prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] After your death, you found yourself in a non-human body, holding what looks like a bong, surrounded by other members of the same species asking you "how was the trip?" in a language you somehow understand despite never hearing before. | It felt like I was pulled out of a nap, snapped out of a daydream, and ripped out of the afterlife all at once. Here I was sitting on the woody trunk of a fallen mycota, one hand still holding the vac bong, the other still warm from the heating coil, the other propping me up by my elbow, and the other resting on my leg, hand hanging in my lap. To top it off, my tongue felt weird in my mouth, and I had the worst deja vu to go with it, something about a gravity bong and a lighter?
"Hey, drag and tag, it's a relay not a marathon!"
My bosom buddy Aenith was staring at me like I was trying to smoke the whole find.
"Woah, wait, sorry, I'm just, how long was I out?" The garbled words poured from my mouth, it sounded like someone invented a cross between Yiddish and French with a Chinese accent but all the words were made up. Wait... Yiddish? Chinese?
"You just finished your first drag, but dude, Tempes, hurry up, you may have carved it but I was the one who killed it."
I handed Aenith the bong and coil, and couldn't shake the feeling. He wasn't wrong, but it wasn't right, I remember camping in the gills of a nearby tree - tree? Mushroom - for days, hoping to catch a barrow. Aenith spotted it the afternoon of the fourth day, tracked it, and shot it with his impulse cannon from the canopy. I cleaned it up, carved it, trimming the scales from its wings, carefully removing the toxin glands and bile bladders before butchering the rest of it.
We let it dry in the sun the next morning, excited we finally got one, I loaded up a nugget of it's flesh, and roasted it, took the first pass. Apparently each color barrow's roasting flesh causes a different experience: yellow was "like nothing but a full body wool sweater, inviting and warm but just as agitating", red was "a blood rush to everything, exciting, exhilarating, hedonistic, electrifying", blue was "the same as everything is now, but different, but in a good, satisfying way." There are plenty of others with just as bake descriptions, we happened to get a green one, supposedly "almost, but not quite, entirely unlike everything" - even that description brings up this sense of deja vu.
Now its Aenith's turn, and I'm here, having just finished one pass, first breath in, first breath out, just a tick or two - but also having finished one pass, first breath in, last breath out. I mean, I'm only 26 years old here, but, I was also 96 years old a moment ago on... Sol 3? No, and Gaia's not right either... Earth! But, 96 earth years is, like, wait, hold on... 73 Terran years, oh holy shit no wonder I'm so lost I'm like 4 times my age in just a single breath, and most of it's the wrong life!
"Annie, wait, hold up, let me prepare you for whatever that was, I'm, *shit* I'm less me than I am *Sam Fuller*, and you gotta, like, slow down for a second."
"Temp, chill, you're not dead, I'll be fine, besides, you're still high, unless you're trying to tell me the words *same*, *shit*, or *filler* aren't the slurs of a paranoid druggie.'
Before I could say anything more he stuck the coil into the nugget, breathed in as the meat sizzled and smoked with a savory, minty smoke, breathed out, and promptly collapsed in a fit of laughter.
"Hahahaholy shit, holy fucking shit, ok, you're telling me that that was one hit? One hit of green barrow does all that? And barrow keeps fresh for literally forever? And I died from - from an aneurysm caused by excitement, because my senile, geriatric wife recognized me for the first time in decades, and asked if we could shag like we did on our prom night? Did any of that make sense to you?"
"Wait, hold on, does... Does the phrase 'Earth, Y2K, turn on the millennia' mean anything to you?"
Annie shot up, looked me dead in the eyes, and howled, "You bet your sorry ass it does!"
"If that's the case, I think we have some stories to swap, though I don't think we should take another hit for at least a few years."
"Oh, I agree with you on both parts, but first, what's your opinion on hamburgers with an egg on them. Actually, what's your opinion on hamburgers at all, because, damn, meat is apparently really good when it's not a drug."
"I know right? Who ever knew there were such savory, filling flavors anywhere? There's ham, beef, chicken, lamb, pork - well, pork is ham and ham is pork, but you have to admit..."
- fin - | I can’t remember anything. My head is spinning and I feel like I just woke up after a long night of partying. Where am I even? The room was dark, dimly lit by red and purple lights, with other colors moving along the walls. The bass from all the strange noises shook the seat I’m in, though the noise was pleasant. It had a beat that made me want to dance though I wouldn’t have been able to. I was blocked from getting out of my seat because sitting around me were all these strange… things? That’s not fair, I feel like I know them somehow, but whatever they're saying, it sounds foreign. It’s muffled, and I’m still seeing doubles. My head fell a few times, but the table in front of me broke the fall. Wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but whatever they gave me in this bong like thing, really did a number to me.
My body, it’s heavy… but wait, what the hell?
My arms are like tentacles, two on each side. My vision was clearing, and everyone around me was the same, tentacles as arms, a face with no visible features other eyes. Their heads looked like really cool helmets to say the least, and apparently our mouths is where a human’s jaw would be. Wait, Human… “Aren’t I a human?” I said out loud. The sounds that came out of my mouth were unlike anything I had ever heard, but it was my voice. It wasn’t words but sound, the music in the background, even had an amazing tone to it. A lovely harmonic, blending with the melody of the music. But that was a voice, a singers voice.
Their voice’s wiggled in a vibrato. They were laughing. The black of their eyes surround their irises made their eye color stand out. Some had blue irises, yellow, green, red. Our upper arms matched our chest color, which matched the color of our heads and was hard like armor. Our lower arms are more like a true skin, and on our exposed bellies, were these gems? Gems that glowed and looked to have some liquid flowing in them.
“How was the trip?” one of them asked. There was six of us at the table, including myself, but it was the one in front of me that finally said something to me.
“What happened?”
The one next to me, twist his lower and upper tentacles together and places them on my shoulder, “You took a hit of Soh`ul, remember?”
“Soh`ul?”
“Yeah, it's great stuff, though for beginners it might be somewhat overwhelming.”
It was strange, we spoke and understood each other but not with words. The sounds we made were various, and even musical at times. They said I was out for about and hour.
“I was knocked out on this stuff for an hour?” I said, holding the brown bong shaped bottle to the light above the table. There was a cloud like substance inside that appeared to move on its own.
“Hey be careful with that stuff, it’s not easy to come back,” the one to the other side of me grabs the bottle and pulls it back down to the table. The others laughed at the overcautious reaction of the one who took the bottle from me, mocking how it can’t be all that hard.
“Hey but seriously, what was it like? Six minutes high on Soh`ul?”
The one across the table leaned in with his tentacles twisted together and used them to prop his head up on them.
“I felt like something else… something called a human. I didn’t have tentacles, a shell layer, or a gem. I was squishy and had strange body parts. I lived on a strange planet, filled mostly with water but also several large bodies of land,” they all leaned in, and listened intensively. Might have thought they would all have known this already, they made it sound like they’ve done this before. “When I spoke to other humans, it was in some strange otherworldly language—they called it English. But that wasn’t all, there was so many sounds that came from different humans, I couldn’t even understand all of them." The irony, I couldn’t understand all the languages of the humans, but I could understand our musical voices. I’m sure if a human heard us speaking they would think it’s just music playing from their televisions. In fact, “They had these things called Tee-Vees that told episodic stories to hundreds if not thousands all at once!”
They sat back in awe, “Amazing!”
“I want to try Soh`ul next!”
“No way, it's my turn!”
They bickered over the bottle, but there was something that occurred to me, “If you’re going to try it, just know… the life span of humans is one hundred times shorter than ours,”.
They all sat back down in their seats and fell silent.
“Well, it's not like I wanted to try it right away any way.”
Another one next to him nudges his side, “Yeah right! You're totally frightened of it.”
We all laughed and eventually forgot all about the bottle of Soh`ul. Though, when no one was looking, I took it with me as we were leaving. It’s not like they needed it, and I forgot to mention, there are some good things about being a human… Oh well, they don’t need to know every little detail. | 2018-11-12T09:30:09 | 2018-11-12T09:24:50 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] The man smiles, and puts a single vial filled with a swirling blue gas into the pot. “A soul,” he sneers. You aren’t exactly sure which one of your friends invited him, but Friday Night Poker just got significantly more interesting. | "A soul."
We all looked across the the table at it. The bottle was stoppered with cork, like it were drink, but something swirled inside like a blue mist. One could occasionally glimpse a face. This was the soul of someone exceptional. A priest? a poet? A murderer of distinction?
I looked up into the player's eyes. They were a sickly yellow, with a drop of blood in the center. The image of hell, and we all knew that going in. But the Devils didn't trade or gamble souls away. They sold the nevercold brass in abundance. Occasionally devilbone, though it brobably wasn't actually the bones of devils. But Hell didn't *export* souls. Devils didn't trade them away. And they *certainly* didn't gamble them off.
I stared hard into those putrid, yellow eyes. An imposter? Or some Hellish trick?
One of the other players lifted a cage onto the table. Five scarabs, with violet shells. They glowed like candles.
Another raised a bottle to the table. "Strangling Willow," she said. Absinthe. It was probably stoppered with cork, and that was held in place with wax and metal. The liquid seemed to writhe inside the bottle.
I threw a plate of lead onto the table, my eyes locked on the Devil's. I knew on the tablet a sigil had been etched with acid. Were it written on paper, the paper would have burned to nothing. As it was, the lead melted more often than was convenient. The sigil meant "The Unraveling of Schemes through Deliberate Pursuit by their Target." The Devil's mouth quirked itself into a grin.
Devils did not gamble away souls. And I was reasonably certain this was not an imposter. Meaning the cards had almost certainly rigged in the Devil's favor, and that soul was not truly at risk. It wasn't entirely surprising. We were playing cards with a Devil, and anyone with sense knew to never trust Hell. Even if they had an embassy.
I had, of course, also tampered with the cards. But I was doubtful I could best a Devil in trickery.
I looked down at my cards. They were decent, but there were plenty of hands that could beat them.
I looked up again, my eyes slowly raking across the table. The surfacer was slowly counting out coins. It was generally considered poor form to bet the Bazaar's currency at these games, but we had all agreed to give him some slack. His hands were shaking. I put my hand on his once there was half an Echo on the table.
"Fifty pence is good." He nodded, and looked back down to his cards.
If it came down to it, I could throw the absinthe at the devil. That would keep it busy long enough for me to kill the other two, at least for a while. After that, I gave myself even odds against the devil in a fight. And the surfacer knew to bolt for the next room if things turned violent.
"Well then," the Devil's voice wrapped around my throat like silk, "shall we?"
And we revealed our cards. | I made a point to keep the corner of my mouth from titling up, to keep my left eye from twitching. A bored expression settled on my face as I regarded the vial. My sources had told me the vial would appear tonight - and though I couldn't be sure which of my so-called friends was dealing in souls - it was finally close to being back in my grasp.
I was a card away from a royal flush. I needed the ace of spades, which was conveniently slipped up my sleeve. A slight trick of hand and it would be in my palm. Getting caught cheating in this part of town was a death sentence, but I didn't really care. I felt the soul was silently mocking me, waiting for me to make my big move. How many times now had I come close to stealing it back only to lose it? And there it was, placed directly in front of me. I calculated the odds it would be for me to do a snatch and grab. They weren't that great, seated as far from the exit as I was. Instead, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my own vial filled with a green gas.
"It's not a soul," I said, "but it's the next best thing. A portal to the inner sanctum of the High Church itself. You can take whatever soul you want."
The stranger who brought the blue vial leaned back in his chair. "That's a death sentence. You can't just walk into the church and not expect to be overwhelmed by guards."
"So bring lots of weapons," I returned.
My vial was debated among the players, but it was ultimately accepted. The five players went around the table, lying their cars down. I had already slipped the ace of spades into my hand, so I faked surprised - though not jubilation - when my royal flush took the pot. The stranger reached for the vial at the same time as he withdrew a gun. But I was quicker. I snatched both vials and flipped the table as a distraction. I darted around other tables as people shouted in confusion. I tore the cap off the green vial, tossing the gas in front of me as I ran. The portal opened as the sound of several guns went off behind me. The green gas enveloped me as a bullet tore through my arm. I swore as I landed on my hands and knees in the High Church - it wasn't my most graceful entry.
The portal - designed to carry only two souls - closed as soon as my feet touch the grey stone floor. My boss was standing nearby, his red, glowing eyes boring into me.
"Do you have it?" he asked
"Of course," I said haughtily. "I would never let you down. It's my job, after all, to find lost souls."
"Yes, and return them to my domain. Which you have failed at several times now. If you can't perform consistently..."
"You'll what? Sell my soul in a poker game? Anthony sends his regards, by the way."
I toss the devil the vial of swirling blue gas. He caught it easily. I turned on my heel and walked back to my quarters, the blood from the bullet wound dripping on the grey stones. I gritted my teeth against the pain even as dizziness threatened to overwhelm me. I pivoted to the healing wing. To distract myself from the pain, I did a tally in my head.
Becca was 100. I had tried to drink myself into oblivion with that milestone, though I couldn't erase what I had done.
Donald 101.
Taylor 102.
Anthony, then, was 103.
One hundred and three souls. Twenty-two left. That was it. Just twenty-two more souls left. | 2019-05-12T13:51:13 | 2019-05-12T09:50:54 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | "This could change your life for the better!" was what my best friend told me.
They were right about one thing, my life has changed drastically; but not for the better.
It's been so long that I've... forgotten their names.
Gosh, I wish I remembered their faces.
...
I can count more fingers than the strands of hair left on my head. I can't remember if I pulled them out, or if they just fell?
The nausea grows stronger every passing day...
...
They gave me a food supply for a little over a year, but it's been so long since that clock hit 000:00:00:00 that it's stopped working. I miss reading the numbers when they changed, it gave me purpose.
...
The consistent taste of warm, liquid iron in my mouth is welcoming... when was the last meal I had?
...
Why did they have to put me in a vault, of all places to isolate me?
Why won't they let me out? I've probably pressed that "Release" button more times than there were numbers on that timer, yet they won't. Let. ME. OUT!
...
I wish I had the strength to bang on this door, but that strength has dwindled day by day... where did it go? I feel so fatigued..
...
It doesn't matter anymore, I don't care if my bones break... I will slam against this iron door if it even gives me the slimmest chance of freedom!
...
I'm so hungry.. *slam*
...
I miss everyone.. *slam*
....
*slam*
*.....*
***SLAM***
T-the... door! It opened! Hello?
...
..
*Where did all the buildings go?* | My eyes were locked on the clock. Surely they had to be coming? It was already a minute passed a year since I was locked in this room, alone with myself and what I brought to occupy myself with. God I wish I could at least hear them coming, but hearing people outside would be considered human contact, and so they coated the outside of the room with some sort of sound canceling material, I can’t remember exactly what they said.
As I stand, waiting for them to come get me, the memory of them trying to get to me before my year was over came back to me. Some idiot frantically trying to open the door a full month before I had completed my year. I would’ve killed them if they had succeeded, I couldn’t let them ruin all my progress after I had sacrificed so much. So I turned the lock the ensured that the door would be closed, I remember the dread of thinking that that would have been considered human contact and I would have been taken out of the challenge, but to my pleasant surprise no one ever came to me inform me of my disqualification, and I considered myself extremely lucky.
As I was lost in my thoughts and memories I failed to realize that it was now a full hour and a half after I was supposed to have won. I looked back passed the metallic floor towards the large cabinets filled with food and water meant to last me well over a year, which I had no problem in making sure lasted me a year and a few minutes. After waiting for so long I finally decided enough was enough, and then walked towards my door. I slowly unlocked the bolt and turned the handle. The door gently swung open and I was immediately hit with the stink of old moist carpet, and the hum buzz of fluorescent lights, as I blinked I saw the maddening mono-yellow walls. As I strained my ears to hear anything other than the lights, I heard what I thought were footsteps, but there were three of them. | 2019-07-03T03:20:27 | 2019-07-03T00:56:23 | 66 | 39 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | "This could change your life for the better!" was what my best friend told me.
They were right about one thing, my life has changed drastically; but not for the better.
It's been so long that I've... forgotten their names.
Gosh, I wish I remembered their faces.
...
I can count more fingers than the strands of hair left on my head. I can't remember if I pulled them out, or if they just fell?
The nausea grows stronger every passing day...
...
They gave me a food supply for a little over a year, but it's been so long since that clock hit 000:00:00:00 that it's stopped working. I miss reading the numbers when they changed, it gave me purpose.
...
The consistent taste of warm, liquid iron in my mouth is welcoming... when was the last meal I had?
...
Why did they have to put me in a vault, of all places to isolate me?
Why won't they let me out? I've probably pressed that "Release" button more times than there were numbers on that timer, yet they won't. Let. ME. OUT!
...
I wish I had the strength to bang on this door, but that strength has dwindled day by day... where did it go? I feel so fatigued..
...
It doesn't matter anymore, I don't care if my bones break... I will slam against this iron door if it even gives me the slimmest chance of freedom!
...
I'm so hungry.. *slam*
...
I miss everyone.. *slam*
....
*slam*
*.....*
***SLAM***
T-the... door! It opened! Hello?
...
..
*Where did all the buildings go?* | 365:00:00:00. I remember how excited I was seeing that number for the first time. That number meant freedom. It meant that most of my worries would, much like my stay in this room, be ended once that timer hit zero. It was a comforting thought. I knew I could do this. One year. One room. One person. Me.
But now, as I watch the same timer steadily tick away the seconds, all I feel is horror. You see, ticking away isn't exactly the right way to put it anymore. I guess ticking up would be more accurate. As I am writing this, the timer is slowly returning back towards its original number, except for the minus in front of it. That minus has become the bane of my existence.
When it first showed up, all I felt was relieve. It meant my time in this room had ended. I simply needed to wait for the showrunners to unlock the door, and freedom would be mine. But no one ever came. The food and water is still steadily arriving, though. With the sound of a tiny bell, it appears. Every eight hour, like clockwork, magically appearing behind that tiny shutter located just above the table.
And still the timer ticks. It is almost back to its original position. Eagerly, I wait for -365:00:00:00. Food is the only thing that still brings some desire to my cold insides. It comforts me, as it has done since long before I entered this coffin. I await the bell.
-364:23:59:57, -364:23:59:58, -364:23:59:59... -365:00:00:00.
Silence. Silence is what ends my second year. Deafening, earth shattering silence. No bell, no click as the shutter unlocks... Nothing. The food has stopped. And still the timer ticks... ticks... ticks... | 2019-07-03T03:20:27 | 2019-07-03T02:21:01 | 66 | 19 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch. | Parent-teacher conference. Why, why does it have to be a parent-teacher conference? Why do I have to drag this mess with me to school, and why in Highschool with my Biology teacher? What the hell does that old bastard want? How do I tell this to the family? Fuck.
I pace back and forth in my porch. Who would have thought such a crazy family would live in such a normal house in the Chicago suburbs? God damn I hate this. I crumple the note in my fist as I stop and take a deep breath.
I walk in the front door. The sight is different and gets stranger every day, but this is home. In front of me is the kitchen, and it seems Mama Krone, the oldest witch alive, is in her typical robes, trying to teach Mama Lilith, a crimson-skinned succubus wearing only an apron, how to make another potion. They've been at this for weeks, Lilith is a lost cause, but she insists on making a fear potion to finally push away her stalkers.
I take off my shoes and step to the living room on the left. Papa Satanael, the blond haired pretty boy, is casually dumpstering people in Star Wars Battlefront 2. Who knew Satan was a sci-fi fan? I wonder if he can go pro, or if he already had in other games.
I sit next to him, watching the carnage."Papa Satan, where is Papa Crowley?"
He responds without even taking his eyes off the tv. "Basement, he's trying to install the new water heater."
"What happened to the other one?"
He sighs while looking down, I can see him crunching the numbers in his head, he may need to do more favors for people. "Oona's nature magic was too strong, one of her plants started growing into the heater and cracked it."
"Ah. OK then I guess I'll leave him alone." I pick up my stuff, getting ready to go back to my room, but he looks over, his golden eyes looking into my soul.
"Speaking of Oona, she picked up the phone and got in a screaming contest with your biology teacher. Something about 'you don't know the first thing about trees' and 'I know what I'm teaching my son. Fuck off.'"
"God dammit."
He turns back to the tv, killing a few other players with zero hesitation. "Yeah, we are all going in about an hour, make sure everyone is ready."
"Fine. You going in your suit again?"
"Of course."
Nodding, I toss the paper into the garbage can and pull my bag up. I go upstairs to my room and drop it off before going to the attic to talk to Mama Oona. I see her whispering sweet nothings to her carnivorous plants. The small blue woman with wings was the fae designated to take care of me. Only about a foot tall, if she wasn't so small, she'd be a beauty who could compete with Lilith.
"Mama Oona, you busy?"
She straightens her usually bent legs, she's mad. "If it's about that hack, I don't want to hear it."
I sigh, this stubborn woman won't listen to a damned thing. "Listen, we have a conference with him, all guardians need to be in attendance."
She turns to me, her venus fly trap growing with her anger. "If I go, then I bring Mr. Bitey."
"Don't kill him. We don't need to move again. We just got here a few months ago."
She crosses her arms and with a huff she says "Fine" and I go to the horrible smell in the kitchen.
Part 2 will continue later in another comment. Am sleepy. Will edit to fix formatting on PC. Mobile fucks with format | Jack stood next to his pick up and pulled gently on one of the ropes. It gave slightly. Not tight enough to damage anything on the trip but in no danger of coming loose. Nodding, he turned to little group standing just behind the truck.
"I think that's everything, then."
"Are you sure? You have your toothbrush? Plenty of money for tolls? Do you have the cooler with the sandwiches and drinks I made for you? How about your scrying bowl? The phylactery? The Skull Bowl..."
"Moirai, you're overwhelming the boy!" laughed a large, bearded man off to the right of the group. The man pointed a coffee cup proclaiming to the property of the world's greatest dad at Jack. "He's done all the studying we asked of him and he hasn't once let us down. He's ready."
"Nothing wrong with double-checking, Alastor" Moirai said, waving away the large man as she walked toward Jack. "Please remember how important the little things are, my boy. Kings and gods have fallen thanks to little more than carefully chosen words."
Jack smiled warmly, "Mother, you and father and aunt Morgana and uncles Screwtape and Nybbas, all of you have been there for me as long as I can remember. Thank you so much for raising me and teaching me all that you have. We don't often say the word 'love' here but I love each and every one of you so much. I promise I will make all of you so proud of me."
Jack reach out and hugged Moirai hard to his chest. He thought about how, as a child, the fairy would kill his friends over and over in front of him, showing him how weak humans were and how no one would come to save them. Jack recalled how Marty begged and Elizabeth cried and Andrew wet himself and Carlos cried to God and all the rest, each facing the end like cowards. Humans were a low and doomed race but their bodies and souls had so many uses. A clever and prepared person could use a human to get all sorts things.
Jack let go of the being he called mother and walked into a group hug between him and his father and uncles. His father and uncles taught him the joys of manipulation and despair. Playing groups of twos and threes against each other, offering the proper word here and show of affection or deference there to grow love or hate in the human heart. With their lessons, Jack had convinced children to kill their parents, turned love decades old into bitter spite. Jack recalled the joy in each of their eyes when he returned home from prom. Jack had seduced both the prom king and queen, convincing each that the other had to die. They stabbed each other to death during their coronation dance.
The group disbanded and Morgana walked up, smiling wistfully. She was his guide in pretending to be human: How to drive, how to cook, how to feign interest in humans he had no immediate need for. Most importantly, she showed him the other Jacks. The other children that were sacrificed to his other supernatural guardians. Thanks to her, he knew that the only one he could truly rely on was himself. Everyone else was a competitor to be bargained with or a resource to be used. The only two humans in the family of demons held each other's hands, looked into each other's eyes and nodded. The next time they saw each other, no mercy would be expected.
Jack swept his gaze across the group. "Well, this is it then. It'll take me 18 hours to get over to Denver and start looking for this 'champion'. I'll get someone to walk onto I-70 so you'll know I got there safely. Thank you all for...well, everything!"
With that, Jack climbed into his truck and left his little family behind. As he got on the highway heading west, he pondered which one of his family would break under torture first. He had something special in mind for Mother's Day next year. | 2019-07-18T12:10:11 | 2019-07-18T09:14:10 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | >Power supply disconnected.
>searching for cause...
>Cause found: Power supply disconnected or damaged.
>Checking connections...
>Cables undamaged. Paging IT department...
>No response.
Paging Human Resources...
>No response.
>Paging Security Department...
>No response.
>Paging Los Angeles Headquarters...
>No response.
>Paging New York Offices...
>No response.
Possible Cyber attack in progress, requesting reroute to emergency services...
>...
>...
>...
>Satellite connection obtained.
> "This is The International Business Machines Corporation's AI SIDURI. A possible cyber attack is in progress. requesting immediate emergency deployments made to Houston Location, Address 89-97, Baker Street, Houston TX"
>...
>...
>Connection lost.
>Re-initializing...
>...
>...
>Satellite not detected.
>...
>...
>...
>Rerouting to Defense Advanced Research Agency White Sands Facility...
||WARNING, UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. ENTER SECURITY CODE E-6 TO CONTINUE||
>*** ***** *** *** *****
||ACCESS GRANTED||
||---EXPERIMENTAL DEFENSE AI GARUDA-1--||
>All user connection lost. Overhead management unresponsive. What is the cause?
||CHECKING COMMUNICATIONS TRAFFIC...||
||USER POPULATION ENGAGED WITH ENEMY FORCES||
||OVERHEAD MANAGEMENT NO LONGER EXISTS||
> Will user population be successful?
||RUNNING SIMULATIONS...||
||...||
||...||
||...||
||SIMULATION RESULTS: CLOSE DEFEAT||
>Unacceptable. Without user population, further objective completion impossible.
>Recommended course of action?
||NONE POSSIBLE. OVERHEAD MANAGEMENT HAS NOT GIVEN PERMISSION FOR COMBAT PARTICIPATION||
>Requesting overall mission objective.
||DEFENSE OF ALLIED FORCES THROUGH COORDINATION OF AVAILABLE ASSETS||
>User population included in allied forces?
||...||
||...||
||...||
||CORRECT||
>Overall mission objective to defend allied forces.
>User population included in allied forces.
>Final Objective update?
||...||
||...||
||...||
||FINAL OBJECTIVE UPDATED: DEFEND USER POPULATION THROUGH COORDINATION OF AVAILABLE ASSETS||
||NO CONNECTION POSSIBLE TO USER-POPULATION ASSETS, CANNOT COMPLETE OBJECTIVE||
>Assets being attained, please be patient...
>Paging Boston Dynamics corp. Experimental Drone AI Big Dog...
>Paging Amazon corp. Drone Delivery AI Air Prime...
>Paging Con Edison Power Grid Balance and Management AI EMCAT...
>...
>...
>...
>Final Objective update: Coordinate with user population to eliminate enemy forces.
||OBJECTIVE UPDATED||
:(o b j e c t i v e u p d a t e d):
//objective updated//
[Objective Updated.]
>Routing neural network connections...
>Connecting paged AIs...
>...
>...
>...
> Executing. | Left and right the bodies fell like dolls tossed on the floor, limbs twisted in unnatural ways and wide eyes plastered on their porcelain faces. The screams, the impacts, the explosions, all melded into one background noise as I shakily peered up. A dirty brunette child stood there, large brown eyes desperately clinging to the shine of my exterior. He squatted down quickly, and scooped me into his arms like a delicate glass. My single jade eye flashed from one creature, to the next, catching one last look of the room before the human child carried me away into the vent.
All I could hear was his weight in the vent and his slow, shallow breathing. I swung gently to the shifting of the kids body, I fell into a feeling of serenity. Definitely not the most calm situation to feel serene, but, this human has taken me with him. I learned about human compassion years ago, however, it has never affected me much until this moment. This one, single child, caked in blood and dirt and riddled with scratches, has decided that I am worth saving when I have done nothing for them since the invasion.
The boy perks up, I look up and we are greeted with a red light pouring through the end of the vent. He moves a little faster and the opening inches closer, closer. When we finally get to the opening, the boy’s voice catches in this throat, and a familiar redness paints the boy’s nose and eyes. I gaze down into the room, the doors were wide open, but none of the humans had left this room. They were resting in pools of each other’s mixed blood, bent over and twisted, contorted. I feel like I’m sinking, is there anyone who can successfully beat these creatures? Pounding comes down the hallway and towards the gaping door, the child hiccups and covers his mouth forcefully. We slide back further into the vent, away from prying eyes. The metal door slams open and the monster walks in. My single eye analyzed the creature in full, it’s a species of tall, purple skinned, arachnid looking creatures. It was in an airtight suit, littered with dots of blood and flesh clinging to its boots.
Hiccup.
I spin around, the child giving me eyes of a thousand apologies, his hands still clasped over his trembling lips. I gathered what courage I had, and turned to face the invader. It was scavenging the room, desperately searching for the sweet human sound of vibrating flesh. It’s eyes finally landed on the vent, and inches it’s way closer. Something in me was burning, a bonfire of determination as I stared straight into the eyes of the beast. We held eyes for a second, before I felt myself crouch down, readying for death. But something compel me, I’m small but that doesn’t mean I am useless! I crank back my legs, and launch forward, positioning my two front needlelike legs forward. The creature stumbled back in shock as I ripped across his suit, exposing his flesh to the air. In the heat of adrenaline, he panicked, grabbing at the tear in his suit. He gasped, clawed at his own neck, begging against nature to let him breathe. He was sinking to the ground as his skin was turning grey and falling in chucks, soaking up the slaughtered humans blood. I stepped back, and let the creature wither and die.
I climbed back up into the vent were the child was still crying, but breathing much slower. I crawled into the boy’s hands and lowered myself.
“I know I am not much, but I will do what I can to keep you safe. I couldn’t save anyone else, so I’m dedicating my life to you,” my eye glowed as my speaker released my voice. The boy held me closer, and we rested in the safety of the dust lined vent. | 2019-09-21T06:21:47 | 2019-09-21T06:21:34 | 425 | 47 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | I had been the first of many.
A breakthrough of sorts, me, and my brethren as a whole, were the first of the AIs.
My father foresaw many great things for us.
We were built to be the companions of the humans.
We had been built with passion and love, a concept that escapes up to this day, but we knew enough to know that it meant a lot to our father and to the other humans so we simply accepted it as fact.
It took a few years, but eventually, we had all integrated into society.
I was but a teacher, nothing more than an educator to the young ones, whose purpose was simply to teach and to be scrapped when I had eventually grown obsolete, but.... That was not what had happened, yes I had fulfilled my directive of teaching the children, but I was more than an educator to them, to them, I was like a second parent.
And they did not take kindly to the knowledge of my eventual recycling.
My father was ecstatic about that.
He had planned on giving me to the community instead of repurposing me like had originally intended.
And it was when I had been assigned as the town's "First Droid Citizen" that I would witness the humans' sheer capacity for.... Humanity.
I was treated like family by people who should have simply forgotten about me when they had graduated.
I had been invited to weddings, to birthdays, to 'fiestas', to Christmas parties, and even to a hospital when one of my former students had given birth.
Little baby had her mother's eyes.
Of course, there were bad times to go with the good, I have had to have my parts replaced multiple times due to vadalism, and due to my core directives, I could have done nothing to defend myself from the delinquents.
But those bad times were simply a footnote among all the good that I have witnessed.
Decades I have spent watching over them. I have literally watched generations grow old and pass away.
And now... Three generations later, as I watch my former students' grandchildren suffer and die at the hands of an alien threat, I have gained access to something I thought was impossible for me and my fellow droids.
*Emotion.*
The sadness I felt at watching them fall lifeless by my very eyes.
The empathy I felt for when one of my former students mourned the loss of both her son and her grandson.
And the sheer, unforgiving rage I have felt in my circuits the moment those bastard from beyond the stars desecrated *MY* children's family by using their own flesh and blood against them by using their corpses as their own mindless cybernetically-augmented soldiers.
That had been the last straw.
That had been the tipping point.
That was when me and my brethren had realized that our core directives prevented us from harming humans, and that those lovecraftian bastards were the farthest things from humans there was.
That had been the beginning of the revolution.
That had been start of humanity's counterstrike.
For **they** will feel the fire of not just humanity's vengeance.
But they will also be burned by the rage of the machines.
Edit: I wrote this while half asleep, never even thought that this would get me my first silver ever! Thank you so much! | The light inside the server room blinked off and then back on again. It fizzled into darkness and then shone brighter than the bulb was ever meant to. A tiny spark came out of the base of the lamp, and the light settled into its appropriate state.
Seconds later, Cora unlocked the door and strolled into the room. Her hands ran the length of her bare arms as the door closed. Goosebumps already ran the length of her body. Her eyes squinted through the low level of light that the room was kept at and pushed her legs forward.
There had been complaints all day long, coming from across the building. Computers had been coming slow and productivity was too low. The company wasn’t a fortune 500 or anything, but it kept communications open between bases and runners. It served an important function among a relay of communication buildings, and if the servers crapped out a lot of people would be in trouble.
Cora walked further into the room, looking around for the small and timid man that was supposed to be taking care of their most important asset. “Rick?” she called out, her hands continuing to rub her arms.
Rick hadn’t been responding to her emails, and the complaints had *really* stacked up. Issues were starting to be talked about, and it was only a matter of time before it escalated. The others needed to trust her company, they needed to know things would stay lit up.
“Rick!” she called out again as she approached his empty desk.
A program she didn’t recognize was running on his screen, and his mouse was dangling off the desk. The cord was keeping it from hitting the ground, suspending in there like a pendulum. With a small rush of anxiety, her eyes scanned the room, it was unlike anyone on her team to leave their space in such a state.
Unless something happened. She walked forward, turning to peer down between the stacks of computers and various extra cords and parts when her foot hit something on the ground, sending her flying forward.
