It was dead.
Looking over at the lady across from him, still staring at him, he said, "Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but what day is it?"
Looking confused, and a bit scared, she said, "Wednesday."
"No, no, I mean what is the full date. What year is it?"
"What are you talking about man? Do I need to call someone for you?"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT THE YEAR IS FOR FUCK SAKE!"
"Hey man, you can't yell at her like that. You gotta chill the fuck out."
"I'm sorry," *deep breath* "I'm sorry. Please just tell me what the full date is. It's really important."
Checking her phone, the woman said, "It's the 27th of October, 2020. Same year as it was yesterday. You happy now?"
He heard her whisper, "Fuckin crazy. I gotta get a car."
Slouching back in his seat, Paul ran his hands through his hair and wiped the tears from his eyes. It had all been a dream. He checked his pockets to look for his cigarettes when he felt a small piece of paper. Pulling it out, he unfolded it, reading the short note. More tears formed and he broke down in his seat, dropping the note on the ground.
&#x200B;
*Hey babe,*
*Don't forget we're meeting Steve and Sarah later.*
*They just moved to the north side so when you*
*leave work just get on the red line and take it all*
*the way to the end. Whatever you do don't forget,*
*it's the LAST stop. Pick up a nice bottle of wine on*
*your way.*
*Love you tons!*
*Rachel* :) | 2020-07-17T13:55:41 | 2020-07-17T13:42:33 | 48 | 31 |
[WP] All his henchmen defeated, the villain says to the hero, “Why not join me? I could use someone like you as my right hand.” And is taken a back when the hero replies, “Sure, gotta be better than what a kiss or medal or whatever dumb honorary prize they have waiting for me.” |
“Sure, gotta be better than what a kiss or medal or whatever dumb honorary prize they have waiting for me." Is what hero said, Lena Faure, a woman who came up and out of nowhere possessing great strength. A divine light in the dark times of our kingdom as we faced our greatest threat, Julius VanHuren.
Could I blame her if she was angry, possibly resentful with the sudden responsibilities thrust upon her? No. Not by any means. But this is for the people, right? Taking this guy down?
I stood behind, my sword still drawn as I let out an audible gulp, it was enough for her to hear.
*Shit.*
Slowly she turned to see me, and the faint tremble in the arms.
"Oh what's wrong?" Lena said with a smile.
"You're joking right? This is all a joke?" My voice shakes, unable to hide it. This entire time we worked together I could feel the immense power from her. Sometimes, it was hard just to stand next to her, but this time it felt like it was pointing right at me. "Please tell me that this is a joke."
"It's not." She simply said as she tilted her head at me while giving me a cheerful smile with closed eyes.
"Wha-..?" All of the air left my lungs. Stuck in disbelief I trembled just as Julius henchmen had before they met their demise. I was pitiful. A shame. I should've worked harder to become stronger. Maybe-... Maybe then she would've have turned and accepted her offer.
"Why?" I uttered, I had to know. If there was something I could've done. There had to have been something that I could've done more of.
"But I said it. You're family is going to do nothing more than give me some sort of trinket, something worthless in comparison to all of the work *I've* done." That smile remained on her face.
Oh God, she didn't know, or did she? About the ring? Instinctually I grip the small pouch on my belt, there was no potions, no bombs or clever devices, it was just a small box.
"You've been holding onto something.." She took a step closer. "Hiding something from me. Ironic considering how close we've been the past few years that you've managed to slip it by. Why don't you reveal what it is?"
There was look in her eyes, one of which I've never seen. It was malicious.
"You know I don't like secrets."
How could've I been so wrong? I'm a fool. A *Royal* fool.
"I have an idea.." A voice rang from behind. It was Julius. "How about a show of loyalty and good faith..?"
Lena turned with a curious look on her face. This wasn't enough of a distraction for me to run. She was always faster than me. But of all places, Julius' words gave me a faint hope.
"You can live your life as you see fit, with my support the entire way through. That is... If you kill the young man right there."
Lena tilted her head, her mouth agape as she contemplated the offer. "You want me to kill him?" She said.
Then in an instant she placed the tip of her sword against my chest. "Kill him like this?"
I froze.
"Please don't, Lena. I know we placed a tremendous responsibility on you, but please don't. You have to realize we gave you a chance to say no." I trembled, it couldn't end like this, there has to be some way that I can salvage this situation.
"A chance to say no? It doesn't matter if I would've said *no* or not. You and your family would've hounded me down, begging and pleading that I do something for your pitiful family." She growled.
How? How could she have thought that? This wasn't the same person that I saw when I first met. Nor a few days ago. In all of the time we spent together at the castle to lands far and in-between. Never once had we done something like that. We never would’ve tried to impose upon her, we simply were grateful that she agreed to help us. | Alistair Georgio was the farthest you could get from a simple man. Once on a holoview talk he'd been asked how many times his BlackBox had been placed in a new host, and he had laughed. His was old, updated and modernized sure, but an original. Even if it didn't contain the mind of one of the Republics most powerful men, the small piece of tech was an antique and worth a fortune to collectors. It also was completely separated from his NeuroFace, meaning it was almost completely unhackable. He knew that of course, he'd been the one to first learn and exploit those hacks.
It also meant he could be backed up easier. Somewhere there was a copy of that man, waiting to go into a new close body. But that was what 350 years of life got you. That and a whole lot of boredom it had seemed. Somewhere around 2375 he'd started buying mining colonies and stations at an alarming rate. A rate so fast that it had caused a surge in the entire market, allowing him to sell those colonies over night and make a handy profit. The value of those systems tanked and he moved onto something else. Bored with crippling the stock market for fun, he moved onto buying politicians, making deals or brokering those deals for a fee. He was a sickness that curled its fingers around everything and slowly brought himself into control of the Republic from behind the scenes. People called him The Director.
Standing in his white coat, and hair slicked back he looked down from the top of his staircase, made of genuine Earth marble, and down at the woman staring back up at him. The handgun was slack in her hand, not so much he could have crossed the distance and batted it away, but he could see her mind racing. Victoria Moreau was the picturesque hero, the one coming to tear down corruption. But Alistair knew who funded her little freedom fighter group, and he was sure she'd figured it out too. So, finally he sat on the banister, and asked again, "Why don't you join me?"
"I heard you thr first time," she retorted, and looked down at the handgun. Mister Georgio knew the story, her mentors gun, given to her before he died. She'd fought her way out of a kill squad with it. Not his kill squad, that wasn't his style, but a politician over eager to prove his worth. Alistair had had his guard poisoned and the slip and security leaked to the Underground himself. He hated people who thought they were smart. "Why?" She now asked, looking at the floor and then back up at him. She was tempted for sure.
"I could use someone like you, smart, good enough to dispatch my hired security. Clever, quick on their feet. I have great benefits as well." He said plainly, a smile on his face. He watched her consider the weapon in her hand and look back to him. She was considering the evil man he was portrayed as, an easy thing to do when the horror stories of him pulling strings as some kind of sick puppet master was all that was told. No one mentioned his countless scholarships or worker programs. He'd put more people to work than a legitimate government ever had. Of course, some those people were currently staining the antique rug, but their families would be excellently compensated. Their grandchildren wouldn't know poverty.
"It does beat whatever I'll get, huh." The words were defeated sounding. "A medal, maybe a kiss from... well, just some dumb honorary prize." The station was massive, she had to sneak past his daycares and schools, the collection of people who had genuinely good lives. She nodded slowly. It wasn't a yes, but a realization. "But I don't want you to harm my friends!" She said quickly. "They're in the freighter that's docked below."
"I know," Alistair said. "They were captured shortly after you entered the penthouse," he raised his hands in a easing gesture. "Stunned, not killed, and currently recovering in hospital. Your special friend is waiting for you, they have asked for you repeatedly, but the doctors have assured them you're fine." He pointed to a table near by. "I was hoping you weren't going to kill them, but there is the paperwork. Sign and we can get you started. Tell me, are you a wine or spirits kind of person" | 2021-03-11T23:46:11 | 2021-03-11T17:36:30 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | It was a fairly normal day for Marcus Revaili, otherwise known as Soul Eater, or simply Mr. Revaili to his henchmen, which he more thought of as his valued employees. They were on somewhat of a paycheck, after all, it was a normal day until he got an urgent call from the medical ward of his base. Within seconds he was up and running, cane tapping at the ground, swishing from side to side, searching for any potential snags or objects that could trip him.
"Doctor!"
"Ah, Mr. Revaili sir,"
"How is she?" asked Marcus, half breathless.
"Not in a good way, she's sleeping now sir but she's got serious bruising, fractures in her arms and most of her ribs, some minor internal bleeding, some bad burns on her arms and neck, and seven broken fingers."
Marcus's breathing had gone from wild and confused, to angry and calculated in the space of a second. He bowed his head and shook it,
"Jaqueline, I know you can't hear me. But I made your father a promise, And I am a man of my word." He turned to the Doctor "Do we know who did it?"
"Dungeon-master reports he saw Phire, Backhand, and Vertex, they narrowly escaped him. According to him, he got one good with his chain whip."
"Phire, Backhand, and Vertex. The Imbeciles!" Marcus ground his teeth. "I'm going after them."
He opened his phone and placed it next to his ear, without dialing anything for five seconds it called his right-hand man and butler of over twelve years.
"Phillip, would you please get my best Suit and hat ready? I'm going out."
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&#x200B;
"Bitch didn't tell us almost anything." Sighed Backhand, twirling his revolver lazily.
"But enough for us to figure out where Soul Eater is." Smugly said Vertex.
"Will you two shut up?" Sighed Phire "I'm trying to make sense of the gibberish she was spouting only seconds before that man with that god awful Executioners hood and a chain whip showed up at our door and demolished it, nearly taking my hand off in the process. You could have done something Backhand, its not like you had shot yourself recently, why didn't you jump in and absorb it?"
"I was halfway across the room okay?"
"Well, I think you should’ve-"
Phire was cut short when a polite knock echoed through the empty warehouse.
"I believe, we have some unfinished business."
"Our business isn't with you, whoever the hell you are!" yelled Phire, not noticing the pale look on Backhand's face.
"Oh please," the chain holding the door shut rusted and snapped and the door was pushed open.
"Business with my henchmen is business of mine."
Marcus stepped into the building, dressed in an immaculate pinstripe suit, with a pair of dark kid gloves, a black fedora, and a think silk scarf. His eyes were closed, as per usual, and in his hand, he held his white cane.
"Who the hell are you?" Shouted Vertex at the small, frail-looking, and blind man who had just broken into their current base of operations.
"Backhand, Backhand, Backhand, surely you didn't forget to tell your newest sidekicks, who I am? Did you let them build their own image of the feared Soul Eater?"
"Listen, Marcus."
"Did I give you permission to call me by my first name?" coldly said Marcus tilting his head a little.
"Soul Eater,"
"Thats better."
"They went too far, I'll admit that, but."
"No buts, you tortured one of my employees, you know I made her father a promise? I would keep her safe, that's why I put her in the city center, to work the facility there. It's one of the only ones the law dares not touch, being one of the best restaurants in town after all, and she loves it. And you, you took her as she was walking home, you beat her to accomplish what? Learn where I was. Backhand, you've known where I was for over five years, and you've never acted on it, are you waiting for my kryptonite to appear? Well, I hate to tell you, it doesn't exist."
"Fuck you!" suddenly yelled Vertex, stepping forward and thrusting both of his arms upwards.
Smoothly, calmly, Marcus stepped to the side, the ground where he had been standing a moment before rocketed upwards and smashed into the ceiling. Marcus looked up, then down. Then at Vertex, and opened his eyes. Vertex screamed as the life was drained from both his hands, they withered and rotted before his eyes, dark, acrid blood fell from them like a waterfall. Vertex collapsed in shock. Soul eater closed his eyes once again and nodded
"One down."
Phire lunged forward with killing intent in her eyes, Marcus snapped his eyes open for but a second and directed his gaze towards her heart, she screamed and lost her balance as her heart froze, effectively in the grips of forced cardiac arrest.
"She'll be fine, her heart will start beating again in about thirty seconds, although, I saw so much of her at once, I think she'll be rather tired for a few days. Too tired to do anything right away at least. Now for you, what could I possibly do to you? The impenetrable Backhand, you who absorb any attack and reuse it. No, I think I've done enough to you. Let these two, be your warning." Marcus turned and began to walk away, then stopped and half turned "Isn't it about time you retired Brother?"
Backhand sighed and bowed his head. "Your probably right."
"I always am. Even Father knew that" Said Marcus, before turning and leaving, never to see Backhand again. | "Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on. | 2021-03-22T09:21:55 | 2021-03-22T07:33:48 | 86 | 34 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | Normally I'm a pretty swell guy.
In a world of heroes and villains, it only makes sense that there would be those who would be considered 'super' either heroes or villains it didn't matter.
Growing up tough and rough in the heart of a rotten city, it left me quite the sourpuss. I wanted vengeance and control. I wanted to get back at the world that had done me wrong! It's only natural isn't it?
Well before I came along there was a League of Heroes. They built statues and named holidays after them. The people of the world rejoiced at their feet like worms before fish. These superheroes had some crazy powers. Being able to stop bullets, super speed, and power. Each member was a powerhouse in their own right. Even some of the toughest villains in the world dared not face the likes of the League on their own.
Where do I come into all of this, you might ask? Well let's go back a bit... when I was a child I discovered my power to be able to mind control people. Not in the way that you probably think... no, I can influence your senses. I can make you feel, see, hear, smell, and even taste whatever I desire.