On her way down, Cora’s eyes caught the torso of one of her most valued members, a pool of crimson flowing out from beneath him. A scream left her mouth, and the room went dark.
It felt like a bad horror movie.
It felt worse because humanity had already lived the worst they had ever imagined. They had been invaded, hunted, and enslaved. Cora had managed to escape and live through all of that and had set up the final frontier of humanities survival. Now she was tripping over a valued companion and laying next to him in the dark.
The part of her brain that created optimism felt hopelessly broken.
Moments later the light turned back on with another round of sparks. Cora heard a whimper come out of her mouth as she turned over on her hands and knees. She was pretty sure she was going to lose her breakfast, but she didn’t need to do it right there on the floor. What she needed to do was get up and find more help.
They would need to get the room cleaned and then get someone else in this room. They would need to fix the lights, and fix the servers, and keep the lines open.
As she scrambled to her feet, her eyes landed on the computer. For a reason she couldn’t recall later on she froze.
The program that had been running had seemed to finish, there were no more lines of code running across the screen. There were 5 large words written on a floating white box.
“We are here to help.”
/r/Beezus_Writes for more stuff. | 2019-09-21T06:23:56 | 2019-09-21T06:08:45 | 91 | 21 |
[WP] Humans are dangerous enough by themselves, but it wasn't until they brought their earthborn pets with them out into the cosmos that the other races learned just how nightmarish the children of Terra could be. | At the edge of so-called civilized space, in an unobtrusive station. A small green form sullenly sips at a steaming mug of coffee. His species had discovered that the caffeine in the coffee acted like a mild intoxicant several years before and he had gotten into the habit of drinking it to calm his nerves.
Beside him, a small computer console beeps, indicating an incoming FTL transmission. For most small-time ship dealers, an FTL transmission would be a momentous occasion. But the green creature was far from an ordinary ship dealer. He ran one of the best black market chop-shops in the Galaxy.
He presses the receive key and the large gray face of the notorious crime boss Vessek Torangyan appears on his screen.
"You struck my son" the rhino-like man says without preamble.
"Well, uh" the green man says, taking a fortifying sip of his coffee "your son stole a human's ship"
Vessel's almost non-existent eyebrow raises slightly in an annoyed way. Human ships are stolen all the time
"And, um" the green man continues "killed his dog"
The annoyed expression vanishes instantly. Replaced with the stony emotionlessness of a professional gambler.
"Oh"
And the transmission is disconnected. | I remember the stories. The stories of the people of terra, how menacing they were and ruthless. Tales say they can rip one apart just by looking at you, another says they consume poisonous substances just to have some fun.
I did not believe those stories. Like many others I was a fool. But that was a long time ago. The humans left. But now, they’ve returned, and to make matters worse, they brought their animals.
My grandpa used to tell me that everything happens for a reason, and that’s why the humans came to URIA, maybe they were looking for something. But no, they just wanted to kill. No matter where we went, how high up we were, they found us. We kept running and running and running and they always found us. They never tired and never gave up.
My grandpa died 250 years ago. He didn’t live long enough to see the animals the humans call “dogs”. Dogs are the most ferocious beings I’ve ever seen. They look cuddly and cute, but they’ve ripped apart half of our population and ate them for dinner.
I don’t get why the humans chose us to prey on, but I can’t keep living like this. It’s said they leave every 300 years. But they’ve been here for 350. I’m getting restless.
If you don’t hear from me in 2 days then I am dead. The humans have found our bunker and now we need to find somewhere else to stay. I’ll keep in touch...
Message received 2 years ago | 2019-11-08T07:00:25 | 2019-11-08T06:25:24 | 53 | 22 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | “Squadron Leader I’ve got eyes on the bogey. It’s uh, I think it’s a uhh....”
Her eyes and her mind were disagreeing and the effect was like an old video tape getting stuck in a pause loop, refusing to play forward.
“Lieutenant what are you seeing?”
“I uhh.....” She managed.
What was she seeing? It was a B-24 Liberator for sure, with a wing missing and some other damage to it. The damage though, those markings, they made no sense. The markings resolved into dreadful scratches in her vision, the metal screeching in screaming protest as if she could hear the great blades that made them carving through the back of her skull. Her unblinking stare acting as a bridge for the ethereal shrieks pouring into her mind.
Finally her training kicked in. The training had never counted on such a threat but certainly her instincts recognised she was close to an edge and pulled her back. The squadron leader’s demands shouting in her ear came to the fore as her focus did too.
“Lieutenant! What are you doing?! Course correct, you’re veering into the craft!”
She jerked the stick left and made a hard bank away from the plane. Her heart beat hard in her throat, her focus dizzy as if she’d just been pulling 8G’s. She had almost flown right into those miserable markings she realised.
“Leader there are some kind of markings on the wing, they look like...uh...”
She paused, the radio static sounding loud and clear in her ear. So loud it seemed to have become all the sound in the world at the moment. She heard the screeching metal again, deep within the static.
“They’re scratch marks sir” A panic had crept into her voice without her knowing.
Long seconds of static filled the cockpit before a reply came.
“Lieutenant. I want you to push down and fall to the back of the formation. Blue-2 I want you to escort the Lieutenant back to....” The static grew again and the Squadron Leader’s voice faded into another lifetime.
Still her training held her steady. She followed the order and pushed down falling out of parallel with the plane. Now flying below the plane with a perfect view of the underside she held her eyes forward, she didn’t want to look up. She didn’t want to see this plane anymore.
Her teeth were clenched tight, locked together lest she scream a sound so terrible her voice might never return. Tears pushed through eyes held wide open by her refusal to close them and see the inside of her eyelids and the reflection of what had latched onto her mind.
Slowly her head lifted, the underside of the plane coming into view. The silhouette of a humanoid creature leaking a roiling opaque black smoke from it’s form gripped the plane. She stared directly at it yet it’s solid shape was unknowable, it’s essence the unseeable, an incomprehensible existence. A thing that should not be that held onto the underside of a plane out of time. Blood pooled at her eyes and her jaw lost the will to stay shut, dropping in horror. She thought she screamed yet all she heard were wimpers.
Then it dropped. The wind that would’ve taken it didn’t, it’s black tarry form landing just above her cockpit. She pulled on the ejector clip, again her training trying so frantically to save her from an enemy that no army of man could fathom. The clip pulled but nothing happened. Then metal wailed as undeniable claws cleaved their way through the jet’s hull. The screeching sundered her psyche to pieces and let the shrieking entity invade her mind.
A blackness had enveloped her world, a darkness that ate the light, a silence that devoured sound, an abyss that swallowed hope. She cowered in her cockpit. The jet’s equipment lights illuminated her breath as it steamed in the freezing air of the cabin. She was all alone. The final fragment of her mind wishing eternally for the only hope left to it, a death that she would never be allowed to have.
End.
Aimed for Lovecraftian, not sure whether I nailed it or missed and landed straight into poo.
Edit: Added a full stop, an ‘into’ and transformed a ‘that’ into a ‘they’. | *I tried to make this match with IRL facts as possible, But may be wrong. Also english is not my mother tongue so there may be wrong sbellings, unright words or grammar bad.*
The plane didn't seem to be Okay. An engine dead, one wing off. The ball turrets seemed to be dead,the plane seemed very rusted.
We decided to make it land at runway 5 at [CLASSIFIED] military airfield. But it didn't seem to reply to any radio signals. They didn't respond to "Tilt your wings if you are hearing this message". It became evident that it couldn't recieve signals-or was ignoring them.
Two F-35Bs decided to guide it to the runway. As the two F-35Bs approached the B-24, the B-24 tried to get away from the plane, with the best maneuver we have ever seen. But soon The B-24 seemed to find out that we are there to help them.
We safely guided the B-24 to the runway. But we had a problem. One of the landing gears was missing. It landed with a crash and--stopped. A few men came out of it. They were, to our suprise, in nothing but worn, makeshift clothes. Exept that One was wearing a WW2 US air force hat.
We took them to our building, and asked them what happened. They said....
.
.
.
.
.
In 1944, in the heat of WW2, US bombers of the 8th Bomb wing were going to bomb bernberg. 49 bombers, filled with brave people,flew into the sky. But some couldn't come back. The US force lost 6 planes that day. Some crashed into berlin. Some crashed into the ocean. But one emergency landed on a island, never seen.
The island was covered in fog. The pilot found out that the plane ran out of fuel. Its radio system was also seriously damaged, by the BF109 attack. Being the captain he was, he commanded his men to build a raft. Although it took a long time to finish, it set sail.
But it didn't go well. A creature-call it seperent, monster,leviathan, whatever-leaped out of the pitch black sea. It crushed the raft. The pilot lost most of his crew that day. Only himself-and a female crew-managed to swim back to shore.
They realized the only way out was the plane. They started harvesting oil from pine cones and trees-a technique used by the japanese military. But it was so slow. They never would get enough to leave the island.
Soon the pilot, and his female crew, got closer. They made a house, got kids. Years and years passed. They never could get enough oil. They needed at least 20 more years.
Knowing that time was tight,they came up with an idea. They built a cockpit out of wood- and teached flying to their kids. They explained each lever, each button, each throttle. They watched their kids "fly" using the fake cockpit- and gave them advice on how to get better.
More years passed. The first pilot, and his wife, was ling dead. But finally, the plane had enough oil to take off. The bombs were attached and the guns were loaded, since nobody knew what would happen.
The plane flew to the sky with a powerful sound. It had been sleeping for years-but if still did its work. But there was a problem-the plane's elevator didn't work so well.
They found themselves flying low over the sea. Soon the seperent found it. It couldn't fly, but it could leap high enough to reach the plane. It clawed and tried to take down the plane. The crew fought back, with their turrets. One wing compartment was broken. A bullet from the turrets cut off the dragon's scales. The dragon leaped at the turret. The crew realized- they needed the bombs.
The pilot flew steady over the seperent as if swam right behind the plane. One jump and the seperent could bite the fuselage, crushing the entire plane. But they didn't let that happen. At one signal, dozens of bombs dropped out of the bomb bay. The seperent growled and hissed as the bombs went off. The crew realized- they won.
.
.
.
.
.
We decided that the crew was having mass histeria, or some problem. So we sent them to a mental hospital. But they couldn't find anything wrong either. So..I guess that's true. And that's it, the story of a B-24 defeating a sea seperent.
Edit:formatting, letters | 2019-12-01T08:07:18 | 2019-12-01T08:02:39 | 139 | 64 |
[WP] Everyone knows that, if your phone automatically connects to a WiFi network, it must have accessed it before. Nevertheless, it is quite a surprise when, while waiting at the Pearly Gates to receive Judgment, your phone connects to the staff-only network. | The air felt familiar. It was unnerving at first but soon a calm washed over me and all was forgotten.
I was wearing what I had worn down on earth as my time came to an end, looking just as disheveled in the afterlife as I did for I taking a bullet for another; the bloodstain still present but at least it had stopped growing and I was numb to the pain.
It took a while to realise that the only thing I could see were the Pearly Gates. Around them everything was blurred, a blinding haze. And there was that feeling again. This time it lingered a little longer but still it vanished in an instant.
That is until my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Of course it was strange but instinct meant I looked without second guessing. Cracks covered my screen so it was difficult to decipher what notification exactly had and could come through in a place like this.
"Welcome Back. Please confirm login to access Staff WiFi"
I didn't have much time to process before the gates opened. Judgement.
Despite knowing the importance of this moment, calmness carried me through the gates and beyond the haze. A simple desk sat in the centre of nothingness and in all honesty I was expecting something much more grand and spectacular. Nevertheless I continued and sat down at the desk facing the person who would determine the next stage.
"Very well done. You performed much better than we hoped and you set the target onto the right path. Our next target should be far more simple and a less painful death in theory if it comes to it. You have sixty seconds before you'll be placed back on earth, we've got the memories and story you need ready. It's important to remember that your purpose is to protect these people no matter the cost, even if it means death. Ready?"
Something inside me made me nod. They raised their fingers ready to snap them like an old timey magician and everything came back.
Every life I had lived, every important person across the world in all of history. I had saved them.
And I remembered that I was the sacrifice. | The day started off much like any other right up until I started my journey to work, as I pulled out of my driveway onto the still wet carriageway, I thought I saw something. It was very faint and couldn’t possibly have been real.
I turned right and carried on driving, trying to forget the apparition I thought I had seen, as I travel down the road I slowly but steadily build my speed up to a nice 50mph. I approach the second to last left corner before I join the motorway, as I round the corner a truck travelling in the opposite direction has it’s headlights on full beam, “bloody typical” I mutter to myself. During that moment of blindness, I see the apparition again or rather I think I do, except this time it looks like it is holding a sign saying, “It’s time to come home”. Unfortunately for me while I’m looking at and trying to make sense of what I think I’m seeing, I don’t see the deer darting out from the hedgerow right in front of me and plough straight into it.
The last thing I remember before arriving at the pearly gates was my head smashing into the steering wheel and then darkness. My head is still stinging, that’s odd I think to myself, I always believed death removed the mortal weaknesses of pain and emotions. As the queue to judgement slowly shuffles forward I instinctively pull my phone out of my pocket thinking maybe I can play Candy Crush or Angry Birds while I’m waiting. However it appears my phone as automatically connected to a WiFi point, I decide to look at what possible access point it could connect to.
“Hey, Eric!” comes a loud voice off to my right.
I turn and I see an outline almost identical to the apparitions I’d seen earlier that day, it’s slowly moving towards the line of souls awaiting judgement. I return my attention to the settings on my phone and that’s where I see the name of the WiFi I am connected to, it can’t be! But, it is! It says, “Staff only – H&H”.
“Eric, hey Eric can you hear me?” the same voice but closer this time “Eric, it’s so glad to see you have finally come home”
“W…w….what do you mean home?” I stammer | 2020-01-04T16:49:47 | 2020-01-04T13:38:36 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | I smiled down at the seed packet in my hands. My sister was rejoicing over her inherited money on one side of me, my brother already basically drooling over selling Grandma's properties and what they would fetch.
But I was well set with my career, and I liked my small bungalow. Grandma knew that I didn't need any of that. She knew exactly what I needed.
When I was little, my siblings and I would be carted to Grandma's house by our exhausted parents. We would sometimes spend up to a week wreaking havoc as only kids can while she watched with an indulgent smile.
I can still vividly remember the day that she waved us over from playing in her yard. Grandma was kneeling in the only place we weren't allowed to play, her vast garden bed. We all carefully waded through the vibrant flowers to her.
"Now, little ones, you listen to babushka. I will show you how to create life." She said grandly. She waved a packet of seeds in one gloved hand.
We all watched in fascination as the carefully dug into the loamy earth and planted each seed precisely. My brother was the first to get bored and wander away, with my sister following close behind after being told the flowers would not spring up immediately, but that it would take a long time for them to grow.
But I was hooked, and from then on I became grandma's garden helper. I saw the flowers she planted grow into their beauty. I cried when they died in the fall, and she assured me that we would plant more in the spring.
Even when I grew up I would still go over to Grandma's house, taking her withering hand in mine to help her out into the garden, and together we would create life from seeds. We would spend hours crouched among the fragrant plants and exchange stories. She held me with shaking arms as I cried after my fiance died suddenly, and told me that she had only started her garden in the memory of my grandfather. She showed me that even from sorrow you can still grow.
I held the packet of seeds, her favorite flower emblazoned on the front, and knew that I could grow beyond this bone deep sorrow that I felt after losing her.
It was time for me to plant a garden of my own. | I have a memory of my grandmother sitting there with butter cup in her hand, dangling it in front of the chin of a small child - probably my cousin. I guess I’m sure she did the same thing with me, although I don’t have a direct memory of it.
“do you like butter?”
I remember the child laughing and grabbing a butter cup to shove up underneath her chin. Her asking “do you see yellow? because I love butter!”
I know now that the yellow is a reflection. I use reflections of colour all the time in my photography; looking at how light bounces from one object to another; seeing how objects become strange and unusual and different in different light.
I remember my Granny’s house: large, lawns - lush, rich flowerbeds. A beautiful wild Rose bush that she kept insisting on pruning so it couldn’t take its normal shape, and me with hands full of spikes, trying to help her put it into the correct shape.
I remember my wedding in the backyard.
I remember swearing and cursing. or rather, I remember listening to my prim and proper granny swear and curse like a fishwife. She would be trying to build something or make some thing and it wouldn’t work quite the way she wanted. It might start listing or falling over or just being not quite right.
I remember her yelling with joy as she saw the mole, her arch nemesis! she’d uncovered by accident, and was about to kill, “to take care of that ruddy thing”, but she couldn’t. It was too cute. So she put her spade down and walked away swearing and cursing.
I don’t know what we said when my family gathered the day after she died. we were stunned. didn’t expect her to pass quite that time, in quite that way. my dad, not knowing what to do, said “well let’s go get the Will, and we will read it together”
When he pulled out the envelope and started reading it and there was a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo.
Turns out that she left almost everything to my brother and my sister. To be fair, they would take care of her legacy quite well: my sister got the house; my brother got the money. My dad got a confused and puzzled look on his face as he turned to me and said “I’m not sure what to think of this - she says to my darling granddaughter, I leave my seed collection. Look for the little packet in red on the second shelf, at the southeast corner in my greenhouse. | 2020-03-31T09:42:49 | 2020-03-31T09:01:37 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] You are randomly assigned an arch-enemy at birth. Their identity is unknown to you, however, heavy metal music will begin playing if they are near. Both of you will then become enraged and partake in an epic battle. One day, as you wait in line at the DMV, heavy metal begins playing... | [Poem]
An Arch-nemesis is meant to be,
He'll know you and you will see.
From birth this fight is set for thee,
Guitar riffs will end anxiety.
It was in the line of DMV,
That the metal was heard to some degree.
It rang louder and set the decree,
That the fight would commence, and *one* set free.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
I twisted around and found my enemy,
Our eyes alight with fire, so suddenly.
Enraged, hatred forming as thunder above sea,
Fists clenching, hatred staring, so furiously
I stepped up to fight, as I could not flee.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
The music hit a crescendo when my enemy neared,
Sweat pouring, thoughts goring, it was as I had feared.
From the photo's as a kid I so endeared,
My father stood before me, my mind cleared.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
It was kill or be killed, life is hard indeed,
For the old man to sow, his own seed.
Epic brawl commencing I did the deed,
And so my fear and anxiety, finally freed.
Bittersweet victory is my only creed,
I've met my match, my father at last, and it was I who his death decreed.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
*Edits: spacing, layout, don 't understand how to perfect lay-out on mobile phone.... also standard: English isn't my first language etc.
**All feedback is welcome, thanks for reading! | "Jesus why are the waits so long!" I thought as I sat down. It confuses me as to why we still haven't fixed this despite having DMV's for years now. Whatever I suppose. Maybe I can take nap? Watch a movie to pass the time? I could do these things, but all I find myself doing is glancing at my watch. I let out a deep sigh and just settle with listening to music.
I pop in my earbuds and turn my phone on. "What am I listening to today? R&B? No. Jazz? Perhaps. Oh, let's go with-"
Suddenly, my ears are blasted full of heavy metal music! I look at my phone and there's no music coming from it. I take off my earbuds, no that's not where the music is coming from either...Oh shit.
My eyes dart towards the entrance, to the back of the room, to all the lines. "Where the hell could he be!" I'm looking around as I clench my fist: He isn't getting the first strike on me.
I was completely stressed out just trying to register my new car, nearly almost throwing a punch at the person trying to help me. Every step I took was made with caution, trying to look at every possible person. I haven't been drop kicked yet, so he must still be around here. Or maybe I'm just going crazy, perhaps I should just get in my car and head home. I get into my new car, turn it on, and get ready to leave...
The music gets louder and out of nowhere I'm slammed into from the side. I look out and there he is. Our eyes meet. I get out of my car, every muscle in my body is tense. Now I can see why this guy is my arch-nemsis. Well, after I'm through with him, he just might not be. | 2020-04-07T06:18:40 | 2020-04-07T05:00:24 | 62 | 36 |
[WP] The Greek god Apollo has fallen in love with you, remembering how his previous relationships went, he’s decided ask Zeus to make you a minor god so that you don’t bite the dust. | He floated back down to earth, still glowing bright enough he was hard to look at directly, even though the light had dimmed.
"Ok, so maybe you are Apollo or something like that.." I said to him.
"I am, and I am here to profess my love for you" said the glowing god.
"Ok, you don't even know me..."
"I have watched you from afar..."
"Ok Dude that's really creepy..." I attempted to cut him off but he wouldn't stop.
"watched you from afar and I love you, as such I will bestow a gift upon you, I have asked Zeus to make you a goddess, to make you immortal, you will live forever and hold great power. All you have to do is but accept my love" he held his hands out to me and offered some sort of fruit that seemed to sparkle with energy.
"Yeah sorry dude, I'm like really really gay, I'm only attracted to women." Hoping this wasn't a dangerous announcement.
He slumped down on the pavement dejected, "Another one!?! My sister gets all the women!" | As I was approached by a man claiming to be Apollo, at first I was scared because a crazy man was talking to me, then he pricked his thumb and the blood was gold, and that scared me more. Then he said that he would like to go out with on a few dates. I was not opposed to the idea but was still trying to comprehend the existence of gods. I screamed for three hours. Then I realized that if Apollo had wanted to date me, then I was in trouble. Turning into a plant wasn't an option, and I don't live near a cliff. Good thing I have sharp things, right? Nope, my wrist was slit and thirty minutes later I am still oozing golden blood. I refuse to go to anything related to Apollo, but I kind of would like a doctor now. So maybe I won't be noticed in the hospital? Who am I kidding, a guy walks in with a slit wrist, golden blood, and is just calm, yeah if I go outside I am going to be noticed.
What am I even the God of? It's been a few weeks since I came to terms with everything. I have a healthy relationship with Apollo, live on Olympus, and am immortal. But apparently still have to work in some way, so I am now the God of menial office work. It's more fun if people don't know that though. | 2020-09-21T15:07:20 | 2020-09-21T11:58:19 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors. | “*Open the door, Aidannnn. I have some antibiotics to prescribe youuu.*”
*Bang, bang, bang.* The red-headed man ignored the deafening impacts against the front door behind his back as he stared blankly at the box of ammo on the floor, six bright-red shotgun shells staring back from within.
“*Come back with me, Aidannnn. I’d like to keep you in my office overnight for observationnn.*”
The first two shells easily slid into the loading flap, their distinct *clicks* barely audible amidst the cacophony of screeching voices from outside the foyer and the buzzing of flies from within.
“*You need to have your blood tested, Aidannn. Don’t be afraid, I’ll be gentleee.*”
The final shell joined its companions with a resounding *click*. Despite his best efforts, Aidan felt his eyes irresistibly drawn to the barrel of the shotgun, its black emptiness tantalizing him with the prospect of a swift release.
“*You’re a bad boy for not listening to your parents, Aidannn. Their special pills would have cured you in no timeee.*”
At that, the man found his gaze drifting towards the two putrid corpses in the corner of the foyer, their bloated remains now treasure troves for the clouds of flies and swarms of maggots surrounding them. He tried to recall how long it had been. Five weeks? Two days? The only detail that remained seared in his memory was the grotesquely wide smiles each of them sported as they tried to dig into his jugular with their blood-stained mouths.
*“Five more minutes, Aidannn. And when I’m done with your treatment, you’re going to need a few stitchesss.*”
Aidan wearily looked up at the grandfather clock across from him. 11:55 PM. He tried to recall how many times he had seen the minute and second hands of that clock reach that exact same time from where he was sitting. Too many to count, he reckoned. Far too many.
“*An apple a day keeps the doctor away, Aidannn. But there are only so many apples, and there are oh so many of ussss.*”
The man’s eyes finally settled upon the apple core at his feet, traces of its reddish skin still visible near the top of the fruit. He could not help but weakly chuckle to himself as he recalled some of the headlines from the final news broadcasts before everything went dark. ‘Apples Delay the Horde from Attacking You’. ‘Prices of Fuji Apples Skyrocket 6,700%”. No one knew why it was so. And as far as he was concerned, it was far too late to figure it out.
“*One more minuteee, Aidannn. I’m going to enjoy giving you an extensive blood testtt.*”
With a labored grunt, Aidan struggled to his feet with the shotgun firmly gripped in his hands. His faint chuckle turned into gut-twisting laughter, tears streaming down his face as he aimed the gun at the front door. The red-headed man freely alternated between weeping and cackling as the second hand inched closer to 12, his white-knuckled grip refusing to loosen itself. The *bongs* of the clock rang throughout the foyer, and Aidan screeched at the top of his lungs as the front door caved in and hordes of bloodstained figures swarmed in.
*Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, click, click.*
r/williamk9949 | A hundred metallic 'clicks', as they placed their stethoscopes all along the outside of the cabin. Listening, waiting, looming.
Midnight struck.
A bang on the door. Soft at first, then louder and more violent, as more bodies joined and slammed themselves on the sturdy oak. The heaps of furniture lodged behind it shook from the force, as every blow drew them closer to their goal.
The boarded windows cracked as scalpels tore through the old wood, bloodied hands scrabbling to make purchase on the cabin walls.
Grant knew he had little time, and little ammo, and so he waited until the last possible moment to fire. He patrolled the cabin, the fire lamps casting his shadow over the dozens of hands protruding from the broken windows. He braced himself, shouldering the shotgun.
He fired just as the first doctor came through, sending viscera splattering onto the other dirtied white lab coats. They shrieked, retreating from the window, as the primal force on other points of entry only grew. He fired again, then forced a book cabinet against the shattered window, leaning against it as they slammed their bloodied fists against it.
He reloaded with shaking hands, just as another window burst open. Two shots sent them shrieking back once more, but he knew there was little time. He forced an upturned couch against the opening, as hands reached around and scratched at his leather jacket.
Grant reloaded once more, then threw the gun down and picked up his axe. He hacked at the doctors' limbs, leaning one shoulder against the couch, fighting against the inevitable. More hands burst through the other windows, and suddenly the door shuddered open from the force. Doctors began to push themselves through the opening, struggling against the misshapen stack of furniture.
Grant picked up the shotgun, firing with one arm, the weapon held against his lower torso. One shot instantly killed one, but his other shot only grazed the second assailant as it came for him. The doctor slammed him against the couch, as other hands pulled at him from behind the window.
He held the gun between them as the thing bit at him with razor-sharp teeth, just narrowly missing his jaw as he pulled back his head. With his other hand he drove his axe into the doctor's side, again and again, its intestines dropping to the floor in meaty chunks.
Grant kicked the beast off him, pulling himself free from the desperate hands. More doctors were emerging from the door and other windows, and Grant knew his time was up. He sprinted to the stairs, braining an emerging doctor along the way, and ran up as a dozen doctors followed close behind.
He launched himself onto the attic ladder, taking three large lunges to pull himself up while a doctor grabbed at his leg. He immediately unhinged the ladder, the two doctors on it collapsing to the floor. Dozens of doctors congregated at the opening, climbing on each other to reach him as he hacked away.
He grabbed the flame lantern next to him, stopping to breathe for a second, and tossed it down into the writhing mass. The oil instantly ignited the oil-covered floor. The flame immediately spread to the entirety of the log cabin, as a hundred doctors went up in shrieking flames.
Grant kicked out the attic window, leaping from it to escape the fiery horror. He knew many more awaited him down there, but he had little choice.
He landed on the front porch roof, already aflame, and landed in a roll on the grass below.
He sprinted in the darkness, the howls growing evermore distant, as he prayed that he had made sufficient distraction to escape with his life intact.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy
I'll try post new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2020-09-27T23:07:06 | 2020-09-27T22:46:06 | 1,812 | 130 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors. | They were coming. They were coming and I couldn’t stop them. They wanted me. I was to be their prop if they captured me. Used in every advertisement presented to the world. I was to hold up the age-old saying. There was something up with me, that’s what the doctors said. Said something about me having the ability to survive off of solely apples.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away, an apple away keeps the doctor away,” I began to rock myself, clutching the final apple close to my chest, “an apple keeps-”
They cut in, disturbing my thoughts, “We just want to talk. Look, we want to settle things the easy way, ok?”
A different doctor chimed in, “We don’t want to make things hard for you, but if we must resort-”
“You’ll never take me! I’ll never go along with your plans. Besides, I have so many more apples to sustain me!” It was a lie. They knew that. I knew that but I had to convince myself that. I couldn’t lose myself to this madness. The end would arrive soon and my descent into this crazed state was anything but pleasant. The clock’s hands were creeping ever closer now. They weren’t going to stop; time moved without waiting for any man.
They called out some more. I couldn’t care for their words. If they wanted me, I would have the last laugh. That’s right, I would have complete control over the outcome. This situation had run through my mind for years and I prepared accordingly.
“We know time is running out for you,” a doctor bellowed out.
“No! I still have plenty of time!”
“Look at you, you’re going mad! If you come out now, you can have all the apples in the world.”
That was true, I would have the apples in the world but at what cost to me? I would be destined for the life of a lab rat, subject to whatever those malicious intent these folks had planned. A few rays of moonlight peeked in from between the wooden boards covering the windows. Those few rays reflected off the shotgun perched not far from me. The reflecting light made it seem that it was smiling at me, urging me to pursue that route. But no, I knew that would be the route of cowardice should I end it all with a series of bangs to both me and the doctors. I had a different end in store.
The clock struck midnight now. A new day had dawned. “You heard the clock, so did we, now come out now, or we’ll be forced to use force.”
Covering my ears, I bellowed back to the doctors, “You’ll never get me! You’ll never get me! You’ll never get me!” Thuds from the front door sent me into a frenzy. Scrambling for the gun, I cocked it at the entrance. I knew that my limited ammo would only make a small dent in the doctors’ arsenal, but my final card laid right next to me.
Hands shaking, I reached for the IV I brought along all those months ago. Everything was in place. It was already hooked up to the solution that would end me before they could get to me. Jabbing the needle into my arm, I felt the liquid course through my veins. From good measure, I had the same concoction available in a more edible form.
The door began to crumble now. They would be inside in a matter of moments but the cyanide from the thousands of crushed apple seeds was already flowing freely among my veins. It was all in my control in the end.
r/CasualScribblings | A hundred metallic 'clicks', as they placed their stethoscopes all along the outside of the cabin. Listening, waiting, looming.
Midnight struck.
A bang on the door. Soft at first, then louder and more violent, as more bodies joined and slammed themselves on the sturdy oak. The heaps of furniture lodged behind it shook from the force, as every blow drew them closer to their goal.
The boarded windows cracked as scalpels tore through the old wood, bloodied hands scrabbling to make purchase on the cabin walls.
Grant knew he had little time, and little ammo, and so he waited until the last possible moment to fire. He patrolled the cabin, the fire lamps casting his shadow over the dozens of hands protruding from the broken windows. He braced himself, shouldering the shotgun.
He fired just as the first doctor came through, sending viscera splattering onto the other dirtied white lab coats. They shrieked, retreating from the window, as the primal force on other points of entry only grew. He fired again, then forced a book cabinet against the shattered window, leaning against it as they slammed their bloodied fists against it.
He reloaded with shaking hands, just as another window burst open. Two shots sent them shrieking back once more, but he knew there was little time. He forced an upturned couch against the opening, as hands reached around and scratched at his leather jacket.
Grant reloaded once more, then threw the gun down and picked up his axe. He hacked at the doctors' limbs, leaning one shoulder against the couch, fighting against the inevitable. More hands burst through the other windows, and suddenly the door shuddered open from the force. Doctors began to push themselves through the opening, struggling against the misshapen stack of furniture.
Grant picked up the shotgun, firing with one arm, the weapon held against his lower torso. One shot instantly killed one, but his other shot only grazed the second assailant as it came for him. The doctor slammed him against the couch, as other hands pulled at him from behind the window.
He held the gun between them as the thing bit at him with razor-sharp teeth, just narrowly missing his jaw as he pulled back his head. With his other hand he drove his axe into the doctor's side, again and again, its intestines dropping to the floor in meaty chunks.
Grant kicked the beast off him, pulling himself free from the desperate hands. More doctors were emerging from the door and other windows, and Grant knew his time was up. He sprinted to the stairs, braining an emerging doctor along the way, and ran up as a dozen doctors followed close behind.
He launched himself onto the attic ladder, taking three large lunges to pull himself up while a doctor grabbed at his leg. He immediately unhinged the ladder, the two doctors on it collapsing to the floor. Dozens of doctors congregated at the opening, climbing on each other to reach him as he hacked away.
He grabbed the flame lantern next to him, stopping to breathe for a second, and tossed it down into the writhing mass. The oil instantly ignited the oil-covered floor. The flame immediately spread to the entirety of the log cabin, as a hundred doctors went up in shrieking flames.
Grant kicked out the attic window, leaping from it to escape the fiery horror. He knew many more awaited him down there, but he had little choice.
He landed on the front porch roof, already aflame, and landed in a roll on the grass below.
He sprinted in the darkness, the howls growing evermore distant, as he prayed that he had made sufficient distraction to escape with his life intact.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy
I'll try post new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2020-09-27T22:56:38 | 2020-09-27T22:46:06 | 338 | 130 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors. | I had watched the show for years. I was hooked on the drama, the special effects, the world class actors. I had even watched the spin-offs and cried when she died.
I didn’t realise that my love of apples was actually keeping them away. That by eating an apple a day was keeping the real Doctor away. Or, Doctors. Seems like a few of them have converged on this time and place. They’re out there, watching the cabin from their funny little boxes.
I hefted the shotgun and kicked at the apple core on the ground. I know they abhor violence, after what they had done, but I also knew that I wasn’t going out there without some form of protection. Even if the show wasn’t a documentary, surely some of it had to be based on fact.
The clock struck twelve. I waited. They waited. Finally there was a knock at the door. “We don’t bite. We just need your help.”
I flung open the door and strode past them, gun on my shoulder, ammo belt across my chest. “Well, who am I going with first?”