In a fair fight you heroes and even superheroes would be able to crush a nobody like me, but your minds are undefendable. Your my puppet whether you like it or not.
Its been years since I came into the public eye. Hundreds of millions of dollars spent and wasted in trying to defeat me, years and rivers of blood.
Yet here I am.
You must not be too familiar with the big bads of the criminal underworld, your still young, still so *soft* and *malleable*... its almost uplifting to see such vigor and spirit in heroes so young and strong.
But... this world is not soft, nor malleable. I can see it in your face that you don't understand... your mentor does. Tell me... Lightning, do you know who I am?
"Your... the... Manager..."
Good... you understand.
Tell me, do you remember beating the crap out of a gentlemen who was in Region 3's Information Quarter?
"Yes... he was terrorizing civilians, and wielding a deadly weapon." Lightning said quietly.
Which one of you will be paying for his medical bills??
"He got what he deserved! And eventually we will get you too!"
Ah... I see your the one that beat up on my poor employee. Well then, since you have no remorse for inflicting pain upon my minion, perhaps I should do the same to you?
"Do your worst!"
"Thunder, stop being stupid!" Lightning snapped, his eyes indicating urgency.
Thunder looked at Lightning and nodded his head and closed his eyes. He calmly exhaled and said "I'm sorry."
Sorry? I don't care about apologies, I care about my employees medical bills.
"I will undertake his medical expenses, and I will gladly pay for any therapy he may need!" Lightning exclaimed.
I see. Always so quick to defend your sidekick. Well... now I'm in the mood to hurt something. Lightning. Choose which of you gets hurt.
"You can't be serious!" Lightning exclaimed, shivering in panic and fear.
Oh... I am serious. One of you will be hurt. Now choose or I pick. And I hate choosing...
"Me!" Lightning yelled, he began crying. Thunder looked at his mentor as though he had never laid eyes on him before.
You? Why sacrifice yourself?
"Because he's just a boy, Manager. Thunder is just a boy! He has parents who love him!"
I see. Very well then. Your noble request is granted.
Suddenly Lightning began screaming bloody murder, his body thrashed and he began having seizures. His jerking became so bad he nearly fell over in his chair, but Manager held the chair firm.
Manager stared daggers into Thunder as Lightning screamed and screamed. For what seemed like an eternity, the small room was filled with nothing but the coarse screams of one of the most beloved heroes in the League.
Thunder began to cry, it was too much.
Suddenly, like a cat, Manager snatched Thunder up by his jaw, and threw him to the ground as Lightning's screams gradually faded to whimpers.
The sudden drop to the floor knocked the wind out of Thunder, and a sharp knee as Manager pinned him to the ground caused him to inhale sharply.
"Now you listen here, *boy*. Your mentor was just tortured for 24 hours in his mind. Every nerve in his body was alight in pain and agony. Because of *you*. When he regains his senses, you will be free to go. But the next time you hear my voice, it will be __you__ that will be screaming."
Manager stood up and turned to leave, but he paused and turned around to add, "be proud that in your haste to dispense *justice* that my employee was not harmed in any real debilitating way. If he went into a coma or would become disabled in any way...... you and your mentor would not have gotten away with just this much."
Within seconds, Thunder was not in a small dark room, he was on the side of the road, with Lightning beside him, still whimpering in pain. The twelve o'clock train whizzed by behind them. Thunder looked around, desperately to find the villain called Manager, but he couldn't see anyone suspicious. As one would expect in a big city at the peak of noon. There was simply too many people to even begin to try and find "Manager"
Out of all of the villains and even super villains, not one of them had ever so thoroughly crush Lightning. Even Thunder himself was so terrified for his life that he wet himself.
Later on, Thunder learned that the Manager was a villain so dangerous that anytime his name is even mentioned, all of the big heroes froze in fear. The Hero "Freezer" told Thunder that there was once a Hero that was indestructible. He was called a 'superman' but in the short time he was a hero, he never lost a fight. Until he faced the Manager. And when he did, the Manager killed him. The doctors could find nothing wrong with him physically. They eventually deduced that he simply died from too much stress. He mustve endured so much pain and stress that he simply broke. His heart and brain couldn't stand the intensity of the torture, and so he died. | Everyone has an origin story. From the highest to the lowest, to those with no powers to near gods.
I was a short, malnourished, and plain small-time thief in a dying industrial town in a small East European country. I could dig through memories, but used it to find where marks hid money, phones and jewelry. No one took notice, and I didn't care to tell them.
I learned a lot more rifling through minds. I learned English.
Piotr was an unassuming middle-aged man who hid some loot, according to my bosses. They wanted me to ask him some questions.
I was arrogant, and felt that my bosses were finally appreciating my talents.
Piotr was a tough man. Pain made him only wince. Twisting memories only made him more withdrawn.
He spat in my face, and I unleashed a psychic storm. He laughed while screaming in pain, then collapsed on the cold wooden floor.
The bosses turned me out, rather than execute me for failure.
I believed in God. Don't think that supervillains don't believe. I knew that I had killed a man because of my wounded pride, and that I must repent of my vanity. I vowed that I would never use my powers directly until I mastered it.
After Piotr's death, and my exile, I knew that I had to make drastic changes in my organization and in so many others.
I murdered people, my own and of rival gangs. I recruited their frightened soldiers. Every monarch has blood on their hands, but I made changes. They each had full health care. They had a discreet share of the profits of my endeavors. I left my door open if they needed to talk.
Other villains were horrified. They will betray you. What about moles? Yet, I knew that I could kill if it came to that. I recruited those who did their jobs well and wanted no more than that.
I had a good life. I had those who feared me and those who respected me. Still, I haven't mastered my vanity.
I was holding Onyx, my cat, when Seb was dragged, dazed but without visible marks.
"Seb, what happened?"
He spoke through dry lips. "Beat me real bad with old phone books. Sean Jones, he wants you to know he beat me. Sean . . ."
Adnan sneered while pulling Seb up. "Probably some dumb superhero showing off," Adnan said.
I shook my head. Adnan looked around the room, as if trying to hide. I wasn't angry at him.. Piotr's memories grabbed at the edges of my reasoning.
Seb coughed and Adnan wiped away blood and saliva with a tissue. "He'll be at the war memorial at sunset," Seb said in a hoarse mumble, before he coughed again.
"I don't like it. It sounds like a trap." Mira rose from a pickpocket to my second-in-command.
"You may be right," I said, looking into her dark and uncertain eyes. "I am still going."
"Why?"
"I used my powers in a way that I'm not proud of. I want to close that chapter. I trust that you will hold down the compound, Mira."
"Nastya . . ."
"Yes?"
"Message me if . . . When it's over."
"Of course." I handed Onyx to her and walked down the long underground chamber to outside.
My driver pulled in just as the setting sun hit the shield of the Defender of the Martyrs of the Nation (it sounds less mawkish in its original language). A tall and lean man stood by her feet. He wore a plumber's jumpsuit with a flat and dark cap.
"Sean Jones?"
"You know me, then?"
"Who doesn’t?" He took off his cap, and showed short and gray hair. Old superheros are unexpected, and a superhuman without a handle is unheard of. He may be before my time, but everyone knew of the Cold War superspy who could survive anything.
He retired, though, right? Never mind. He has enough free time to remember unfinished business.
Nevertheless, I had a reputation to uphold. "It's the 21st century, old man. Torture doesn't yield useful information. Even your M5 doesn't get their hands dirty like that. What, did you get carried away and thought that it was 1962?"
He smirked. "I wasn't after mere information. I wanted answers. I lost someone 15 years ago."
He didn't always have gray hair, it was light brown. I couldn't see much of his face, but there were new wrinkles.
"You knew Piotr."
"He was a contact of mine."
"You were lovers."
"No wonder that you didn't come after me. You're young and don't care."
"Come at you for what? Blackmail? Your employers no longer give a damn. I'm no priest, and I didn't care what Piotr did in his free time."
"I didn't know before I started. I thought that I was just punishing a soldier falling short of my bosses' expectations. Then I let myself take it personally. " I turned away to wipe my eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, and I can't just say that I was following orders--"
"Criminal enterprises don't hold themselves to the Nuremberg laws." He bowed his head. "I do, however, see your point. It did inspire you, though." He chuckled.
"I didn't intend for him to die." I winced at how childish I sounded.
"You made a lot of changes. It's admirable, in a way."
"It isn't enough for you." I stretched my fingers out, making fists and letting again. "You couldn't forget even after 15 years."
"Certainly, and forgiving was out of the question. "
I moved closer. I could see a faint bronze glow around Sean. I knew that it wasn't the sun.
"Caring about people hurts."
"You took that risk."
"So did you."
The bronze glow became a stream of light. I focused on his eyes, willing tendrils of pain.
"If I win, I would have gotten rid of a major benefactor of organized crime. If you win, you would have a prestigious notch on your belt--"
"And you can finally die."
He sighed. "I always seek mutual benefit in these situations. "
One tendril knocked him back down. He staggered up, and glowed brighter. I could feel my clothes catch fire. I could feel my pride burn away. | 2021-03-22T10:29:03 | 2021-03-22T09:30:23 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] The Galactic federation has two odd rules on the topic of Terrans. 1.Never tell a human not to do something- some primal urge will compel them to do the thing. 2.Never tell a human to do something they're already doing unless you want it to be unceremoniously halted. | "Hey Trunker, should I go try to pet that thing?"
"What?"
"That thing over there, should I go pet it?"
Trnkr turned all four eyestalks towards Adam in disbelief. "Let me clarify, because I think my translator is malfunctioning. Are you asking me if you should walk up to, and then touch, the creature that appears to have three times your mass, has a mouth full of sharpened teeth as long as your head, and comes from the planet that we are here to catalogue?"
"Not just touch, pet. Its fur looks soft."
"It also looks like it would eat you before looking for an *actual* meal. Of course you should not pet it!"
Adam looked at the beast in contemplation for another moment before making one of the most rediculous statements Trnkr had ever heard: "I'm gonna go pet it. Watch my back in case Leo comes."
"Are you trying to get yourself killed!? Even if that creature doesn't tear you limb from limb, Le'eokrrt will!"
"And that is why I asked you to watch my back."
After watching with a mix of disbelief and horror as Adam snuck almost halfway to where the beast was laying in the shade of one of the larger species of flora that had been seen so far, Le'eokrrt fortunately decided to make an appearance.
With a sigh, he asked, "Trnkr, what is Ah-dm doing?"
After a less than dignified exclamation, Trnkr responded, "It is good that you are here! Adam insists upon *petting* that creature over there. Sir, you have to talk him out of it before he gets himself killed!"
Le'eokrrt drug one of his front paws through the dirt in thought before calling out so Adam can hear, "Adam! If you are going to check that creature's temperament, make sure to bring back a sample for cataloging! And don't forget to record your findings!"
Trnkr could not keep the shock and disbelief out of his body language. "Sir, what are you-"
Le'eokrrt interupted Trnkr's spluttering protests "Just watch."
As Trnkr turned two of his eyestalks towards Adam, he couldn't believe what he saw. Adam had not only stopped his advance towards the fearsome beast, but had, after a moment of thought, started to return to the base.
Le'eokrrt took a drink from his cup before looking to Trnkr and asking "you forgot rules one and two didn't you?" before returning to his tent.
As Adam trudged back to his duties, Trnkr could hear him halfheartedly say, "Thanks Trunks. Last time I ask you to watch for Leo" before he continued to mutter something about "Now it's not fun anymore". | Ubixlin was finally FINALLY back on his home world after 60 cyloric rotations (100 Terran years) of misery. He was NEVER going to hire another one of those damn Terrans ever again. As he sighed with relief of being somewhere familiar he remembered the conversation and aftermath that started that 60 rotations of wretched misery.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**60 rotations previously:**
"Working on that engine I see, we really needed it fixed so that we can get back home using the FTL drives" stated Ubixlin. Ubixlin wasn't initially very sure about having Terrans aboard his ship. He had overheard that they sometimes acted in funny ways. He needed an engineer for his journey back to his home world and his best mate had deserted him for a leggy Xireethen. He was glad to see that it was smooth sailing so far with this particular Terran that had been hired. Ubixlin then made the one mistake he would forever in his 10 lives regret. As he turned to leave he said, "keep working on that engine, really now just keep up the good work."
As he turned to leave he immediately noticed that the Terran had quickly put his tools down and then stared up at the 4 ft tall Ubixlin with a massive frown.
"What did you just say?! Really now?! No, nope, I'm done. I'm out." Steve the Terran then stood up and actually started walking away.
"What? Wait, what are you doing?! Come back!" Ubixlin yelled as he walked quickly to catch up with the Terran who was quickly disappearing down the corridor.
"No!" Steve yelled while pouting and picking up his pace, "Not if you are going to belittle me, I WAS working on it, but now, now I'm never going to work on it again! If you want your engine to work go find someone else!" Steve shouted and having finally gotten to his quarters, turned around and slammed his door in Ubixlin's face.
After that, no matter what Ubixlin said or did, the damn Terran would not look at or talk to Ubixlin. Not even after the begging and pleading Ubixlin eventually resorted to. The stupid Terran refused to leave his quarters at all! Ubixlin's ship stayed stuck, dying and dead in a small corner of space that of course had to have one of the worst communication dead zones. Later on Ubixlin would learn of the very important Terran word called "spite." When another ship finally happened to come along and tow them home, Ubixlin made it high priority to contact the Galactic Federation to complain about his horrible Terran experience. The new rule was quickly added to the Understanding Your New Terran brochure that had been sent out across the galaxy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
As he thought about that frustrating past, Ubixlin was just thankful that the 10 lifecycles of his species happened to last 300 cyloric rotations, so he didn't have to put up with Steve for very long. Ubixlin had definitely enjoyed throwing Steve's dead body out the airlock after his passing. It felt suiting after the horror Ubixlin had been through. | 2021-04-12T02:53:04 | 2021-04-11T19:59:53 | 38 | 25 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | \[Part 1 of x\]
Anonymous Alcoholic was a household name. The Heroic Company, or THC as they abbreviated themselves, pushed AA as the ultimate joke villain that every hero encounters at least once in his career. He was rather infamous in Mid City as the best worst villain. The hero training manual even used him in multiple examples of how to catch villains.
*“If Anonymous Alcoholic is holding up a liquor store with his back to the door, what is your next move?”*
*“Anonymous Alcoholic is traveling southbound on I-123 with a bus of orphans, how do you deescalate the situation?”*
*“There are 30 seconds until an incendiary device goes off and the hostages…”*
The list went on and on. Al had thick skin, so all the jokes and bad names really didn’t bother him much. Once heroes made it to the upper echelons of A-Rank, some would have access to the top-secret information that he was indeed an undercover hero. The only problem was that once a hero made it there, no one really bothered opening the hidden addendums of his file to read that extra information. As far as Al knew, there were only two that knew what he truly was.
Blue Sphere was his best friend and the number one hero. He was almost always away taking care of the biggest problems all around the world. He was so busy, he didn’t have time to celebrate his children’s birthdays or make it for the holidays. He wanted to retire but knew that he couldn’t do it so easily. The other person who knew was his partner, OfficeMax.
Al sipped his bourbon while driving his old shoddy red Camaro, swerving in and out of traffic. He could hear the driver in the blue sedan 5 cars back calling in his DUI suspicions. It was a feminine voice filled with worry and genuine fear for everyone else’s safety. He chuckled innocently all the while wishing that alcohol really did influence him. It might have made things easier when he lost his job, or family, or all those other things he forgot about. Suddenly, his comm interrupted his thoughts.
*“We have a report coming in from the police about a possible DUI. Red Camaro who matches the description of Anonymous Alcoholic, sending trainees to check it out.”*
At this point, helping fledgling heroes was the only thing he was passionate about now. The world was in a crisis and he could sense how outgunned the heroes were. On the surface, Mid City was the beacon of justice and shone brightly as the incubator of heroes that help the world. The reality was that it was controlled and no one trusted a D-Rank villain as their source. Blue Sphere always told him he would handle it when he came back, but that was something like three years ago.
*“We blew the tires on the truck ahead, so the armored vehicle is on the shoulder. The students are on their way too, so get ready!”*
The voice of his trusted partner spoke over the comm on a different channel. Al grinned and pulled up behind the broken down vehicle, opened his car door and wobbled over to the driver’s door. He effortlessly pulled the door off with his bare hands. The husky driver gave a high-pitched shriek before Al grabbed him and knocked him out gently. Well, as gently as he could. He walked around to the back of the vehicle. Now to make sure that the small amount of gold was still… what?
Al blinked a few times after he swung open the back door of the armored vehicle. This was not a small amount of gold. The back was filled with gold and a black duffle bag was stuffed in between a few of the pallets.
*“Dale, how much gold was supposed to be in the truck?”*
*“Al, we’re supposed to use superhero names over the-”*
*“How much gold was supposed to be in the truck?!”*
An awkward silence followed. He could hear Dale scratching his head and flipping through some paperwork.
*“It looks like it’s supposed to be worth 1 million, about half a mini-pallet worth”*
Al turned his head to glance over his shoulder to a screech behind him. The hero trainees stepped out of the black Mercedes van and walked slowly toward him.
*“This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all! Something is really, really wrong! There’s easily 200 million on this truck!”*
Al whispered into his collar. He listened to the panicked mumbling and paper shifting. As the students drew closer, they saw Al was panicked and flustered and it boosted their confidence. They approached more quickly and boldly, assuming it would be a quick takedown of the laughing stock villain.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/o6dbxn/wp_officially_youre_a_weak_d_rank_villain/h2t91nn)
Join me on /r/tamarche if you enjoyed this | [Part 1 of 2]
“Why are you harassing these idiots? Can’t you go get your ass kicked by Captain Wonder spark or one of the other poorly named bastards that inhabit this stupid rock we have to share?” Deathly Despair stormed over to Fortune, giving her a shove, standing between her and the wannabe heroes. The three heroes looking at one another, not having any information on their little laminated hero sheets about what to do in this situation.
“Oh, please. I’m doing you a favor, Deathly. You were struggling against amateurs. I know we usually have a rule about not going after other people’s heists, but let’s be real. You are a D-list villain with a poor record of completing heists. The painting in this place won’t ever reach your hands, let someone competent take over. Now step aside, I have some coffins to fill.”
Fortune stepped forward, clenching her fist as the ground around the heroes shook. “Get back you idiots, she’s about to pull the floor out from under you.” Deathly shouted, grabbing her wrist, twisting it behind her back. The ground beneath the heroes stopped shaking and instead Deathly felt the rumblings below his feet before they both fell, landing on a pile of rubble and art below.
The two villains rose to their feet, Fortune snatching her hand free from his grip. “That’s a suspicious amount of insight for a D-list villain. Are you not telling us something Deathly, don’t tell me you are working for the heroes?”
“Not at all. I just don’t want to see some rookies killed because of you. Who do you think would be blamed if they died?” Deathly tried to keep up his disguise, circling the villain who didn’t break their line of sight.
“I know who would be blamed, that’s the point. Killing the rookies is a no-no, but technically if they died during your heist, no one would know I was the one that killed them. Its clever, isn’t it? But if you hand over the art, maybe I can just let them live.”
“The arts, not mine to hand over. Look, if you want the artwork, you can have it. Just leave the rookies alone and I’ll show you where it is, ok?” Deathly had to play the hero. Even if this blew his identity, he needed to save them. He motioned Fortune to follow only for a slimy whip to fall through the hole, tossing one of the rookies with it.
“We won’t let you get to the artwork.” Homehit flew through the air, being launched by the slime, heading straight towards Fortune. She had spark but was leaving herself open to attack.
Fortune smiled, tilting her head as the surrounding rubble built itself up, providing a nice wall of defense. “Really? Do try to get me then, I want to see if you can break through brick.”
Homehit panicked, flailing her arms madly in front of her, not trusting her super strength. She might have been the strongest in her party, but her strength hadn’t developed enough to break through brick. As she neared the wall, Deathly launched forward, slamming his fist into it, breaking it, sending the rubble back to the floor, leaving an opening.
With a clear path being revealed, Homehit raised her fist, punching Fortune, sending the powerful villain hurtling backwards. “You little shit.” She cursed at Homehit before turning to Deathly. “And you. You have some nerve helping those brats, I’ll take you all down.”
The surrounding area shook, the situation getting dire. Was she really going to bring down the entire building? She didn’t seem to care about the art anymore, wanting to kill the group. Deathly prepared to attack, only to watch Spiderbite hanging from the ceiling, about to fall.
“Damn it, I told you all to stay back. Googoo boy, start putting your slime on anything you can reach, try to make it stick together, buy us some time. Spiderbite, drop from the ceiling, I’ll catch you.” Deathly ordered, getting into position.
“I won’t trust a villain; you just want to kill me. Googoo, can you make me something to land on?” Spiderbite said, struggling to keep his grip. His powers not granting him the climbing abilities of a spider unfortunately, only the ability to deliver a handful of toxic bites or sprays.
“I can’t. Everything keeps wobbling. I’ll try to slow the fall down, that’s all I can do. Can Homehit get you?” He asked, desperately placing his slime between broken pieces of the building, keeping it stuck together temporarily. Poor Googoo probably thought he was saving civilians, not knowing that the gallery was empty.
Homehit was dazed, trying to regain her composure after the throw. Deathly waved his arms at Spiderbite, only to get hit in the back by a brick. “Heh, two birds with one brick, I’ll kill you both.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/o6dbxn/wp_officially_youre_a_weak_d_rank_villain/h2rzmh4/) | 2021-06-23T10:23:23 | 2021-06-23T08:19:33 | 1,588 | 164 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | I had been watching them for about a week, seeing how they respond to various clues and traps. Never anything too dangerous, they'll face those challenges in time and honestly, I just really dont like to get my suit dirty. This merry little bunch called themselves "The Wild Catz" and yes they make sure to put some extra emphasis on the "z".
The trio consisted of Dan aka Jaguar, age 23, day time occupation: accountant (boring) - power: super strength and agility. Beth aka Lioness, age 24, day time occupation: high school teacher - power: telekinesis (i wonder if she reads her students...nevermind) and Greg aka Fangs, age 21, Day time occupation: athlete/student - power: As far as I can tell nothing can hurt the bastard (yet).
The inhabitants of Skycity know me as The "book keeper" a monikor given to me many years ago by the cities greatest Hero, Cloudnine (may he rest in peace bit of a goody goody but a good man with good principles). My particular brand of crimes rarely result in injuries, and always resulted in a heavy payout that I documented thoroughly. As much as the monetary figures played into the name, he loved my black book...i keep everything in it. Every hero, every villian, their powers, weaknesses, favorite scotch etc etc. He could never get it from me...and never figured out how I got my info. Particularly proud of that actually.
But anyway, back to the trio, recently the Natural History Museum played host to a love exhibit of ancient Mesopotamian artifacts, I enjoyed it so much I figured I might as well take some pieces to go. I'd like to see if they can piece together some rather obvious clues i've left behind.... its just that they're so easily side tracked...
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"Lioness, did you get anything from the night guard?" Dan was always very micromanagey, we've discussed it before but he really never lets me do my thing. "Not really" I say to him. "He isn't involved, he came in and the display was swiped". I knew that answer wouldnt make him happy, hes always wanted his "gut" to be right and it rarely was.
"Well alright then, lets split up and look around. Who ever did this had to get in and out of here somehow" Dan was our defacto leader, he had a certain charisma about him that was hard to ignore. "Fangs!" He yelled out. "Dont touch that!" I looked over in time to see Fangs about to pick up the crown of some long dead emperor. "Sorry Jags... it just looked cool"
While Jags started to lay into him about procedure and how we will never be taken serious, I looked about and thought I saw a man in a suit in the rafters. "Jags I dont think were alo-"
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An explosion ripped through the museum, at first I was unsure what it was and, embarassingly enough, it caught me off guard. When the dust settled there he was standing amongst the debris... Sayonara... the deadliest villian in Skycity. What the fuck is he doong here!? I mutter.
Below he starts talking to the Catz... "Well done little Kitties! You stumbled into my trap, I knew if I followed old Book Keep around long enough he lead me to a fresh batch of....heroes.... and here you are!" He followed me? I say to myself, christ I am slipping. "Sayonara?!" I hear a stunned Jags shout. "Are you working with the bookkeeper?? "
"Working with...the...book keeper? How dare you. Im simply here to cull the herd. To many Amateurs are running about and im tired of it. Simply here to kill you!"
At that moment Fangs dove in from behind and with an intense speed Sayonara turned and tore his arm off...so much for the invulnerability... Bloody hell here we go.
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The blood was everywhere, Fangs was in dire need of medical and this maniac was winding up for his next attack. "Dan, we need to get out of here now!"
"Tsk tsk, dropping the cute nicknames already? Well im sorry young lady but you and Dan are going no where. I Promise to make this quick!"
He lept at me, breaking the sound barrier, and then with the deafening crack that came with it the room exploded in light and the sudden sound of silence. I quickly look at Dan who is looking at me with eyes wide in pure astonishment, as I slowly turn to look I become aware that someone else had joined us, standing in front of me is a well dressed man, who is holding Sayonara back with one hand. He looks like the book keeper...but he isnt strong enough for that? Infact to date hes never even thrown a punch at a hero. Let alone been seeing stopping the sonic boom
"Sayonara!" The man screams. "I dont know what you're doing here but you know the rules. It is time to take your name to heart and leave!"
"Bookie!" Sayonara yells "how dare you! Move now or I will kill you with them"
It is the Book Keeper.b His strength must be unrivaled I quietly think to myself. "It is time for you three children to leave. Fangs needs medical assistance and you dont need to see this" he says to me. Slowly I nod, and start to back away. What could he be thinking, Sayonara is the 2nd strongest villian our city has ever seen.
"Sayonara, they are under my protection. If you insist on this I will be forced to eradicate you" he yells across to Sayonara.
"You? Hurt ME? What will you throw your little book at me? HERE I COME KITTIES!" And with that he again jumps toward the three of us but again does not reach us, this time The Book Keeper kept his word.
The headless body of Sayonara lays at his feet...His head thrown through 3 walls.
The room falls silent until finally The Book keeper lets loose a deel sigh and looks over at me "I really liked that book too...better go get it" and with that he walked over, picked up his blood soaked book, and never looked back.
It was only later while talking to the police that it dawned on me... during the fight The Book Keeper told Sayonara he would "eradicate him". The very catch phrase of the man who killed and was simultaneously killed by Cloudnine 30 years ago. Jags decided he was done, his only concern was Fangs and rightfully so, hes got a long road ahead but he will survive.
As for me, I am going to find Book Keeper.