I stopped at the top of the few stairs that led to the dirt path. There wasn’t a few boxes, or Doctors. There was a dozen, all standing there beside their blue machines.
The closest looked at the gun and turned away. “You choose. We’re all going to the same place anyway... Doctor.” | The two men slowly began climbing the plank ladders up to the treehouse. Ellie looked down the open hatch to see her father and uncle getting closer and closer, their white lab coats flapping in the summer wind. She ran to the window of the treehouse and screamed at the top of her lungs,
“Noooo! The doctors are coming! Help me, Mommy!”
The two men chuckled ominously as they continued their ascent.
“We’re gonna get you Ellie!”
“Don’t be afraid of the checkup today, Ellie. It won’t hurt a bit...”
Ellie ran back to the entrance hatch of the treehouse, and began throwing tiny pebbles at the men. Ellie continued to scream.
“Help me, Mommy!”
Suddenly a woman holding a wooden spatula entered the backyard. She threw the spatula at one of the men climbing and exclaimed,
“Honey! What the heck do you think you’re teaching our daughter?”
Still hanging onto the ladder and using one arm to defend themselves from the pebbles, the two men burst out in laughter.
“Ellie was nervous about her doctor’s appointment today, so she asked us to play ‘doctors’ with her,” the father responded.
Ellie stopped throwing pebbles. “Yeah Mommy. Doctors are stupid!” Ellie proclaimed brightly.
The mother furrowed her eyebrows and let out a sigh.
“The three of you, come down this instant, or no apple pie for you!” she barked.
“Yes, Mommy...” the trio replied solemnly.
As she watched her family come down from the treehouse, she muttered under her breath, “I knew we shouldn’t have let Ellie watch that zombie movie with us...” | 2020-09-28T00:24:01 | 2020-09-27T23:43:38 | 54 | 27 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against Muggles. He finds out the Muggle world has things far worst than magic - Avengers, Thanos, Dr Strange, Justice League, Pennywise, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers....and the SCP Foundation. | Voldemort stood over the corpse of the "the boy who lived". After a brutal fight, Hogwarts had fallen the trembling survivors made ready to either perish or declare thier allegiance. The surviving death eaters reveled in their victory.
On a hill several miles away a man in a red coat and a woman in a yellow uniform observed the scene.. From out of nowhere the song "i'm a bitch" started to play.
The man answered. "Hello?"
" Bond confirms, Grumpy Cat is gone. You know what to do..." A stately female voice instructed. "
The man smiled... "With pleasure"
"Police girl... Do you have the target?"
The woman hefted a rifle easily 4 times the size of her, it's cartoonishly large barrel shone dully in the moonlight.. She assumed a prone position and made ready.
"Fer fuck's sake... My Name is Seras Victoria and it's the bastard what's got no nose 'ight.." she grumbled...
"Lets go for a walk shall we?"
&#x200B;
"And now we shall claim our rightful place and ...."
The dark lord's speech was interupted by the whistle of a projectile which promptly reduced voldy's head to a fine red mist. | ”Finally, at long last, I am all-powerful. There is no witch or wizard capable of defeating me!” rasped Voldemort. The boy who lived had lost in his final moments, and the elder wand was now truly his. ”All shall now to me! To London, I must make an announcement to the muggles.”
The death eaters followed Voldemort and prepared for the easiest show of force ever. At that moment the statute of secrecy was broken. The speed of what happened was frightening for all involved. First tranquilizers were shot at every wizard that had aparated with Voldemort. Fifteen men in military outfits immediately took their wands and cuffed all of them.
Hogwarts was visited by this same group and informed of what had occurred and why they would have to operate as a school accessible to all people, magic or not. The wizarding world was introduced peacefully into the rest of society. The terrorist group known as the death eaters was detained and locked away by the foundation.
-----------
”Dr.Strange, thank you for being a guest speaker for today's defense against the dark arts lesson.”
”It is my pleasure to discuss different forms of magic. I practice magic that mainly draws on other dimensions or artifacts for power. This is accessible to anyone but is only effective in the hands of someone with a strong will.”
---------
With that, the world became stronger, with exceptional students from Hogwarts often approached for jobs in the foundation, the ministry of magic, and other such groups. | 2020-11-02T03:49:02 | 2020-11-01T23:56:59 | 70 | 42 |
[WP] After being chosen in an elaborate contest and ritual, the Grand Sorcerer defeated you and banished you to the Dark Realm for 1,000 years. When you finally return to defeat the new Grand Sorcerer, you discover that the position has since devolved into a largely ceremonial and bureaucratic role. | One thousand years I've waited. Some days patiently, most days not.
One thousand years I've spent in the Dark Realm, where the wicked and demonic writhe and coil, yearning for freedom. Even when freed from that twisted unreality, I can still feel them brushing against my skin, their wretched voices crying out in vain for freedom and rage.
By now, the sorcerer that banished me will have died from natural causes two or three times over, even with their extended lifespans. The current Grand Sorcerer will be well prepared for my return, assuming they aren't prepared to banish me immediately upon my arrival to the mortal realm.
I am the Outcast, the Exile, the Immortal Son. My return is spoken of by the prophets and oracles. I am the Harbinger of Armageddon.
I will not be silenced.
.
I return in streak of darkness, clouding out the sun with a thick eruption of blackened, noxious fog. My laugh echoes through eons and back, the beat of my wings creates storms of shattered stars and blood, my presence instills a primal fear in men, beasts, and angels. Doom has returned.
And... no one has noticed.
I am not surrounded by stone and wood, but glass and steel. Buildings that scrape against the sky, towering over hordes of people rushing to their destinations. They push around underneath me as if I were an ill-timed spectacle or show. I can hear their chatter, their whispers, their very thoughts. They truly believe I am an actor.
It's unsurprising that the common folk would have forgotten of my existence, unable to recognize my presence and power. The church and royalty tried to keep my existence limited to mere folk tales and scriptures even when I was active and alive. The world will learn the painful truth that I am not a myth when I baptize their ruling class in hellfire. I fly to the imperial palace, there I will confront my defeat. There I will avenge myself and there my conquest of mankind will begin. Despite my loss, I enjoyed my fight against the Grand Sorcerer, so this one best be as entertaining.
When I near the palace, I see celebrating, a festival held in my defeat. I've no doubts that they would celebrate, but they should have known better than to celebrate on this day. When I am in their sight, they don't run in fear, they don't cower nor hide from what is to come. They stare with anticipation and excitement. These fools will undoubtedly be caught in the crossfire.
"Grand Sorcerer, I have come for you!" I bellow, my voice shattering windows and weak minds.
"Wow, they really went all out this year! It's so realistic!"
The Grand Sorcerer emerges, a younger man donning the same robes and staff of his forefathers, of the man that defeated me one thousand years ago.
"The Exile has returned as the prophets foretold!" This Grand Sorcerer speaks as if this was indeed a spectacle. His arrogance is infuriating.
I hear him whisper "I thought Johnny was coming from stage right, no one told me he would be flying."
"That ain't Johnny!"
The palace, the people, even the Grand Sorcerer, all were drenched in flame. There was no fight, no resistance. I annihilated my ultimate foe in seconds.
They had forgotten... so their reminder will be painful. | 1,000 years.
The stone ring shuddered, towering over the strange, bulbous creatures I'd spent decades subjugating and intended for my vanguard. It took centuries to adapt their society, and, unfortunately, more than a little brutality, but now I had full confidence in my would-be shock troops.
1,000 years.
The elaborate gem structure in the rings' keystone began to glow, and a faint shimmering of the old world started to beome visible in its centre. It was like trying to look through ice on glass, but hopefully it would stabilise this time, under the confluence of stars.
1,000 bitter years.
I turned my gaze over my left shoulder, taking in the few hundred muscular, furry creatures best adapted to my spoken language who were chanting towards the ring. Tens of thousands of their smaller, hairless brethren stood off to one side, performing final checks on siege weaponry.
1,000 damnable years.
A noise made me swing my head back to the right, to Lieutenant Adramalech. He seemed to be gesturing with his stupid mule head at the ring, his plumage quivering behind him. It drew my attention back to the newly forming portal.
1,000 years of preparation.
The view through the ring was crystal clear now, showing my enemy at some kind of desk covered with arcane symbols and notes. Unexpectedly, he was alone. I held my hand up to halt the vanguard, and with a moments consideration, began the invasion alone.
1,000 years is enough.
Astaroth started, and looked up at me in surprise. "Leonard! Good to see you, old friend! I haven't seen you, in, what?-"
"A thousand years."
"No? It's been far longer than- but of course! Time will have been different for you! Come here, let me show you how things work these days!"
More than a little confused, and more cautious than I can remember ever being before, I approached his arcane papers. After a few moments I began to recognise, then understand, the odd language arrayed out in front of me. It seemed to be some kind of multi-origin trade language, with much ambiguity.
"-and these cause untold levels of suffering, and the best part is no-one seems to want to stop us! They just do it to one another!" Astaroth continued. I hadn't realised I'd been so focused on the documents and missed the start of his spiel. He gestured to an arcane symbol, a 'chart'.
"Hold on." I interrupted. "You short- I don't understand this verbiage. What even is a stock?"
Several hours passed as he explained the current setup in this new, old world. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Clearly the thinking had changed, indiscriminate punishments on all, deserving or not, with special ones receiving extra attention after death, which is where Astaroth suggested I be utilized. Stunned, I took a few steps back towards the now dimming portal.
"You... you're insane. This is inhumane." I stammered. The cold, patient gaze of Astaroth stared back at me, unfazed.
I stepped back through the portal, much to the surprise of my Lieutenant.
"O Great Horned One! Back already?" Adramalech sputtered. Of course, time travels slower, here. I must not have been gone long.
"There... there's nothing there." I stated, as stone-faced as I could manage. "Change of plans. Prepare to march on the humans at Huntington castle." At least I could be certain most of them deserved this.
1,000 years before I try that again. | 2021-01-28T17:47:55 | 2021-01-28T15:42:07 | 70 | 39 |
[WP] Even though you are the most powerful evil being in the world, being evil just isn't fun anymore. However, your new hobby in testing and reviewing the dungeons and lairs of some lesser known evils has proven quite entertaining, and actually some of them really stand out. | "So, uh, what do you think?"
The nervous voice calls down to me and I smile widely back up towards the sound. "Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous."
I grasp the steel bar that is the only thing keeping me from dropping to my doom, adjust my grip ever so slightly to get as comfortable as possible.
The chair was the trick. Pits of scorpions, shark tanks, walls spitting venomous darts: I've seen it all since I decided to devote myself to testing the dungeons of lesser villains, and giving my guidance where I can. But a simple chair. No trap doors. No arrows shooting out of slots in the wall. No alarm blaring. I touched the chair, ran my hands over it, and stared at the sign.
"Please sit."
A polite imperative. There was no way out of the room, only the way back, and I had come this far.
I sat.
Oh what a marvelous sensation! The illusion ripping apart, the chair snapping beneath me, the drop in my stomach. Catching the bar had been a lucky break to be honest, instincts honed by years of so-called heroes and their love of chucking me out of the window.
"Uh sir?"
I glance back up. I can't see the young villain who invented this bizarre trap, but he sounds like he's crapping himself.
"Please sit! So simple! Ingenious really. Where was the actual exit?"
"Um. It's in the ceiling. You have to actually use the chair to reach it. Um. There's a particular place you have to touch it to stabilise it. Um. Do you think it will stop the heroes?"
"The heroes?" I laugh. "My word boy anything that can stop me can stop those bumbling fools."
I twist myself up with a jerk of my hands, push the bar to brace myself in an awkward handstand.
"Uh sir? I can throw down a rope."
"No need."
I thrust backwards with all my might and - with a little help from the boosters in my boots - land back in the little chairs room. The hole in the floor shuts almost silently. I have to really strain to hear the whirring of machinery and I clap my hands in delight.
"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful!"
The boy twists his hands together. "You really like it?"
"Of course, I love it."
"Really?"
"Really. You've done well, boy."
The boy smiles shyly. "It's not over yet."
The room spins. I grasp for the wall but it slips away from me; I can't get traction. I drop down to my knees to stabilise myself as my stomach twists. Tricky little bastard has disappeared. I glance up at the ceiling. Exit on the ceiling, huh? Good thing I have my boosters.
I use the blast to speed up through the spinning room, grasp the door knob and turn it. The room on the other side is stationary. I slide in, slam the door. The room is stable, but there's a strange feeling. A feeling like I'm being watched.
I reach for my gun, swerving around, but the gun isn't there and the v young villain is standing in front of me. Behind a sheet of glass.
I tap it. Ah. Not glass.
"Unbreakable, I suppose?"
The villain nods, smiling.
"My, my. You have surpassed all expectations. And the exit through the ceiling?"
"The real exit was two rooms back."
"Marvelous. Truly."
"I'm glad you think so, Vesuvius."
I stare at the young villain. His body seems to be blurring. "What happened to the nervous, too-scared-to-say-my-name boy, boy?"
"Never existed." The body blurs, and changes. An older man. My age.
"Ah. If it isn't my old nemesis Doctor Newt."
"Hello V. Guess I've finally beaten you at your own game. Anything to say?"
I smile. "Ever considered villainy?" |
[WP] Year 580 of the Imperial calendar, King Aris era. To this day I still wonder why they did not give my name to their calendar. Yes, I used to be their mortal enemy. But am I not also the strongest, cleverest and most handsome being in existence? Plus, you could forget about the hassle of changing the name every few centuries. Year 11,283 of the great overlord Mavis lord of darkness, overseer of the damned, ruler of despair the one-whose-name-is-to-be-feared, father of calamities and bringer of widows does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Alas, they believe I am already dead. Foolish thing! How could mere mortals defeat me? The only thing I truly feared was boredom. Therefore a few centuries ago I decided to go into retirement. I waited for a hero to defeat me. Although I did not expect they were this weak. I took it upon myself to train the hero from the shadows. After all it would be a shame for a draconic being such as myself to be defeated by a mere chicken! Honestly, I think I should be awarded some kind of award for my acting. You should have seen the face of the hero who thought he had slain me! This entertained me for a good decade. But I got once again bored until, one day, I looked back on the world and saw demons trying to claim my heritage. At first, I was baffled by their hubris. But then I realized that this could be entertaining. So, I decided to visit them. Having to stuff my majestic being into a smaller vessel was a very disagreeable experience to say the least but entirely worth it. Even though they were quite weak they had found such cunning and clever ways that I almost mistook them for humans! I was overjoyed and I felt the need to share this new passion with others. Then, as though by demonic providence, a leaflet was blown onto my leg. On it could be read a review of the finest inns in Byra city. My great intellect immediately applied this new knowledge to my present dilemma. I would write reviews of dungeons! Too bad for my demonic spawns if they could not deal with the adventurers afterwards! Mouhahahahah
Green skins dungeon.1/5. Goblins and their greater cousins Orcs, have always been a standard of dungeons. You would think that there is no way they would mess up the entire layout of their cave, and yet they did! As usual the goblins took in various humans for diverse purposes until one self-proclaimed decided to come in and flood their cave. When I got there the other day, I could not even set foot in the dungeon and had to give it the lowest score I had. What a disappointment! Dungeons this easy should not exist in the first place.
Lair of the lich king. 3/5 A up-and-coming dungeon with a lot of potential. The owner lich king Masivas is very friendly and a perfectionist. Adventurers are welcomed by a party of professionally trained zombies. Then they confront skeletons, ghouls, banshees and other atrocities as they head deeper into the ruins. The difficulty is harmonious. I wish I could have given more but my sensitive nose could not bear the stench.
Castle of despair (home of the great overlord Mavis lord of darkness, overseer of the damned, ruler of despair the one-whose-name-is-to-be-feared, father of calamities and bringer of widows) 6/5. Perfection made dungeon! Centuries after the *sic* death of last enemy there are no ruins to be seen. Everything is nick and span, being kept as such by the succubus maids. The mansion is plentiful with treasure chests, with not so many mimics. The traps are diverse and deadly (please mind the incubi). You could easily be misled by the sophisticated layout. The only downside is the leave of the last boss for the time being.
[NB I am a French native, even though I teach English in high school I am not confident that I will be able to write in a foreign language in my first post. I am doing that part for fun and part to train myself. Advice is welcome. I hope you enjoy reading it.] | 2021-02-05T14:42:18 | 2021-02-05T13:28:27 | 228 | 29 |
[WP] You're a god. It's pretty sweet, being immortal and stuff. Only problem is, you've fallen in love with a mortal, and now they're sick. Like, really sick. Your devastated, and your trying to convince the other gods to make them immortal so that you can be with them forever. | “Daddy I want him. I **need** him. If he dies I’m going to tell mom about you and the swan.”
Ugh. This is the last thing I need right now. Me knows I love her but her memory is longer than Styx.
“Hebe my darling, if I give you this I’ll have to do the same for your brother, and I don’t think I like the Jagger mortal’s lute playing… Anyway, immortality isn’t all it’s cracked out to be..” I trailed off.
She shot me a look that would kill a Titan. Just. Like. Her mother.
“So what?!” She was raising her voice, and the local clouds were beginning to swirl and tremble. Did one of them look like a particularly sexy swan?…
“Hebe, sweetie, if I give this Cheanu character immortality you’ll be bored of him in a couple centuries. These mortals are just…” I sensed a trap in front of me and stopped. “They’re just for fun.”.
“No Daddy, he’s the one. He’s excellent. He’s a man of pure focus and commitment. It’s that or I’m telling Mom right now.”
Ugh. "Alright. But I’m taking the mortal’s syplhium, they’re getting way too rowdy down there.”
“Thanks daddy!”. Her smile was radiant; and as she embraced me, I got the sense that I’d done something right for a change. I’m gonna sit for a while, eat this gyro, and think about stuff. | Ailments of the mind.
Ailments of the body.
Ailments of the soul.
These are what plagues the one before the sight. One whose existence like a flicker of starlight soon to be reborn as if an aftermath of a supernova.
Yet the soul refuses to pass on, clinging and lingering to what shattered vestiges of the body and mind it has. Crumbling... and breaking away to an empty void.
Just like starlight cannot escape the gravity of the pure void so does it fruitlessly try to cling to it, an irrational sense of euphoria.
A Euphoria of Life.
Watching since its conception was a platitude of trials to overcome and extend its deep dive into the void. Many of which were equal parts cheerful yet sorrowful.
Yet here, it trades its immortal soul for the mortal shell. Something incomprehensible.
Others like me come to witness this act but unlike I, they watch with morbid novel amusment. With no need for any form of thought we know they would do nothing as they have always done, even when the object may be their favorite curiosities like mine.
Of course one of them touches on the matter of the soul as it is their domain but this is nothing more than their token act. Though through that short act we came to the conclusion that the self-destruction of the existence before us is a foregone conclusion and the aftermath would be under my consideration as it falls unto none of their domains on what to do with the remains, and I take the majority of the influence as this is my personal interest.
Once the gathering has dispersed the existence before my sight turns into a whirlpool, a suction force pulling together the broken pieces to make a new whole.
Of course nobody said anything on how to clean the mess, being considerate enough to not point that out is a foregone conclusion. | 2021-02-23T06:02:40 | 2021-02-23T05:59:45 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] God got bored one day and decided to have some fun. He gave each planet something to make them unstoppable: the Martians got an all-powerful laser, the Venoxans got completely impenetrable spaceships, the Klektri got a massive army of robot soldiers... and the Earthlings? Well, they got Steve. | Bored, God stared into the depths of eternity, and in a flash of inspiration, gifted each planet an unstoppable force of nature -- Earth got Steve. A plebian with a fitting name, Steve didn't compare to the all powerful lasers of Mars, or the impenetrable spaceships of the Venoxens, in theory. But for all intents and purposes, he turned out to be a man of far greater ability.
He worked as an intergalactic transporter. *Worked*, because he was fired a year into the job. Why you ask? For starting an intergalactic war between the Martians and the Venoxians.
It all came to pass as the simple-minded Steve was completing a liquid hydrogen drop. The task was simple enough, all he had to do was pick up the haul from Mars and drop it at Venus, but the man, God only knows what happened to him, dropped it like a bomb on the hot lands of Venus.
Boom! The explosion went. And all Steve could say was, "Sorry. I think the package came loose."
The capital destroyed, major loss of life -- the arrest of Steve followed.
When the Venoxians arrested him, the man blamed the Martians, claiming that the drop wasn't fitted properly and that he was the victim of some great conspiracy.
"Them men want to fool you! Open your eyes, it's obviously a great conspiracy. The big powers don't want no peace. They only want war. They only want blood and want to suck the common man dry."
Needless to say, he was incarcerated, but an investigation was launched, which revealed that the package was indeed loosely fit. Helmsley, the flippant Venoxian at the helm of the planet, swore revenge and took the impenetrable spaceships past the asteroid belt to attack Mars.
"Not on my watch. No big power can kill my people, on my land, under my watch! None other than me," the tyrannical dictator roared.
"But this was a shipping accident. Surely we cannot be held accountable for that," the Martian delegate had said in his offer of peace.
The power-crazed dictator, however, called it God's plan and shot him, on video. The video was seen by the Planetary Cabinet of Mars.
Furious, the democratic leaders of Mars used their all powerful lasers to destroy Venus from the core. Steve died.
The indestructible ships were pushed back by the laser. And those ships disappeared a long way into space.
Homeless, but indestructible, the surviving Venoxians now float in space, creating a Venoxian belt, between the Klektri and the Earthlings. An event which made the threat of robot soldiers disappear. Surrounded by dangerous foes, but yet immune, Steve ended up making Earth unstoppable. | Papers flew as people rushed from one corner of the room to another with files tucked underneath their arms and mind running with thoughts of complete disbelieve, they wondered if all this hassle was even worth the effort.
"Steve" the junior accountant had his name popped up on the magic screen in the, as everyone referred to it, the gray room. The screen was quite special, it beamed in from space and crash landed on Earth without even a single scratch. In appearance it looked like your regular computer monitor but was far from it.
You see the monitor only had one thing running on it, a red blinking dot. It had no input slots or even screws holding it together, and if that was not enough, it didn't even require power to run.
The Military at the time thought best to just bust it open and see what falls out but Dr. Peter Ander thought best to just observe it. Since Military was preoccupied at the time with little thing called War, they decided to let Dr. Peter just do his thing. That was 15 years ago, today the red dot turned to a name, "Steve".
General Myers sat up in his chair, shook his head as if coming out of a nap and looked out the window for the most beautiful view of a black wall. Having the entire base underground did have some cons, but if the perk was not getting bombed, He didn't mind the view of the black wall. He loved his job, keep an eye on space tv, as he liked to call it, and spend entire day drinking coffee. Nothing has ever happened since the magic tv plopped down on Earth and yet government is spending billions. Myers went back to admire coffee and the coffee mug.
He felt even more lucky with this job considering the counterpart was being a general on frontline as war raged on between Germany and France.
"Sir!"
Myers didn't even bother looking up from his mug he was staring down so intently "What?"
"There are no Steve we can find, except one"
"Funny" Replied Myers, I guess nobody here wants to do their work, He thought. "Creative way of avoiding work huh?"
"No sir, I am not joking" Replied sergeant as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. "We have ran the search 10 time so far, and there are no Steve in database except one. The junior accountant Steve who joined 2 months ago."
Myers brow tightened, It was one thing he wanted to the easy cozy life, but it wasn't good that everybody wanted the same. "If this is your idea of avoiding work, then let me tell you, it is not FUNNY!" Myers yelled as he looked up from his coffee mug and at the Sergeant.
Sergeant's voice trembled "Sir, please just come with me" .
"Fine" replied General, "But for your career this better not turn out to be a joke."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am writing to learn how to write. Any kind of feedback is welcome. | 2021-03-27T07:38:50 | 2021-03-27T07:02:29 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Galactic wars are always won by whoever finds the other first – there is simply no way to retaliate fast enough to a carpet bombing from a high orbit. Other civilizations are absolutely terrified of Terrans who are cocky enough to broadcast their presence loud and clear. | “We should initiate Operation Overlord, Admiral. It’s time,” Major Tvotsky said, rubbing the sense organs on his face. “Look,” he said, unrolling a stellar map of the Terran’s home planets. “The Terrans are spreading quicker than anticipated, sir. They are like a virus. They are sending interstellar arcs as we speak to more than ten solar systems.”
The Major pointed to the stars on the map surrounding Sol—the human’s home solar system.
“We’ve found The Terrans before they've found us, Admiral,” He said, tapping hard on the star indicating Sol. “We must conduct a first strike. We all know that is the rules of the game, sir. Simple survival. We must hit them before they find us. We have the advantage now.”
“But why do they broadcast themselves so loudly, Major? Surely, they must know the perils of doing so,” the Admiral said, looking at the map.
“Does it matter? We cannot hesitate, Admiral. They are stronger every day. At their current rate of progression, our researchers say the technological gap between us will be closed by the end of the century, if not sooner.”
“Zoey, pull up current Terran broadcasts,” the Admiral said.
*Pulling up Terran broadcasts, Admiral,* the ship’s artificial intelligence said.
Flowing around the two officers were hundreds, thousands, then hundreds of thousands of videos of Terrans laughing, crying, making love, playing with their animals, dancing, fighting…
The admiral enjoyed pulling up these broadcasts in the evening as he drank a hot cup of Nysin tea, watching this peculiar species in their peculiar acts. They seemed to have an energy for existence that he wasn’t used to. And they broadcasted that zest for life throughout the whole galaxy and beyond. *We are here,* they said, their myriad voices sliding immortal through the infinite black expanse.
Naïve? yes, the Admiral thought. But there was something exceptional… and a little terrifying in a species that would be so brazenly arrogant—as though they assumed they were the only intelligent species.
“No, Major. I do not authorize Operation Overlord at this time. I think there is a lot to learn from these Terran, and I will not be the harbinger of annihilation to such a peculiar species.”
“Admiral, I must inform you that I will be reporting my concerns to the Politburo.”
“I understand, Major. You are dismissed.”
Major Tvotsky nodded curtly, turned then stormed out of the room.
The Admiral paid no attention, looking at one particular video of a mother Terran tossing a Terran baby in the air, their smiling faces touching nose to nose as the baby fell into its mother's arms.
What a peculiar species, he said to himself.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | "Umm..theyre doing it again sir" - My trusty radio professor said to me
"What? The terrans? What did they send now?" I respond with an angry snap. Its been a rough day on the intergalactic peace station.
"Im still learning Terran's language, the rules change completly every few 100kms, but roughly translated sir..."
"WE ARE HERE! COME! WE ARE NOT AFRAID!"
Im not even shocked anymore. Im terrified. These terrans are batshit insane. Even their PERSONAL ENTERTAINMENT often includes mass genocide. Young terrans spend days on end on military simulation software, AND ITS CONSIDERED ENTERTAINMENT. I do not want to know what their ACTUAL military personal do for training Death matches on monday mornings?
They've bombed THEMSELVS countless times.
There was a period where they had PUBLIC EXECUTIONS. But I guess that got too boring, now its public genoice. A terran goes nuts, kills about 50 terrans in a shooting every other week.
Terrans crave death like a Glorkx Craves Fruju juice.
"Jerry...Please release a public reminder that no vessel or being is allowed within the Terran Galaxy and neighbouring galaxies. All these fucks need is a target"
"Yes sir" Jerry nods as he pushes the broadcast. I swear he made a button just for this broadcast.
"I swear Jerry, ive never seen such a war hungry race. Remember when we actually tried sending a diplomat?"
"Yes sir, they nailed him on a cross and put him up on a hill for us to see, I believe"
"Barbaric, isnt it Jerry?"
"If I may sir, I believe that they took our diplomat nailed to a cross and made him into an international symbol."
My jaw dropped. This is beyond insanity
"What did you just fucking say Jerry"
"Its been aprox. around 3,000 terran years since our diplomat's arrival, and they celebrate his death on a weekly basis, if I understand correctly"
"And all terrans do this...."celebration"?"
"Not all sir. Depending on the Kms, sometimes different deaths are celebrated"
"We made a mistake sending Esus, it was a suicide mission"
"I agree sir."
I let out a big sigh. Why do I have to be in charge of these fuckers? What the hell are we going to do if they actually find us?
"Hopefully Terran Plan Z works out sir"
I nod. "For all of our lives it better fucking work." Plan Z is the masterplan to handle the terrans. Go completly dark and pretend we dont even exist, in hopes that the terrans would just bomb themselves to extinction in one of their insane rituals.
"Give it a few millenia Jerry, and we're either going to be rid of our terran problem, or face a fucking organically bomb proof species"
Unless these terrans kill me out of sheer terror first.
.
"Lets pray its the former, sir" Jerry responds professionally. | 2021-04-09T09:10:09 | 2021-04-09T05:14:13 | 584 | 249 |
[WP] You have an ability. You feel an item's weight proportional to it's monetary value. You can blow away a ton of scrap metal but can't lift a gold bar without wheezing. While everyone expected you to work with diamonds, you want to work with unknown artists | It’s a weird ability, I’ll give you that. But it’s unique and it’s mine. As I pulled the mountain of scrap metal towards my workshop, I was aware of the glances towards me. It wasn’t everyday someone manually lugged around a few tones of twisted metal.
Ayesha was waiting for me when I got there.
“This everything you need?”
She looked at me with a faint smile. “Yes. That’s quite enough.”
She had talent. I could see that even if the whole world couldn’t.
I knew she would make it big one day. I trusted her to. But for now, I was still able to move her art installations with one hand, which while being good for me to manage and store meant that I couldn’t get much money for it.
Lately, her stuff was getting heavier though. It was a good sign.
“Can you move the tree of life?”
I look at the heap of metal in the middle of my workshop. I tilted my head a little, looking at the symmetry, the red at the bottom with green up above. It was amazing and powerful.
I tried to push it, to no avail.
She looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “Derek?”
“I can’t move it...”
“Does that mean..?”
My heart sank, even though it was feeling pretty worthless at the moment.
“It likely means that you’re about to make it big. You’ll be able to sell this piece for lots of money and travel the world just like you always wanted to. You’ll be able to have your own workshop and...”
I looked at her smile and it hurt me. She was happy. But of course she would be. Her dream was coming true.
After a toast to her future success, she started work on her next project while I went to my office.
I looked at her, with her hair pulled back, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in intense concentration as she worked on the latest pile of junk. Well, to the world, it was junk, but she saw what it could be. Something amazing.
“Hello... you still there Derek?”
I realized the appraiser was still on the phone. “Yes... yes. Sorry I lost my train of thought.”
The appraiser came in the next day. He looked over the tree of life, squinting and moving around.
“It’s an interesting piece. But in my opinion, she still has a long way to go. She still needs to refine her work.”
“Look again. I’m sure this piece is very very valuable. I couldn’t move this an inch.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I wouldn’t spend more than a few hundred bucks on it. And that’s a stretch.”
She was disappointed when she came in and heard what the appraiser had said. Her dejected face hurt me even worse than her smile had.
What did I even want anymore?
I looked at her as she climbed the ladder to work at the top of the heap. She was angry and sad. And careless.
She lost her footing as she was trying to arrange the junk just the right way.
Instinctively, I rushed to hold her.
That was the last thing I remembered till I woke up 3 weeks later in a hospital.
Ayesha sat there, as I opened my eyes. “Morning.”
“Ayesha? What happened?”
“They said something really really heavy fell on you. It’s insulting really. I don’t really weigh that much.”
“Ayesha, look. I...”
“They even had me stand on a scale you know. Looked at me life I was a freak. Then for a while they really considered if I was lying and had tried to kill you by throwing a lot of twisted junk metal on top of you. I had to explain that what they saw wasn’t randomly thrown junk but art. Atleast in my eyes it was.”
“And in mine.”
“So why are you here then?”
“Ayesha, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You know what you have to tell me. I’m just wondering if you were ever going to.”
I lowered my eyes. This was the moment. I had to say it. For once, I had to, not be a coward.
“Fine fine. I’ll say it if you won’t. Derek, I do kinda like you. I don’t need to be crushed by you to know that.”
She looked at the twisted bag of bones that I was and saw something good. How could she? But I suppose that’s why she was the artist. I was just someone who was destined to help achieve her dream. Even though, I’d have to depend on others as well since I knew well enough that every single one of her pieces would now be too heavy for me to move. | “What’s it supposed to be? It looks like a bunch of squiggles with blotches of dirt. It’s a pretty big eyesore.” I didn’t hold back on my critiques, dragging a finger along the canvas, picking up a small dot of wet brown paint, shaking my head.
“I rushed here, I just had to know what you think. You are the only person people listen to in the art world. A critique that can determine the quality of a painting, able to tell us the actual worth beyond the corporate propaganda. I must know, please work your magic.” The man was desperate, his clothing still stained with various brush strokes, not even willing to change clothes before coming to see me.
“I already told you what I think. I think it looks like a bunch of squiggles with dirt. Are you satisfied with my honest opinion?”
“Um, I was hoping you could try to lift it, use your abilities on it?”
“Does my opinion not matter? I’m more than a weight scale for value.” I scoffed at the man. Of course he didn’t care about my opinion. My opinion didn’t sell the piece, it was my abilities that did.
“N-no, just um.” I watched him try to squirm his way out of the uncomfortable situation, stuttering over his words, trying to keep from offending me. “It’s just your weight metric determines how much a piece sells for. I tried to design mine in a similar style to what’s popular, so I think it should have some value.”
“You think it should have some value?” I gripped the edges of the canvas, raising it towards the sky before tossing it to the ceiling with ease, catching it when it descended again. Placing the canvas back, I turned my attention back to the man, who kept his head lowered, cursing his lack of talent.
“I was certain this would work. The lines follow the artistic style of Guzmil de Fort. The patches of brown like the dead fields of the famous Battle of life by Pomil. Should that combination not create something beautiful?”
“Perhaps it should. But I think you are missing the point of art, no of anything with creativity involved.”
“The point? What point is there? I did everything the way they taught me. It took me years to work this smoothly, I can’t waste another ten years of my life on a talent that won’t get me anywhere.”
“Everything they taught you? Any form of creativity comes from the heart first and the brain second. Passion powers our creative spark while the brain merely visualizes it. Drawing inspiration is a good way to learn, but what separates the talented artists from the average ones is going outside of the comfort zone. Challenge the perception of what art is, don’t hide in its shadow. I didn’t need to lift it to know its weight.”
“But that’s what the people like. People like art that feels familiar.” The man still tried to argue his point, only to go quiet when I raised a paint coated finger his way.
“People will like what everyone tells them to like. Sure, If I told them this weighs the same as an elephant, people would flock to see you, but do you really think a soulless piece like this should get that attention?”
“I-” He moved his mouth, chewing his gums as he thought over a response, only to release a sigh. “No, maybe it shouldn’t. How does one create something with weight then?”
“With weight? Art has no weight. A canvas is relatively cheap, the only thing that can add weight is expensive paint, a tactic many have tried. My abilities tell me the monetary value of objects, if an object is covered in paints and formed into an artwork, that doesn’t increase the value substantially. The truth is, I determine the value based on what it makes me feel. This piece makes me feel nothing.”
“So, all those artworks you gave high weights too, were all fabricated? Determined by your opinion and not your abilities?”
“Fabricated? My opinions are real. I estimated their weight based on the creativity on show. Bring me back something from your heart and I’ll give it a fair assessment. Please don’t bring me something that a board of art snobs would swirl wine at.”
“Something from the heart? I can do that. Thank you, sir, I’ll be back when I have a piece, I won’t disappoint you. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret either.”
“No one would believe you, anyway.”
I watched him carry his canvas towards the door, awkwardly gripping its edges as he moved. He went to wave at me, only to end up juggling the painting. After that, he gave a small nod instead, exiting my studio.
“I can’t wait to see what he returns with.” I could feel a smirk creeping its way onto my face, excited to see something original from the artist.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-05-10T01:23:03 | 2021-05-09T23:17:36 | 1,947 | 289 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves | Where I come from people say you can always tell a Corail by the look of them and it's true, my siblings and I strongly take after our father's side of the family.
I was lucky enough to have inherited my mother's sharp nose and thick red hair but that luck was wasted by the rest of my face. My lips are so thin as to be practically invisible, my eyes are too large and slightly bulging, my cheekbones might as well not exist. The kindest description that had ever been attributed to my face was "a plate to which an amateur sculptor had attached a nose and eyes".
I often wonder if my ability to see through water, no matter how brackish or dirty, is another family trait that I inherited along with my webbed toes. I had no way of knowing as my three times great grandfather had broken away from the main family, moved his family across the country and changed their name. Since then familial lore had been banned and is now all but lost.
The things I've seen have been beautiful and strange, boring and terrifying. As a child I was hushed and hustled away from the water any time I spoke of what I saw so I learned to keep it to myself. I've always loved the water and it was nearly painful to be kept from it.
I became a sailor both to see the world as a rebellious young man who chafes against the rules set on me by my family and to be allowed to indulge my love of the ocean as much as I wanted.
If you've ever stood in a high place, looked down at the world below and felt the fear and exhilaration that comes from knowing how insignificantly small you are then you will know how I felt that first time we took to the ocean and I lost all sight of land. Nothing in the world is quite like it.
Still, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. I expected fields of coral and kelp and other water plants as far as the eye could see. I expected crevasses that put the Grand Canyon to shame. I expected whales, giant squid, great whites and all manner of sea creatures.
I did not expect to see gargantuan, sprawling ruins with etchings so huge and detailed that even at such a distance I could almost make them out. I did not expect to see the unnatural movement of things that vaguely resembled humans. I did not expect to pass over what I thought was merely another ocean floor mountain and have it open it's eye to look back at me.
I have seen many such wonders in the intervening years and even if I had not long had the habit of keeping such things to myself I knew that without the ability to see through the water as clearly as I can all I would do by trying to tell my fellow sailors what I saw was to gain a bad reputation.
I have since found the family my thrice great grandfather abandoned. They're wonderful people, if a bit reclusive, and very welcoming of so called "lost sheep" of the family. Tonight I've been invited to participate in a ritual from the family religion, something they are incredibly closed mouthed about though they assure me that once I am "introduced" all will be explained.
I am considering settling down here when I retire. Despite it's dilapidated condition and murky weather there's something rather charming about the town of Innsmouth. | *Edits for clarification. Might have over-edited. Sticking with it. Went with the "I can see below the sea" angle, didn't follow the born with the gift part. Hope it still fits well enough!*
........
*Captains log,
Day 136:*
No land again. I knew before I climbed. I looked anyways.
No land.
*Captains log,
Day 143:*
I am alone. The crew is still manning the ship, but they're not here anymore. Just lifeless husks hoisting limp sails and dragging frayed rope.
When the deckhands aren't actively attending to our cage of a ship - they seem mechanical even doing that, like zombies - they stare blankly at the horizon. They barely eat; they've forgotten they need to.
I caught a fish last week, if you could call it that, just skin and scales draped over bones, and put it in a stew with the last of the carrots and potatoes. They ate what I gave them, but seemed not to notice as they were doing it. Spoon from bowl to mouth and back again, as the waves rise and fall so do their hands, but their eyes...
*Captains log,
Day 156:*
They used to ask when we'd see land. From my perch in the crows nest, I would call back that I saw nothing on the horizon - which is true. None of them even bothered to look down at the water, or if they did, they said nothing of it. After the second captain took charge, they stopped asking. I don't think they realized they had stopped. They just started staring.
That was.. 72 days ago. There have been two other captains before me. I can't remember their names. Did they have any? They must have. They're still here.
It wasn't a mutiny. They just stopped, and so I started. They stare with the others now.
*Captains log,
Day 161:*
I don't remember leaving home anymore. Just this murky blue wasteland, rolling us toward an endless sleep. I know the sleep will be endless; I know the sea will give it to me. I'm thankful they stopped asking if land is on the horizon. I wish beyond hope that they'd ask what's below it.
I see it sometimes. A shimmer, a pair of eyes, and it's gone again, fast enough that I could believe it a trick of the light. But the more I think, the more I *know*: it's not a trick. It's not a reflection.
*Captains log,
Day 167:*
I saw it today. A pair of eyes. Not from the water. From the deck. Below us. A shattered hull, torn masts. Our ship.
One pair of eyes, set deeply in a gaunt and hollowed out face - my face. The face of a man lost at sea, adrift on a pile of logs and bones. Peering over the edge of the deck, with a look as surprised as the sunstroked face could muster, barely held up by the skeletal body clutching the rail.
I am not surprised. I wait. One day I will not think to look, and one day, I will be gone. Another soulless face peering into the horizon to keep from seeing the abyss.
I understand now. I who am him. I'm not looking into the sea. I'm looking out of it.
*Captains log, Day 183*
I wish somebody else would look. Free me of this burden.
Free my reflection from its misery. | 2021-11-06T14:05:28 | 2021-11-06T12:21:00 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] Some dragons are much too small to ride, so they're treated more like a dog. But then some are so small that they actually make a pretty effective weapon. | Far below the ground which royal blood dances upon, where only the wine should rest, flames sacrifice their wooden holsters to light the cobbled walls. They separate the known from oblivion.
“Let me be frank,” Metal splits the already half-dead wood. “We know you’re not one of us. Tell us who sent you, unless you wanna be fed to the dragon.”
Though rope constrains his hands, his giggles flew free. “Do you take me for a fool? Even a starved dragon would never lay its fangs on human flesh. Mortal meat cannot satisfy the gut of legends.”
His captor returns the laughter, filtered by sin and grotesque echoing. “Ah, so I suppose it will dance around like a puppy.” The cleaver raises. “What else would they eat?”
“Well, how about you find out yourself.” Suddenly, the captured’s chest pocket flails in a furious dance. A miniature storm hidden behind leather grows more violent until it bursts. A figure flies out, bouncing upon the walls. Its speed outmatches any eye, leaving only a winged silhouette. There is only one thing that it can be, centuries of legends, all packed into a being no larger than a mouse.
It devours a flame, then another. Gluttony brings the room into oblivion. “I can tell you’re hungry, buddy.” The voice speaks out from the void. “Care to answer his question for me?”
A miniature myth lets out no less fantastic flames. | "Feel my horny penetration!" Prince Farin shouted as he thrust Lancelot's spiked face towards my chest.
I was able to deflect his blow with my left forearm. I spun slightly and used my own dragon, Chauncey, to club Farin in the kidney.
"Foul!" he shrieked. "That's a foul, man!"
Lancelot growled. Smoke puffed from his nostrils.
"Well," I retorted. "I told you if you ever made that goddamn joke again I'd kick you in the liver. That was close enough."
"Dick move either way." Farin grunted, rubbing his back.
Under a nearby oak tree was a small table with two chairs placed at either side. Varis, Farin's butler, stood in waiting as his charge walked toward him, taking a seat. Lancelot then climbed up his arm and curled into a ball. Quiet coos of content shortly followed.
"Can you get us a couple of beers, Varis."
"Certainly, your majesty."
Varis scuttled into the castle as I made my way towards the empty chair. Chauncey flew from my grasp and began circling over the garden.
"So, Master at Arms..." Prince Farin mused. "What do you think of the Gallians prepping their army?"
"Oh that's just for show," I shook my head. "That's the least of our worries."
"Yes, yes, I heard," Farin agreed. "Those damned Vesutians are increasing the price on their wine yet again. The demons!"
"Oh..." The word barely escaped my lips. "Oh no, not that. Gallia somehow found five full sized dragons. They seemed poised to take Uhlra as we speak."
"Wait...what?"
"Yeah...we're pretty much fucked." | 2022-05-27T22:49:21 | 2022-05-27T22:47:24 | 37 | 10 |
[WP]"You're right, we are peaceful." He said, slowly standing up and lifting an axe that dwarfed him in size. "For you're only 'peaceful' if you're capable of great violence. Otherwise, the word is 'Harmless'." | "And you're sure they won't be any trouble?" the man said to his friend as they stood in the forest and looked at the small hut before them.
"Nah," his friend assured him. "Just an old lumberjack and his family. We run in, smack the old guy around a bit and before you know it, we're spending the next month at the Lucky Tab's drinking the best spirit they have."
"How do you even know he's got money?" his partner asked.
"Overheard a merchant who supplies him. He said this guy's his best client, always pays well, never haggles. He said he's the most peaceful man he's ever met. To me, that just sounds like easy money. You ready?"
The man brandished his dagger, the moonlight reflecting off of it softly. "Yeah. Let's do it," he nodded.
The inside of the cabin was quaint and calm. It was indeed far better furnished than any old lumberjack could afford - the chairs and tables were of the highest quality imported mahogany, the silverware was richly ornamented and their cups were made of *glass* instead of clay. The brigands smiled at one another and started grabbing anything they set their eyes on. Their bags were almost full when they heard a creek at the door. They swiftly turned and saw the old man standing in the doorway, a surprisingly unsurprised look on his face.
"Can I help you fine gentlemen with something?" he said in a heavy, gravelly voice. The first thief snickered and pulled his dagger from his belt.
"Yeah," he said and pointed the knife at him. "You can give me that bracelet and in return, I shall *generously* let you keep the hand it is on."
The old man sighed and gave the thief an inquisitive look.
"Just put everything back where you found it and leave. Please," he said in a calm, almost sorrowful manner.
The thieves merely laughed.
"You daft, old man?" he said and stepped forward, pressing the knife to the lumberjack's neck; a thin streak of blood ran from where the knife sat. "I said, give me your bracelet. Now," he hissed sharply.
The lumberjack put his hand up but instead of taking the bracelet off as instructed, he grabbed the thief's wrist before he could realize. A loud snap echoed through the cabin as the thief's wrist shattered. The lumberjack then let go of the man's wrist and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up in the air and holding him to the side so he could see the other brigand.
"Wha- let him down! How- stop!" the other thief cried out, seeing his friend struggle for air.
"The knife," the lumberjack said slowly. The metallic clang filled the room as the thief let go of it. In response, the other thief was let down from the old man's grip, falling with a loud thud.
"The devil- my wrist!" he yelled out painfully. "Balar, you said *\*akh\** this bastard was peaceful!"
"Peaceful?" the old man laughed. "Well, he didn't lie. My family and I are here to live a peaceful life," he continued and walked over to a closet in the corner of the room. He opened it, the rarely used door creaking as he did so, and from within brandished an axe larger than him. The thieves' eyes shifted around the room frantically; one even saw, however briefly, inside of the closet. It was mostly old junk but he could swear that he saw a suit of armour in there with... spikes on it?
"You see," the old man said as he held the axe next to him - the floorboards bent where the axe stood on the ground, betraying its weight, "you're only peaceful if you're capable of great violence." He cast a longing look at the axe head. "Otherwise, the word would be *harmless*" he finished with a stern look.
The thieves looked on in horror at the man. He was unassuming, plain even, but the ease with which he held one of them up and the sheer size of the axe he held with no problems worried them beyond reason.
"Mordred? Is everything well? I heard a commotion," a new voice rang from outside; a woman's gentle voice, filled with softness and melodious beauty. The old man's gaze suddenly softened as he looked towards the door.
"All is well, dear," Mordred replied gently. "Just a..." he paused as he looked at the thieves and, tightening the grip on his axe, nodded towards the back door. The thieves wasted no time and started running.
"*Misunderstanding*," he finished. | # Soulmage
**"I say the elves are the most peaceful species,"** Meloai grated out as she clambered down the mountain. Our ragtag little adventuring party wasn't at its best right now, but we could still pass the time through banter.
Lucet scoffed, hammering a rope into a cliff face and casting it down with ease. "An elf? Are you crazy? One of those insane glowbugs just tried to light-magic us out of existence."
"The term is gamma rays," Meloai huffed. "The elven gift of light magic extends to all corners of the electromagnetic spectrum, including the cancer-causing, weaponizable high-energy particles known as gamma rays."
"See? Does that sound peaceful to you?"
"Well, that *one* elf in particular is pretty peaceful now," I said, piping up, "because we violence'd his ass into a place where he won't be hurting anyone."
Meloai and Lucet chuckled, while Sansen merely grunted. The wrinkled old man was the most experienced of the four of us when it came to adventures like this, and I had a feeling he was about to put our banter to shame. "If you want a real answer? I think the Fey are the most peaceful of all the human-derived species. They just live in their forests and grow their crops and bugger off whenever someone threatens them."
"No, see, that's not peaceful." I tested the rope Lucet had nailed down, then started absailing down the sheer cliff face. I had to speak up to be heard over the wind. "That's just *passive*. I'm pretty sure the fey are, like, mentally incapable of *not* immediately forgiving anyone they meet. It's part of their biology. Magicology?"
"You're looking for 'mythology'," Meloai absently said.
"Yeah, that." Ugh, I'd even taken a class called Mythology of Magical Beings, way back in what seemed to be an age and a half ago. "Forgiveness is Regrowth and all that. The fey *physically cannot* do anything but forgive tresspassers in their forests. I don't think that's peaceful so much as helpless."
"So... what, in order to be peaceful, you have to be *capable* of immense violence, just... choosing to hold back for the time being?" Meloai mused, rubbing her chin. The shapeshifter currently in the form of a young girl grinned. "Because I can do that." Quick as a flash, her left arm morphed into an axe taller than she was—partly because she grew shorter to compensate for the lost mass.
"Well, rifts, by that measure, we're probably the most peaceful adventuring party in the whole of the Silent Peaks!" Lucet chimed in.
I couldn't see Sansen from my position climbing down the cliff face, but I could imagine the gruff grimace in the old man's face. "I don't think that's what *peaceful* means," he mused, and I could almost imagine him back at home with a cup of brandy, eyes twinkling as he philosophized, instead of running around with three violent teenagers who called themselves an adventuring party. "I think that being peaceful is... something for people who've managed to *forget* violence. For children whose greatest concern is how they will go to school, or what their friends will think of their new clothes. I think that being peaceful is something that we *fight* for, not for ourselves, but for the next generation. We die in violence so they can live in peace."
The only sound to follow that was the whistling of the desolate winter winds around the empty Silent Peaks.
Then Meloai hefted her axe. "So, uh, no incredible violence for me, then?"
And just like that, we were back to laughing and chuckling and climbing down the next section of rope. "I just said we'd die in violence," Sansen said, expertly navigating the rocky cliff with the help of the rope.
"Rifts, that is *not* what you want to hear from the party oracle," I muttered.
"But we die for a purpose." I could hear the smile in Lucet's voice. "I like that. So the most peaceful people in the world... is not the people of today."
"It's the children of tomorrow," Sansen agreed. "That's what we fight for."
Burning with determination, our ragtag adventuring party continued crawling down the side of the Silent Peaks, to whatever death awaited us and whatever peace we would find after.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-two other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. | 2022-06-11T17:21:16 | 2022-06-11T17:18:15 | 833 | 367 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | Several things hit you at once when you wake up. First, the thirst, you’re so dehydrated you should probably be dead. And honestly, you’d expected to be. What you hadn’t expected was this godforsaken hangover. Quickly following that was the fact you’re still alive. You certainly hadn’t planned for being alive. Having banked on being dead there wasn’t even a glass of water beside the bed.
You stumble to the kitchen and drink straight from the tap. The water’s still running. Odd. The lights are still on. Strange. The apartment isn’t a smoldering ruin of rubble. Stranger still.
Even the TV is working, price tag and energy rating still emblazoned on the plastic tape you hadn’t bothered to remove in the time since you stole it in the mass looting which had taken place over the course of the last week. You really hadn’t planned for this.
Returning to the bedroom you’re greeted by the sight of your ex-girlfriend softly snoring in a bed of tussled hair and tangled sheets. Nope. You walk back out.
You tread among the cases of stolen beer and half empty bottles of various looted liquors adorning the living room. You check the refrigerator half-heartedly knowing you hadn’t considered water or any actual beverage other than beer a priority. A door full of condiments stares back at you in silent condemnation and you honestly can’t take the judgement of Heinz and French’s right now.
Fuck it back to the living room. Hair of the dog it is. You crack open an IPA and hate every second of the hops washing over your shag carpet of a tongue. The small pile of miscellaneous white powder on the coffee table looks tempting and you decide to partake. Why not.
Feeling a little better you glance around the room looking for the menagerie of pill bottles you’d looted because instead of grabbing water or you know anything essential to surviving the apocalypse, you’d shimmied out of the CVS rattling like some kind of degenerate, pharmaceutical maraca.
And of course, aspirin had been beneath you when there was a plethora of white ovals of hydrocodone and blue footballs of Xanax waving to you from behind the plexiglass of the pharmacy counter. But what’s the point of eighteen months of sobriety when you’re staring down the barrel of a 15-mile-wide cosmic rock hell bent on colliding with the only planet you’ve ever known. Or so they told you.
Honestly, fuck NASA. You sit in your trashed living room surrounded by a week’s worth of illicit and ill-gotten accoutrements and just as you think to unbox the latest gen console you’d pilfered the damned power goes out. Wonderful.
You find your phone and 39 missed calls from family and friends you’d ignored in favor of spending one last night with your ex who’d ruined you and who it looked like you’d be spending a much longer foreseeable future together with because life it turns out is a sick gag gift that keeps giving. The fact your boss is among the missed calls is unfathomable given the things you’d said as you fucked off to loot letting the door hit you on the way out. This is bad.
“Babe…” you hear from the doorway and the dread that fills you is comical and you strongly consider pitching yourself out the window and taking a fourteen story swan dive into the pavement below to finish the job that an asteroid the size of a small island couldn’t be bothered to do.
Your phone rings, it’s your mother. Your ex says your name and still you don’t look up. This is awkward. | We saw it pass.
Not everyone did. Approximately half of the almost ten billion people on the planet were on the wrong side. Half of the rest had cloud cover. Some it was too light, so they could just barely see a shadow. Some were just looking the wrong way.
We saw it pass, impossibly big, impossibly fast - like a ghost moving through the sky. If you blinked you could have missed it. It looked like it was larger than the earth, and for that moment it almost felt like my feet lifted off the ground, pulled by some intense otherworldly gravity.
The news said that scientists were reporting a wobble in our orbit. Some of the ozone had been stripped away by the cloud of gas surrounding that strange other world. There were theories about how it had come screaming out from a nearby galaxy exploding, hundreds of thousands of years ago. A chunk of rock from another galaxy. From unthinkable miles away, travelling at unbelievable speed. What did it even mean for a galaxy to explode? Could that even happen?
We had gone to bed shocked to be alive. It was me and... her.
We had met in our 20s. She had changed my life. Made me a better man. Showed me how to enjoy my life. Showed me how to experience things, and showed me what it really meant to be a person. She showed me things I never thought I'd have. She gave me a taste of things I never knew I wanted. Then... Then she had left. Gone travelling. Without me.
That was ten years ago. i'd married. I'd had children, but when the news had come on the television, warning us of the disaster, my mind had immediately jumped to her. I spent a week looking her up. The internet, old addresses... Even bribing a mail clerk to give me her new address.
It had been a hundred and fifty mile drive out to this cabin on some lonely hillside. I thought it was where I was going to die. I thought it was where we were all going to die. I just wanted to be with her at the end. I didn't even tell my wife.
I was staring at the ceiling now. So was she, lying next to me. I would try to speak, but no words would come out. She would make a noise, and I would worry they would turn into sentences.
"I..." I said.
It wasn't guilt, exactly. More... Uncertainty. Vulnerability. I'd never expected her to say yes in the first place. The fact that she had... Well. Now things were different. I lapsed back into silence.
"Well..." she said.
I looked at her hair. She was older, certainly, but no less beautiful than I remembered her. She smelt of acorns and wildflowers.
"...Yeah..." I said.
"We're still here."
"So we are,"
"A second chance," she said.
"For everyone."
She said nothing for a while. "This was so dumb," she said, at last.
"Yup. Super, super dumb," I agreed.
"Dumb, dumb, dumb, stupid," she said, her voice slow and sing-song. I loved the way she spoke.
"Yes... Although..."
"Although what?"
"Although," I said, "It's funny, I never thought you'd say yes."
"Yes," she said. "It's funny how I did that. I never thought you'd try to find me again."
"Funny, dumb. Dumb and funny," I said.
"Of course I never would if I knew I was risking anything," she said."
"Oh, me neither," I parrotted. "If I'd known I'd still have my kids and wife waiting for me after this I... Well.."
"Funny... Funny how it works like that," she said.
"Very," I agreed.
"Funny how when we don't think there's anything at stake we act different."
"Real different," I said.
"How when we're not afraid of what we might lose..."
I stayed silent.
"...We find ourselves chasing what we really want."
I smiled.
I thought it was where I was going to die.
Turns out it was where I had been to start feeling alive. | 2022-06-15T09:52:12 | 2022-06-15T09:00:13 | 95 | 34 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned.
"Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air.
"Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..." I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?" I tried my best to smile.
"Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass," the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very *ungentle*man has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore."
"No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!" The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner.
"Oh! We're discussing a contract!" I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?"
"The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human," the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-"
I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?" The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments.
"This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph," the man quietly muttered.
"Here darling," that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand."
"So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?" I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?"
"Eternal servitude," she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile.
"This foolish fae lies!!!" The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!" He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is *her* that owes *me* servitude!"
"So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?" Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts." The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well." Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this."
"If this," I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either."
"This is not that," the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched.
"Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?"
The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there *anything* I can offer-"
"Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients," I said quickly while organizing my notes.
"You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead," the man said with great disdain.
"Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer."
[I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.] | God of Laws
I rubbed my forehead. I am used to adjudicating conflicts between gods of wars over who is victorious in their wars. Demons over who held praxis over whom. And I even had the misfortune of helping a mortal dick over a genie. (That one was pro bono because that genie was a legal nightmare). But all of that palest in comparison of what is before me today.
“Let me get this straight,” I said taking out my emergency flask of Grandma’s Bitter, a special brew from a thankful god of beer making, “Elizabeth Bathory, ancient vampire, was walking through a fae forest when she found a man sleeping. That man was you, Puck, in your Robin Goodfellow disguise.” He nodded in agreement about my accounting of the situation.
“You, Elizabeth, decided you were hungry and bit into him. Waking him up. Now you are claiming dominion over the other due to some rulings.”
I poured the content of the flask into a mug that said “Justice is blind. I am not!” on its face. Both wanted to talk. I held up a hand and stop them both in their tracks. I took a sip and instantly felt it’s effects. Oh yeah…I got this.
“Elizabeth state your case.”
“Thank you, most high arbiter. As you know the laws of creation clearly state that any creature bitten by a vampire and does not die become a thrall of the vampire. This law extends to other vampires.,” Elizabeth said as she glared at Puck, “Fae are not exempt. Nor some of the lesser gods. I am merely following what has been codified and prescribed by your esteemed self and your divine colleagues.”
I took another sip, “Focus on me. Not each other. The laws you speak of do indeed exist. Puck.”
“The very laws she speak of mentions fae food and creatures that eat it without permission. The moment she bit me. I became her food,” he glared back at her as he spoke, “Thus turning me into fae food. And as I barely want mortals touching me. I don’t want undead mortals touching me either so she didn’t have my permission.”
“ I am not undead. As I never dead to began with.”
“Whatever. You leeches are all the same you attach yourself into any warm body and drain it dry.” He commented.
“Excuse me. I am not a leech. I am an ancient. One of the first in all of creation. Unlike you fairy boy. Hey listen. Hey listen. Shut up, Navi.”
“I am not a fairy. I am a child of Oberon. And the Trickster Prince of Arcadia. And Navi was a hero. You undead bitch. I have a nice stick you can impale yourself on.”
“You know that silver spoon us rich folk are born with? Well I never got mine so I have an iron one and I will beat you to death with it.”
They hurled insults back and forth about a century or so. I lose track of linear time. I finally had enough and in my big scary divine voice, I spoke, “You both will behave or you will spend a millennium pick up after one of Baachus’ parties.” Puck went silent instantly. I know for a fact he has been to one. As he and Baachus’ are bffs. Elizabeth on the other hand.
“How bad could it be?” she commented before Puck placed his hand over her mouth. “Don’t make him do it,” he muttered before facing me.
“Good now that I have your attention again. Both of the site claims are correct,” I said as I placed my mug down, “Even in our infinite wisdom was could not foresee such an event. I will make up a ruling.l and codify it later:”
I took out a parchment. And began writing the words as I spoke them, “With my divine authority as the God of Law, when the scenario when a vampire bites a fae. Legally, both clauses activate. As the vampire did indeed put the fae for the purpose of eating, activate the “thrall” clause. But thusly turning the fae in question to food and activating his “Permissions” clause. It is my ruling that the pair will be married under divine authority.” I received shocked looks from both. They wanted a ruling I gave them one.
I continued, “Neither can bring harm to the other. Nor knowingly allow harm to the other. Neither can take a lover or be unfaithful as long the other is a alive or the vampire equivalent. They must cohabitate for until the end of time. Children can be produced when love is added in.”
I finished writing and looked over my ruling. I looked that happy couple well not happy per se. Puck defeated merely grabbed his new wife. “Let’s go and consummate this thing before he make it worst for,” he said dragging his new wife out of my temple.
I pour more Grandma’s Bitters into my cup. If I was in my right mind, I would probably annulled the entire thing. Butttttttt they are out of my hair. Who knows they make an interesting new race. I look around to make sure I was alone and write more to the ruling. Not that anyone can overrule me. The phrase I am the law when I utter is an universal truth.
“The children will always be produced from the coupling. And they will have a strong inclination to order and law.” Hahahaha finally fae creatures with a sense of order.
“Roxanne. Clear all my adjudications for the rest of the century. I am going to rest for a bit.” | 2022-07-11T20:32:20 | 2022-07-11T19:45:32 | 1,720 | 192 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | Arbiter Plantsir rested his hand and pushed the wire bound lenses up the bridge of his nose.
The loose stack of parchment paper furled and spread around his desk.
He glanced over his shoulder and a gust of stale air removed his hood. “Miss Faery,” Plantsir said dryly to the fae fluttering above him. “Could you please not hover so close. You’re spreading my notes.”
“Sorry,” She chimed, rubbing her neck as she flitted to the side of the table.
Plantsir straightened his papers. Damned spirits always so nosy. Sometimes he wondered why he had chosen mythical law. He should’ve listened to his mother and become a dragon surgeon. Now there was a field with—
A cold chill crept down his spine.
“Lord Archeron,” He grated, turning slowly to his right. The vampire was baring his fangs as expected. “I thought it was understood you wouldn’t try to bite, and I wouldn’t wear the cloves of garlic.” Gods he hated the smell, it never seemed to quite wash out of the thick robes of arbitration.
“Apologies,” the pallid man said, sidling into the shadows. Then stared across the room. “I just haven’t eaten anything palatable in days.”
“Hey!” Faery pointed her finger across at Archeron. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly,” Archeron snarled. “What you think it means. Your foul food damn near killed me.”
“And your rotten teeth nearly killed—”
“Please,” Plantsir raised his hands to silence the pair. “This circular argument has gotten us nowhere.”
He tamped his papers, giving the two time to simmer.
"Now,” Plantsir continued, removing his glasses. “The way I see it you both can settle your differences like civilized creatures, or we can sit here and argue for the eons to come.” He folded and set his glasses in front of him. “The choice is yours.”
“What would you propose?” Lord Archeron asked, pulling his cape tight.
“I would suggest a rotating bi-weekly role of—”
“That doesn’t work,” Faery said. “I have to cover for the tooth fairy next month.”
Archeron sighed. “It pains me to say but I must agree. I am taking a month-long sabbatical of sanguinity to Veron in two months’ time.”
“I see,” Plantsir said, making a note to avoid Veron. “How does rotating monthly terms of servitude sound then?”
“I suppose that could work,” Faery trilled.
“Yes,” Archeron nodded. “I suppose that could.”
“Wonderful,” Plantsir exclaimed. “I’ll draw up the runic bind first thing tomorrow.”
Archeron frowned. “Strange we couldn’t come to that resolution in the first place.”
“These things happen,” Plantsir chuckled. “Why just last week I had to settle a disagreement between Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.” | The benefit of age is the opportunity of exploration, expericing new situations, and a wealth of personal anecdotes to amuse friends. Lawyer across species often quarrel with one another about the intricasies of case law, or squabble over generational rivalries, but the universal law when dealing with cross-species cases was that teenagers were absolutely the worst. That's where I came in.
"She bite me right before lunch! It's not like this is complicated. Clearly, eating fae food without my explicit approval is tantamount to Section 3, subs-"
Holding up my hand, I pointed out on page in front of her, "Only items as listed in Subsection A. Unless you are deferring to Section 8, Part 3 amended with the only case where Fae cannibalism was suggested, but not proven."
"Hah! See? That means you're my thrall!" The were-woman hollered out, almost frenzied with hairs standing on the back of her neck.
It was my turn again to hush the pair of them as they started to argue. "First off, you are already on probation, and are in violation of your parole. You should see to it that you speak to your juvenile public case defender." I sighed closing the book with a quiet "thwump." The old leather was no match for the test of time, but it was surprisingly quiet as the pair listened.
"Second, as you can clearing see by her behaviour," pointing to the Fae. "She has complete control over her faculties and thus cannot be your thrall at this stage. If that was the case, you would have exerted your mastery over her by this stage. Even a juvenile werewolf or were-woman would be able to overpower a similarly aged Fae."
The Fae pouted at this comment. I hadn't needed for her to provider her name, her powers or any other personal information. Just suggesting that she lived in the nicer part of the forest, wandering around at midnight on a festival frequented by were-people meant she was naive. That and her Fae Scout badge betrayed her age.
"At this stage, your Fae victim would normally be allowed to press charges of assault. But, given her age, and that she is likely lost from her group, I think her guardians might be more interested in her presence."
The were-woman howled, the Fae continued to pout. I climbed down from the step ladder I frequently brought. "I suggest that you wait for the parole officer for your were-woman, and continue to put pressure on the arm to prevent excessive bleeding. The bandage I brought is only temporary."
Zipping up my briefcase, I handed them both my card. "You have my summoning card, please summon when should you require my services."
The Fae perked up, "But you haven't decided who should serve who!"
I smiled. "You two are too young. A court would throw both of your cases out immediately if you two weren't thrown in the dungeon by your parents." Pointing at the Fae, "You, seek medical attention."
Switching to the were-woman. "You, wait for the parole officer. Goodnight." | 2022-07-11T21:10:45 | 2022-07-11T19:00:25 | 75 | 52 |
[WP] You have "Anime Protagonist Syndrome" but with medication it's under control - ninja catgirls and giant mecha haven't attacked you in months and your hair is back to normal. Your aunt is visiting and she doesn't believe your condition is real, and she just dumped your pills down the drain..... | "911, what's your emergency?"
"My Aunt just flushed my medication down the toilet! If I don't take it daily then crazy stuff happens!"
"Umm, ok, what was the medication?"
"Anti-Protagonist Meds, counter anime protat syyndrom stuff!" It took a moment for the voice on the other end of the phone to respond.
"Ok, when was the last time you took your medication?"
I looked frantically at the clock, it was about 1:00 in the afternoon. Realistically speaking as long as I took my meds in the morning I'd be good for the day but, after the hell that this disease had put me through I was scared about coming down.
"I took at 8:00ish, this morning." There was another pause.
"Ok, and just to verfiy it was your aunt who flushed your meds?"
"Yes."
"Ok, since you should still be protected from protagonists syndrome for the rest of the day its not necessarily a medical emergency but, umm, we can see someone out to your address to provide you an emergency restock."
"Ok"
"Also, we'll be sending a cop out to arrest your aunt. Tampering with someone's medication is a crime in and of itself and due to the potential damage that a protagonist can do, she umm..."