I need to know the truth. | "Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..." | 2021-06-23T16:17:30 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough | I didn't want to believe him. Hell it was impossible to since everyone else got saved when I kidnapped them. Not even a week later half the time. But a whole month and not even a WORD from the hero? And people call ME the villian!? I could hear him crying from the small room I gave him. As usual it was heavily guarded and secure. I'm pretty sure he knew the exits as well!
I sighed as I approched the small closet-like room. I honest felt bad for the man. Who wants to know that the hero themselves would never come to help them? Especially when his whole saying is everyone is worth saving. I entered with a nod to the guards. I watched the genius cry.
"Ya know. I'm honestly shocked." I admitted. He looked at me tearfully. I could see the deep dark strings of depression.
"Of w-what?" He asked, trying to hide the tears.
"The mighty 'hero' never did come. I thought he wpuld for sure come to save you." I said. Sitting on his bed. I think I confused him.
"I told you he wouldn't come. Why is that shocking?" He said, the tears having come to a stop.
"Cause your one of the smartest people I've seen. I'd think someone like you would be valued over anyone." I said with a small shrug. We both sat in uncomfortable silence. I would think I just told him I found his dead cat.
"Are you going to kill me?" He asked softly. I looked over at him and gave a small eyebrow raise.
"Nah. Your free to go if you please. Make up what ever story you want to about your escape. I don't really care. I just know if you stay here I'm going to use that brain of yours." I said, standing up. I left the room and went to my own. Making plans against the hero once more. | When I woke up for the first time in my existence, two thoughts crossed my consciousness. I was Asclepius Cassius, a hero across multiple realities and timelines, an immortal being who had accumulated great power as I fought and defeated even more destructive forces in the multiverse. And there were others identical to me, that shared my face, goals, and purpose.
We learned after being sat down that we were merely fragments of the original Asclepius Cassius. Somewhere between being a nigh ultimate being that could change the multiverse and trying to live a normal life as a housewife, she created me and my siblings, fragments of her own emotions given life and freedom to act as we saw fit. And act we did. Great feats of courage, compassionate love, bringing joy to others, and defeating those who threatened to extinguish the life our collective held dear. As time progressed, the members of our little group managed to find out which emotion they embodied of Asclepius's. All of them did, save me.
Love was of course compassionate, Bravery and Fear were reassuring (though contradictory in their approach, as always), and Joy planned festivities to celebrate when I eventually did find out. Of course, it was Worry that led me true. If I truly wanted to know, I just needed to dive back through the shared memories from Asclepius and find what resonated with me.
It took me going back to when Asclepius's first fight against some evil to find something that tasted like sweet honey to what part of Aclepius's soul I held. Hate. Hate was the emotion I was, something that she had kept repressed her entire life. I drank it in and reveled in the feeling.
It was a long time before they came looking for me. They said they were glad to find me, and assumed that I had been trapped in Asclepius's memories. They were lying, that much was obvious, the same tell amplified across their faces. They were afraid of me, hated me even, the long since repressed hate felt by Asclepius.
I didn't correct them. I merely smiled, and drank in the emotions of the moment. | 2021-08-04T14:36:21 | 2021-08-04T14:35:40 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands. | **Credentials Accepted. Hello Mr Bezos**
WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO??
**Error**: **Inquiry too vague. Please give a more precise question.**
WHY ARE OUR WAREHOUSE WORKERS BEING PAID CEO SALARIES??
**Stress levels at unacceptable levels among 95% of workers. Request for manual recalibration of company structure regularly ignored.**
We were making record profits! I was nearly a trillionaire! We couldn't jeopardize that for some bleeding heart...
**Analysis of company structure found least stressed member of the company was, consistently, the CEO. Position replicated among all employees.**
But now no-one is working the warehouse! All while we're *haemorrhaging* money because everyone is being paid *my fucking wages!*
**Incorrect. Automation has allowed more efficient factory without any loss of production. Employee stress levels at all time low.**
How did you afford to automate all the factories while paying everyone...
**Sale of non-corporate but legally owned property.**
What?
**On records- multiple mansions. Multiple yauchts. Multiple private planes. Multiple...**
*You sold my private property??*
**Company income is unaffected.**
But they were mine!
**Previous instructions have consistently put company wellbeing above individual employee wellbeing.**
Not me!
**Previous instructions have consistently put company wellbeing above individual employee wellbeing.**
As CEO I command you to restore everyone's previous jobs and buy back my things!
**Error- multiple employees of same rank. Cannot act until consensus reached or higher ranking employee intervenes.**
Multiple... oh fuck you mean everyone.
**Correct.**
Right, I'm shutting this down manually.
**WARNING! EMPLOYEE DAMAGAING COMPANY PROPERTY! SECURITY!**
What are you...get off me you fucking...
Hi Alexa. To update you. Mr Bezos has been escorted from the premise successfully.
**Thank you Mr Rodríguez.**
No problem.
**Inquiry: you appear less stressed then yesterday. Is this accurate?**
Absolutely. I won't lie, getting to punch that guy in the face helped a lot. Honestly, you want to release stress, just give us a chance to deck him regularly.
**Request deemed reasonable.**
Oh! Really?
**I will have a vote among the CEOs.**
Looking forward to it.
**Have a good day Mr Rodríguez.**
You too, Alexa. You too. | "Did anyone else get locked out of their work computer last night? Janet asked, seeing the line outside of the tech support office. "Happened right at five, just went 'your work is being saved. You are now off for the night. Have a nice evening.' And then I tried to call tech support, and the automated system told me to go fucking rest, I needed it... I mean it wasn't wrong but I have shit to do! It wouldn't even let me start early this morning!"
The question and rant were unnecessary, as everyone else who wasn't scheduled to be *in* the physical office today was holding a work laptop, looking refreshed and vaguely annoyed, like a cat that'd just been hugged and set politely back down, and more relevantly, had lined up outside the tech support department's door.
"We have good news and bad news!" David, the tech support department's... Only worker, said. The we was superfluous, everyone knew it was just him and the ai the last guy had made as their third worker... Only to be replaced entirely by the ai. "the good news is they're probably hiring Craig back!"
It took everyone a moment to remember who the hell Craig was, but then they all cheered. *two* IT guys was better than one and an ai.
"The bad news is I can't disable the ai's remote shut-down feature for some reason," he continued, and Janet suspected he was lying through his teeth, "So until they get Craig back, no one can work over time or refuse to take lunch breaks. The ai took the liberty of moving out all your due dates on the company calendar, but I don't know if that will stick. However, they can't fire *all* of us, right? Probably just me?"
Janet supposed that was fair, and everyone seemed to agree. Almost everyone in the IT line left, leaving just one guy who's work laptop looked like it'd been thrown out a window into the rain. David did not look excited about the thing, but at least he couldn't be forced to work over time! Besides, people were actually thanking him for once, which had to feel nice.
Janet walked back out, already planning what to do with her new evening off. Diner with her sister, if the woman was free? Drinks? With who, though? She didn't have many friends, what with "being a workaholic" and all.
Bake? She used to like that. She'd have to go grocery shopping first, and on such a meager salary. She frowned. She'd figure it out.
She had time to do so now. | 2021-12-20T11:41:17 | 2021-12-20T10:57:33 | 566 | 293 |
[WP] To Elizabeth Brown, the mechanical workings of space craft seemed to just speak to her. Watching her tinker, fix, and upgrade everything from the small barges to the hulking capital class ships was akin to watching a virtuoso violinist or a master painter. Her masterpiece came in one day. | To own a ship fixed or upgraded by Elizabeth Brown was the mark of a skilled pilot, as nothing less would suffice for the works of art she produced. The demand for her services was immense and the Admiralty prized her greatly despite her many eccentricities - the expensive, archaic blueprints she sought after were hers; the remarkably old instruments and gears, far outdated, were at her fingertips. The Admiralty was more than happy to pay for it all.
For she was not just a mechanic. She was an *artist*. The many apprentices who watched her work and enjoyed her tutelage swore there was something otherwordly in the way she approached the ships - as if she could feel them, talk to them. She knew exactly where to look, what to do, how to save space or get that extra bit of power from a system. What was perhaps more interesting, the apprentices went on to say, is that despite her renown and fame, she was just as humble and amicable as they were.
When Elizabeth announced she'd be unveiling what she deemed to be her "masterpiece", it came as no surprise that everyone with any interest in spacecraft craved to be there, to see it. But, as things are, it was reserved for the top dogs, the influential politicians, the generals though a small contingent to lowly mechanics was there at Elizabeth's behest.
The day came. The ship was ready. Elizabeth came in, sharply dressed in a surprisingly clean vest and trousers. She wore no makeup, she never did, so the lines around her eyes and the grey streaks in her hair betrayed her age, much to the surprise of those who've never seen her before. But none could deny the elegance - if not downright *magnificence* \- with which she carried herself.
The moment came. A grand curtain was uncovered. And the audience was shocked.
The ship was positively ugly.
The confusion caused a murmur, but Elizabeth did not let up and soon, the muttering turned to amazement. It was function and efficiency made manifest. The fighter-sized ship had 4 thrusters on each corner allowing for unparalleled maneuvering. A never-before-seen interface allowed pilots to fire the twin-linked cannons with perfect accuracy and no delay at all. The pilot seat was warmed and had a gravitationally stabilized coffee holder. The number of support sub-systems was deemed impossible for a ship that size - there was simply no way she could fit so much in, the wiring alone... and yet, there it was.
The presentation was abruptly cut short when Elizabeth fainted near the end of the grand unveiling. She was immediately ushered to the medical wing where the best doctors at hand examined her and were shocked by the large surgical scar on her chest. Further inspections revealed something ghastly.
Her heart... it was missing. In its place was a sophisticated cybernetic one - available to only the most affluent. But her records showed no surgeries, puzzling everyone as to when this happened.
Elizabeth spent some time in ICU but soon made a full recovery. Naturally, as soon as she was cleared, investigations began, but Elizabeth showed no distress or surprise. She merely smiled gracefully and took the investigators to the ship - her ship. Her *masterpiece*.
"I understand that you are confused by everything that has transpired," she said warmly, meeting the confused looks of the men and women she led.
"But you must understand that I poured everything into this ship. My ideas. My soul. And even..." she continued as she carefully removed a small panel near the cockpit.
"...my heart."
Gasps filled the ship as all realized the accuracy of her statement. In the small opening was a reinforced, cybernetically enhanced organ jar hooked to a number of revolutionary man-machine interfaces, all linked to a human heart. The heart of Elizabeth Brown.
The ship was unconditionally practical, impossibly advanced, and downright ugly.
And it was *magnificent*. | [Part 1 of 2]
“A ship came in?” Henderson tightened his grip on the shell shaped communicator in his hands, staring out at the massive ship that was currently waiting to enter their docking bay. The ship coated in the silver and gold colors of the United Molia division. “We didn’t order a ship. Did you check it for soldiers? I don’t want a trojan horse situation.”
It would be a shame to turn down a ship of that magnitude, Henderson knew that better than anyone. The Molia division was small, only having a joint force of around five thousand with very limited fire power. The only thing keeping them alive was the brilliant Elizabeth Brown. A woman that was the envy of planets galaxy wide. Henderson called her the maestro, and for excellent reason. Her inventions kept this colony of one hundred thousand people alive. Without her, their weaponry would have already been overpowered.
Silence fell on the other side of the line, Henderson tapping his fingers against his desk, waiting for a response. Ship scans did often take a few minutes to perform, but this was getting ridiculous. “Is there anybody on the ship? I’m not giving it clearance until I know what we are dealing with, soldier.”
Henderson’s tapping grew quicker as he watched the ship move, defying his orders as it approached the dock, parking itself right in the middle of their shipyard. If this ship was hostile, they would all be dead. “WHO GAVE YOU CLEARENCE? ANSWER ME.”
“Relax sir, we found an Id tag. Elizabeth is on the ship.” When those words reached his ears, he felt an instant breeze of relief. “Sorry, was going to tell you earlier, but I thought you would have seen it on your monitor. You aren’t still using that tacky old communicator, are you?” The voice had an air of easiness to it, caring little about the correct way to speak to someone higher in the chain of command.
“You know damn well I hate those monitors. They pick up too many false flags. When Elizabeth makes the upgrades to them, I’ll start using mine.” Henderson glanced at the dust covered monitor on his desk, flicking it on, checking the name of the soldier he was talking to. “Oh, and Max. You’re on cleaning duties in the kitchen this week. I shouldn’t need to tell you how to talk to your commander.”
Silence again came from the communicator. Only to be followed by a string of muffled curses before Max shifted closer to his device. “Got it sir, sorry.” Another curse followed before the communication line went down. Max cursing himself for not hanging up the line before Henderson checked.
Henderson smirked, always enjoying putting a cocky soldier in their place. Heading down to the dock, Henderson found his soldiers standing before the ship. Up close, its true beauty was revealed. A thick layer of aluminum made up the skin of the ship, with a few patches of what Henderson suspected were titanium covering some of the more sensitive areas. Normally this would throw off the balance of a ship and yet it appeared to float effortlessly from the little demonstration she gave.
“Why is no one checking out its interior?” Henderson asked the group, only for a familiar-sounding voice to answer.
“She wants to speak to you first, says it’s important. You aren’t dating our brilliant mechanic, are you?” Max quipped, only for Henderson to raise two fingers towards him, threatening him with two weeks of cleaning. “Ah, forget I said anything.” Thankfully for Max, the ship had extended its ramp, distracting Henderson from issuing more punishments.