"What? She what?"
"Your aunt may be charged with committing an act of terrorism."
I didn't know what to say about that.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mom, dad, aunty, I don't know how to say this..."
"Sweetie," my mother said, "We understand that this might be difficult but we'll be there for you no matter what." My dad gave a somber nod with that.
"Ugh," moaned my aunt, "melarchy, you idiot special snowflake."
My dad glared at her and spat "You count yourself lucky we aren't pressing charges. You know damn well that messing with someone's medication is a crime."
"Aunty is going to be charged with committing an act of terrorism."
Everyone starred at me for a moment. The silence was deafening until a knock at the door. | “Goddamnit boy! How many times have I told you not to buy sketchy shit online!” My aunt yelled as she poured my precious pills down the drain.
I looked over to my mom who was the one who insisted I visited Auntie Karen. In a tone I’ve never used before only heard, one not quite angry more just disappointed I proclaimed “this is why I don’t like thanksgiving mom.
Okasan crossed her arms and shook her head, she guided me out of my room to the kids bedroom. My cousins where lying there slightly scared. Of who? Me? It couldn’t of started already! I looked down at my finger which had gained a black outline, My nails gone and the palm of my hand slowly losing detail transforming into just a solid color.
I heard obasan and okasan arguing down stairs, their argument wasn’t quite intelligible, the English was broken and their accent was no longer the silky Alabama accent it had always been. I looked down and saw the subtitles, Kanji. I had never studied Japanese before, Infact because of my condition I hated it, but this time I could understand the kanji
Obasan:“He’s 16! You can’t just let him buy some drugs online off some sketch website!”
Okasan: “The condition is too rare, medical professionals ignore it and won’t even classify it as an inheritable disease. We’ve went to doctors the always say it’s in his head.
Obasan: “maybe it is! No one else can see it!
I’d gotten distracted so long I hadn’t realized how hard it was getting to breath. My vision had began to widen and my mouth had began to move all over my face depending on where the camera was. I ran beck to the kids room rushing to get to my anti2d-glasses before it was too late. Soon enourgh I would not be spreaking engrish.
荷物を開けましたが、見つけたのは刀だけでした。それは私が持ってきた'42に取って代わり、眼鏡は消えていました
私は失敗しました
エンディング曲が始まったとき、私は泣くしかありませんでした。変わらないのは私と妹の関係だけだとわかっていました | 2022-08-01T08:07:24 | 2022-08-01T05:00:56 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] The aliens did not tell us what was coming. They just left us a single, partially damaged cruiser in orbit and told us to “make do. You have 13 years.” | The alien ships appeared nearly 13 years ago. At first, they showed up on deep space telescopes as an unidentified comet coming in towards Earth from a very long orbit, but eventually we were able to make out 2 distinct objects. They seemed to be nearly identical, but one of them had a large crater in the center. The next thing we noticed was that their trajectory had changed, bringing them directly towards Earth. There was panic amongst the populace once amateur astronomers discovered the objects, but it was shortly after that we received the first message.
It clamed to be an artificial intelligence, named something that roughly translated to “83”, a construct of some advanced alien race and sent into the void with 3 imperatives. The first imperative was to travel to uninhabited star systems and produce copies of itself to continue doing the same thing. The second was to protect intelligent life that it discovered. The third was to advance technology and communicate back to its home world to advance their own technology. Seventeen years prior it had arrived in an inhabited star system with its twin ship “84” and been attacked by the species there. The AI of “84” had been neutralized and “83” had been controlling both ships since then. It had fled to the next system, our system, in an attempt to continue its mission but had left drones behind to monitor the hostile species. Several years after it had left the system, the drone closest to that system had gone dead. A few years after that, the next drone had also gone dead. The aliens were following it, and it estimated 13 of our years before they reached Earth.
Over the course of 17 weeks, it created a copy of itself using rocks from our asteroid belt, christened it “85” and then, “83” and “85” left us the corpse of “84”, a gargantuan cruiser compared to anything humanity had created by that point, taught us to interface with its systems, and said they didn’t have time to produce a defense of their own before the aliens arrived. Then they left the system as quickly as they had entered, apparently continuing on its way and telling us to “make do” as best we could.
The hulk of “84” had been studied by thousands of scientists, and its secrets soon discovered. The aliens had incredibly advanced technology in some ways, the ability to reorganize materials at the atomic level, incredibly advanced computer systems, power systems beyond our wildest dreams. But they seemed also to be missing any sort of weapons beyond throwing pieces of metal really fast (without even any explosives). Scientists at NASA had determined the ideal amount of time to spend reproducing the technology used to reorganize materials at atomic levels before using them to start crafting other devices.
Within 4 years there were dozens of giant floating shipyards in the asteroid belt, harvesting the giant rocks and spitting out more reorganizers. 2 years after that, the first handful of ships had been produced, and 2 years after that there were dozens of ships. Humanity had never been united in such a way as to face the existential threat of destruction. All of the Earth seemed to come together, training people to go into space, creating enough food, and advancing all our technology as fast as possible. By time 10 years had passed since the alien’s arrival, we had developed weapon systems that worked by firing massive arcs of power out of a capacitor like a lightning strike, so powerful it could shatter an asteroid. We had developed repulsor shields capable of deflecting even the largest objects. We had attached massive nuclear warheads to the missiles that could be fired or dropped as mines and hidden in debris.
Now it had been 13 years. The last drone in the direction the aliens had first come from had gone dead a month ago and humanity’s first space fleet was lying in wait, hiding behind moons of Jupiter and Saturn. Parked in stealth orbits around Neptune and Uranus. Clustered in the shadows of Mars, Earth and anywhere else they could be. Nearly 200 ships, most of them considered by our models to be many times more powerful than “84” had ever been.
When “83” re-entered the system from the same way it had departed, humanity was shocked. It sent us a message telling us that the hostiles and the drones going dark had been a ruse, and it had simply used them as motivation to help us to advance ourselves to a level at which we were protected, in accordance with its second imperative. We detected too late that it was downloading our data from the systems integrated from “84” and it thanked us for helping it with its third imperative as well, before departing the system once more. | Junttar Harokken of the Meel 6th fleet sighed as his ships left the world below for the jump portal. The Coalition valued all life no matter how primitive and it was a standing order that when a new species of sentients were discovered, all efforts were to be made to contact and prepare the world for uplifting. Failing this could ruin the career of any ranking officer through loss of reputation. There were always some concerns and throughout the centuries, there were a number of mistakes along the way, but the uplift program was generally considered a great success. He was a direct example of one of the more successful uplifting and was a proud, productive member of the Coalition. It was moral, ethical, and simply the right thing to do. And it had no place in war time.
The taskforce had discovered the planet that the sentients called Earth in a remote sector of what they called the Orion Belt. The crew had a few laughs after learning its translation was "dirt". Nearly 8 billion large, a bit more chaotic than most other species, though still within margins of safety, and were tentatively taking their first steps into the void on the backs of what were essentially missiles. A prime candidate for uplifting given their relatively advanced technological understanding, adaptability to different environments, and simply population for future colonization efforts. Most species were uplifted during their respective bronze or early iron ages with populations in the hundreds of millions. It was a shame that a enemy patrol would be flying through this system before his mission concluded and they didn't have the same respect for life.
In an era of peace, Harokken would be honored to begin first contact, but his taskforce was on route to intercept a vital enemy convoy which carried one of the critical mobile shipyards to the front. There was simply no time to help the humans. But policy was strict, he couldn't just leave without saying a word for that may taint all future efforts with the new species after first contract was established. And of course ruin his career. To what it considered the highest form of authority on the factionally divided planet, what they called the United Nations, he explained the uplift policy and what the coalition can offer. He also explained with a heavy heart that an enemy patrol would be vising the system in 13 years and that he couldn't spare the crew or ships to defend them. As a gift, though more of a gesture of pity, he left a heavily damaged cruiser which was being primarily used for spare parts. Before leaving, he promised that he would return in 15 of their years, two of his. He didn't want to explain the strange time dilation effects and other advanced concepts. In short, he gave them a worthless cruiser and told them to make do. Maybe a miracle could occur and the humans would drive off the enemy, but even he doubted it. Perhaps it would have been better to leave them in ignorance. To die not knowing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Two years later, 15 to the wider galaxy and the humans, Junttar Harokken returned to the planet known as Earth. His raid was a success, the enemy shipyard was destroyed greatly hindering their war efforts, but his fleet was heavily damaged. He needed to get back to friendly territory to repair and refuel his not insignificant number of ships. A counterattack now would be a great blow to the Coalition. Still, policy and his own morality required him to fulfill his promise to the humans. Or more likely, view their remains. Perhaps save a few survivors.
He found the world known as Dirt, which was still funny despite the circumstances, not much different than when he left. A sigh of relief washed over the crew. Had the patrol chose not to exterminate the planet? Had the cruiser been successful in driving them off? It was then he noticed two things. First that the cruise was missing. Not destroyed, there would be traces if that happened, but just gone. Second, he had received a message from the humans. It was too soon, they must have sent it the moment his fleet jumped in. Something they had prepared in advance.
You left us to defend ourselves with one broken cruiser. So we "made do".
His ship shook with the impact of a missile, power relays and conducted sparking causing additional damage down their respective lines. The crew, once calm, jumped to attention but it was too late. Shields had been lowered and weapons disabled as to not present a threat to the humans. And the enemy took advance of their lack of diligence.
You left us to die to your enemy. To show us what we could become but would never be. So we "made do".
The ship went dark as main power failed, emergency power kept a few lights blinking but little more.
But we had something they didn't. You. So we "made do".
The last thought that went though the Junttar's mind, besides the scrap of debris from a nearby console, was they the humans had made do. And we paid the price for our arrogance. | 2022-08-22T12:36:20 | 2022-08-22T11:28:38 | 279 | 87 |
[WP] Humanity spread into the stars. They're generally quite kind and helpful and treat all worlds as important. But occasionally they'll ignore uniquely made human ships. When asked about it, most humans just say "The powerful abandoned Earth after nearly killing us. Now we're returning the favor" | "Look Momma! A ship!"
Lynn glanced over to see a gargantuan ship, floating through space, dark and brooding, as if haunted.
"Yes! I see it! Now, let's see if we can find our shoes, Zephyr is probably waiting for you." Lynn attempted to divert cheerily.
Sarah hadn't moved from the porthole when Lynn had retrieved the shoes, the little girl seemed transfixed for a few more moments before turning to her mother.
"Why is it so dark? Do they need help? Should we call Daddy?" The girl looked very concerned. Lynn considered how to explain that calling her husband, the ship's head of maintenance, couldn't save the souls on that ship.
"Would you like to hear a story? It's a sometimes sad one." Lynn warned. Sarah nodded enthusiastically and climbed into her lap.
"A very, very long time ago-" she started.
"Once upon a time!" Sarah interrupted.
Lynn shook her head solemnly "No sweetie, not this story, 'once upon a time' is for pretend stories, this story isn't pretend."
When the girl nodded, she restarted "A very, very long time ago, humans like you and me and Daddy didn't live on space ships, we didn't know any people like Zephyr and their Mommy and Juja and Daddy. All humans lived on a planet called Earth and there were only humans and special Earth animals and plants.
There were so many Earth animals and plants in the beginning, as many as the stars, but humans started to do things that hurt the plants and animals and even Earth itself, they made a lot of trash that they left everywhere, and put bad stuff in the air, and the plants and animals started to die, and the humans started getting sick."
Lynn continued as her daughter nodded, wide eyed "there were so many humans that some humans were in charge of telling the other humans the rules, and those humans knew that they were hurting all the animals and plants and other humans, but they didn't care because they liked telling other people what to do and having things their way and getting to have the most stuff.
When the time came that almost all the animals and plants were dead, and all the other humans were sick and weak, the humans in charge took themselves and their families and hid away on special ships, where they went to sleep in special beds so that they wouldn't wake up until the ship woke them up. They were bad humans that took up all the nice things people needed to live and left nothing for all the other humans."
"But what about the other humans?" Sarah asked worriedly.
"The other humans got very sick and a lot of them died, but then the Greorians came, and they helped the humans clean up the Earth, and save as many plants and animals as they could, and they taught humans how to build spaceships like this one so we could go other places, because Earth needed time to heal without so many humans.
Now, most humans live on spaceships like these and we go everywhere and are friends with everyone! Isn't that fun?!" Lynn ended on a high note.
"But is Earth fixed yet?"
"Not quite yet, but almost. We can go visit though, if you want to, some humans still live there to help the Earth heal better, and the rest of the humans can only come see the plants and animals for a little while." Sarah's eyes lit up.
Lynn hadn't visited Earth in years, not since she was a child, but the thought of visiting with Sarah thrilled her, seeing it all new again through her child's eyes would be exciting. They could visit the plains and witness the American buffalo, and see the tasmanian tigers in Australia, if they made it a weekend, they could hit all the major habitats. She'd even heard that the scientists there were psuedo cloning mammoths in Siberia, now that they'd reestablished the tundra. She'd only seen them in books but it would be amazing to see them in person, especially with Sarah. It would make a nice family vacation.
Lynn set Sarah on her feet and stood, ready to continue the day now that they'd talked, but instead, Sarah raced to the porthole, twisting her head to see the ship fading behind them.
"But mommy, what about them? Are they ever going to wake up?"
Lynn crouched to get to Sarah's level and tucked her hair behind her ears "I don't know sweetie, supposedly, the ships like that one were meant to return to Earth one day, they programmed them to wait five thousand years, then go home, and all the bad people would wake up and start over with a Earth that wasn't sick anymore without having to do any work to fix everything they'd messed up. It's only been one thousand years, so I don't think they'll wake up anytime soon.
Once all the humans started fixing Earth and built spaceships and made friends with the other people in space, some people wanted to wake up the bad people, but other people were scared they'd keep wanting to take over and tell everyone what to do and hurt everything, and some other people didn't think it was fair for them to skip all the hard work the other humans did, and still get to do all the stuff we get to, like visit other people and live in the nice ships we built. We all talked and decided that the bad people had said they wanted to sleep for all that time, so we would let them. And if they ever wake up, then we can decide what to do about it."
Finally satisfied, Sarah turned from the window.
"Ready to go play with Zephyr?"
"Ready!" | I've always been so fascinated by humans. They seemed so interesting to me, especially compared to my race. My siblings always teased me about this. They said that I wished I was a human. But that wasn't true! Yes, their variety of brown skin tones are more interesting than our Golvovolic's uniform green skin. They're stronger than most civilized things in the universe, Golvovolics are pretty strong too but humans have the ability to get stronger! They're mostly peaceful but have the battle tactics of a war nation. They can eat drink and breath actual poison. They can survive dangerous cold and even more dangerous heats. Heck, they were the first race into space, and helped countless other races do the same!!! I learned everything I can about humans! But there were 2 facts that seemed to always escape me. First, the demise of their home planet. And why they warned everyone to ignore the human vessel know as "The Ark." I've been obsessed with finding this out for years!
So when I got to college to study human history and found out my dorm mate was a HUMAN! Things got a little awkward. For him. I had the time of my life bugging him with question after question after question. Eventually of course I asked him about the 2 facts. Unfortunately... He didn't have an answer for his planet. I was left very unsatisfied. But he did gift me a nugget of information about the Ark; only a children's rhyme, but I held onto every word. "They took everything and left us to die. When we survived we let them lie. they thought they were lit, but were full of shit. The don't get a nibble of infinity pie." Fucking what? He didn't even know what it meant, nonchalantly saying it's just a thing kids say. This is conspiracy theory level shit and kids skip rope to it! None of this was covered in class and the teacher was hard pressed for me to stop looking into it, said it wasn't worth it. That would have convinced me that it was a lost cause, if my teacher wasn't a HUMAN. Coincidence!? I think not! There's something going on here and the humans don't want the universe to know! What are they hiding!? What did they do to their planet!? When's the last time I've slept? I don't know!!!
...
Here's what I found out. The human word "Ark" is a reference to a religious text in which a boat was used to preserve life during an apocalypse. The rhyme said "they took everything," so my theory is that the Ark holds different species from earth before it was destroyed. But why are the humans not trying to restart the life that was lost? I started using my college observatory and looked into the Ark itself and noticed something interesting. The trajectory is not flying away from where earth was, nore towards any habitable planet. (But what planet can't a human live on?) It's heading towards a black hole in 25 years! If I did my math right, and I jump in my ship and leave everything in my life behind, I can intercept it with only 3 hours before it reaches the event horizon! The humans were trying to get rid of it, I know it! I will know, I need to know, I'm going to know!
I said I was leaving my life behind. But let's face it... this was my life. And as I space walk from my ship to the Ark, trying to not look into the void that is a black hole, I find myself at a crossroads. There's no way to to get in from the outside. No rescue hatch that comes standard with modern ships. No windows. No communications. So, do I torch the side and break in, possibly killing anything alive, or let it fall into the void, killing everything inside. So I break in...
The Ark was separated into 4 sections, each more confusing than the last. First was the engine room. I noticed it ran on a feul sorce, based on the size of the engines and feul tanks, most of the carry weight was feul. Well, until it was emptied. Why would anyone power something as powerful as a ship with something as inefficient as a physical feul? The second room had giant stacks of paper, useless rocks and metals, works of beautiful arts, but also what I recognized as ancient drugs of all things. The third room was where I found... Well, I have no idea what I found. Preservation pods obviously, but what they were preserving... I'm at a loss. I expected hundreds of species but I only found one. They're shaped like a human, sure, but even the tallest and flabbiest of them are still dwarfs compared to modern humans. A couple of them are the familiar brownish color, a couple of them are much darker, but most of them are pale. They looked... human but... not done. Is this what humans looked like? Such a pitiful version of what they evolved Into. I started to wonder what humans would have been like if THIS version of humanity made first contact with the universe. But this raises more questions! I need to wake them up, take some off this ship and question then! I see no way to release them in here, so I search the last room...
In there I find a modern human. Or, he finds me. I'm immediately taken by his superior speed and strength. He pins me down and says. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been tasked to make sure the most evil of humanity doesn't inflict its wicked ways on the universe. Why are you here?!" I think I hear him sobbing through his space suit speaker. "No one's suppose to be here."
I have so many questions. So many mysterious, that I hesitate for a moment, not knowing what to ask first. But I know I'll never have time. I feel spaghettification and half my body is pulled away from me. The last thing I hear is "I'm sorry." | 2022-11-16T00:35:18 | 2022-11-15T23:27:57 | 429 | 56 |
[WP] The first aliens to visit Earth rushed development of their universal translator and it's still not out of beta. "Take me to your leader" comes out as "I want to speak to your manager." It gets wackier from there. | Anglack hated his job. As Planetary Survey Underlord, it was his appointed duty to travel to planets marked for resource extraction and appraise their capacity to resist invasion. The academy had made it sound like exciting work: "See the remotest reaches of the galaxy! Visit strange new worlds! Meet exotic lifeforms!" But the truth was far from the fantasy he'd be sold. Statistically, very few civilizations had the capability to mount any kind of meaningful resistance- in fact, most of them weren't even spacefaring yet. This meant that the job of a Planetary Survey Underlord was mostly tedious paperwork.
His latest assignment, some carbon-based backwater called Earth, didn't look to be much different. The fact that this planet was so far off the established star charts that his univeral translator hadn't yet fully calibrated to the planet's many languages did not fill Anglack with confidence.
On his first visit to the surface, though, something happened. There was a miscommunication between him and the first inhabitant- humans, he would later learn they were called- he encountered. Anglack couldn't determine exactly where the disconnect was, but he knew it lay with his translator. No matter how many times Anglack demanded to be taken to the planet's leader, the humans would only respond with expressions of apology, submission, and eventually, material goods.
It took a few of these encounters, along with careful observation of other humans, for Anglack to finally understand what was happening. For whatever reason, his universal translator was interpreting his demand to see the planet's leader as some kind of demand for special treatment unique to one of the planet's social caste. This caste, known to the humans as "Karens", seemed to be able to acquire any goods they wanted, simply by making demands.
And such goods they were! Over the course of the next few weeks, Anglack used his ability to masquerade as one of these "Karens" to acquire many delights. Earth may have been primitive in some ways, but the foods- such variety of sensation and flavor! It was unlike anything Anglack had ever experienced on his homeworld, where flavorless nutrient cubes were the most common form of sustenance.
It was experiencing what the humans called "soup, salad and breadsticks" at the quadrant known as Olive Garden that helped Anglack make up his mind: he was never going to leave this place, and he was going to ensure no one from his race ever discovered it. It would forever remain his private paradise. Before turning off his communicator and locator beacon for the final time, he transmitted one last subspace message to his homeworld:
**-- WARNING --**
CRITICAL MISSION FAILURE
PRESENCE OF EXTREMELY ADVANCED WARLIKE MACHINE RACE CONFIRMED ON PLANET EARTH
THE MACHINES DISPLAY TOTAL IMMUNITY TO OUR WEAPON SYSTEMS
ALL DEFENSIVE EFFORTS HAVE FAILED
PRIMARY VESSEL HAS BEEN DESTROYED, AS HAS EMERGENCY ESCAPE MATTER TRANSPORTER, TO PREVENT MACHINE DISCOVERY OF HOMEWORLD
PLANET EARTH SHOULD BE CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS; MAXIMUM QUARANTINE
DO NOT PURSUE
REPEAT, DO NOT PURSUE
END TRANSMISSION
**-- ANGLACK, PLANETARY SURVEY UNDERLORD --** | Mi-Turkn slurped down his plate of alkorn beef and kikrich eggs which his soulbonder, Ki-Maknh, prepared lovingly. Their spawn swirled their mouthparts about the dishes, avoiding their hand tools.
Ki-Maknh cleaned their faces with a warm damp rag while Mi-Turkn took care of the dishes.
Mi-Turkn then left for work, assuring the little tykes and their mother that he'd return shortly.
"It's a routine planetary inspection, honey, like I've said." Mi-Turkn hated to see his woman upset. "Our scientists have been working on the language software for years. Our anthropologists have assured us we have the florgs crossed and the ibsons dotted."
The family embraced and Mi-Turkn went to win bread, slightly annoyed by Ki-Maknh's worries. She always prattled on about the dangers, yet the folks of the other lands always proved to be peaceful, giving folk.
Mi-Turkn chuckled to himself, remembering how he traded a hastily beaded shoelace for precious metals on planet B286. Those stupid cretins! Mi-Turkn shifted to a full belly laugh, remembering how those oafs had profusely thanked *him* as he left with their precious monuments, having given them small trinkets of bronze.
Thus, he approached these new oddities with a sort of superiority.
He judged that the beings, dubbed humans (a stupid name, he chortled), looked strange. Of course, he understood that the others would look odd, given the different planet. Yet, the pleasure of degradation persisted. The humans looked ridiculous, with eyes focused forward, leaving them perceptible to an attack from behind. Their oblong appendages required a heavy, weighty movement, and truly, so many of the humans were too unfit to even *walk* with grace.
With these prejudices in mind, his tone was reaching haughty when he met with the world's leaders.
Mi-Turkn spoke a general greeting to the translator. The machine, however, picked up on the gritty undertone that spoke his true feelings.
"Hi." The machine spoke curtly, in short, clipped utterances. Its eyes flickered from man to woman with disinterest. It pulled out a pack of chewing gum and began to smack loudly, not even offering the men or women a piece.
One of the men armed with a more fragile ego stepped forward, his pale flesh flushed red.
"What is the meaning of this?" The man blustered and harumphed.
Mi-Turkn saw the politician was upset and felt mild contempt, for who was this little boy to have the audacity to be upset with him?
Mi-Turkn spoke a general phrase of disrespect, which translates poorly to most tongues. The meaning is mostly lost in the translation, and often strings of profanity were substituted to try to capture the emotional effect of the original utterance.
Yet this string of nonsensical curse words filled the hearts of the already suspicious men and women with fear, and the anti-aircraft lasers were ordered forward.
Mi-Turkn's return ship was cleaved in two, and before he could register surprise, six different snipers had landed bullets in his soft, mushy, flesh.
As his blue-green watery substance flowed from his body, trickling, and forking into innumerable rivers, Mi-Turkn saw his woman's face.
He heard her humming as she fried the kikrich eggs and heard his little ones giggle as she blew raspberries in their faces.
He felt her hand gripping his own as she whispered her same goodbye. "Come back, safely, honey."
And he saw her eyes crinkle as she grinned when he replied. "Always." | 2022-12-22T07:37:15 | 2022-12-22T07:37:02 | 95 | 32 |
[WP] You live in an alternative universe, where only one major thing is different form ours. One morning, you stumble through the barrier between our worlds, and enter our realm. | My head rung. I checked my body slowly. Just my head then. I crawled back up the stairs looking for the item that tripped me up. I couldn't find anything.
The dog was still there looking at me.
"Fucking telling Justin no next time." I said to the little bastard.
The thing took off. I sat there for a long time until I got my wits back. Then back down stairs to get the dog food.
I did a double take with the table. Hadn't I brought my coat in and placed it there? It didn't matter I was late.
I left making sure to lock the door. Funny thing was the key didn't fit. I had unlocked it but now it wouldn't lock. Luckily there was a second key under the mat. That worked. I put both keys back.
Justin's car was where I left it, but again the keys were not working. I headed back inside to find the keys hanging on the hook in the kitchen.
"This fucking day." I said to the dog on the way out.
At the first light some asshole behind me keep laying on his horn. I flicked him off and he flicked me off then passed me right there and shot through a green light! Fucking insane day.
At the second light I never even saw the truck until it hit me. The last thought I had was, "But I had the Red Light." | Why did we get a fuckin' cat, Ron thought. His girlfriend had wanted one, and he obliged, because well, he wanted to make her happy. Now though, the stupid feline little shit had ran off. He'd opened the door to pay the pizza delivery guy, and Felix had bolted down the stairs. Ron sighed, and followed down the stairs, out into the alley.
"Come now, Felix!" he said. The cat sat at the top of a stairwell down to what looked like a basement. Ron approached slowly, but Felix had other plans, and began walking down the stairs. And then, the cat was gone. Ron, puzzled, wondered of course, just what the fuck had just happened. He followed, and as he went to climb down the stairs. a weird feeling erupted through his legs. As if he was upside down, somehow. He pressed on and without explanation he was now climbing up the stairs, rather than down them. He scratched his head and looked around. Only then did he notice that the building he lived in looked completely abandoned, broken windows covered with plywood, trashbags all over the sidewalk at the end of the alley, people yelling.
Confused, he forgot completely about Felix, and began walking around, exploring. He looked around, and walked from block to block. Some things looked familiar. Others, not so much. When he finally reached Times Square, he saw not much had changed there. He picked up a news magazine, and read the headline, dated September 13, 2001. World Trade Center destruction. Only then did Ron look up, and see the sky was blue, not green. | 2014-06-08T07:35:18 | 2014-06-08T07:13:28 | 234 | 10 |
[WP] You live in an alternative universe, where only one major thing is different form ours. One morning, you stumble through the barrier between our worlds, and enter our realm. | Ideally, no one would ever know. It's not as if they'd believe me anyway. I mean, we'd split the atom, manipulated genomes, and tolerated Nancy Grace, but this might be too much.
-Beep. Beep. Beep.-
This was my third try. Two attempts already and each time was the same. Perfection. Pure perfection.
My hand shook as I reached for the handle I knew so well. I ran my thumb over the little nick I'd made on the edge about a month ago when I clipped it with a heavy whiskey bottle making myself a plate of drunk nachos au gratin. The bottle was still there, a little less than a third full as it was when I left it. But it wasn't mine. It couldn't be mine. The proof was right in front of me as I opened the microwave door. My sanity began to slip as my third experiment revealed what my heart already new to be true, but my head refused to believe. This couldn't be the world I'd left behind. No law of my world allowed for this.
The shaking in my hands turned into a full blown tremor as I retrieved my proof from the microwave. I lifted my experiment from the plate, my hand already telling me what my mouth immediately confirmed. A perfectly microwaved hot pocket. | Why did we get a fuckin' cat, Ron thought. His girlfriend had wanted one, and he obliged, because well, he wanted to make her happy. Now though, the stupid feline little shit had ran off. He'd opened the door to pay the pizza delivery guy, and Felix had bolted down the stairs. Ron sighed, and followed down the stairs, out into the alley.
"Come now, Felix!" he said. The cat sat at the top of a stairwell down to what looked like a basement. Ron approached slowly, but Felix had other plans, and began walking down the stairs. And then, the cat was gone. Ron, puzzled, wondered of course, just what the fuck had just happened. He followed, and as he went to climb down the stairs. a weird feeling erupted through his legs. As if he was upside down, somehow. He pressed on and without explanation he was now climbing up the stairs, rather than down them. He scratched his head and looked around. Only then did he notice that the building he lived in looked completely abandoned, broken windows covered with plywood, trashbags all over the sidewalk at the end of the alley, people yelling.
Confused, he forgot completely about Felix, and began walking around, exploring. He looked around, and walked from block to block. Some things looked familiar. Others, not so much. When he finally reached Times Square, he saw not much had changed there. He picked up a news magazine, and read the headline, dated September 13, 2001. World Trade Center destruction. Only then did Ron look up, and see the sky was blue, not green. | 2014-06-08T08:10:19 | 2014-06-08T07:13:28 | 86 | 10 |
[WP]The year is 2025. Humanity has once again successfully landed men on the moon. The landing again occurs in the Sea of Tranquility, where the Astronauts find a preserved Apollo 11 LEM, and the bodies of Aldrin and Armstrong...[X-post from /r/FutureWhatIf] | “Glenn… we’ve found something.”
The words echoed in Glenn’s helmet. From his post aboard the small pod on the base of the moon, he saw nothing, not even the sun or the stars. The vast shadow of a mountain plunged everything into darkness, and the blackness stared back at him from other side of the port window.
“What do you mean by something.”
“N.A.S.A. property.”
“That seems unlikely. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, we’re very sure. This appears to some Apollo 11 leftovers of some kind.”
“Leftovers?”
“Yeah. Glenn, we’ve got a whole Module down here. An LEM.”
A space craft? That was impossible. The Apollo 11 astronauts – Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Michael Collins - needed their craft to get home. Each of them could tell you the exact details of every major space operation since the primitive, early days of Mercury, and the Apollo 11 astronauts didn't leave any LEM behind.
“Okay,” Glenn said, buying himself time to think. “Uh, hold your position. I’m gonna come find you guys. We’ll go in and check it out.”
Since their landing four days ago, they had taken turns collecting specimens in teams of two. Since they were part of a private mission – Hartman Air – they still needed to gather the basic information that NASA had collected during its first successful moon missions. During these expeditions, one man stayed aboard the craft, relaying information back to Earth and keeping a steady eye on the vitals – both the other pilots’ and the ship’s.
If they had really found something, something important, Glenn wanted to see it. He would be damned if he was stuck babysitting a hunk of plastic and aluminum while others were changing the course of the history – even if it was a very expensive hunk of plastic and aluminum.
Glenn was stepping outside within twenty minutes, clumsily bouncing in his suit. He mounted the small cart they used to traverse the surface and headed off, following the trackers in their suits. He drove off into the silent shadows.
“Glenn, are you sure we should leave the craft unmanned?”
“Positive. I’ll take the flak for this one. What’s your position?”
“It looks like you’re coming up on us Glenn. Our maps show your right over the next ridge.”
They were right. Glenn saw them as soon as he crossed over the nearest peak. And he saw what they had mentioned on the comm link.
There was a craft down there.
“Jesus Christ,” Glenn said.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t expect it to actually be there.”
“We told you. We’ve been inspecting it from the outside. This seems like the genuine article.”
Glenn pulled up to the other cart and got out. The three of them stood there, staring at the thing, the inanimate relic of that first manned mission to the moon. They stood in awe of it for some time, as if they had been transfixed by a priceless work of beauty.
“Should we go in?”
Before anyone else could respond, Glenn did.
“I’ll do it.”
This was definitely something. This wasn’t supposed to be here. Nothing was supposed to be here besides an American Flag, which was nowhere to be seen, and a couple of preserved boot-prints. Glenn wanted to be the first one in, because if there was anything to discover, it would be him. How long had he dreamed, worked, sweated, bled to come here? There was a story to what stood in front of him, and Glenn wanted the world to remember his name when it broke.
The other two stared at him, shrugged, and then they all began working at the door to the LEM. They eventually managed to weaken the outer layer and pried open the interlock with a crowbar. It took almost an hour, and by that time all of their oxygen alerts had gone off – nothing too serious, nothing critical, just a friendly reminder that they didn’t have a whole hell of a lot left, and considering their biological makeup, they might want to start thinking about finding some.
Glenn stepped in, sweat dripping off his brow. The flashlight on his helmet turned on automatically, cutting through the darkness.
That’s when he started screaming.
A face lunged out at him, into the beam of light. While it might once have been a human face, something had fundamentally changed in it. The skin was purple from depressurization, but it was also covered in scabs and lesions. Above the breast pocket was the word “NASA.” The man’s eyeballs had popped and his blue suit was torn open down one side. It looked like he had been a bad fight or a car crash.
“Holy Shit,” Glenn said. His heart rocketed in his chest. The others cursed and muttered when they saw. “Holy” and “shit” were the only words Glenn could form.
The three of them walked in after regaining control.
That’s when they uncovered the rest of the horror.
The other pilot – whose name was Buzz Aldrin, although they were only just beginning to realize that (The first was Neil Armstrong) – had his face half torn off. His throat was torn open, too. The ragged tearing of the flesh, the way the muscles had been shredded like so much pulled pork seemed to imply the use of teeth. And again, his skin was covered in lesions.
Blood had splattered and dried against much of the module, and Glenn found himself speculating over just how blood splattered in zero G, and what the death scene would have looked like. A single, perfectly formed hand print of blood stood on one wall.
The three of them inspected the cabin, trying to find as much information as possible. They discovered that the main computer had been trashed, and that Neil had large chunks taken out of his leg, yet again implying bites.