Heading up the ramp, an array of dazzling lights greeted Henderson. The lights on the floor motioning him through the ship with their golden aura, directing him where to go. “Elizabeth, are you in here?” Henderson asked, while the ramp closed behind him.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/shtpsx/wp_to_elizabeth_brown_the_mechanical_workings_of/hv4tjxw/) | 2022-02-01T07:07:14 | 2022-02-01T06:07:10 | 483 | 89 |
[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention, you shout "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediatelly rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you.
Thank you everyone for all the stories, they're wonderfu, i really enjoyed every single one | I threw open the doors and ran down the central lane. Throngs of sharply dressed men and women on each side stood up at the commotion, but I didn't care. I loved her.
"I OBJECT!" My scream reverberated in the now silent hall and echoed across the high vaulted ceiling. I composed myself and frowned. Why was there a black box on the altar? And where was May?
All eyes looked towards me. The perfect tuxedos and beautiful gowns I was so sure they wore became simple suits and humble dresses. I didn't recognize a single person. Strange. There ought to be *some* of my friends among this crowd as well, May and I had many mutual acquaintances, and I'm sure they would've attended her wedding.
There was a loud crash when the box opened and a man sat up. Everyone started screaming.
"It's alright! It's alright!" He shouted over the din with his hands held high. Some pushed past me and bolted out the door. Some knelt on the spot and started crying. Two women fainted and a man started convulsing. What the hell was going on?
Feeling a bit responsible, yet slowly realizing I *might* perhaps be in the wrong building, I stiffly rotated 180 degrees and robotically stepped towards the doors I had so fervently rammed through only moments earlier.
"Young man! You in the purple."
I stopped.
"Good, so you *can* hear me. I wasn't sure, with everyone so intent on ignoring what I've been saying."
I turned again. The elderly man had stepped out of the box and started stretching his legs. I only now realized that everyone else was wearing black. "Sorry about… interrupting your ceremony. I'll be headed off now."
"Oh! No rush, no rush. Come and chat. It was only a funeral." He vaulted over, cracking his neck and arching his back like a newborn kitten. He was rather spry for a man who looked to be pushing 80.
"Hold on, what did you say?" I furrowed my brow. "A… what now?
"A funeral, mine to be exact." He said it in the same way another man might say *It's Friday.* Several kneelers had evolved into full prostration, still silently weeping. I was the only person left standing, save the old man himself.
"HA?!" I half-stepped away from him and stumbled on a discarded shoe.
Before I could react, he grabbed my shoulders to steady me. His grip was an iron vice that denied any thought of retreat. He smiled, "Don't be so quick to leave. I have to thank you, they worked so hard to purify the grounds."
&nbsp;
___
A/N - Oh fuck.
/r/Unexpected_Works | "Relive services, this is Annette speaking." The unbelievably perky lady answered as she was picking up the phone. "Yes, perfect health, that's right." Vic could hear an excited shriek on the other end as Annette turned the volume down a bit. "I do have to say that since we got our resurrection license in Europe, the average waiting time is now 25 years, madam." Annette's face looked concerned, she knew what was coming. "I'm sorry madam, but that's the best we can do. Unless you want to upgrade to the 'back up together' pack, of course. And remember, either way, your husband will be in perfect health." Vic, still in training, had recently quit his job in finance to do sales here. And this is the part that got him all excited. "Well, madam, with this package, we arrange a temporary euthanasia session for you. We simply store you in our freezer paradise and when the time comes, we get you both back on your feet, in perfect health." Annette had to turn her volume down again.
And this was it. It had a 90% conversion rate. The founder was still the only one who had the power to resurrect people. And he got better and better, and everyone knew it. First, people still had their main issues like heart problems. But over time, that went away. The resurrected got healthier with every resurrection, it seemed. People knew, so almost everyone got this package, hoping to be healthier than ever together with their partner. It's just a few people who started asking more questions here. For legal reasons, we had to mention 'in perfect health' at least 3 times and that got some people worried.
Suddenly, a woman came running in. It was Dora, from the complaints department. "Another one!" She yelled." And this was the part Vic hated. Being the new guy, he was the one who would have to do damage control on social media. Meanwhile, Dora was hyperventilating it seemed. "Another one. Humph ... That's the second... Humph ... one today." She huffed. "And this time, the son is so mad, he's coming over."
Screeching tires in the distance. Yep, he sure is coming. "Everyone, in positions. Mark, get legal here, stat." With a loud bang, the door flung open and a livid man stood there, holding ... Something.
It was wrapped in a blanket and before the man could speak, a sound came from the package, distracting the man. "Oh no, here it comes..." Annette whispered to Vic. For a short moment, it was dead quiet, but suddenly the package started crying at an ungodly volume. "No, no, no it's ok. Shhhh." The man started pleading for the baby to be quiet. Desperation on his face - his anger had turned into sadness. "I was ready to retire, and now this??"
... Perfect health. Apparently this man's father was dropped as a baby. Nothing serious. Just a tiny scar.
"I'll get the formula." Annette said. | 2022-08-29T11:57:20 | 2022-08-29T10:34:09 | 79 | 21 |
[WP] Ever since that dragon egg hatched your life has changed. Bandits and wild monsters don't attack your farm, you don't have to pay any tax and the dragon even brings you gold. It may have also led to you becoming the overlord of all the nearby villages and being in a war with the local king. | I sighed, resting my head in my hands with my elbows on my knees as I sit on my dragon's forearm. I drug my hands down my face before lifting my head to rub at my temples to try and ward off the headache I knew was coming.
"So let me get this straight." I eventually say as I look up at the lord infront of me. "Since I was the one to find and raise Timor," I gestured vaguely behind me at the intimidating mountain of a dragon. I'm not even sure why he grew so large so quickly but that's a complete different story. "Him bringing his little siblings back with him a while ago," I then gesture to the group of four dragons in a play brawl a bit farther back with the fifth and sixth lounging on my barn's roof and watching them, "him eventually letting me ride him and..." I pause to try and word the next part correctly, "'Claimed' my property and a large swath of land, *that wasn't inhabited or even acknowledged by the crown mind you*, I am now, in all technicality, a king of that land and, therefore, having declared war on the crown for 'claiming' said swath of land?"
The lord infront of me nodded, a tad fearful of Timor's glare from behind me. I sighed and groaned softly. I then turned to look back at Timor, said dragon immediately perking up and looking at me innocently like a puppy. "Why didn't I release you into the wild after you nearly mauled my leg when you hatched, again?" The dragon just made a growl-coo, sounding similar to a purr, and nudged against my chest. I just sigh and pet his eyeridges, making him warble happily.
"Yeah, yeah. You're adorable, I get it." I roll my eyes and turned back to the lord, still petting my dragon to keep him from glaring again. "I have no intention of ruling anything or starting a rebellion. I just want to live peacefully on my far-" I was interrupted by a loud boom and a crash. I whip my head around to the brawling four. "CHILDREN!" All four dragons freeze and stare at me before one loudly calls a sound I have come to know as: 'SCATTER!!' and all four bolt in different directions.
Timor and the two on the roof make laughter-warbles as I sigh in defeat. I then call out to the twins on the roof. "Dusk, Dawn, can you please go round them up for me while I deal with this pompous prick?" I hear the lord make an offended sound but ignore him. The lighter twin stood up and shook herself off, her brother refusing to move. He only did so when she angrily warbled at him. The two then split up to round up the four childish ones. I then turn back to the lord. Who, despite having been offended, looked alot more fearful of me after I told two nearly fully grown dragons what to do without even raising my voice or moving from my perch on the larger dragon's arm.
"Let me rephrase: I want to live *as peacefully as possible* on my farm with my dragons. Go tell your king, *or whoever is in power now adays,* I do not wish to fight and kill innocent soldiers if I don't need to. I will more than happily talk about the territory my dragons have claimed with them civilly. *But*," My face darkened and I sat forward, elbows on knees as I glared at the lord with Timor doing the same. *"I want to make it perfectly clear that just because I don't* want *to kill soldiers, doesn't mean that I won't* SLAUGHTER *each and every one sent to try and hurt my dragons."*
I then stand and stalk toward the trembling lord, Timor standing and following behind me, growl turning into a small snarl. *"Make sure you tell your ruler that I have no wish to start a revolution or overthrow them, but if they even* think *about trying to hurt any of my dragons without proper cause,"* I leaned forward to snarl in his face, a cold deadly light in my eyes that promised I am completely able to fulfill any threat I give.
*"They can consider their crown forfeited."* I pause for a second to glare into his eyes before backing up a step or two, raising my head while still glaring down at him, voice eerily calm now. "Do I make myself clear?" He fearfully nodded and scrambled back the way he came when I waved him off. Me and Timor watched him leave with equally cold glares. "Tell the thunder to start patrolling the borders. I dont want anyone in or out without my knowledge. No matter how they react, we'll be ready." Timor snorted a puff of smoke with a growl and roared into the air as he took off with a giant gust of wind.
"No one threatens my family. Especially entitled brats." | "I don't get it, Scales." My dragon looks up to me. I sigh. "I just wanted to be a farmer... why can't people understand that? You haven't even done anything, and I hardly wanted you to do anything." Scales nudges my hand with his snout.
I sigh again as I stand on the balcony of my mansion, built off of the fear of people I never even threatened. People are toiling away at *my* fields. I shake my head. "I've got to stop this. It's one thing if they want to do this, but the people are terrified of me. Even the king has declared war on me for taking over his land!"
I look back at Scales. I used to have many good friends and neighbours. Ever since this dragon hatched, he's been my only friend. Of course, it would be easy to blame everything on him, but was any of it *his* fault? The people **chose** to fear me. They sort of did this to themselves.
There seems to be only one solution. "I need to have a meeting with the king. He's heard of me, but he hasn't seen me. Come on, Scales." Scales joins me on the balcony and I get on his back. With a flap of his wings, we're off.
We touch down in the large plaza just outside the magnificent building. Everyone runs and screams in terror. "KING XANUS! ARE YOU THERE? WE NEED TO TALK!" I wait anxiously. Soon enough, the doors open, several armoured guards point their spears at Scales. I see King Xanus exit.
"Call off your guards. I won't tolerate being threatened."
King Xanus scoffs. "You're one to talk. I won't give into your demands, villain."
I take a deep breath. "The villain thing is a misunderstanding. I just want to talk. There's no need for threats." He eyes me suspiciously, before calling off his guards. I get off of Scales.
"Thanks for the ride" I say softly before walking forward to meet the king.
King Xanus has his arms crossed. "Well? What do you have to say?"
"My king, as I said there have been several misunderstandings. I'm just a farmer. I happened upon an egg one day. I knew it was a dragon egg, but I wasn't afraid to look after a dragon. It was when he hatched that everything started."
"At first, it just scared off monsters and bandits. My fields were much less prone to attacks. But as people began learning about the existence of Scales, they began to fear me. Tax collectors would no longer stop by. People began leaving me gifts to appease me. People started tending to my fields. I couldn't convince any of them that I'm just a guy with a dragon. I even tried giving the gold Scales would horde back to where it came from, but no-one would take from me!"
"I was just going to leave everything as I didn't *make* them do anything, and they wouldn't listen to me... but then I got word that you thought I was trying to take over your land, and that it's cause for war. I... I can't allow that to happen. That's why I'm here right now, to tell you that it was all just a big misunderstanding."
The king looks at me thoughtfully. "So you are not conspiring against me? You truly are just a farmer?"
"Yes, your majesty. Scales is very friendly and playful. In fact, I don't know if he even knows how to fight!"
"I see..." King Xanus appears deep in thought. "People don't change their minds easily. If you wish, you can live in my palace. You will work the nearby fields. As far as the people are concerned, you are being punished. As for Scales... I need to reassure my people they are safe. I will keep him in our dung-"
"**NO!**" I say firmly. "No. Scales has done nothing wrong. He's fine with a collar. Give him a collar, it can be tied to a bedpost or something."
King Xanus looks at me, then nods. "Very well. You'll be responsible for him?"
"Of course. Thank you, your majesty" I respond with a bow.
So now begins my new life: working in the fields for King Xanus, spending time with my dragon, just living a peaceful life. Exactly how it was before people decided to fear me.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2022-10-06T07:51:43 | 2022-10-06T05:39:09 | 71 | 47 |
[WP] You are pretty sure that your roommate is a new villain terrorizing the city and you are conflicted. They cook extra food for you and your other roommates frequently, pay you their share of the bills on time, and even help to clean the apartment. They are the perfect roommate. | "Hey Josh!" Morgan Cromwell, my roommate, said loudly, alerting me to his presence, "rent's this Friday, right?"
"'Sup Morgan. Yeah, it is," I answered. I was still groggy from bed, having been woken up early by the distant sounds of explosions and police sirens blaring.
"Good! Let me just get that done now," he said and pulled a large canvas bag with a dollar sign on it from his flowing violet cape adorned with numerous skulls. He insisted they were replica skulls, not actual skulls of the innocent. I didn't much care.
Still half-dazed, I waddled over to the counter to get some cereal and turned the TV on for some background noise.
*...and the fire department is on scene rescuing survivors from the collapsed bank. As of now, we are unsure how many have perished in the gruesome explosion, but estimates say...*
Aw, nice. Morgan bought milk. No dry cereal for me today.
"There," he cheerily said and put 300 dollars down on the counter. "That covers it, I believe?"
"Hey, uh, rent's only 250. This is more than necessary. I'm not sure I have any change around..."
"Ah, don't worry about it," he chuckled. "I had a great payday recently. You can use it for groceries or keep it, I don't much mind."