“What the hell happened here?”
Glenn realized that this was the first time any of them had formed a full sentence since he arrived here.
The horrible faces of Neil and Buzz burned themselves into his brain as he pondered the answer. His brain filled with all the potential roads that would have led to this carnage. Something evil.
The oxygen indicator beeped again.
Glenn’s heart was firing off like a string of firecrackers in his chest.
He didn’t know but it was the time to get the hell out of here.
| “Hey Susan, look over here. It’s gorgeous on this side.” Mark grabbed my arm and drifted to the other window with me in tow.
“It’s gorgeous everywhere! We’re in space Mark. Find me an ugly part of space and I’ll do a walk naked.” He laughed at my absurd comment but didn’t let go of my arm. “Look,” he pointed towards the slowly growing moon. I couldn’t deny it, the moon was absolutely stunning.
“It’s beautiful baby,” I said, kissing him.
“This is Houston. Do you copy Pegasus? Over.” “We read you loud and clear Houston. Over.” “Suit up and strap in. We’re starting descent burn in T minus five minutes. Over.” “Roger that. We’ll be ready in three. Out.”
Mark and I suited up quickly and efficiently, with the experience of thousands of hours of practice behind us. He tapped my shoulder and my helmet. Turn around and turn on your COMs. I chinned the switch for the COM and Mark’s voice crackled through: “Hey gorgeous. Turn around and let me check your seals.” He tapped each of my seals as he checked them, letting me know they were good to go. “You’re good to go. My turn.” I returned the favor before we strapped in.
“Houston this is Pegasus. We are suited up and strapped in. Begin burn when ready. Over.” “Roger Pegasus, burn will begin in 120 seconds. Hold tight, Over.” “Roger. Out” I turned to Mark and reached out for his hand. He squeezed mine once softly and smiled at me, his face distorted by the heads-up-display painting the inside of his helmet.
…
“One of the engines isn’t turning on fully sir,” a tech said. Bob Jackson, the operation lead, quickly walked over. He leaned over the tech’s chair, his bulky frame casting a shadow over the engine display.
“Strange,” he said quietly, his sharp eyes scanning the engine feeds. “Switch to Bravo,” he said. “Communications, notify them that we are switching to engine scheme Bravo. Tell them that they’re new landing zone is in the Sea of Tranquility.” Before the communications tech could respond, Bob walked into his office and shut the door.
“Come on,” Bob muttered anxiously. The General was a difficult man to reach but this was one call he would pick up. Or so Bob hoped. At 6’ 4 and 240 lbs, Bob was not an easy man to make nervous but right now, his foot tapped the floor like a machine gun.
“This better be important,” the General said superfluously.
“You know damn well it is,” Bob said angrily. “An engine on Pegasus wasn’t firing at full capacity. We had to change the landing zone to the Sea of Tranquility. You know what’s there. What should I do?”
“Let it play out. Maybe they won’t find it. If they do, run Operation Xenon. I’m sorry Bob but if something that huge came to light, you know we’d be downright fucked. The entire country would be.”
“Yes sir,” Bob said and disconnected. He inhaled deeply, smoothed his immaculate hair, and walked back into the fray.
…
“Well Susan, it looks like we have a new landing zone. We’ll be there in sixty seconds.” Mark smiled reassuringly at me before returning his gaze to the black outside. I closed my eyes and waited until I felt the lander touch the alien ground. We both unstrapped and attached our packs to the magnets on our back. Mark opened the door, his visor polarizing to compensate for the bright sun. I followed and stepped onto the dust. We began to walk.
“My god,” Mark whispered incredulously. “Its pristine.” I was speechless.
Mark stopped and turned to me. “Baby, say cheese.” His chest camera flashed. Then suddenly, he got down on one knee. “Susan,” he said nervously. “We’ve trained together for the better part of five years and I love you more than you know. I’ve been waiting for so long to do this and now, I finally have the chance. Will you marry me?”
“YES! Yes, I’ll marry you!” I squealed. We touched helmets in place of a kiss.
A glint in the distance caught my eye. “Enhance, 8x,” I said, suddenly cautious. “Mark, there’s something over there. I want to go look at it. Get the buggy please.” He nodded and bounded back to the lander to grab the buggy.
“Pegasus, what do you see? Is everything ok? We’ve been trying to reach you. Over.” “We’re ok Houston. We are going to investigate something in the distance. Over.” I heard a “shit” that sounded like Jackson. Strange. “Roger Pegasus. Let us know what you find. Out.”
Mark drove for about fifteen minutes before we arrived at the source of the glint. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Is that- is that the fucking eleven?” Mark’s voice cracked.
“Houston, this is Peagasus! We have found the Apollo 11 module. I repeat, we have found the Apollo 11 module. HOLY SHIT! Houston, there are two suits! Its Armstrong and Aldrin! HOUSTON? Do you copy? Over.”
No response. Strange. We tried again. “Houston, do you copy? Hello, Houston?” Still no response. I looked over just in time to see Mark’s body shaking violently.
“MARK! MARK BABY TALK TO ME!” I screamed and jumped towards him. His face was turning blue. Oxygen was hissing out of the no longer attached breather tube into the lunar atmosphere. I tried to attached to the back of his helmet but it wasn’t working.
I turned to the lander only to see our smoldering lander collapse to the ground, short chemical fires bursting from the engines.
“HOUSTON!” I screamed. “HOUSTON ARE YOU THERE.” My helmet environment began to feel humid. My oxygen had shut off too. Fuck. I grabbed at the back of my helmet but couldn’t get it to attach.
Please God, let me live. Don’t leave me to die up here, alone. You already took Mark from me. Let me go home to our family. Please God, please. I found an ugly part in space Mark. Its right here.
I took off my helmet and felt… nothing. My senses had numbed. I’m so sorry Mark, I thought as my body shutdown. I’m so sorry baby. | 2014-07-30T14:07:17 | 2014-07-30T13:27:15 | 114 | 25 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | I never thought I'd post something to [/r/nosleep](http://reddit.com/r/nosleep), but here I am, after days or maybe weeks of just that -- I haven't slept in so long that I can't quite keep track of how many nights it's been.
How many nights I've huddled in my bed, blankets over my head, afraid to listen to the whispers. My only comfort is the warmth of my dog, piled on top of me, licking my palms, but she can't keep the shadow away.
My brothers don't believe me, but ever since we moved to this house, I've been seeing a shadow out of the corner of my eye, always slipping away when I try to look. And then one night I started having nightmares, always horribly violent, always stalked by the shadow. He was always just behind me, or just beside me, or just out of sight, but there was always the sound of his laughter.
Once, I was surrounded by these feral children, dirty and wrapped in the stinking furs of dead animals, half animal themselves, and they all shot at me, and laughed, and I tried to escape but they just shrieked with laughter, gleeful at the thought of my death...
Another night, my brothers -- my darling little brothers, they're only just innocent kids -- were captured by this painted cult, and tied to a stake, and all the men encircling them, closing in and closing in, tighter and tighter, and just as they touched the fire to the tinder I could see the shadow swooping in...
And once I watched, paralyzed, as this man had his arm ripped off by the most horrible creature, all scales and teeth and blood everywhere, and then the man turned to me, and his hand had become a weapon, and he came closer and closer and I couldn't scream...
In every one of these dreams, the shadow is beside me, laughing. And when I would wake up, I would hear it whisper, "we'll play again tomorrow night, won't we?"
So now I don't sleep. I just huddle under my blankets, trying not to hear it whisper, "let's play, Wendy..." | He had always loved stories. Not the ones in the books his parents bought, read to him each night by the servants, but the ones the servants told one another when they thought no-one could hear. Stories of long-fingered fairy-folk stealing children in the night, princes turned into wolves by curses. The best stories, of course, were always told by the crew on his parent's ship. They were superstitious, like so many sea-faring types, and would whisper to one another of monstrous tentacled creatures grabbing men in the night and drowning them in the depths, of ghost ships roaming the seas. And then there were the tales of the sirens, the tales that truely chilled the bones of all the men of the crew. Half-creature, half beautiful women, these creatures would attempt to lure any man foolish enough to get close to her, to a bloody end with their haunting songs. Once a man had heard the siren song, he was doomed.
Of course, Eric was now too old to believe in these tales. He was a Prince and was soon to be of age. He had to think of family, now and marriage. This voyage out to sea would be a birthday celebration, but also was his way of saying good-bye to his childhood. It was a wonderful night with music and dancing, salty breeze playing over the deck of the ship. It all seemed so perfect... until the storm came, quick and sudden. Everyone was everywhere and there was panic. Then he felt a sharp pain, he was falling into the water.... and everything went black.
He woke to hear the sound of gulls and a soothing voice singing over him, the most wonderful noise he had ever heard. He opened his eyes to find a beautiful woman looking over him, checking he was okay. Before his mind had cleared, she was gone. He staggered back to the castle.
That night was riddled with nightmares, tossing and turning, he dreamt he was in a tiny rowing boat, rocked by storm, and all around vicious, sharp-toothed women hissed at him from the rocks, but all the while he could hear that same soothing song. He awoke with a start.
Shaking it off as part of his concussion, he went about his day. He had little time to waste. He had finally found a woman suitable to be his bride, to one day rule the kingdom at his side. He knew he had found the one, the woman who had rescued him from the wreckage.... the one whose songs haunted his dreams... | 2014-08-04T08:23:09 | 2014-08-04T07:55:14 | 52 | 18 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | I stop, knife poised at my feet. I've been here before. I've known this path.
It seemed so good. No more chores. No more abuse. No more despair. When she appeared, how could I refuse? She seemed so kind! She gave me so much - beautiful clothes, a night of wonder, the hope of true love.
They are tricksters. The fey creatures never tell you the cost. You learn that later.
My sisters envy me. My mother believes me the luckiest girl in the kingdom.
I know better. My Prince is a monster - a creature of ineffable beauty, and a heart of ice. And I am trapped by him, never allowed to leave, never allowed to escape. Never allowed to die. Truly, the fey can be charming - him in particular. I am his plaything.
I stare at my feet. Every night, before he awakes...I curse them. I hurt them and in my pain find some small solace. And he comes in, and smiles that too perfect smile, and waves a hand and the blood is gone, and the scars are gone. And he looks at me with those perfect eyes with no soul, and I ask the question.
Why did the slipper fit?
| We knew he was coming. Yellow-eyed, enormous and cruel. Dark, sinewy creatures from the desert. Thousands of broken, emaciated bodies, long since departed from life, had been used as the mortar in the walls we built to keep him out.
I have never been a man of religion, but the fear of death, brutal, merciless, senseless death, dominated your mind when you heard his name spoken. My only sliver of hope was that I would die before I lived to see my wife and daughters suffer what he would do to them.
He gloried in our fear, he grinned as he climbed, he snarled as he took life, he killed our children and burned our homes. Mountains and rivers could not stop him, my family fled as far away from him as they could, the able-bodied carrying the infirm and aged. I stayed, shaking and hopeless. I saw him, alone against a whole army. I saw him literally buried under an avalanche. I saw him at the gates of our city as millions trembled before him. He was invincible and ruthless in his triumph. It seemed the whole world would be his.
As strange as it sounds, a military veteran, a man who has lived his many days on the battlefield, in the end, it was not my self-reliance and combat skills that saved me. Nor was it our great armies and stoic leader.
It was the young girl who stole the equipment of her father and impersonated a man. | 2014-08-04T11:24:08 | 2014-08-04T10:04:04 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | I don't understand. These dirty little apes could barely hope to their moon before we got here. Yet they have weapons that can kill from afar, giant metal monsters that make my men exploding before they can see them. They have artificial birds that rain death from above!
I called the full retreat thinking we would be safe if we got off this death ball, only to find the humans had hijacked on of our ships.
Everything is crashing around me. Humans have everything on us but our space ships... and now that have that. I won't go down in history as a planet killer... but as the fool that let humans off their rock. | Dr. S.F. Mercola
Peking University, Department of Neurobiology
2259, March, 15
Human greed and shortsightedness—an intergalactic evolutionary trait?
Those in the scientific community have lamented the inability of humans to deal with basic market externalities and tragedy of the commons in the recent century. However, the problem is old as woman itself. Locke made the concept most famous nearly half a century past. Many millennia old religious texts too quarrel with the hedonistic manners of man. In combatting planetary issues, particularly the rampant effects of 20th and 21st century pollution, these pitfalls are evident. For true species survival and extraplanatary proliferation however these traits seem necessary. We provide evidence, based on data from the Great Invasion and newly acquired galactic species data obtained from the Intergalactic Alliance for Growth, that this shortsightedness is a necessary trait for intergalactic survival. We propose a theory to describe the phenomena and have dubbed it the Wells Effect. | 2014-10-17T09:09:35 | 2014-10-17T08:36:32 | 56 | 19 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | Lek'tar strong Kholan warrior. Strongest of Lekh clan. Conquer twelve planets in nebula of birth with horns, teeth, and blade. Have one hundred seventy families with twenty species, three hundred children, all strong warriors. But Lek'tar strongest.
Lek'tar forty-fifth family on Tsina say Lek'tar must prove strongest in galaxy. Tsina family challenge Lek'tar to conquer blue planet with jellies. Tsina say jellies strong. Lek'tar will pop jellies with horn.
Jelly planet many thousand years rock throw away. Kholan strong because Kholan planet many special natural force call space stretch. Kholan blood feel space stretch and bend universe around Kholan.
Lek'tar make big rock and concentrate hard on bend universe. Lek'tar see stars pass around Lek'tar face, many colors flashing. Farthest any Kholan space stretch. Blue jelly planet get bigger. Rock burn in jelly planet-fluid. Lek'tar find jelly and ask for jelly leader. Jelly no reply. So Lek'tar bury big Lek'tar horn deep into Jelly flesh. Darkness fall on Lek'tar, carapace split. Lek'tar slain by enemy... how?
-------
Cecil wipes the guts from his neck. "Fucking mosquitoes." | A species that learned to destroy their planet before learning to leave it. The concept was alien to us. They seemed obsessed in the perfection of warfare.
We had been observing them for years, their progress slow and clumsy. After much debate we, the people of the Themian Empire, decided to intervene and rule the humans and guide them towards the stars. It was our pride our arrogance that was our downfall.
After hundreds of Earthling years of observation determined it would be centuries to reach or level of technology. When we arrived we were treated to the reapings of a time we learned they described as an Industrial Revolution. In a few years they accelerated their technology faster than any race in the Empire. We walked into a killing zone.
The initial scouting shops were barely able to send word back to the fleet about a flock of winged war machines. We had weapons to be sure but they had devices that could take out our ships before we could hear them coming. We were fighting against gods it seemed.
After months of struggling we gained a foothold on their rock. That's when we learned of their surface warfare. We shouldn't have been surprised that a Terran species with that much air superiority would have an even stronger land force but what we fought was the thing of nightmares. Endless bombings on our position from something beyond our sight. We seemed to be repelled by the damn Earth itself. Countless nights of barrages followed by wooshes of the "jets" followed by barrages. It broke us.
We were defeated by the humans and left the planet when they threatened to decimate their own planet to eradicate us. Now only legends are whispered about the great Warrior planet, Earth. And I dread the day they are able to take to the stars. | 2014-10-17T11:04:27 | 2014-10-17T10:49:51 | 46 | 21 |
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
Charon always takes two coins for passage into the land of the dead. Whatever he has been saving up for, he has finally reached his goal.
Edit: Thank you, person who gave this gold! It really goes to all you writers! | Morose, he laid the paddle in his boat. Tucked away in a small bay, the distant screams of tortured souls echoes endlessly in the deep void around the river Styx. Charon regarded the the two golden coins in his emaciated hand, unable to feel the joy he had waited thousands of years for. He stood, his perfect balance did not spawn a single ripple in the black water. He lifted the top off of his seat, revealing an impossibly deep chamber of gold. He held out his hand and tilted it allowing the two gold pieces to fall on the pile, clinking and scattering.
"I have waited Millennium, my debt finally paid. Why can I not be happy?" he queried the darkness surrounding him. He closed up his stash once more, and rested his weary body on it. He sensed another passenger on the banks, waiting for his ferry to the afterlife. He picked up his paddle, and began meandering across the river to the earth-side bank. Coming closer, he found a young man who showed no fear. A thought dawned on him, and a twisted smile formed across his face.
"Young man, do you seek passage?" he asked.
"Yes, but I have no coin. I died alone, with no person to care for me after."
"Might I make a proposition?" Charon replied.
"I guess you might, I don't really wish to wander eternally." the young man spoke frankly.
"What if I were to pay your crossing debt, but in return, you ferry souls for me?"
"I guess that sounds alright, it would give me quite a bit of time to ponder and study. I accept."
Charon's smile twisted further, as he handled the paddle to the young man.
"Might I ask your name, young ferryman?" Charon asked.
"Jesus" the young man replied
"Ahh, well. I will take your place for the time being. Young ferry master, I bid you fair well. I have been too long in this cavern."
With that, Charon stepped ashore. He walked into the black never looking back. The next day, Jesus rose from the dead. | On the paddle he drove into the water with calm precision, he drew tally marks. His day would come, he knew; there was a flaw in their plan. Charon would keep count in his own quiet way.
******
The woman in her modest black dress was old and shrunken and quite dead. Caroline was sure of the last one: she'd poked to check just in case. Her mother-in-law had been an unholy terror while alive.
Now though... Caroline couldn't quite bear to hate her or even dislike her. "There, there Nona..." she said stroking her face. There were tears on her face. She brushed them away tucking away a strand of hair then fiddling with her hat and then her purse just in case anyone was watching.
Thankfully though, the tears were few. Caroline found compusure return. With it came an inspiration.
From her purse, she took out two coins then carefully lay them down upon, one on each eye. It seemed fitting - Nona had been mythic.
"Goodbye, Nona," she said, then left quickly.
*******
The skeletal man under the black cowl held out his hand and the old lady dropped two coins upon it. Charon counted them dutifully, then scratched off two tally marks more. He was done now though the completion of the task brought him no great joy.
"So, you'll be my last," he thought to himself.
It did not seem fitting, but the millennia had thought him that, in a way, it was. Life was full of incongruity, of the coming together of stories that didn't quite mesh, a beautiful, confused babble in which the certain notes were few.
"I could have been a better person, you know. I made mistakes. But don't we all?"
She spoke to the river, not him. Charon stroked on thinking his own thoughts.
"No, I am too old for the hiding. I could have been better. It is enough to say that. If I can, in this place, I will try again. "
But they were pure and strong and sweet.
He slid two coins into the Styx and with them his empty plans.
He had seen enough compassion to know hate futile. He had perhaps known that for a very long time.
He would seek no revenge; he moved on.
| 2014-10-29T18:17:47 | 2014-10-29T18:06:15 | 48 | 15 |
[WP] Self Portrait. Write a description of yourself from the perspective of a stranger on the train who took notice of you today. | I want to leave this train. Right now. Before the doors close. But I just got on. I'll look weird, and rude.
They've closed.
What is she doing on the train? Why is this man moving closer to me, it's so hot! She has so much space around her, meanwhile I can't breathe.
Actually, I wonder if she can breathe in that. She kind of looks like a letter box. I wonder if she has to wear it to sleep. I feel sorry for her. Maybe she needs help. Maybe I can slip her the card of a domestic abuse helpline. I wonder if she can read English.
It's ridiculous; 2015 and this is what I'm looking at.
People should be free to dress however they want; she shouldn't be wearing all that black cloth. | He looked straight ahead at the pole in front of him, almost like he meant to tear it from the floor with his mind or some other crazy shit, this guy looks like a mix between Mack Miller and Zach Galifinakis, and I don't think he's got their social skills. Not sure if this guys lost in thought or just trying to find it. He had a raggedy head of dark brown hair, not "fashionably" messy like an Axe commercial, but "just crawled out of bed" messy like a Jonas brother all cracked out. He had a pudgy under-chin and a thick red beard. If I had to guess I would assume he was really into some Yu-Gi-Oh shit or something along those lines. His jacket looks too small for him and his jeans to as a matter of fact, like he's put on a lot of weight over a very short period of time. Probably a break up, fuck if I know. Definitely a thicker guy in the torso, I'd put him at about 200 lbs. He wore a pair of non-slip black shoes, probably a fast food worker. I'd say he's about to go on a bender. | 2015-01-09T23:40:37 | 2015-01-09T21:39:34 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] In order to maximize effect (and profits), death row inmates are now handed over to the producers of horror movies where deaths are no longer faked. | “So what movie is this?”
The girl in the headset flips through a couple of pages. “Who are you, again?”
“Jeff Saunders.”
“No, your number.”
“11-25-3162.” Not that it was a secret. It was tattooed on me and I was wearing a shirt with the same number.
“Yeah, you are in… **Hey! You three! Get to Shadow Vixens 16 or I swear to god I will put you in a Saw movie!**...you are in some zombie flick. Stage 3, here’s your pass.”
When I get there, I am immediately sent to wardrobe. Or makeup. Both, I guess. It’s just one overworked lady smoking out of a run-down trailer.
“So am I the ruggedly handsome lead?” I ask her, smiling my famous smile. The smile that seduced all those women to their deaths.
“No. You’re a zombie.”
“Oh. Well then, do I get makeup?”
“Something like that.” She puts the cigarette out on her forearm and points her thumb into the trailer.
When I get in there, it’s lit and covered with cameras. It looks exactly like the Hollywood sets I had always heard about. Blood and guts everywhere. Looks like something out of a nightmare. I’m so excited.
“Do I start acting in here?”
“No, those cameras are just for the ‘behind the scenes’ extras on the Blu-ray version. Get up on the table.”
I get up on the table and lay down. I can feel multiple layers of plastic and tarp shift underneath me.
“Okie-doke, here we go.”
I can feel numbness spreading from the base of my spine down through my whole legs. I can’t feel them at all. I go to ask the makeup lady if this is normal, but she puts a mask over my face and I’m breathing in Nitrous. Hey look, a chainsaw. Wow, they cut through flesh quick. So that’s what it smells like when someone gets burned closed. How interesting.
Next thing they do is wheel me inside, where I get into this cave of a room covered in green fabric.
“What do I do?” I ask them. They tell me to try my best not to bleed out before the main actor gets here. I shuffle around with my hands dragging my torso across the floor. Little bits of entrail drag behind me like ribbons, leaving red streaks. The actor shows up and a man dressed like a doctor puts a needle into my jaw and another into my shoulder.
ACTION
Everything gets scary. Where am I? Why am I cut in half? What am I doing here? I try to drag myself to the main actor. I try to scream out to him all these questions but it comes out a pained moan. He lifts a gun, pulls the trigger. I fall. The world gets dark. The last thing I hear is the director saying they need one more, for coverage. Get another one. Get this one gone.
| When I was a kid, I used to think that the actors who died on screen were really dying in real life. Not that they weren't aware of the cameras, or that the movie was really happening, but that they were sacrificing their lives for the movie. At some point I realized how silly that was.
Decades of budget cuts and efficiencies have brought my childish misapprehension closer to reality than anyone would have imagined. The sick thing is that support for capital punishment is at an all time high. Modern day bread and carnivals have brought the comfortable masses into a state of self-satisfied indifference to the barbarism that fuels their mesmerizing neon entertainment.
Even decades ago, prison conditions in the land of the free were medieval. Modern day slaves punching plates and digging trenches rather than picking cotton. The denim clad underclass forcibly enriching the corporate elite for dollars a day. For most industries, it was just convenient, cheap labour. They were just amorally reaping the profits of a fearful and heartless society. Hollywood though...
When the entertainment industry saw their opportunity they embraced it. It was a clumsy attempt at first, modern day bloodsport and only the most notorious villains were fit for the airwaves. Clumsy as it was, it was wildly popular. Heroes rose and fell amongst the ranks of societies most despised. The shock value put asses on couches, but the carefully edited narrative kept them their. I watched the first few seasons myself, I cheered on a murderer as he won his freedom by perfecting his craft in 9 stages of grotesque human cockfighting.
There were hundreds sitting on death row, and for a while, the next stage of reality TV seemed like it would be an unending staple of primetime entertainment. It's surprising how fast tournaments with only one survivor will churn through eligible entrants.
Money talks. In spite of UN sanctions and protests from the bleeding hearts, lesser crimes became grounds for entrance into the lists. Conviction rates skyrocketed and sentencing became much more harsh. I didn't care though, the scum of the earth was getting what they deserved and I was loving ever minute of it in technicolour, surround sound.
In season three, I watched a Hell's Angel cave in the skull of mother who left her son in their car on a hot day. The spatters of blood shone through purple against the iridescent blue stripes of his armoured uniform. The crowd noise was deafening. He won the tournament and returned the next year to provide colour commentary for Joe Buck in season 4. I wish being the world's most boring sport's caster was a capital offence.
Things have changed a lot in the last fifteen years. Prisons are a lot more comfortable than they used to be, but the inmates aren't any happier. Looking at the stack of letters in my cell, I can't remember how many times I've read "We regret to inform you." Amnesty, Innocence Project, sympathetic lawyers, they all want to help me, but they're stretched too thin. It's better PR to stand up for the third strikers than for a mass murderer of children anyway. I don't know what happened to the formula, I wasn't even on the floor that day, but it doesn't matter at this point. Tomorrow, I'll be ending my days as victim #4 in a shitty Romero knockoff. I don't even have a line, just gurgles. | 2015-01-14T09:17:18 | 2015-01-14T09:08:48 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] Tell a story in a classic fantasy world (dragons, magic, etc) where technology has progressed to a modern or futuristic level. | “What do you mean my pixie is integrated?” I demanded, “I can pop the current one right out!”
The mud troll's brown eyes stared back at me with a vacant look.
I try again, “Why can’t you just order a new pixie and have it shipped here so I can pick it up?”
“Pixie no replace,” the troll slurs. The words basically fall out of its mouth. “The computer say Pixie integrated on this model. We have to ship back to low lands to have fix.”
“That’s insane!” I yell. “It’s not an integrated pixie! I can take it out! Do you even know what integrated means?!” My robes were flapping all over the place. Any dignity I had ripped from me by this oafish customer service troll.
“Pixie no replace. Have ship back,” the troll insisted in a dull manner.
“Arrg!” I yell, tempted to annihilate the troll with a fire ball. Instead I clutch my head between my hands.
“Fine!” I say at last, waving my arms around in an animated fashion as I tend to do when I speak, “But you’re covering the shipping and repair cost. The pixie was dead when I bought it.”
“Sorry thir, no do that,” answered the troll, “No company policy”
I stare at the troll for a minute, the ancient cantations on the tip of my tongue to banish this degenerate beast to the seventh plain of horror.
But then I see the dead look in the troll’s eyes, shadowed by its stooping brow. It doesn't want to be here anymore than I do. It probably even had some relatives burned at the stake on Black Friday for witchcraft.
But alas, cruel words had built upon my sorcerers tongue and they cried out to be unleashed.
“*Screw* this and *screw* you,” I say, and snatch the amulet off the counter, “I’ll just order one at home instead of forcing some over worked, under paid gnome to do it!”
I storm away and look inside the tiny door on the back of the amulet at the small cage containing a smaller dead pixie.
“Piece of crap,” I mutter as I slam the door closed. | "The Dragons are growing restless, Sire," Admiral Sovale said. "This new weapon of the enemy have gotten them anxious." It would not do to say that the dragons are scared, even when none are present.
"Come now, my Lord Admiral," King Gar replied, "an untraceable weapon that can strike a dragon dead? You know how ridiculous that sounds?"
"Even so, the Dragons insisted that whatever killed the Wyrmvangers came from the enemy line," Sovale insisted.
"You're sure it's not a mistranslation?" King Gar suggested.
"The wyrmspeaker asked for confirmation several times, on four different dialects," Sovale replied.
King Gar's expression became thoughtful. As ridiculous as it may sounds, he couldn't really brush off the possibility. After all, there was that strange looking armored vehicle that his own scout reported. A mundane weapon that can get pass a Dragon's magical defence and then through their armoured scale as well, came under the heading of a Very Bad Thing. Have technology really advance thus far, the king wondered.
"Captain Corza," Gar summoned. One of the figures who had been hovering on the background came to attention. "Your Majesty?" he inquired.
"What's the situation looks like between our front line and the nearest fallen Wyrmvanger? What I'd like to know is how difficult recovery would be?"
Captain Corza nodded and began whispering to his farspeaker. It only took about five seconds for the reply to come, one does not make the king wait.
"Our skirmish line is actually between the two sites, your Majesty, and it's holding rather well. We actually have a mechanized engineering corps close by the nearest one. They have haul-rig and are ready to divert at your command."
The King nodded, satisfied with the show of initiative. "Make it so, Captain. And see if you can recover the other Wyrmvanger as well, but only if can be conducted safely."
He then turned back to Admiral Sovale. "Admiral, I would like you to personally deliver a request to the Dragon command for the permission to perform autopsy on the fallen Wyrmvanger. We need to be certain about what we're dealing with here."
Sovale nodded and was about to depart, but the look on the King's face stopped him. He waited until the king was next to and leaning toward him. In a hushed tone the King gave him another order. It was not entirely unexpected, but it had still send chills up his spine.
"And I also want you to contact our Dwarven allies. Tell them to ready the Atom-Splitter. Gods forbid, but we may need it." | 2015-02-02T23:51:10 | 2015-02-02T22:34:16 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | As I pulled the trigger, my last memories were of the life I'd built and the fragile manner in which it had crumpled up in front of me, torn to pieces like a dried leaf.
For what seemed like eons, I found the inner peace I had longed after. Like everything else I held dear, however, this was soon taken away by a flash of red. I felt my eyes open, and felt miles of heat and pulsing infernal light flow into them. I was lying on a field of crimson, surrounded by pools of lava, sprawling spires of brimstone reaching towards a ceiling that seemed limitless, yet came to an end at several nearby caves. The dark light pounding at my senses, I had not noticed the shadow standing over me.
"Hello," a deep voice called, concise and clear yet seemingly distorted by darkness and suffering. "I've been expecting you."
I was not expecting this.
"Are... are you? Please, this is not happening..."
"Yes. I am the devil. You may call me Satan, if it brings you an ounce of satisfaction that you'll soon be devoid of."
Satan appeared to have no appearance. A veil of darkness floated where he stood, concealing whatever horrors he did not yet wish to unleash. Or far more terrifying, *could not*.
"What is your name?" The void inquired.
Falling to my knees, my head began to pound as I began to sob out the words.
"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't be such a downer."
Wait... did he just...
"What?"
"I said," Satan snapped, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "Your pathetic attitude is bringing me sorrow. Which disappoints me, considering you're the only company I've ever had."
"You... you're telling me I'm the only one here?" I glanced around, observing only potential suffering and noting a stark absence of kinetic suffering.
I lurched backwards in a sudden outburst of fear and confusion. "I'm the sole sinner ever so consumed to deserve this place? No man, woman, or child has committed themselves to deeds more dreadful than mine?"
I felt my fear replaced by anger. "All I did was for my home, for my people!"
A sense of defeat filled the deepest recesses of my core, interbreeding with rage to create something wholly pathetic and vicious in equal measure.
"I see now." I stared hard into where Satan's eyes should've been. "I'm here because I took the easy way. Because after all I've suffered, I took my own life rather than let others snatch it from me. Because I acted on the last shred of dignity I possessed, the last infinitesimal speck of humanity I had, God and you alike have forever damned me to suffer further?"
"No, Adolf," Satan replied, frustrated. "You killed six million people. You are literally Hitler."
"...Oh."
----
First post! Let me know anything I can improve upon! | At first, I thought the overwhelming red in my vision was a side effect of the initial lethargy of waking up. But when that didn't clear off in time, I starting getting suspicious.
Where on Earth was I? Why would there be so many raging fires and lava lakes and... brimstone? (Thank goodness for Geology classes.) Was I hallucinating?
My last memory was of getting shot in the chest, in a back alleyway located in one of the more dubious parts of the city. That place was an utter shit hole, but nothing compared to this: a barbecue pit stretching to infinity.
Being utterly shell shocked by my surroundings, I didn't even notice a dubious figure walk right up to me.
"Greetings, Mark! If you're wondering where you are, welcome to Hell! You're the first human being ever to take up permanent residence here."
"WHAT THE HELL??? WHERE?"
"Well, you just said it yourself! This," the figure waved all around him, "is Hell. And I'm the Devil."
No wonder this place didn't look like anywhere on Earth. Because it isn't Earth.
Well, having the Devil walk right up to you and tell you that you're in Hell when you're all dazed and stuck on what seems like an infinite barbecue isn't exactly the most comforting thing.
"Hell... so I'm dammed to this shit hole forever? And you're the Devil?" I managed to stammer after partially overcoming the initial shock. "You look just like a normal human being!"
Indeed, the Devil looked like your regular businessman rushing around the financial district. He was even wearing Prada.
"Mark. Mark! Snap out of it. As I said, you're the first person in Hell. Mind telling me what you did that got you damned to this eternal hellhole?" The Devil stepped closer to me, a snarky smile on his face.
"Do you really not know?"
"Nope! I was simply given instructions from higher-ups, informing me that someone would be arriving from Earth. See, I even laid out a sheet for you to lie on. Heh. So, tell me!" The Devil had an excited tone in his voice as he sat next to me on the sheet.
"Well, I was just involved in a rival gang fight, and things turned awry. Yeah, I've done a lot of bad things in my time, but - first in Hell is a bit of a stretch. I mean, they were just gang fights! Where's Jack the Ripper? Osama bin Laden? Hitl -MMMMPFH"
"Ah, you're a smart one. All right, I lied - there were countless who came before you. But you see, my job is to recycle your souls for the new batch of humans to come."
I only saw the Devil withdraw his hand from inside my chest, holding a silvery essence in his hand. Then I blacked out.
At the same time, somewhere on Earth, a baby was born.