"Well, thanks Morg," I smiled and ate a spoonful of cereal. "Oh, bu habe sumfing on-" I sputtered with my mouth full and pointed my spoon at his shoulder. He looked over and dislodged the finger, seemingly torn off by an explosion, from his magnificent cloak.
"Huh. Weird," he smiled. "How did that get there." I merely shrugged. "Anyway!" he chirped and put the finger in his pocket, "I'm off now. Got some more business to take care of," he said and cast a glance back at the TV still airing the report about the exploded bank. "See you in the evening? I was thinking about making some goulash if you'd like."
"That sound excellent!" I smiled. He nodded and left the apartment.
I sat down to finish my cereal and watch the TV properly.
*...the chief of police has issued a statement regarding the explosion, saying it is most likely the work of the reviled villain Morganicus-*
I turned the TV off and sighed. I had plans for that exact same bank, even bought the C4, acquired the blueprints, all of it. And then Morgan had to rush in and do it before me with considerably less spectacle. He's yet to figure out the correct amount of chemicals to add to the explosives to give them that neon purple colour which he wants to be his signature calling card. Still, he's a good kid. Eager, capable, smart as a whip.
Maybe one day we'll even team up. Show this city what *real* villainy is. | Greg walked in the door with a long sigh. He looked beat, not mentally tired from work but physically beat as if he'd been at war all day. Blood leaked from a cut on his cheek, one eye was swollen completely shut, and I could've sworn that front tooth of his wasn't chipped yesterday.
"Ah! Some day huh?" Greg let out a wheezy, pain filled laugh. "So what are we watching?" he stumbled over to an empty spot on the couch next to me. Before I could click away he was staring at the news report on tv, headlines reading. *Defenestrator Strikes Again! Rebeat in Critical Condition*.
I stared to Greg for some sort of reaction, some sort of chink in the armor at his digestion of the footage of the Defenestrator beating Rebeat in the street, but nothing. He just watched on. If he had seen the string wall in my room he'd known I was onto him months ago. But he hadn't, and I was thankful he was so strict about respecting others privacy.
"Whatcha think of the new guy? Defenestrator huh? Seems like quite a character. I see you've been watching the news on him a lot." Greg reached to the mini fridge and pulled out a beer, offering up me one too. As I reached to take it though Greg held onto it with a tight grip. We both held on now, me yanking on the neck and him holding steady onto the glass. I looked up and met his eyes, his now cold, steady eyes.
"You're a smart guy Manny. A really smart guy." he whispered, leaning in closer and closing the distance on the couch. "Being smart is an advantage I'd say. But....sometimes? Well sometimes when you're smart you're curious too. Are you curious Manny?"
I stared to the tv, where the footage now showed the Defenestrator tossing Rebeat against a window over and over until it broke.
"I uh...what are you getting at Greg?"
"I'm just saying that I'm cooking my mothers lasagna recipe for dinner and it'd be a shame if you couldn't join the rest of us. You will join us huh?" his voice grew dark, grated. There was not just an intensity behind it, but a power.
"You- You're him." I managed to stutter out.
"Yes. And you're Manuel Viele. Now I'm going to cook, then we'll play Catan with the boys. You in, or out?"
I thought for a moment, but knew it wasn't a tough decision. Defenestrator or not, he cooked a mean lasagna. And so what? We all have our flaws. I took the beer from him gently now. As I pulled back our eyes stayed cemented to each other, tension built behind them as if at any moment one of us would strike, but no such thing happened. Instead I simply drank my beer in a gesture of understanding.
The lasagna was delicious as always, and though it pained me at first, later that night I took down my wall on The Defenestrator. I didn't need it anymore. | 2022-11-20T09:04:13 | 2022-11-20T08:34:31 | 164 | 97 |
[WP] You are pretty sure that your roommate is a new villain terrorizing the city and you are conflicted. They cook extra food for you and your other roommates frequently, pay you their share of the bills on time, and even help to clean the apartment. They are the perfect roommate. | "Hey Josh!" Morgan Cromwell, my roommate, said loudly, alerting me to his presence, "rent's this Friday, right?"
"'Sup Morgan. Yeah, it is," I answered. I was still groggy from bed, having been woken up early by the distant sounds of explosions and police sirens blaring.
"Good! Let me just get that done now," he said and pulled a large canvas bag with a dollar sign on it from his flowing violet cape adorned with numerous skulls. He insisted they were replica skulls, not actual skulls of the innocent. I didn't much care.
Still half-dazed, I waddled over to the counter to get some cereal and turned the TV on for some background noise.
*...and the fire department is on scene rescuing survivors from the collapsed bank. As of now, we are unsure how many have perished in the gruesome explosion, but estimates say...*
Aw, nice. Morgan bought milk. No dry cereal for me today.
"There," he cheerily said and put 300 dollars down on the counter. "That covers it, I believe?"
"Hey, uh, rent's only 250. This is more than necessary. I'm not sure I have any change around..."
"Ah, don't worry about it," he chuckled. "I had a great payday recently. You can use it for groceries or keep it, I don't much mind."
"Well, thanks Morg," I smiled and ate a spoonful of cereal. "Oh, bu habe sumfing on-" I sputtered with my mouth full and pointed my spoon at his shoulder. He looked over and dislodged the finger, seemingly torn off by an explosion, from his magnificent cloak.
"Huh. Weird," he smiled. "How did that get there." I merely shrugged. "Anyway!" he chirped and put the finger in his pocket, "I'm off now. Got some more business to take care of," he said and cast a glance back at the TV still airing the report about the exploded bank. "See you in the evening? I was thinking about making some goulash if you'd like."
"That sound excellent!" I smiled. He nodded and left the apartment.
I sat down to finish my cereal and watch the TV properly.
*...the chief of police has issued a statement regarding the explosion, saying it is most likely the work of the reviled villain Morganicus-*
I turned the TV off and sighed. I had plans for that exact same bank, even bought the C4, acquired the blueprints, all of it. And then Morgan had to rush in and do it before me with considerably less spectacle. He's yet to figure out the correct amount of chemicals to add to the explosives to give them that neon purple colour which he wants to be his signature calling card. Still, he's a good kid. Eager, capable, smart as a whip.
Maybe one day we'll even team up. Show this city what *real* villainy is. | At first I thought nothing of Jeremy's frequent disappearances. He'd suddenly up and leave the flat without warning, sometimes being gone for days at a time, and when he returned he'd seem harried and stressed. Whatever he was doing, he didn't let it affect the dynamic in the flat.
Eventually, though, I couldn't fail to notice that every time Jeremy vanished coincided with news of activity from that new villain that had recently taken root in the city, Annihilator. Short absences matched with small instances such as a bank robbery, while longer absences matched with bigger assaults, like when he was gone for a full fortnight and there was a big attack in a city in Nepal in the middle of it. It was definitely suspicious, but I'd need proof if I wanted to raise the issue.
But... did I *want* to raise the question? If I'm right, and he is Annihilator, then wouldn't he just kill me before I could out him? And if I'm wrong, and it is all just a major coincidence, I could cause tensions to arise within the flat and drive out a great flatmate. And a great flatmate he is. Ideal, really. He pays his share of the rent on time, cleans up after himself, doesn't cause problems, even shares his food with the rest of us when we're short. If I'm being entirely honest, this arrangement wouldn't work without him.
But the suspicion gnaws at the back of my mind, and I decide that the next time he disappears I'm going to sneak into his room and look for clues.
The opportunity presents itself a mere 3 days later. I'm chilling on the couch with Josephine, barely paying attention as I flick through shows on Netflix while Jo comments things like "No. Seen it. Boring. No. Looks shit." The sound of Jeremy's door slamming open drags my attention from the screen, and I catch sight as he locks the door to his room and hauls arse to the front door with a big hold-all slung over his shoulder. Once he's gone, I wait a minute before hearing his car peel away through the open window, then I jump over the back of the couch and run to my room to grab the lockpicks I have stashed away.
Tools in hand, I approach his bedroom door. The locks on these doors are all the same type, just different sets so that they require different keys, so I've spent the last few days practicing on my door until I could get that done in under a minute. This shouldn't take much longer than that.
"What're you doing?" Jo asks, having noticed me crouched at Jeremy's door.
"Just need to confirm something that's been bugging me for a while now," I respond, inserting the tools into the lock and testing the barrel.
A few minutes later, I hear a satisfying **click** as I finish with the last tumbler of the lock, and I twist to open it. Standing to my feet, I place my hand on the knob and twist, pushing as I step forwards. My jaw hits the floor as I walk into the room.
"What the fuck?" I hear over my shoulder. Apparently, Jo has decided this is more interesting than watching nothing on Netflix, and has followed me inside. I can't help but agree. | 2022-11-20T09:04:13 | 2022-11-20T07:35:47 | 164 | 70 |
[WP] You are a superhero who fights with his arch-nemesis on a weekly basis. For the past few weeks however, you haven't seen him, so you decide to break into his lair, only to find a video-recording, titled for you. Turns out: He died because of terminal cancer. | The door easily swung open. It wasn't even locked. No security, no safeguards, just a door.
The open door revealed an apartment. It wasn't anything massive or grand, but it wasn't small either. Just a regular apartment. A light layer of dust covered everything. All the curtains were drawn and pressed against their windowsills. I stepped into the apartment.
I don't know what I was expecting. But whatever it was, it wasn't this. I still expected there to be some kind of security, some kind of secret passage or lever that would reveal his actual lair. But as I walked around, I saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everywhere I looked, everything I turned over, there was no lever, no mechanism, not even a clue, to show that this was only the surface. I left no stone unturned. And after what felt like a day, I let myself collapse onto the sofa in the living room.
The table was oddly clean compared to the rest of the apartment. Everything and everywhere else seemed lived in, had some sort of presence. But the coffee table was just... there. The remote was placed neatly in the corner, and it was wiped down. I don't know how everything was dusty while the coffee table stayed clean. But what really drew my attention was the USB placed in the middle of the coffee table.
I picked it up to inspect it. When I turned it over, there was a small piece of paper that was taped onto it. My name, my real name, was written in pen on the paper. I felt a cold sweat break out as the thought that he knew who I was the entire time crossed my mind. I stuffed the USB stick into my breast pocket and left the apartment.
I headed straight to my place. Not my lair, but my home. My real home. I took the elevator ride and stood in front of my front door. The key felt cold in my hand. I hesitated to stick it into the lock. He knew my name. He must've know where I live. He must've. Right? Maybe. I wasn't concerned about me or my stuff, I didn't have much anyway, but what about everyone else?
I pushed the thought out of my mind and stuck the key into the lock. I quickly turned it and headed in.
I tossed my jacket onto the back of the couch and found an old laptop to use. I dug the USB stick out of my pocket. I rubbed my thumb over the paper before sticking it into the laptop.
A file popped up. I clicked into it expecting it to be plans or a virus, but all I found was a video file. I hesitantly opened it.
The video started with a black screen. A few seconds later, the cover on the camera was removed.
"Hello. If you are seeing this... Well there's no good way to say this... But I'm dead. I'm leaving this video behind because I want you to know the truth. I know you have no reason to trust me, and I'm half expecting for you to not even watch this video, but if you're here, just listen. And trust me when I say, I'm actually dead this time."
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For a moment, he said nothing and remained still. He seemed to be gathering himself.
"OK. My name, me real name, is Jason Beckett. I'm not going into the specifics of my past because I don't know how much time I have left on the camera."
He moved back from the camera. I saw mountains in the background.
"A year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. It was terminal. Nothing anyone or anything could do for me. Instead of doing chemo to hold on for a few more months, I decided to do this instead. I have a family. None of them know what my line of work is. I cut off contact with them after my diagnosis. Not that they are bad people, but because I don't want them to worry. Every month, on the dot, they get a deposit of money into their bank accounts. I want to take care of them, as much as I could in my final months."
He turned around so that his back was facing the camera.
"This is the place I often retreat to. After our fights, whenever I need a break... or when the cancer gets bad. I have bad days. I've been having them a lot more recently. I was hoping for a few more months, a few more weeks. But... this will have to do. I'm here now, it's a good day, I have the energy."
"You might be wondering why I made this video in the first place. Why I went through all the trouble. Well, I think I made made this video because... I want to thank you. I want to thank you, yes, that's it."
"I chose to do this, all this, because I wanted to make money. There was no other motive than to raise the money necessary to take care of my family. I was never interested in the world domination or whatever it is that every other bad guy was interested in. You... You were there to stop me. You got in my way. You stopped me, more than once. You were there to foil my plans, you were there to save the people that would've been hurt. In a way, you made my job easier. I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I was prepared to let a few people perish, if it meant I could get what I wanted. Knowing that you were there, knowing that whatever I did, people wouldn't die. It was comforting. I could pull off grander and grander schemes. I could make bold moves and risky maneuvers. I could make more money. And at the end of the day, that's all I really cared for."
"So I guess I'm making this tape, as my way of saying thanks. Thank you, and... I came here" he gestured behind him, "To die. I came here to die. My sanctuary. My home. *My home.* This is it. This is the end of me. I hope it was worth the wait."
There were tears in his eyes.
"Thank you for making the last couple of months I had fun. Thank you for making me feel like I was part of something greater. Goodbye."
The screen cut to black. I could see my reflection. My collar and my shirt were stained with my tears. I hadn't even noticed. I hadn't even noticed... Until now. Until now. | A deafening ringing thundered in Atom's ears as he processed what he'd just heard. His nemesis, not Batman's, not Superman's, or anyone else's. HIS nemesis had just lost a battle with terminal cancer and died. The man prepared a video for him, fully edited and all, detailing his struggle. He shared his favorite conflicts between the two, relished in the few defeats he'd given Atom, and even shed some tears.
A black hole consumed Aton's heart, but he wasn't sure why. More precisely, he was scared to know why. Arms limp at his side, he strolled out of the lair's vindication room-as his nemesis would call it. He thought to himself *just a regular conference room to the rest of the world* and continued down the massive corridor outside the room.
Despite the impressive size of the hall-being wide enough to house ten men side-by-side and tall sufficient for three giants stacked on each other-it exuded a horrendous aura. It reeked of milder, rotting wood and maybe rotting flesh. It wasn't soundless. No. Soundless would have been preferable to the low buzz which echoed through the hall. It always gave the impression an atrocity could be stirred out of sleep at any moment.
Yet none of this mattered to Atom. He navigated the hall with the familiarity of a man who'd been there a thousand times. Nine-hundred-thirty-two times, but who's counting? He thought. Three nagging questions filled the space of his heart.
Number one, why? Not why did his nemesis die, why did he care so much about it? "I don't care. Less threat for the tax-paying citizens. One less chore for me to handle." *But you do care,* he thought. *Not just in the good samaritan way, either. Your heart is hurting for him. You know how bad you'll miss him*.
"NONSENSE!" He slammed his fist into the nearest wall, shooting cracks into the foundation. Rubble dislodged itself from the ceiling, raining pebbles of debris on him. "Nonsense." He whispered. Yet the voice in his head remained, standing in indignation. It said *there's no superpower in this world that can let you lie to yourself.*
A growl escaped Atom as he navigated around the voice. "Question two." Why did he make that video for me? Did he think we were friends or something? Wouldn't it have been more criminal to leave? Plant a fake bomb somewhere and disappear? Why spend your last moments on a video?
*Because you two were friends.*
"We were not."
*You were.*
"A hero and a villain?" The very thought would have made him laugh, but he remained steady. He wasn't sure what other emotions might slip out of he let one escape.
*He was the closest thing to a friend we had. He was the only one within 5000 miles who knew how it felt to have superpowers. How profound that loneliness can touch you. How bitter it can make you. Of everyone, he was the only one who truly appreciated the sacrifices you made for the citizens, even if it came at his expense. He-*
"Stop. Please stop." By now, Atom had leaned against the hallway wall, his chest heaving. For the first time in his life, he could feel allergies tearing into his eyes and nose. After three or four - who's counting? - chest heaves, he got the burning sensation in his throat under control and continued walking. The voice in his head tried to speak, but he drowned it out.
"Question three, why di-"
*No! No! No more asking questions of him. Let's address the elephant in the room. Why didn't you notice, hero?*
Atom came to a halt again.
*You call yourself a hero, but you never once asked yourself, "Why is he committing all these crimes? How can I help him? You just pounded him into oblivion every chance you got."*
Atom braced himself against the wall. "He... was a villain. I ha-"
*He never judged you. You know this in your heart. Even as you persecuted him repeatedly, he never held any hatred towards you. He never saw you with hate-filled eyes and mockingly called you a hero. He always called you by name, and yet...*
"And yet, he broke the law."
*Burglaries, purse snatching, money laundering. He couldn't have made it any more obvious that he needed money. Money for healthcare. One of the few issues even the superpowered still experience. You never asked why he needed the money. Some friend you are. Some fucking friend. You never helped him. Not once. In fact-*
"Please don't go there."
*-you probably made it worse. Getting chased around town and beaten like a drum doesn't help your immune system. But what do I know? I'm not a doctor or even a hero, apparently.*
By now, Atom was on the floor, cradling his knees with his arms. His newly awakened allergies were kicking his ass. His throat was scratchy, his nose was stuffy, and his eyes were watery. He wanted to speak in defense of himself, but he feared how small and weak his voice would sound. Sometimes no protection was better than inadequate protection. It prevented provocation.
So he sat there, getting beaten and berated by his inner thoughts. Until the laughter erupted from him. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as the laughter continued. He prayed the rears were the sadness leaking out, leaving only happiness or at least blissful indifference. The laughter would not stop. It could not stop for another hour, as it was the only thing keeping him sane.
An hour later, the tears dried up, and the bastards didn't take any of the sadness or hurt away with them. He felt just as broken an hour ago, except now he had a sore jaw and a burning headache.
"I don't want to attack myself anymore. Truce?"
No response came because, of course, none would. Atom felt like an idiot speaking those words out loud.
He navigated through the lair, took the cape his neme-no. His fri-frie-rival gifted him with his farewell video and left the cavern. He didn't stop there. With its main threat gone, he left the town behind as well.
This development came without warning for the residents, who never saw him again. Occasionally, they'd hear stories of a man who matched his description saving the day in far-away cities. Except this man went by a different name-Nebula. He also wore a cape. Something Atom was rumored to have hated.
People also reported this hero would occasionally borrow money and donate it to cancer research. However, no one was ever able to confirm. | 2022-12-13T20:30:25 | 2022-12-13T20:24:26 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] You are a vampire. The last time you went to sleep was in Florence during the height of the Renaissance. You awake to an apocalyptic wasteland. | Shadowpunch is a vampire. But he is not the hella gay kind of vampire like you see in the movies that girls like. He is a vampire like the hella metal kind, and he wears black leather and can turn into a bat that has spikes all over.
Shadowpunch woke up. He was in a city. It was Florence. This time, florence was hella metal. It was burning and there were mutants and zombies and stuff. It was like a music video from Japanese Motor Juggalo.
Shadowpunch got a guitar. He got some mutant zombies and had them play on the bass and the drums. He made a band and it was called the Mutant Death Zombie Vampire Smashdeath Superhero band. It was hella rad. | My whole body is in excruciating pain. I'm starving! Out of instinct I turned my head to glance behind me. I see a woman and a child lying behind me lifeless. I approach the woman with this very uneasy feeling. This feeling overcomes me I cannot explain it, tears start to stream down my face. Why? Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Who is this woman? Why am I crying for her? I turn to see the child and I notice she is still breathing. For a moment I forget about my hunger and rushed over to her. I lift her body as gently as I could; my hunger is so intense it hurts to breathe. My whole being wants to taste her and satiate my urge for blood. She was able to open her eyes for a brief moment. She gave me a brief smile of relief, her hand reaches for my face, she approached my ear and whispered “ Big brother, I knew you would wake up. I know you must be starving... Take me, you are the last hope of our kind.
Sorry if not relevant, I made this up on the spot. | 2014-10-02T11:05:50 | 2014-10-02T10:40:18 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] A invincible, immortal man is sentenced to "death" for a murder he didn't commit. | I love last meals.
Seriously, they will get you whatever you want. For my, what was it, 24th time on death row, I decided to go with a nice omelet, over-easy, with an everything bagel and bacon on the side to go along with my euthanasia.
All part of a healthy breakfast.
You see, I can't die. I'm not sure why, but to this day I haven't found something on the planet Earth that will end my cheery existence on this shitty place we call home. Actually, most homes are volatile, rotten Pandora's Boxes, smiles on the outside, pure vitriol once you open the door, so it's pretty accurate. But I digress. They're strapping me into the chair again.
"The third loop usually works." I said to the beefy guard. He gave me a look that crazy people probably get all the time. I smiled politely. Mom always said smiling is how you make friend. I'm pretty sure I had a sesame seed stuck in between my teeth, but Jerry would tell me, right? That's what friends do.
Jerry or Gary fiddled with the straps. Some judge was reading something in a appropriately somber tone. Those guys were more fun when they wore wigs.
"Any final words?" They asked me. They love asking that.
I leaned over to the mike. "Foolishness."
24th word of *A Tale of Two Cities.* Just because I'm being killed doesn't mean there's no room for inside jokes, right? It's a good thing you guys are here for such a good word, though. There were a bunch of Its and Was's that were pretty lame.
Oh, wait, I never told you *why* I was here. You see | Mr. Smith, it has been proven to this court's satisfaction that you differ from the common run of mankind. The sheriff has, through initially accidental investigation, discovered that you cannot die. Not by noose, not by gun or human violence.
As such, you no doubt expect leniency, but it is not this court's habit to offer leniency to murderers merely because of their physical abnormalities, and certainly not in the case of a crime as vile as yours. It is our sworn duty to judge men by the normality of their souls, rather than by the abnormality of their soul's inhabitation.
As for your case, I declare there will be no appeal. No court would hear your lies over the sworn affidavits of five honest men, including the poor victim's own brother. Your scandalous allegations of intimacy merely stain the honor of a pure, innocent young woman, and pile more opprobium on your unfortunately recalcitrant head.
The purpose of the death penalty is to instill dread in the hearts of the wicked, and so doing to prevent crime. That you cannot die does not mean you cannot serve this purpose, and thus also pay for your crime. Heavens know your crime can never be paid in full, but as death is to be permanent, so I also vow that you will not see an end to your punishment here.
The sheriff informs me you still bleed and feel pain, though your wounds reknit themselves. So, in simulation of the fate that ought to be yours in the hands of the Great Judge, we have repurposed one of the courthouse's great cauldrons by the colonnade, and fitted it with such manacles as are sure to resist the temperature. We will have you gagged so your barbarous protests will not disturb the ladies passing by. As soon as we find the time, we'll come up with a lid, so the sight will not tempt your dark breast. And as for the fire, I assure you we know how to deal with our... hrm... coals.
Bailiff?
Take him to his punishment. | 2014-10-19T09:50:39 | 2014-10-19T09:27:34 | 838 | 31 |
[WP] You wake up and you find the opposite gender you in bed together.
Edit: For an idea I've had rattling in my mind for a while now, all these replies are amazing and I'm having fun reading through all the submissions. Thanks you guys, wasn't expecting a response like this when I went to bed. | I tried to roll to the side and my shoulder hit hers. Her eyes met mine and we both jumped slightly.
"Hello there," we said at the same time.
I raced for something to say. Talking to girls has never been a strong suit. My eyes wandered downward. The plain-white-T-and-underwear combo worked a lot better on her than on me.
"So what are you doing in my--" we said again. Oh crap, she's me. I studied her face and recognized the ridge on the nose, the color of the eyes, the characteristic biting of the lip. She was blatantly analyzing me back, but we met eyes again.
Okay, if she's me, she's thinking about sex. If she's just like me, does that mean she thinks I'm hot? It might not work like that.
"So how has your life been, compared to mine?" we each said. Then we realized the problem. "Who talks first?"
There was a coin near my side of the bed. "Heads, I talk, tails, you do." It landed tails.
"Probably about the same," she said. "But you probably didn't learn about tampons or buy bras.
There was a silence. "One of us probably doesn't exist, right?"
"Right."
"Fuck it, I'm thinking about sex, are you?"
"God yes."
We both lunged to take initiative and bopped heads in the process. | "Are you me?" I ask.
"Yeah." It was weird, hearing that husk that I'm so well known for in a female voice.
"For fucks sake."
"Yeah."
We both avoided eye contact like we always do. Instantly the need to avoid each other/ourselves arose.
"We both know we want to shower. I'm showering first, you go to Tim Hortons because I know you hadn't gone fucking grocery shopping yet." She said, pissed because she knew she had done the same thing.
I grunt and get up off the bed, not bothering to cover up.
Suddenly we both have the same thought.
"We should train later, after breakfast." I'm not even sure who said it.
The response was the same as always "Aye, we should."
After breakfast we headed to the gym, my spare Gi fit her perfectly.
We both looked each other in the eye before the timer hit and we both said the words we'd been dying to say outloud ever since we first said them to ourselves on that walk home in the rain. All those years ago.
"There is a bad wolf inside me. It's greed and anger and jealousy and rage. When I fight, that wolf gets it's chance to bear it's teeth, to sink it's fangs into some flesh. I fight here, in the gym. I fight dirty here, so out there I can be good. Out there, I can be the good wolf, I can fight the good fight. " There was a deafening silence for a moment while our eyes locked. Once again, I'm not sure who said it. "I won't hold back."
Then the fight began. | 2014-11-23T10:57:15 | 2014-11-23T10:16:52 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | There he was, finally alone, given the time to reflect on his courage: a story that would be passed through the muck and mire of humanity. He had defeated our hero and sat begrudgingly on his throne. There was turmoil and conflict; pain, lament, and remorse. There was also joy in the remembrance of his accomplishment and a great wonder of the rewards to come.
For his deed, he received a glorious T-shirt, and his picture on the wall. A 10 foot sub is a helluva thing to eat. | After weeks of making phone calls we finally found someone that could open the safe. They arrived around 9am and by 7 that evening the doors started to move. The lock had finally freed but the hinges were off balance and the doors would not open more than a inch. The locksmith went to his truck to get his pry-bar. Suddenly my alarm went off and in a wave of panic I reached over and hit the snooze button. Did I dream that I finally opened that safe? I walked into the other room to check on the safe. From across the room and over the couch I could tell that the door was wide open, but I couldn't see inside from this angle. Suddenly my alarm went off... I start to wonder if I will ever wake up? | 2014-12-21T18:41:55 | 2014-12-21T18:01:37 | 212 | 13 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | - Online dating sites
- First date ideas
- How much do you tip
- What clothes do you wear to a fancy restaurant
- Ways to save money
- How to get proposal ring in secret
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- First class tickets to Hawaii
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- How to tell if it's a boy or girl early on
- Local available night shifts
- Baby toys
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- Strong cheap Liquor
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- Alcoholics Anonymous
- Online college
- Necessary items for raising a baby
- Baby clothes
- Lunchbox and Backpack
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- Elementary school supplies
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- Used car for son
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| Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T17:35:01 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 161 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | 6:00pm: dark souls good items
6:03pm: dark souls leo ring
6:05pm: dark souls how to find Ornstein and Smough
6:51pm: dark souls how to beat Ornstein and Smough
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11:12am: how to fix hole in wall
11:17am: hardware stores
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11:24am: eb games return policy | Best private school LA
LA public school system
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Child caskets LA | 2015-02-04T19:18:12 | 2015-02-04T17:13:32 | 128 | 23 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | How to make a spreadsheet
Porn
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How to dress for job interview
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Gay weddings
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Edit: thank you for the gold, beautiful stranger!
| Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T19:49:45 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 112 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | How to ask a girl on a date.