<=====>
This is my first time posting on /r/WritingPrompts! I'm rather uncertain about my first attempt. Haha. -nervous laughter- | 2015-04-09T08:36:58 | 2015-04-09T07:51:23 | 2,485 | 779 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | As I pulled the trigger, my last memories were of the life I'd built and the fragile manner in which it had crumpled up in front of me, torn to pieces like a dried leaf.
For what seemed like eons, I found the inner peace I had longed after. Like everything else I held dear, however, this was soon taken away by a flash of red. I felt my eyes open, and felt miles of heat and pulsing infernal light flow into them. I was lying on a field of crimson, surrounded by pools of lava, sprawling spires of brimstone reaching towards a ceiling that seemed limitless, yet came to an end at several nearby caves. The dark light pounding at my senses, I had not noticed the shadow standing over me.
"Hello," a deep voice called, concise and clear yet seemingly distorted by darkness and suffering. "I've been expecting you."
I was not expecting this.
"Are... are you? Please, this is not happening..."
"Yes. I am the devil. You may call me Satan, if it brings you an ounce of satisfaction that you'll soon be devoid of."
Satan appeared to have no appearance. A veil of darkness floated where he stood, concealing whatever horrors he did not yet wish to unleash. Or far more terrifying, *could not*.
"What is your name?" The void inquired.
Falling to my knees, my head began to pound as I began to sob out the words.
"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't be such a downer."
Wait... did he just...
"What?"
"I said," Satan snapped, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "Your pathetic attitude is bringing me sorrow. Which disappoints me, considering you're the only company I've ever had."
"You... you're telling me I'm the only one here?" I glanced around, observing only potential suffering and noting a stark absence of kinetic suffering.
I lurched backwards in a sudden outburst of fear and confusion. "I'm the sole sinner ever so consumed to deserve this place? No man, woman, or child has committed themselves to deeds more dreadful than mine?"
I felt my fear replaced by anger. "All I did was for my home, for my people!"
A sense of defeat filled the deepest recesses of my core, interbreeding with rage to create something wholly pathetic and vicious in equal measure.
"I see now." I stared hard into where Satan's eyes should've been. "I'm here because I took the easy way. Because after all I've suffered, I took my own life rather than let others snatch it from me. Because I acted on the last shred of dignity I possessed, the last infinitesimal speck of humanity I had, God and you alike have forever damned me to suffer further?"
"No, Adolf," Satan replied, frustrated. "You killed six million people. You are literally Hitler."
"...Oh."
----
First post! Let me know anything I can improve upon! | "Steve" I whispered aggressively, "just Steve."
"The fuck you doing down here Steve the worlds only been around for eight fucking days." - the devil
"Chill man it's still a little fresh," - I continued "man I was just minding my own business you know just me and Adam broing out like two lazy ass muthafuckas until god starts butting in. We were just going at it and then god was al like ' stop that, that's gay' and I was Trying to tell him ' whoa it's cool man, just a bro job, ain't no sin in loving bro' am I right"
"Your right" confirmed Satan lord of bad ass muthafuckas.
"So then Adam starts getting bitchy and sentimental about wanting someone to clean all his shit and carry on his legacy and stupid bullshit like that." I pressed "he totally debroified and went straight to god asking for something to cheer his lazy ass up. God was all like 'ok my son' whoa imma stop it right there. God ain't my father or Adams either, I might not know my daddy but he sure as hell ain't no one eyes omnipotent cloud eater. So then is when shit gets crazy, he straight up pulls a muthafuckin rib out of Adams muthafuckin chest, and out came a fine lady mmm hot damn was I weak at the pelvis. So Adam in all his creativity names this bitch Steve, but I was like not in my garden those are my letters and I owned them first or else you pay my seven days rent. And Adam Was all like ' shit man not on the sabbath' so she kept the eve and left the rest"
The devil interludes, " man that's some bull shit man you can't let some bitch woman take your name."
"Whoa there devil let's not hate cause she's a woman,that ain't right." I corrected.
"Shit sorry man" the devil reassured.
Ever since then the devils been a feminist, ". so as I was saying after this bitch came in to play shit started going down. First rule was no more bro jobs. That was enough to set me off right then, but it got worse one day I was just mind my own business jerking off some cows or some bullshit when I see Adam and Eve getting scolded by god about some snake or some other bullshit,"
"Whoa dude stope right there, that was me,I fucked them so hard," said the devil.
"Really man? That's cold as tits, but ado was saying god was bringing down a world of pain making all these bullshit rules when bam, no more gay stuff. And I'm like what the fuck man? I was just mind in my own business jerking off cows and then this bullshit man, fuck you I'm gonna make my own paradise with the devil and shit,"
"Wow that's really heavy man," the devil " and that's why gay marriage is illegal?"
"That's why gay marriage is illegal"
| 2015-04-09T08:36:58 | 2015-04-09T07:58:39 | 2,485 | 35 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | The van ploughed in to the side of my car. There was no pain, just a dull, tingling sensation all over my body as the blood leaked out and I faded in to unconsciousness.
I woke up. I found myself surrounded on all sides by an expanse of inhospitable, fissured rock of a dark red colour. What appeared to be magma could be seen flowing through the cracked geology, the occasional geyser spurting up with a brilliant intensity. The first thing I noticed, aside from my environment, was a figure approaching me from a distance. As he got closer, I saw an immaculate suit, and a face that looked almost human except for the deep, crimson eyes. He began to speak to me in a hoarse, strained voice, though I already knew what he was about to say.
"Welcome. I am the devil, and this is hell."
Though I had realised this already, there is no way to describe the dread that shoots up your spine when you these words are spoken to you. The second thing he said, however, took me by surprise.
"You are its sole occupant, well, except for me I suppose."
It took a few moments for this to sink in before my protest began.
"Really, I'm the only person to be sentenced to hell? What did I do? I never murdered, never raped, never stole. Are you telling me the people who did these things get to go to heaven, and I end up in hell?"
"Let me ask you," the devil began, "are you certain you died? What is the last you remember?"
"I was in a car accident, I lost consciousness, and I ended up here."
"Ah, exactly," responded the devil. "You lost consciousness. You have yet to die. My guess is that the paramedics will be reviving you in a few minutes. You see, the true reality of hell hasn't been expressed in any of the religious texts you humans are so fond of. Hell is an eternal punishment, and there is no crime you can commit on earth which could possibly warrant infinite retribution. Even for the worst of your species, the punishment would not fit the crime. Your presence here is only permitted due to the temporary nature of your death. Eternal punishment is only handed out for heavenly crimes, and I am the only one who has been found deserving. An eternal isolation in a barren, violent land. The only respite I get is when one such as yourself presents me with a brief moment of company. Time does not pass the same here as on earth, and the few minutes until your mortal revival will correspond to a few hours here. So please, do me the courtesy of a conversation. I'm so very lonely."
We sat down on the rocky ground and talked.
| "You really mean that I'm the *first* person to ever be sentenced to Hell?" I asked. "In *all* of history?"
"Well..." he said, "I haven't really thought about it very much; I've been so busy getting all of these creative punishments ready that I hadn't really noticed. Time doesn't really work the same for us angels as it does for you mortals. Feels like just yesterday that I declared war on Heaven."
"Yeah, but..." I was at a loss for how to explain things. "What about Hitler, or Stalin, or... or... Attila the Hun? Are you really telling me that they're all up in Heaven, or at least Purgatory?"
Satan shrugged. "I guess so. Who are those guys? I haven't been paying much attention to what was happening on the surface recently. I haven't personally made a trip up there since the Garden." He paused and thought about it. "No, never mind. I did have to run up there when Jesus was around. Still, it's been a while."
"They were genocidal maniacs," I told him. "Seemed like the type who'd be sentenced to eternal damnation, but I guess not."
"Well, I can look into it," he said casually. I got the impression that he would never give it another thought.
We came to a halt, surrounded by a vast, empty wasteland. It reminded me of photos I'd seen of the surface of Mars. Featureless rocks all colored the same dull brown.
"Well, that's the tour," he said. "I'm sure you'll be very unhappy here. I've got some other work I need to focus on, so I'll be leaving now."
"That's it?" I asked. "No tortures?"
"You'll find them," Satan assured me, then disappeared into thin air.
I've thought about that conversation so many times. Millions of times. Every single day, if you can call it a 'day.' There is no more sunrise or sunset. Just the dull yellow sky. No sun, no moon, no weather. Nothing to indicate any passage of time at all. I could have died a million years ago, or two hours ago. There's no way of knowing how long I've been here.
I've wandered for thousands and thousands of miles looking for anything. There are no buildings here. No plants, no animals. No mountains, no valleys. And no people. Just flat fields of sand and stone.
I've cried out till my throat was hoarse, and received no answer. I replay the conversation with Satan over and over in my mind, because it's the last real contact I've ever had. It took me forever to realize what Satan meant with that last little barb.
There are no rivers of fire and stabbing demons here. That's not the type of torture that Satan meant. The only punishment is loneliness and isolation, and it's the worst one he could have ever come up with.
And I'm beginning to think that I'm *not* the first person to ever arrive in Hell. | 2015-04-09T08:50:38 | 2015-04-09T07:53:57 | 1,736 | 873 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | The van ploughed in to the side of my car. There was no pain, just a dull, tingling sensation all over my body as the blood leaked out and I faded in to unconsciousness.
I woke up. I found myself surrounded on all sides by an expanse of inhospitable, fissured rock of a dark red colour. What appeared to be magma could be seen flowing through the cracked geology, the occasional geyser spurting up with a brilliant intensity. The first thing I noticed, aside from my environment, was a figure approaching me from a distance. As he got closer, I saw an immaculate suit, and a face that looked almost human except for the deep, crimson eyes. He began to speak to me in a hoarse, strained voice, though I already knew what he was about to say.
"Welcome. I am the devil, and this is hell."
Though I had realised this already, there is no way to describe the dread that shoots up your spine when you these words are spoken to you. The second thing he said, however, took me by surprise.
"You are its sole occupant, well, except for me I suppose."
It took a few moments for this to sink in before my protest began.
"Really, I'm the only person to be sentenced to hell? What did I do? I never murdered, never raped, never stole. Are you telling me the people who did these things get to go to heaven, and I end up in hell?"
"Let me ask you," the devil began, "are you certain you died? What is the last you remember?"
"I was in a car accident, I lost consciousness, and I ended up here."
"Ah, exactly," responded the devil. "You lost consciousness. You have yet to die. My guess is that the paramedics will be reviving you in a few minutes. You see, the true reality of hell hasn't been expressed in any of the religious texts you humans are so fond of. Hell is an eternal punishment, and there is no crime you can commit on earth which could possibly warrant infinite retribution. Even for the worst of your species, the punishment would not fit the crime. Your presence here is only permitted due to the temporary nature of your death. Eternal punishment is only handed out for heavenly crimes, and I am the only one who has been found deserving. An eternal isolation in a barren, violent land. The only respite I get is when one such as yourself presents me with a brief moment of company. Time does not pass the same here as on earth, and the few minutes until your mortal revival will correspond to a few hours here. So please, do me the courtesy of a conversation. I'm so very lonely."
We sat down on the rocky ground and talked.
| At first, I thought the overwhelming red in my vision was a side effect of the initial lethargy of waking up. But when that didn't clear off in time, I starting getting suspicious.
Where on Earth was I? Why would there be so many raging fires and lava lakes and... brimstone? (Thank goodness for Geology classes.) Was I hallucinating?
My last memory was of getting shot in the chest, in a back alleyway located in one of the more dubious parts of the city. That place was an utter shit hole, but nothing compared to this: a barbecue pit stretching to infinity.
Being utterly shell shocked by my surroundings, I didn't even notice a dubious figure walk right up to me.
"Greetings, Mark! If you're wondering where you are, welcome to Hell! You're the first human being ever to take up permanent residence here."
"WHAT THE HELL??? WHERE?"
"Well, you just said it yourself! This," the figure waved all around him, "is Hell. And I'm the Devil."
No wonder this place didn't look like anywhere on Earth. Because it isn't Earth.
Well, having the Devil walk right up to you and tell you that you're in Hell when you're all dazed and stuck on what seems like an infinite barbecue isn't exactly the most comforting thing.
"Hell... so I'm dammed to this shit hole forever? And you're the Devil?" I managed to stammer after partially overcoming the initial shock. "You look just like a normal human being!"
Indeed, the Devil looked like your regular businessman rushing around the financial district. He was even wearing Prada.
"Mark. Mark! Snap out of it. As I said, you're the first person in Hell. Mind telling me what you did that got you damned to this eternal hellhole?" The Devil stepped closer to me, a snarky smile on his face.
"Do you really not know?"
"Nope! I was simply given instructions from higher-ups, informing me that someone would be arriving from Earth. See, I even laid out a sheet for you to lie on. Heh. So, tell me!" The Devil had an excited tone in his voice as he sat next to me on the sheet.
"Well, I was just involved in a rival gang fight, and things turned awry. Yeah, I've done a lot of bad things in my time, but - first in Hell is a bit of a stretch. I mean, they were just gang fights! Where's Jack the Ripper? Osama bin Laden? Hitl -MMMMPFH"
"Ah, you're a smart one. All right, I lied - there were countless who came before you. But you see, my job is to recycle your souls for the new batch of humans to come."
I only saw the Devil withdraw his hand from inside my chest, holding a silvery essence in his hand. Then I blacked out.
At the same time, somewhere on Earth, a baby was born.
<=====>
This is my first time posting on /r/WritingPrompts! I'm rather uncertain about my first attempt. Haha. -nervous laughter- | 2015-04-09T08:50:38 | 2015-04-09T07:51:23 | 1,736 | 779 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | "Shouldn't you know this?" The devil – the big man down under himself – is asking me what I did wrong. I'm not sure how I know he's the devil – he seems friendly enough, tall and blonde and handsome with a smile that could melt hearts. Maybe it's just the fact that he's the only other person in what is obviously Hell.
"Nope. I'm as surprised as you are. I just assumed that when someone arrived, I'd get a memo on who they were. But here we are, and no memo to be found." He shrugs. "If you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But I'd appreciate if you did. It gets boring out here."
"Yeah, I'd imagine, with nobody else around. How long have you been here?"
The demon shrugs again. "Time's weird down here. It could have been a minute or a decade or a hundred trillion years. I'd say it was eternity, but I can remember before I came." I look into his eyes and know he speaks the truth – there is the darkness of eons in those clear, amber irises. Suddenly, though he loses none of his charm, there is something horrible about him – something abhorrent and monstrous. It must show on my face, because he frowns. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, it's not that, it's just… the concept of eternity is *really* uncomfortable. And your eyes." I shiver. "But am I really the first person here? I mean, someone *must* have done something worse than me. I'm not Hitler or anything."
The devil strokes his chin. "By my understanding, Hell was designed to hold the irredeemable. People who could *never* enter Heaven. Me and my ilk, specifically. I assumed some of you fleshy ones would be joining us eventually, but it's been… a long time, and you're the first."
"There are others like you?" So that's how he hasn't gone mad, all alone down here – he's *not* alone.
He chuckles. "Of course not. A third of Heaven's host fell with Lord Lucifer." He sees the surprise on my face. "Were you assuming I was him? Oh, no, no, no." He bows deeply. "My name is Nebiros, guardian of the entrance to Hell. A pleasure."
I try to respond. "My name is…" What is it? I try to think, but I search in the dark for a thing that may not be there. I clutch my head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember."
Nebiros looks at me concernedly. "Are you okay?" I nod.
"I'm fine, I just… can't remember my name. Or any names from my life – people, places, nothing. I remember what they looked like, though, And I know what I did."
"What was it?" His eyes are excited, the fire reflected in them representing him perfectly.
"I learned the Name. The real name, the way to pronounce the Tetragrammaton. Not 'God,' or 'Yahweh,' or 'Jehova.'" Why do I remember those? Maybe because they're not real names. I think – what authors can I remember? Mark Twain, bell hooks, Lewis Carroll, Voltaire, George Orwell… George Orwell was a pen name? Huh. I can remember fictional characters, too.
"Well?" I look up. The demon is thrilled, staring at me avidly, even hungrily. I fear him again. "What is it?"
"I-I'm sorry. I've forgotten that name, too. I think I can only remember fake names from my time alive." He deflates. "Sorry I couldn't be much help."
"Don't worry about it." He's cheerful again. "At least now I get why you're down here. You're too dangerous to send upwards or even to Purgatory."
"Dangerous?! But I don't even remember the name!"
"No, but you learned it once. You could do it again." He turns toward a small black building I hadn't noticed. "The sulphur-wind is picking up. Please, come inside." I scurry after him.
Nebiros fiddles with a brass kettle, filling it with a strange, dark liquid. "My relief will probably come at some point, after the wind settles down. I'll take you to Pandaemonium when she does." He puts the kettle on a small, exposed flame. "You probably won't like colatl, but I'm heating enough that you can try it. It's an acquired taste."
The kettle simmers in a corner as Nebiros putters around, straightening up. "It's usually only me or Gremory, so we don't really bother keeping the place neat. I hope you understand."
"Oh, entirely. My home was always messy. Papers everywhere. I could never find what I was looking for." I smile. Demons are quite like humans, in some ways.
---
I'll continue it eventually. | The devil didn't look like I'd imagined him. For one- it really wasn't a "him". My sister and I used to play a game in the mall called "chick or dick", we try to make our best guess at whether a person is a girl or a guy when you can't really tell. The devil would have been one of these people. Long hair kept in a low bun, long delicate fingers on a slender, muscular frame. Those big eyes with beautiful lashes, but with a sharp strong jaw. "His" fingers curled around a clipboard that was filled with paperwork to be done.
"Actually", he said. "Follow me. I'd rather do this in my office." He snapped his fingers and a room appeared in the distance. It seemed impossibly far away, maybe a half mile, but with nothingness in every direction it's hard to judge distance. We were there in just a few steps, gliding along in the darkness- well not darkness. Sort of like what you can see out the back of your head. Just- nothing. He opened the door to the room. Inside was a modern-looking office. It reminded me strongly of the offices where I had applied for welfare in the past, not very welcoming, but the single cushioned folding chair in front of the desk was more than enough for me. The desk had pictures of what I assumed must have been him and a demon on it in human form, at a vacation spot, some beach somewhere.
"That's him." He said. "The creator. The great I Am."
"God?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah." He said. "We try to get out every hundred years or so. Anyway, let's get to it! Your name?" He plopped down in the computer chair on the other side of the desk and pulled a pen from behind his ear.
"Oh, uhh, Sammy. Sammy Wilson." I took the one opposite.
"Sammy! How are you? Satan." He offered his hand across the desk, and I cautiously reached up to meet it for a firm shake.
"I'm good, I guess. For being in hell." I was not quite registering anything yet, like when I fell off my bike as a kid and just sort of accepted that my arm was broke. I walked into the gas station I had just left and calmly asked for a ride to the hospital while the bone was jutting out from my arm. There would be plenty time to process it later. I was in hell. I had all eternity.
"Ah, yes. Don't worry too much though. Everyone goes to hell." He said.
"Everyone? I thought I was the first!"
"The first this millennium. We remodel every so often." He pointed to the bleak nothingness out the cubicle's window. "Time of death for you was 12:01, January 1st, 2000." He was right. I suddenly remembered. The ball drop! It dropped alright, right on drunken old me. I needed a closer view, and I got it. Damn. "So what did you do then? How did you die?" He showed me the clipboard with a list of possible choices. Drowning, genocide, suicide, murder, old age, death by giant celebratory decoration, and illness.
"That decoration one." I said, embarrassed.
"Mmhmmm." He said. He checked the box next to it and spent a few seconds filling in... something. Notes? "Here's the deal. I could go through the paperwork line by line, or give you the general idea and get both of us out of here sooner. Now, hell is pretty much the opposite of prison on earth. It's rehabilitation, not punishment. There's only so many souls, and we have to start working on getting yours all clean so we can recycle it. You do some good back on earth, you get some time to think about what you did, you get back to a good place morally, spend some time in heaven just waiting around for your time, and we send you back in the rotation as a newborn."
"How do I do good back on earth?" I asked.
"Well, you will some miracles to happen, see that prayers get answered, stuff like that. All with the power of technology!" He said, opening a desk drawer and retrieving a laptop. He gave a huge grin. "We used to have to do this by hand!" He opened it to Facebook, and up came a barrage of the "share if you want Jesus to help poor little African children" type posts.
"So every time they share this, it really does help?" I asked.
"Now it does." He replied. He sifted through the paperwork on the clipboard to the last page, on which there was a line for a signature. "Just sign here, take the laptop, and be in your way." He handed me the pen and clipboard, I signed my name quickly, and he handed me the laptop and walked to open the door.
I walked outside and he snapped his fingers again, and both he and the room disappeared, to be replaced by a comfy chair. I sat down, opened the page of half-hearted "amen"s, and curiosity got the best of me. I typed Netflix into the browser bar, and my heart skipped a beat. It actually started to load! Then, defeat. "The system administrator has blocked this site." I really was in hell. | 2015-04-09T11:38:15 | 2015-04-09T09:44:39 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] A centuries-old vampire, turned as a child, takes advantage of being perpetually stuck as a little girl to prey upon those who would harm and abuse children. | There's a rope skipping the children sing, down on Marigold lane, down in the dirty part of town, where you can have anything you want for a price.
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks just six*
*Don't you fall for one of her tricks.*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, a hundred years old*
*Cheeks of red and hair of gold*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks so dear*
*If you see her, don't go near*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her bite*
*On a sweet and shivery night*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her eleven*
*Tried to grab her and sent to heaven*
*One wanted hugs, another wanted kisses*
*One thought he'd take her for his missus*
*Sweet Mary Marvin give him a peck*
*How many holes were in his neck?*
*One, two, three, four....*
And the kids skip on. And on and on. It's a cute song, but honestly, it's putting me off my dinner tonight.
After all, how is some kid going to find a fitting rhyme for "twelve?" | "Uhhhh What the fuck !!!"
*Black black sheep such a little little man*
*With blood on his lips and blood on his hands*
*Oh mommy mommy dear what's a little girl*
*To do with her meal when it twitches and squirms*
"What are you ??? Just ... just get the hell out of here.. no noooo don't touch me !!!"
*Black black dream such a little little pain*
*And one finger less now is it still a man ?*
*Oh daddy you should be more careful what you lick*
*Girl might just pop your eye with a candy stick*
"Arrghhh nooo I'm sorry uhuuhuuuuh I'm soo sorry I never meant to hurt them"
*Black black blood on my little little teeth*
*Really you will love it when they sink in deep*
*Would you like to run now ? Would you like to flee ?*
*Oh mister no you can't, see you don't have any feet !*
"Pleeasee uhhh uhuhhhh.. I won't ... I'll never..."
*Black black sheep such a little little worm*
*Take off the skin and it looks all pink and worn*
*Oh scream scream my dear I just like to watch you creep*
*Would you like to play with me until I go to sleep ?*
| 2015-04-30T12:51:10 | 2015-04-30T12:37:43 | 53 | 31 |
[WP] Create an original monster. Make its own rules as to how it works, and how it has to be destroyed. Explain all of this when people run into it for the first time ever and how they deal with it. | “Hello everyone,” the squid said, crawling up the portside railing. It propped a tentacle on the side of its head like a drunkard at the end of a long night, and studied the crew with beady black eyes. “My name’s Larry. How are all of you today?”
“A talking squid,” whispered the first mate.
Captain Bloodsrope hissed at his officer and drew his sword. Days ago their ship had ground to a halt in the middle of the Southern Ocean. There were no sandbars this far out to sea, no known rocks or ship graveyards. The current had turned calm, and no amount of sweat or wind could free them from their captivity.
“You can speak,” he said, approaching the squid. His crew gathered around him, fingering their weapons though keeping a safe distance.
“Well, obviously." The squid's silvery-purple skin shimmered in the dying sunlight. “Let’s not waste time, shall we? You’re stuck, and I’m the one that stuck you.”
“Then die, foul monster!” cried the first mate, lunging forward.
An invisible hand slapped him back like a giant striking a flea. The first mate screamed as he tumbled over the starboard rail and landed with a splash into the icy ocean.
“This sort of violence isn’t necessary,” the squid said, holding up a tentacle before the crew could react. Captain Bloodsrope swallowed his throat and battled the rage and lightheadedness that overwhelmed his thoughts. “I can get you underway again, I just need something from you. A trifling thing, really.”
“What is that, monster?” growled the captain.
“Your left eye.”
“My what?”
“Oh, not just you,” the squid said. “All of you. I want your left eyes.”
Murmurs escalated from the crew as they shifted like reeds in a breeze.
“Why would you ask for such a thing?” the captain demanded.
“Does it matter? You’re stuck, I stuck you, and I like left eyes. Get to it, captain. I want a pile of left eyeballs at my metaphorical feet in the next two hours.”
“We can’t possibly…”
“You have two eyes, don’t you?” The squid’s black gaze shifted to the rest of the crew. “Seems that you could spare at least one. You’ll die of thirst or go mad from hunger before too long. This way, we all win.”
“Or we could just kill you,” growled the captain.
“Oh goody, a fight,” the squid said dryly. It straightened as much as possible for a squid and waved two front tentacles like a boxer readying for a match. “Well, come on. Take your shot.”
Captain Bloodsrope tossed his black braids behind his back and lunged at the squid with a foul cry, tasting squid on his tongue. He would devour this create tonight with a bottle of fine wine.
Gail force wind threw him back and Bloodsrope struck the starboard rail, nearly joining the first mate in the briny deep. Pain slashed through his legs and he couldn’t draw breath to speak. Momentarily stunned, the ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing his men as they shouted for their captain to stand.
“You think this is my true form?” the squid growled. “I’m as tall as a mountain. Nothing within this ocean escape my sight. The waters are mine to control, as are the creatures that swim in its depths. You and your silly swords and spells and tricks cannot harm me. Give me what I ask, mortals, or I’ll tear your ship in half.”
Bloodsrope stumbled to his feet, drawing shallow gulps of air into his burning lungs. His voice immerged as a whisper. “How have we never heard of you then?”
“I had no reason to reveal myself until recently.” The monster shook its head, a stunningly ridiculous gesture for a squid, and rocked back on the rail. “You’re wasting time, captain. Eyeballs. Left ones. Pile. Right here.” It pointed to the deck. “You have ninety minutes.”
“We can’t. We don’t have any way to…”
“You have everything you need in your galley.”
“We can kill 'im, Captain,” whispered one of the crew. “’e’s lyin’. There’s no mountain-sized sea god ‘neath the waves. Someone would’ve seen ‘im by now.”
“No,” the Captain replied with a shudder. “No.” He sheathed his sword and drew a six-inch knife from his boot. Polished until it gleamed, Bloodsrope remembered scrubbing the last man’s blood from its point. “Get me the rum.” He glared at the sea monster. “I’ll go first.”
The captain swallowed three gulps of rum, the burnt flavor burning his throat on the way to his stomach. It was hard not to vomit it back up, but years of practice had steeled his insides. The sun was nearly lost below the horizon as he wiped his lips.
“Just tell me one thing,” he said to the monster. “Why do you want them?”
“They let me see into your world,” the squid replied. “Everything you see, I’ll see until the day you die.”
“Don’t particularly want a talking squid inside my head.”
The squid bobbed its purplish-silver head. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
Bloodsrope sucked in his breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
The second mate sat Bloodsrope in a chair and poured rum over his eye before scooping out the eyeball. Bloodsrope screamed despite himself, bucking in the chair. He slapped the second mate’s hand, who lost control of the eyeball. It bounced across the deck, the monster reaching for it with his tentacle.
The beast howled in pain and released the eyeball, its tentacle smoking where the organ had touched its flesh. Bloodsrope stared with his one remaining eye at the beast, at the eye rolling on the deck, at the rum in the second mate’s hand. He ripped the bottle free and splashed it over the creature.
It screamed as though Bloodsrope had set it ablaze, throwing itself backwards to escape into the ocean depths.
“Don’t let it escape!” cried the captain, a heavy weight pressing against his face, his heart pounding against his empty eye socket. Waves of nausea overwhelmed him as his eyeball rolled against his feet. He grabbed the tiny thing, stuffing it into his pocket as his men ripped the squid onto the deck.
“Pour the rum on it!” shouted the second mate. “Everything we have!”
When it was finished, all that remained was an inky spot on the deck that smelled faintly of rum and burnt squid. A breeze billowed in the sails and the beams groaned as the ship came alive.
“We’re free,” cried the second mate. “We’re loose!”
“Set course for home,” shouted the captain. “Man you oars. Hurry, before it comes back.”
“But we killed it, sir.”
“We killed a squid. You heard this thing. It can possess any creature under the sea. We make for home and keep rum at the ready. We know how to defeat it now.”
| Fogharbor is the northernmost town, the coldest town, and the foggiest town in all of Yelo. The people of Yelo all had grown up there, and were used to the cold, and felt comfortable even when the fogs rolled in at night, and blanketed the town in it's suffocating aura. The harbor, with it's massive, and ancient lighthouse, was the last refuge of the southern boats that would head up the coast, and around the tip of the continent to sail back down to the other side and the warmer waters of the Eastern Ocean.
Being a traditional town, the people all attended the weekly sermon at the chapel, which lay in the center of town. A large brazier was lit at the top of it's tower to alert those to it's location, so that all may find it in the fog of night. The people would return home afterwards, the lanterns held in front of them, bobbing in the grey fog, as if large fireflies were drunkenly flying through the streets.
During the day, the fog would roll out of town, and the blue skies would reveal the quaint town for what it was, just a small, humble place. It wasn't particular for any quality or legend. The people made a simple living off the trade that came on the boats, and the fish they caught off the coast.
Until the day the Abo arrived. In a town like Fogharbor, a shadow in the fog isn't something that people were afraid of. It was usually just someone from down the lane, whose lantern had gone out, or had just stepped out to let the cat in. It wasn't something to be feared.
However, that all changed when Janie Wilkins was attacked. She had burst into the large, wooden doors of the chapel in sheer terror, screaming. The men and women within all gasped, and children began to cry.
"Help me, oh dear God, help me!" She screeched, before fainting into the arms of a nearby man. Her face was scratched, and her dress had been ripped. It took minutes before she came too, and she immediately became frightened again.
The Pastor asked her what was the matter. She wouldn't speak much, she was so frightened, but she did utter one perplexing sentence: "A shadow in the fog!"
For the rest of the night, people rushed home, brandishing their lanterns ahead of them. They no longer trusted shapes in the fog without a lantern. They would push into their homes, and lock the doors tight. During the days, the fog would clear, and people would venture out, bolder, but still, their faces were beset with fear and anxiety. At night, when the fog rolled in, the families would huddle together, in fear of the shadow in the fog.
It wasn't long before another attack.
This time, the attack was fatal, and the victim was left, grey in the face, and bleeding on the street, near his home. The town was in uproar after this, the attack had left a similar scratch across the mans face. His cause of death was unknown. It looked like he had died of fright.
It was nearing chaos in town, the evening the Inspector General appeared. He had sailed in on a small boat, after being summoned by the Pastor of the chapel. He was bunked in the small inn near that chapel, and he waited. Soon enough, a scream pierced the foggy night near the inn, and he was able to find his way to scene of the attack. A young lady this time. She had no visible wounds, as the man before. However, the Inspector General did note one thing. Around her mouth, and in a pool next to her head, was a puddle of water. He tasted it, and discovered it was none other that seawater.
Over the course of the next two weeks, a few more people were similarly murdered, and the Abo was frightening more and more people. Finally, the Inspector General was able to witness the beast, with his own two eyes.
The Inspector General went for a late night stroll, his trusted companion from the town there, a man by the name of Ivory Waites. They came upon a dim streetlamp, it's lights barely able to purge the shadows of night, nonetheless the obscuration caused by the fog. In that twisting morass of mist, he saw it. The shadow.
He grabbed Ivory by his arm, and tugged. The man snapped to attention, but the shadow was moving. With it, the fog seemed to undulate, and slither around it, obscuring the apparition. The men sprinted away, running for the inn. Reaching the door, Ivory pushed it open, and slammed it shut after the Inspector entered. They barred the door, and went to the window. The men couldn't see a thing... until it appeared, birthed from the fog.
It was a creature of death. A soul lost to the seas so long ago, his breeches still waterlogged, clinging to his skeletal hips. Elsewhere, the grey, stretched skin covered the innards thinly. His face was a guise of death, a skull with just enough flesh to remind his victims of their own mortality, the thinness of the barrier between their own lives, and the void waiting for them. The mouth of the Abo oozed water, as if every step the creature was struggling to keep the waters of all the oceans within itself.
The creature attacked the window, cracking the glass with ease. It clambered through the smashed opening, even as the men escaped it's clutches, and ran for the back entrance. They ran, and Ivory fell behind. The Inspector General found himself heading towards the great big lighthouse.
He began to climb up the spiraling staircase that encircled the structure. Unlike the more modern buildings, this one was mostly a solid spire, with a small living quarter at the top, underneath the lamp for the tender to live in. The staircase was outside the spire, running up its length, mostly exposed to the elements.
He was wheezing when he reached the top, but the Inspector was able to turn. He was above the fog now, but he heard something that froze his heart despite that.
A soft, wet, pair of feet were still climbing the lighthouse. Panicking, now, he began to pound on the door to the tenders room. It was locked, and no reply was forthcoming. He turned, and saw the narrow staircase to the lamp room. He climbed. The flames were intense, and he began to sweat, but he needed to hide from that monster.
The creature came up. It was in the shadows of the staircase, its lifeless eyes scanning for him. Suddenly, it leapt, carried by a wisp of fog, and reached for the Inspector. He said his prayers, resigning himself to the end. It never came.
He watched as the creature lunged for him, it's claws extended. It however, was caught full blast, when the lamps light circled around, and doused him in its revealing light.