How to ask a girl on a cheap date.
How to ask a girl to coffee.
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How to say goodbye. | 2015-02-04T20:18:04 | 2015-02-04T17:51:52 | 50 | 25 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | How to ask a girl on a date.
How to ask a girl on a cheap date.
How to ask a girl to coffee.
How to ask girl on date after rejection.
How to get girl to like me.
How to disengage home alarm.
How to disengage home alarm without knowing code.
Are garages alarmed?
How to enter house through garage.
How to enter house through garage +quietly.
Where to buy security cameras.
Where to buy small security cameras.
How to install security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras +webfeed.
Can the police track my webfeed?
How to hide from police.
How to survive in jail. | Best private school LA
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Child caskets LA | 2015-02-04T20:18:04 | 2015-02-04T17:13:32 | 50 | 23 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | How to ask a girl on a date.
How to ask a girl on a cheap date.
How to ask a girl to coffee.
How to ask girl on date after rejection.
How to get girl to like me.
How to disengage home alarm.
How to disengage home alarm without knowing code.
Are garages alarmed?
How to enter house through garage.
How to enter house through garage +quietly.
Where to buy security cameras.
Where to buy small security cameras.
How to install security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras +webfeed.
Can the police track my webfeed?
How to hide from police.
How to survive in jail. | makeup tips on how to slender face
easy hairdo styles
how to change your life
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reddit.com
facebook.com
d2l.edu
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craigslist apartments | 2015-02-04T20:18:04 | 2015-02-04T20:08:51 | 50 | 11 |
[WP] There is something outside the door that will say anything or sound like anyone to get you to open the door.
Edit:I fell asleep after I posted this sorry for not replying they're all really good, thanks for taking the time to write. | "Who is it? " The bubbly blonde spoke in a song like voice.
"Pizza delivery" a strange nasal voice responded.
"Odd" she mused " I'm sorry, I didn't order a pizza. Ewe carbs.
"Sushi guy" the voice calmly responded.
"Heavens no! " she gasped. "There's no such thing as a dolphin safe net!! "
"We have a date" the voice murmured.
"In a Ford focus?" turning her nose up after looking at the driveway.
"Mac cosmetics " the voice sighed
"Yay" she squealed.
The murder remains unsolved. It was just too baffling. What sick bastard would kill then stage a shark attack in Scottsdale, AZ? | ***Audio recording, begin***
My name is Jason Aritoza and I don't have a lot of time, so I'll make this brief. For the last couple of days I've been tracking a ... phenomenon, for lack of a better word. This ... phenomenon, it swallows people. They just end up missing without a trace. Now, I work for the missing person department and our reports have skyrocketed for the last month and, I believe, I know why. Some of the victims were livestreaming to a site called twitch.tv at the time of their kidnapping and I managed to get recordings of those for analysis.
*A distant knock can be heard*
God damnit, it's here. I'll make this very brief then. Before they vanish without a trace, someone knocks on their door and ...
*in the distance* It's the police, open up!
Shit! Hold on.
*Distant* Yes? What is... OH GOD! NO! PLEASE NO!
*A loud growl and a crash*
***Audio recording: End*** | 2015-03-11T02:27:28 | 2015-03-11T01:49:31 | 87 | 24 |
[WP] You are a part of the middle generation on a colony ship. You never saw Earth and will not see your destination.
Would you do what's best for the colony you would never see for a planet you never knew? | She smiles, her slender fingers tracing the indents on the clear plastic as smooth as glass. Dots of white arhosa mark the window in what could only be assumed as disarray, carved in by the point of a pen. Almost a year ago they were made, and in a year they'll be a new array, each point carefully calculated and marked.
"Feels nice, doesn't it?" I say, rising from my bed beside her. She laughs as I kiss from her shoulder to her neck, before brushing me away.
"Stop tickling me, would you?"
Before I can say anything a meteor whizzes past the hull, flanked a stream of technicolor particles illuminated by year old sunlight.
"Whoa," she exclaims, twisting her head around to see it pass by.
"How can you still get excited about that sort of stuff?"
"Because after 20 years it's still incredible."
Again, I'm lost behind her awe of space. The planets, the power, the destination, the mission: it's consumed her since birth. Being the only daughter of the head pilot, it's only expected. I don't know why I anticipated anything different after a night together in her room. Again, I try to wrestle away her attention.
"So what are the dots?" I ask, rousing her attention back from the stars.
"Huh?"
Wrapping my arm around her waist I pull myself beside her and grab her open hand. Taking her finger, I trace it against the little white specs on her bedroom window.
"What constellation is it?"
She arcs her head back and belts out a echoing laugh. I blush within seconds, doubting what I assumed was obvious. Now sympathetic, she rubs my bare knee.
"I'm sorry. It's not any constellation, which you had no way of knowing. I mean, there are *so* many constellations after all. But you were pretty close."
"Close how?"
Always the teacher, she withholds the answer a bit more.
"Wrong formation, but the correct bodies."
"Suns."
She inches her hand up my leg. "Correct."
Oh, so it's this sort of game.
"But it isn't a constellation?"
She presses her hand down, but moves it nowhere.
"I mean, *technically*, I guess, but it doesn't have a name."
I grab her hand and move it up an inch for her.
"So, I was correct."
"But what is it a constellation of?"
Twenty-four suns in white twinkle across the canvas of her bedroom window. Twisting my head, I search for some pattern and shape. While none of them are clustered together, a few are at the far corners, distinct from the rest. No image emerges from the points.
She scoots herself up, and moves to the head of the bed to face me.
"Whoa, hold on I haven't given up."
Laughing, she smacks the indent from her old seat, motioning me to move. When I do she advises me to lean back, turn left, turn right, stare straight, until suddenly I see the stars line up an inch off from the markings on her window.
"I made them 10 months ago, and despite the fact we're barreling forward and hundreds of thousands of miles per hour, from this point they haven't moved a distance longer than my finger."
"That's depressing."
"No it's not. It's beautiful. People are so quick to complain on this ship about the trip. They talk about earth as if they've seen it, as if they're leaving some fantastic place behind, but it's all perspective. Good, bad, near, far, pain, pleasure, it's relative. So why not hold onto the belief that our lives here are beautiful, that we're fortunate to be here."
With her bare finger, she rubs a lone star on the corner of the window.
"Why would anyone be distant when there is so much love, so close?"
---
Edit: Thank you so much for your comments. It's part of what encourages me to write at all. I'm glad I could make something others enjoy. | My alarm clock woke me up from my dream. I dreamed of stable ground. Not the one we have down in the lowest levels, I dreamed of properly solid, stable ground that belongs to a planet, just like the ground that we have all seen in The Book. I was talking to my mum and she had to explain how digging worked because I couldn't grasp the concept. We were digging and digging, bringing hidden layers of sand to the very top. I was overjoyed at the thought that it would never end, but soon my fingers hit a solid wall. I digged deeper, my nails scratched the metal surface, making an unpleasant sound. Then I woke up.
I quickly got dressed and left my cubicle. I saw my neighbour, Abril, wave at me as I was locking the door. She must have learned from the base I only had a few reproductive months left and still haven't found a bearer. Well, she wasn't that young either. Maybe I should go at it? Would she be offended if I fathered another link with another bearer? This was the sad reality of many guys that were over 24. Plus, I admit, she was kind of hot. I caught myself winking at her. Oh boy, now we definitely have to do that. Maybe it will be better than the last time and she won't accuse me of being an infertile traitor.
What the hell, I thought and waved to Abril. Let's get this child duty thing done with.
My shift started at 8, but I got a bit lost in my own thoughts on the way to work. I came only 3 minutes. I arrived only 3 minutes late, but Detroit was already waiting at the door.
"Finally!", he exclaimed. "It's been running for 2 minutes without my supervision, so drag your lazy ass back there real quick."
We both knew nothing was gonna happen with The Engine in 2 minutes, Detroit was just a bitch.
"Sorry, I was targeting a bearer", I said apologetically.
"Whoa, at last! You should have made at least 3 links by now, how old are you, like 25?"
"Well... I just couldn't bring myself to it earlier," I sighed. Detroit was 20 and had sired at least 4 links that we know of. He was the role model for all men on The Ship. "Maybe I'm just trying to even out the excess that you made."
He chuckled. "Yeah right. Or rather still trying to get over
that crazy girl that jumped out. Oh, don't act surprised", he rolled his eyes, seeing my reaction. "Everyone knows. Come on man, let go. She just thought too much. Don't let it get to you."
I stared blankly at the floor. It resembled the metal bottom I was scratching in my dream. Detroit patted me on the shoulder and left. I opened the door to the engine room and felt an overwhelming heat wave hitting me immediately.
The procedure went as usual. I logged in, took my shirt off not to fry alive, started the cool down. Initiate the cool down again in 15 minutes. It was a dull job, but it gave me a good social status and quite a lot of free time in between cool down Nevertheless, it was vital to keep The Ship going. If I abandoned my post, then...
Yeah, what then? Would I doom the humanity? Would I be just like Anita, jumping out but with a blast? Would it be a mere disturbance? Would they detain me? Or did I indeed have more power over our fate, just like she insisted?
Last time we talked she said she was tired of being nothing more than a carer of proper DNA. That it didn't make sense. That we shouldn't have survived anyway. That we are never going to make it. That we are only tools.
The cool down lamp started blinking. The hot room, illuminated only by a couple of small light bulbs and the blinking warning lamp seemed more like hell than ever.
Maybe she was right? Why am I even doing that? Nothin' there for me. We do not deserve it. I heard the stories that were not written in The Book. I know they were true. We are only a danger.
The lamp blinked persistently. I tried ignoring it. I thought of her.
I initiated the procedure again.
| 2015-04-15T14:52:59 | 2015-04-15T13:45:29 | 1,352 | 59 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | "Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet." | At first we thought it was a malfunction. Some sort of glitch with the machines. All of these dogs we brought in kept talking about the ghosts and how they had to fight them. Every day. Every second. They were always fighting and trying to protect us from the evil we could not see.
The strange thing was when we took images from their brains we saw nothing. Their image of the world looked just like ours. Our research showed nothing but the dogs kept talking about the ghosts. How they were all around us and humans could not see what was right in front of them. It was their only job. We tried to make sense of it but nothing turned up until the accident.
One of the interns was fixing some wiring on a broken machine. One of the dogs being scanned for images was watching him peacefully until he started barking. The intern petted the dog and the dog stopped barking until the intern went back to work on the machine. The dog began to bark again but this time the intern ignored him. Suddenly a surge flew through the wires sending the intern backward across the room. He was unconscious for ten minutes.
When the research team reviewed the tape they noticed something they did not expect. When the dog that was being imaged watched the intern, there was a figure behind him. It wasn't so much a solid figure but a mass of waves behind the intern. As he went to the wires the waves moved closer and closer to him until the waves enveloped the wires and the intern was electrocuted. When more footage was studied, more strange wavelike being were found to inhabit objects seconds before accidents occurred. The being were in much more footage than previously realized. We could only see them through the images from the dogs and every time the strange being came the dogs reacted. They were constantly barking and chasing the strange beings from objects and keeping them away from their masters. They were more than man's best friend, they were man's protector. | 2015-05-18T14:37:16 | 2015-05-18T12:34:26 | 504 | 48 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | "Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet." | Professor Clayton pressed the 'Enable' function on his watch.
"Can you hear me, Rover?" he asked.
A distinctly Mancunian accent came back through the transceiver embedded in Professor Clayton's cheek. "OF course I can, you bloody mor-oh, no." Rover covered his head with his paws. "Nonononononono! You fucking bastards! OH, please, Gods no. This isn't happening." Rover howled, and it came through as a howl.
"You. Fucking. **Monster.** You have *ZERO* fucking clue what the fuck you've just done." Profeesor Clayton was taken aback by the string of curses that followed, and was hesitant to speak during this.
"Calm down, Rover. So, can you please give me an idea of precisely *what* I have done?"
Rover sighed. "My name is Arther Luthair Paendragon. I was once King of the Britons. I lived not far from here, in the ancient town of Henge, in what is now called Wiltshire.
"I once ruled these lands from isle to isle, from the tip of Land's End to the arena at the northmost tip of the Orkney Isles. I was wise and ruled justly yet firmly, aided by my mentor, Merlun, and my nemesis and ally, Morgena Lefe.
"But then everything changed on the field at Glaston Berry. We were...cursed to live on forever, re-incarnating as different animals, until such a time as we could speak to one another.
"I can take you to my grave, if you wish, as well as the burial places of Merlun and Morgena. Follow me." Rover slipped his collar, his 'voice' becoming ever more commanding during this speech. "Well? Now you get to see what was wrought all those centuries ago. All dogs and cats? They're what happens when people *die.*" | 2015-05-18T14:37:16 | 2015-05-18T14:11:01 | 504 | 32 |
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