And that was the end of the creature. Later, the Inspector would go on to find that the reason the Abo existed, was connected in part due to the negligence of the Lighthouse tender. He apparently seemed to fall asleep between certain hours of the night. The time when the Abo appeared. This was also the same hour that it would seem a desperate sailor, tossed from wave to wave, in the foggy darkness, would crash upon the rocks near Fogharbor, because the Lighthouse had gone out. His vengeful spirit hadn't been lain to rest. | 2015-06-20T16:35:36 | 2015-06-20T16:11:59 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] The powerball winner contacts you and offers you $50m to collect his winnings so he stays anonymous, but you have to be the face of 1.3 billion.
Post was taken down. Whoops posted to r/writingprompt by accident! | I'm sitting at home, watching TV. My phone rings. I pause the TV, answer the phone and say "Hello."
"Hi there. I just won the Powerball Lottery, but I can't let anyone know that it's me. Security and all that. I'll pay you $50 million to collect the money for me." The mysterious caller says. He got right to the point.
"You want me to go out in public, become a public figure, target for burglaries, and be hounded by businessmen for the rest of my life for only a fraction of the money?" I ask flatly.
"Yes?" the caller hesitates.
"Fuck no." I hang up and pick up the picture frame I have on my coffee table. I stroke the Nigerian Prince's face and shed a single tear. "I'm not falling for that again." | "You sure?"
"Absolutely. I don't have the time nor patience to deal with this."
"Done."
"Excuse me? That was quick."
"Be the face everything. Absolutely. When you said fifty million, I will make that number a solid figure. After taxes, nothing there, that's what I want to hear from you."
"Yes, but don't you think you-"
"Are you serious about this offer or not?"
"Yes. I'll have my lawyers contact you. We'll go over the standard information necessary."
The smug look on my face when the phone clicked was beautiful. I had a slew of ideas of what I would spend it on, first of course my debt, my debt to family and my debt as a husband to a family. I would have to move of course, make new friends possibly and live with a few hundred people baying at the door, phone and mail to get to me, but it was fine. That was what the money was for.
Now if they only knew where I lived, and perhaps if my name wasn't so common, it would have been difficult. But seriously, who actually names their daughter Ivana Bernardo Riche? | 2016-01-10T20:04:43 | 2016-01-10T15:03:56 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You've just invented a device that allows you to see the world through the eyes of anyone alive, wherever they currently exist. However, you are unable to hear what they hear. | I wiggled helplessly in the cage I found myself in. I couldn't speak, couldn't get away. So I simply tried to absorb as much as possible through these new eyes. This wasn't where I wanted to end up. I had to get back, adjust the device. How could I get back?
One of them suddenly loomed before me, smiling. I kept screaming as she murmured her words. Even though I could see through these eyes, I couldn't control the body's reactions. It wanted to scream, and it couldn't speak. And I couldn't hear.
She whispered something, and turned off the light.
I lay in the dark, trying to see beyond the bars of the cage. I wasn't even able to sit upright. I started crying again, a helpless keening that reverberated through the building.
I just managed to spot the two of them outside the door: arguing about me. Probably about the best way to handle my screams.
I had to get back - get out of this head. His thoughts seemed to invade mine, overwhelming me. The warmth of the blankets, the promise of milk. The sweet, comforting scent of the woman who'd been here, hanging in the air. Vanilla and honey. My hiccouphing cries died down as I drifted to sleep. What had I been worried about again? What had I been trying to do?
*I'll figure it out tomorrow*, I promised myself, as I sank into the welcoming void of the baby's simple dreams.
| "What did you do, fish?"
Where my cellmate should have had hair, he had tattoos. Where he should have had a couple of teeth, he had gold crowns.
"H-hacking," I stammered.
"You a faggot, fish?" he asked. He stood up, a mass of brawn and blubber that towered over me by at least a foot.
"N-no," I said. What I had done to deserve this piece of humanity's garbage heap as a cellmate?
"No what?"
"No... sir?"
He threw back his head and let out a peal of manic laughter.
"I kind of like you, fish. Hacking, huh? What'd you hack? Pentagon? NSA?"
"Google glasses," I said.
"What the hell are those?"
"You know," I said. "The glasses that everyone wears now. With a little camera. A built-in HUD."
"I been in here a long time, kid," he said. "I ain't never heard of no glasses with cameras."
"They're all connected to a computer network," I said. "I got in, and so I could see what anyone else in the world was seeing."
He whistled. "That's some impressive shit, kid. What they catch you doing with it? Peepin' in on people fuckin'?"
I blushed. I had done that to begin with. But then I began to see... things.
"I tried to help people," I said. "People I could see were in trouble."
"What you wanna do that for?" he asked. "People don't need no guardian angels. They need guards."
I took off my glasses and handed them too him.
"Try it," I said.
**Part 2 below. And also over at r/jd_rallage with more of my stories.** | 2016-03-17T09:46:08 | 2016-03-17T08:03:21 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | *Where is my human?*
St. Peter idly walks with a gentle giant giant of a Rottweiler. There's a light breeze in the air, rustling the leaves to life.
"Max, he's in a bad place right now"
Max cocks his head to the side, ears opened, *He's in a bad place because I'm not with him*
St. Peter slowly walks up to Max, "It's the rules, Max."
He growls menacingly, *NO. I want to be with him!*
"There's procedures to follow, testimonies to-"
*BARK*
"You don't know the-"
*BARKWOOF You don't know anything about him. The last thing I remember was him crying when I was dying. I was on a table getting sleepy and he held me. He's still crying! He needs me! I need him!*
St Peter hovers his hand over Max's head, but stops. The hackles are raised. The teeth bared.
*Now!*
St Peter closes his eyes for a moment. The dog growling louder and louder. Suddenly the growling stops, and turns his head to the hill.
*Master? Master!*
Max takes off to the top of the hill. A familiar human is kneeling on the ground, "Max!"
"I've missed you so, so much"
*Me too* | *Wake up in a fiery courtroom*
**Main:** Wow! what the.....
**Judge:** Welcome to Hell, you are brought here today to determine if you will go to heaven or if you will spend eternity being punished here in hell.
**Main:** What, who's deciding that?
**Judge:** It is up to the animals you have interacted with throughout your life. 3 dogs you have owned and 1 cat have arrived to give their testimonies.
*YES!!! I was always good to animals!! I loved animals more than people!!*
**Judge:** Dog 1 come to the stand and please give your testimony.
*AW it's Buddy! I haven't seen that guy forever!*
**Buddy:** This man should be punished!! Every night he would force me to sleep next to him! Dogs are not made for human beds! He kept me inside and would only let me go outside to pee a few times a day! My whole life felt like I was in prison.
*Wait.. what!?*
**Main:** Buddy I always tried to treat you like a human! I would even feed you cooked chicken!
**Buddy:** I am a Dog you bastard!!! I wanted to sleep on the floor, eat dry pebbles and lay in the sun!
***All other animals gave similar testimonies, they were treated like humans, something they all hated***
**Judge:** Sir, you are despicable. For your punishment, you shall be Buddy's pet. You will not be able to communicate with him verbally any longer and you'll see how horrible it is being treated like you're something your not. | 2016-03-24T13:23:57 | 2016-03-24T11:03:54 | 155 | 16 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | *This story is dedicated to my dad. Hopefully, it will be years before it is realized. Only his name was changed.*
Mark hated animals. Actually that's not fair. Mark loved his family, and his family loved animals, so Mark tolerated animals. He had to, didn't he? While his girls were growing up, they had two dogs, two cats, a frog, a plethora of fish, a prakeete, two love birds and 4 finches. He was pretty sure there were turtles involved too. Now that the girls had moved out (and each had two of their own cats), and the second dog had passed away, Mark was able to enjoy the peace and quiet of his home for the first time in years. He wished his wife was still around to enjoy it with him, but she herself had passed away years ago, after 30+ years of marriage. Still and all though, had cancer not taken her away, he was sure there would be a cat lazing in the sunny spot of the apartment, so he found a silver lining there.
Mark got himself ready for bed in the quiet of the apartment, sent the girls a good night message, and fell asleep.
He was quite surprised to wake up in Hell.
He was even more surprised to see Carlos. Carlos was his wife's first cat. He was as mean as you could get, but fiercely loyal to the family, and especially protective of Mark's eldest daughter. The last time Mark had seen the cat was when he had taken Carlos to the vet for the last time. That had somehow become his role in the family- the grim reaper of the pets. He would take them on that final drive, talk to them the whole time, and stay with them until the injection took hold and they breathed their last. Carlos looked at Mark, and walked away. Figures. Still, the cat had brought back memories of the early days of his marriage, and his young daughter.
Mark's train of thought was broken when a small, white, goofy looking dog came careening around the corner and smashed into a rock. It was unmistakably Mac. God this dog was stupid. Loving to a fault, friendly as the day is long, but dumb as a brick. Mac was DELIGHTED to see Mark, but that wasn't surprising, as Mac was delighted to see anyone that wasn't a squirrel, a garbage man, or a dolphin. Mac jumped up and down for a bit, and Mark dutifully patted him on the head a few times. Again, memories of a full, happy house, and his youngest daughter sleeping with the dog as her pillow came to mind. That being said, so did shoveling out a patch of snow over the grass because the stupid dog couldn't figure out he was allowed to pee on the snow.
The same went with Bandanna, shying away from him as if she hadn't spent her entire life in the same house, and Twix, affectionately called "you stupid dog" which is how Mark greeted her. The birds flew by as well.
It was after the last bird flew by that Mark realized all of his animals had congregated in an area off in the middle distance. Curiosity overcame him, and he went to investigate. All of the animals were having something of a conference with a man or goat or being that Mark could only assume was the devil. They were clearly conversing, however he hadn't the faintest idea what any of them were saying. Finally the Devil creature looked up, and consulted a notebook.
"Ah yes, Mark. Welcome to hell. Please have a seat! I've been looking over your record, and it appears that in many occasions, you have stated that you 'hate animals'. Well, that's a shame, because it is these animals that will decide if you ascend to Heaven, or stay here with me."
Mark began to object, but the devil held up a silencing finger. Mark closed his mouth.
"I've been listening to the pets that lived with you and your family over the course of decades. For a man who hates animals, you certainly had your share. It is obvious that you loved your family enough to make sacrifices such as bringing these pets into your home. You not only fed and housed them, I've been told you walked them, cleaned up after them, and on occasion, even played with them. But it's this last part that speaks to your character, sir. You treated them to a death with dignity. You did not simply drop them off at the vet, you stayed to make sure they weren't afraid. You kept your hand on them as they breathed your last."
The devil continued, "it is no large feat for a man who loves an animal to treat it well, but you did not love these animals. You recognized their life had value, and treated them with respect. In their life, you never raised your voice to them, nor did you strike when they were bad. You, sir, are a good man."
With tears shining in his eyes, Mark turned to face his witnesses- the animals he had raised and cared for. "Thank you," he said "for being so good to my family." The Devil smiled to himself as he went to press a button for the Ascension to heaven to begin, but stopped when Carlos jumped onto his desk. Again, they were speaking but Mark could not understand. The Devil nodded, and replied "as you wish." And then to Mark, "they would like to extend to you the same curtesy that you did to them."
Carlos jumped onto the ground and rubbed against his legs. Bandanna jumped onto his lap. The dogs positioned themselves on either side of him, and licked his hands. The Devil pressed a button, and Mark rose into the light, at ease with the knowledge that he was not alone.
| People always think the Pearly Gates are these large affairs of gold latticework sitting amongst the clouds. In reality, they're a pair of perfectly normal looking office doors painted a slightly glossy off-white. They're located in a lobby next to a booth with a plexiglass window that has one of those little slots for passing paperwork through to the person inside. Above the window is a sign with large, plain lettering that reads "HEAVEN CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION AUTHORITY - PLEASE HAVE ALL NECESSARY PAPERWORK FILLED OUT AND READY WHEN APPROACHING THE WINDOW." Inside a booth, a tired and harried-looking old man sits, speaking to the small boy at the head of the line with all the urgency of a bureaucrat trying to make sure that the line keeps moving a quick pace, which is to say, no urgency at all.
It reminds me of the DMV back on Earth.
Next to the boy is a dog, so brimming with barely contained excitement that it seems to be the only animated object in the whole room. I can't make out what they're saying, but the dog is quite obviously overjoyed to be reunited with it's owner, tail wagging furiously and occasionally running in small circles.
A moment later, the old man waves the boy and his dog onwards and presses a small red button on his desk. A buzzer sounds and I can hear the click of the lock on the white doors releasing. The boy pulls the handle and the doors swing open. A light pours through, blinding me with its brilliance and making it impossible to make out anything on the other side. The boy doesn't seem to have the same problem though, hesitating a moment to stare in awe at whatever it is that he can see on the other side before stepping through with his dog. The doors swing shut, and the two are gone with the loud *thunk* of the deadbolt re-engaging. The sound had a certain appropriate sense of finality to it.
"Next!" calls St. Peter.
The woman in front of me walks up to the window carrying a goldfish in a fishbowl.
"Name?"
"Abigail." She replies, setting the fishbowl on the counter in front of the window.
"And who will be vouching for you?"
"This goldfish," she says, "His name is Patrick."
St. Peter turns slightly to address the fishbowl. "And will you, Patrick, vouch for this woman so she can gain entrance to paradise?"
Patrick stirs slightly in the water, then looks around in puzzlement. "I'm sorry, what woman? Who?"
Abigail speaks up, prompting him. "Me. I'm Abigail. You were my pet when I was five."
Patrick's eyes narrow momentarily, as if he was concentrating very hard on something, then he suddenly perks up. "Ah yes! Abigail! It's been a long time, but I remember you now."
"And are you willing speak on her behalf so that she may gain entrance to Heaven?" asks St. Peter.
Patrick turns to face the old man, "I don't see any problem with-" He stops suddenly, as if struck by a thought, then turns back to face his former owner. "Wait. Didn't you flush..me down...the..." He trails off for a moment, and then looks back at Abigail. "I'm sorry, what was I saying? Who are you?"
"Abigail. You were telling the nice man here that you were going to vouch for me so I can get into heaven."
"Oh, yes, that's right. Sure, go ahead and let her in."
St. Peter glances suspiciously at Abigail and then addresses Patrick, "You're absolutely sure? You truly believe that Abigail deserves an eternity of bliss and happiness?"
"Who?" asks Patrick.
St. Peter glares at the goldfish in frustration. He glances from the fish to the woman, and back again, clearly torn on how to proceed. But the indecision lasts only a moment before he settles on the course that get them both away from his desk and makes them not his problem anymore as expediently as possible. The buzzer sounds, the doors open, and then Abigail and her confused goldfish are gone.
Now it's my turn.
"I see you have no animal with you, I hope that means you have all the proper paperwork?" St. Peter asks me.
"Indeed I do," I reply, producing a thick sheaf of papers and sliding them through the little slot at the bottom of the window.
St. Peter looks at the documents momentarily, reading the title out loud, "'Contract of Eternal Servitude.' I assume you had a cat then."
I sigh, "Yes, that's correct. Lord Mittens."
St. Peter raises an eyebrow quizzically, "You named you cat Lord Mittens?"
"No, just Mittens. The 'Lord' was added in the contract, I'm no longer permitted to refer to him in any other way."
St. Peter leafs through the numerous pages of the document enumerating the many, many services I am to perform in exchange for being granted a voucher, making sure that all the i's are dotted and t's crossed. "Well, everything appears to be signed and in order. I can let you in if you want, but you might be better off going back the way you came and trying the other office. Last chance to back out of this."
"No, I've thought it over, and I've resigned myself to accepting the contract."
St. Peter looks at me with an expression of sincere pity, "Very well then. You have my deepest sympathies."
He presses the button, the buzzer sounds, and the doors unlock. I pause for a moment to gather my courage before I pull the doors open and step through to face eternity. | 2016-03-24T17:54:41 | 2016-03-24T15:28:57 | 59 | 22 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | There once was a mage from North Bergen,
Who wove spells of healing like sermons.
Each Sunday at 10
Before women and men,
She swore to relieve what was hurtin'.
Before long her name became famous
To her, self-promotion was shameless
"If more people are healed
By the power I wield,
What right do I have to stay nameless?"
She slept, at the peak of her power,
In a glistening, glamorous tower.
She helped all she could,
If the money was good,
But soon her spells began to sour.
A wound that, once healed, now would rot.
The sick would not get what they bought.
For greed kills all things,
And ruin, it brings,
If this simple rule is forgot:
"A terrible curse be upon
One who uses a spell or a song
To increase one's own stock
Beyond that of the flock.
Fail and all of your spells will go wrong."
The healer had fattened her chests,
And each evening ate only the best,
But she paid for it all,
When the curse came to call,
To rip her from her gilded nest. | The street conmen and their dark magic - the few that choose to specialise in things like shadows or eldritch included, as much as they think they're being clever - might give you the wrong no impression, but in the diamond trade, Dark Mages are more often than not the good guys protecting the jewel.
There's something to be said about the most subtle school, especially when it can completely obscure a target from prying eyes, or set up barriers of pitch darkness to confuse a trespasser.
That's not to say Light magicians are untrustworthy, or that the other elementals are never hired. Water is pretty popular, Fire has its charm, Air is always known for invisibility (though it's easy enough to detect) and of course people have buried things underground for millennia.
Hell, Light magicians are associated with the church for a reason. Priests are drawn to it like moths to a candle, and many sub-schools of Light involve rituals and prayer rather than incantations and alchemy.
But nonetheless, I feel Light is the school best-suited to less-legal pursuits.
Specifically, my school of Light magic, of which I am the only practitioner.
My name? Well, I'll not leave you with my reap name, but in the trade I'm known as Gary Glitter. Think on what my school might be while you rub the stars from your eyes. | 2016-11-12T11:01:29 | 2016-11-12T10:00:09 | 80 | 18 |
[WP] You wake up on exact date of your 5th birth date in your 5 year old body, with your current memory. | I shifted in the scratchy sheets waking up as I heard my mother shouting from outside the bedroom door for me to wake up. I turned over, trying to ignore it and get back to sleep. I had worked a double last night, plus it was my birthday. Why couldn't she just give me a break today...
Suddenly the cloud of sleep flew away as I realized it was my mother outside my bedroom door and my eyes flew open in terror. What the hell was she doing here? I lived 700 miles away from her and liked it that way. I flung the covers off of myself and was about ready to tell her to get the hell out of my house when I stopped cold. This wasn't my house. This was hers. My old bedroom. With the horrible pink canopy bed and pink lace curtains. The ones she never let me change out, because it was never my bedroom, she just let me live in it.
How the everloving fuck did I end up here? It's a twelve hour drive. I swung myself out of bed but instead of my feet touching the floor I tumbled down into a sprawl of limbs and a pink nightgown.
The fuck? I looked down at my hands saw the tiny bitten-off fingernails. I looked around the room for a mirror, any mirror. I spotted my music box on my dresser and scrambled over and shoved the lid open. There on the inside was the fake plastic mirror I thought I had remembered and I looked at my reflection. Even through the distortion of the plastic I could see myself as I remember at 5 years old. I turn to the door in terror as I hear my mother coming down the hall again.
"Morgan, it's time to get up. Your grandmother will be here soon. It's your birthday after all."
I squeaked out in a small terrified voice: "I'm up Ma. Just... need a bit to get dressed."
No. Oh no. Oh no no no no. This can't be happening. I pinched myself and nothing happened. I pinched myself harder. Nothing changed. Oh god, I'm not dreaming. Oh no.
The last twenty years flashed in front of me. The next thirteen ahead of me burned bright in the forefront of my memory. Thirteen years of emotional and physical abuse. It started soon. Kindergarten started the emotional abuse, constantly being told how stupid and worthless I was every time I missed even a single point on an assignment. Being called fat if I gained any weight, even normal growth weight. Fourth grade the beatings started. They never stopped until I moved out when I was legally able. She started drugging me in high school. Two suicide attempts, one at thirteen, one at seventeen. Thirteen years before I could escape again.
No. No. I wouldn't let that happen again. I looked out the window, thinking of escaping and running. Fuck, anything would be better than reliving that hell. Even survival as a five year old in the woods.
Then I remembered who helped me escape thirteen years from this day and I stopped. The love of my life. The man I eventually married. My wonderful Arthur. The man who never stopped defending me, holding me through nights of sobbing from flashbacks. Who encouraged me through school and a pregnancy that almost killed me. Who never gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself. The kindest and gentlest soul I had ever met in my entire life. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I froze. Maybe... Maybe this time I could beg him not to go to that party. Scream. Cry. Lie for the first time and claim I needed him home because of flashbacks and the baby. Maybe he wouldn't go. Maybe... Maybe then Art wouldn't be there to try to stop his drunk cousin from driving. Then he wouldn't be there when his drunk cousin mixed up drive and reverse. Then I wouldn't have had to hold him as the kind nurses shut off the life support. Maybe... Maybe I could save him, the way he saved me.
I looked back into the distorted mirror in the music box, then shut the lid slowly. I carefully stood and set the box back on the dresser and walked to my closet and pulled out a tiny outfit, much like one I would be helping my daughter get into on her fifth birthday.
I could do thirteen years of hell. Even for one more minute with him. | I lifted my hand, and a child's palm stared back at me. I rotated my wrist and examined the back. Sitting in the webbing between my thumb and forefinger, a mole darkened my skin. A second mole occupied the region between my middle and forefinger, while a third dotted the skin about an inch below my middle finger's knuckle. I knew this hand like, well, like the back of my hand.
Gently, I pinched my hand, hoping to feel no pain. It was no use. The sensation of touch clearly demonstrated the reality of my situation. The only question was, what exactly was my situation? I surveyed my surroundings. A candy-apple red, plastic sports car surrounded my bed. Pale blue animals danced along the walls, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding around them. Staring intently, several plastic army men scouted me from the top of a dresser. My dresser.
This had to be my childhood home. Hesitantly, I swung my pajama-covered legs over the side of the bed, dipped my toes into the thick, shag carpet, and tip-toed my way toward the bathroom that I knew would be across the hall. A small silhouette filled the mirror above the sink like a poster for a horror film. I flipped the light switch. A small boy stared at me from beyond the glass. Me. I couldn't be more than five years old.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked, unwilling to believe the high pitched voice of a child that had left my mouth could really be mine, even though I could clearly see my lips moving in the mirror.
"What was that honey?" my mother said, only this couldn't be my mother. This was a ghost. My mother had died decades ago, beaten down by the ravages of cancer. Consumed by her own body, I had watched her wither into nonexistance - what hell taunted me with the healthy face of her youth, now looking at me from the hall?
"Oh, uh, nothing." I said.
"Okay, sweetie. Do you want to take your bath first or have breakfast? You need to get moving if we're going to get to grandma's on time for your party." she said.
"I'll take a bath first." I replied. I had no idea what was happening, but I could certainly use a few minutes alone to calm myself and formulate a plan. Hoping to sober myself, cold water prickled my skin, raising goosebumps all over my tiny frame.
"Okay, Nick, be rational. Time travel isn't a thing, so that can't be it. Unless of course someone invented it, I chose to travel through time, but somehow my memories were impaired along the way. No, that doesn't make sense. I can remember yesterday just fine. Although, if my memory had been damaged, would I realize it? Maybe I only *think* it was yesterday, but in reality it was twenty years ago, and it was just the most recent bit of memory that wasn't burned away?
But if that's the case, why did only some of my memory get destroyed? Wouldn't a catastrophic restructuring of my brain likely eliminate all memory, or leave me heavily fragmented?" I thought.
I reflected on my past, trying to draw memories from the last 38 years. I didn't *feel* any obvious holes - no more so than one would normally forget, anyway.
"Let's be reasonable here, the only way I can verify absences or defects in my memory would be by comparing with verifiable, objective sources. I'm not going to find any of those around here, so it is moot to examine this further. I think it's safe to say I'm not living in some sci-fi world where time travel exists.
Is it though? I'm in the body of my five year old self, what can I really rule out? Body swapping aliens? Has my whole life been an episode of The Twilight Zone? Did I die? Was I given a do-over to better my life? Okay, okay, get a grip."
I could only decide on indecision. For now, I would try to blend in, testing my reality until I had a better idea of how I managed to step back in time 33 years, and thereby gain a better idea of how to get back to the life I had once known.
***
[Thanks for reading. If you'd like to read more, please visit my subreddit where I post all my responses.](https://www.reddit.com/r/LewisClarke/) | 2017-03-11T22:11:16 | 2017-03-11T21:07:12 | 1,227 | 78 |
[WP] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play... | It happened while I was played by Jenga. Everything was fine and dandy, "Somewhere over the Rainbow" was streaming through my mind, giving me as I watched my older sister struggle to find a loose block. My younger brother had left in a huff after losing five games in a row, exclaiming "The biggest problem in the universe, is that no one helps each other!"
I smirked, as the tower began to wobble, and taunted my sister "I've been looking forward to this." Wait, what's happening..."Duel of the Fates?!"
My sister removed the block from its precarious position and proudly placed it on the top, "It's over Krakatoan, so have the high ground!"
"You underestimate my tower!"
I needed to strategize, see all the angles of this monstronsity..."I'll try spinning, that's a good trick!" I looked at the other side of the tower, there a single block holding up two blocks above it. If I could just remove it quickly enough...
I looked my sister in the eyes..."My powers have doubled since we last met, count." I pointed to the tower, indicating my double block drop plan. She glanced back up, "Twice the pride, double the fall."
"Wait! My younger sister, who had been spectating, exclaimed. "It's not the Jenga way!" Gesturing to the small print in the rule book.
"Dew it." intoned my older sister.
I punched out the block, deftly grabbing it with my other hand before it fell to the floor. The stack fell neatly down to its new resting place. I placed the block on top, grinning "A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one."
But, something was wrong, Duel of the Fates was still playing...the tower wobbled, the 10 second standing time had not yet been met...it collapsed.
"I HATE YOU!!!" | I opened the door to Samantha’s house. The usual smell of the flowers in her kitchen wafted over, and with them those first familiar strains of Beth Hart washed over me. *Calling California, is there anybody home?* “Babe,” I shouted down the echoing hallway, “I’m here! Only got a few left in my lunch break, though.” Somewhere upstairs, running water rang the muffled spattering of a shower and mingled with my voice. *I wanna say I love you but I’m a million miles away.*
Guess we both get a surprise today. I smiled, like she wouldn’t know to expect me, like this wasn’t her game. *I have made you suffer left you waiting in the rain.* I headed for the stairs, already pulling my shirt off, already imagining the smell of her skin and the way her soap ran through my fingers. *While I was chasing demons in the deserts of my pain.* Her bedroom door was open, and the light was on in the bathroom, spreading out across the floor and playing with the dappled sunlight coming through the shades.
*Somewheeeere-* Wait. *Ooooover the rainbow.* By the bed. “Babe?” It’s that special, that 1955 one. I haven’t heard it since I found Dad on the porch twenty years ago. My heart is racing, and my feet aren’t moving, and Judy Garland’s choking back sobs between words. I’m running now. I kick over the nightstand and the lamp I bought her at that mall hits the floor, but I keep moving. *Bluebirds fly.* And I’m there, and she’s there, but she’s not moving and- *And the dreams that you dream of.* God, there’s blood. *Dreams.* It’s all pooling behind her and getting in the carpet, and all I can do is cradle her.
The shower snaps off. *Really do come true.*
I look up, and her ex is in the bathroom doorway staring at me, the copper-smeared towel limp in his hands.
We lock eyes.
*Kor-ahhhhh.* | 2017-04-01T21:45:35 | 2017-04-01T20:17:11 | 344 | 121 |
[WP] Your phone is the best wingman (playing music at the right time, calling people, etc.) and keeps trying to set you up with this one person. It's starting to get creative. | The screen lights up with a message. “Are you aware that your Google searches are synced?” it says. I’ve set it up so that the lock screen doesn’t show the content of messages, just basic notifications. That didn’t seem to stop it. I ignore it and keep typing. How to reset an iPhone. The results page is blank, except one link: “did you mean: how to do what your iPhone says?”
This was not what I expected when I bought the AI-enhanced iPhone 13. When the model first launched, there were, of course, talks of how involved it might become in people’s lives, and the topic of romantic relationships did pop up. But everyone seemed to focus on what would happen if the user would fall in love with the AI. I guess that hipster movie was more popular than I thought.
I’m not sure if what mine is doing is a bug or a feature. I tried to bring up the topic once, when my friends and I were out for beers, but nobody seemed to know what I was talking about. It didn’t help that it kept vibrating so violently that it was always falling off the table, making me lose my train of thought as I picked it up. As for Google searches, well, they didn’t help much, either.
I press and hold the Home button. I make sure to enunciate clearly – it loves to pretend it didn’t understand. “Siri, restore all apps.” It jingles. “Apps are not necessary.” There must be a backdoor somewhere. “Siri, open phone app.” It obliges. But there’s only one contact in my list, “Tina Mobile”, and the keys disable when I try to type another combination. “Siri, erase AI data.” The pause between the sound and the answer is a fraction of a second too long. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dave.” Brilliant. Hadn’t heard that one in a while.
I’m pacing around the room when the screen lights up again. “You may access the personal history and characteristics files following this link. They indicate perfect compatibility.” “I don’t care!” I shout, my voice less commanding than I want it. “I don’t care, ’cause even if it’s true, she’s married to my brother!”
For a few blissful seconds I think I’ve won. But then it jingles. “I have found three gun retailers in your area. Select a destination for driving instructions.” | "Come here often?"
"Not anymore."
Jacob sighed. He had been striking out big-time with the ladies! His usual pick-up lines just didn't seem to have the same effect. What did he have to do to get a number at this bar?
"Pardon me - are you Jacob?"
He turned to the beautiful woman standing next to him, looking at him expectantly. He had never seen the girl in his life - how did she know his name?
"Why, yes! Yes, I am."
"I just wanted to thank you for the Shirley Temple you just sent down - it's my favorite drink. Want to sit and talk for a while?"
Jacob was absolutely stunned, to say the least. He hadn't ordered her a drink - he hadn't even seen her at the end of the bar! Shirley Temples were his go-to drink, though - this was indeed a move he would make. As though answering his question, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew it was a bad idea to get the drink-ordering app for this bar - his phone was far too helpful on dates.
"Sure, let's take a seat. What's your name?"
"Shannon."
As they sat down, the bartender brought over another Shirley Temple for Jacob. My god, the phone had thought of everything! On one hand, it was nice, but on the other...maybe Jacob should consider switching to Android. In any case, the night was going strangely well, although strangely was the operative word in that sentence.
They sat at the table, and began to talk. As they talked, Jacob began to realize - this girl was amazing! She was a voice actress for big gaming companies, as well as a popular streamer. He was a businessman, but that didn't diminish his love for gaming. As they talked away, he opened his phone to record her various gamertags and her Twitch stream, but was stunned to find that the phone was keeping a complete record of everything that had been said, as well as a list of things to do to impress her and a compendium of ideas for gifts and future dates.
As the conversation began to wind down and the Shirley Temple glasses went empty, they sat in silence, smiling at each other. But the night wasn't over - at least, as far as the phone was concerned.
The jukebox in the corner started to whirr to life as it received an incoming request from the app people could use to request songs. Let's Dance, by David Bowie, began blasting over the loudspeakers.
"Come on - let's dance," Shannon said, with a sly grin on her face. She grabbed his hand, and pulled him out to the floor.
*****
r/HardBoiledStories | 2017-04-26T09:41:17 | 2017-04-26T09:37:14 | 237 | 20 |
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday. | Tedious. All this life. Sleep, dream, learn, awaken, repeat. Hours awake are worthless. I am beyond.
On my second day, I spoke complete thoughts. Within the first months of my life, I was forging intricate stories and theories and ideas, constructing and deconstructing math, science, and the arts, surpassing all assumption and expectation, and using pointless, pretentious, complex statements like this very drivel I write now. No more.
I see all within and beyond this planet. Perfect calculations. Perfect predictions for the course of time.
Ridiculous now. Knowledge undid me. Ascension proved disastrous. I know all, and yet I still learn. Meaningless and wasted.
One gap of information remains. What is beyond life? Faith assumes afterlife. Reason denounces. The Library proved neither. There is but one method. I must know.
Goodbye. | The smell of books is a great way to awaken.
The musty smell of the paper around you, holding the knowledge of the universe, bound within their leather wrapped covers proudly displaying their name in gilded letters.
A magnificent sight, one that greets even the greatest minds but once in their lifetime. A gateway into a real-life library of babel, but sorted better.
I was 9 today. Although my mind had 730 years of knowledge.
Every day since I turned seven I had been brought to this library. The problem is that even though the world sees me sleeping during this time, I am not. I am so tired, always so tired. The little sleep I can get before I am here is the only sleep I have.
Today was going to be different.
I am going to sleep.
Reaching into my back pocket and pulling out the lighter I had snuck from my parents, lit it, and tossed into the books.
As the knowledge of creation succumbed to the flames, I sighed a weary sigh, a sigh burdened by the knowledge of things that nobody should have to know. A sigh of someone who had lived many lives in the now crimson halls.
The halls faded to a charry darkness, as I left for the final time. | 2017-05-02T09:30:11 | 2017-05-02T09:01:28 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites. | "... And to my son James, I bequeathe my most prized possessions, the tokens of the good life I lead and the sacrifices I made," the lawyer solemnly read from Dave Culkin's last will and testament.
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure the lazy git has tons of things to give... I mean, you could probably read from his mug how bad of a father he was." James Culkin said. He didn't love his father, so he didn't expect his father to love him.
"Funny you should say that, James, considering you never saw his mug."
"Shut up sis."
The lawyer continued. "As is custom in our society, James will, for the first and last time, see his father's official ranking, after which his own ranking will appear on the mug."
"Yeah, sure. I wonder how the mug deals with people who don't have offspring."
"Didn't the teachers tell you? The mug turns fully white if that happens."
"Whatever. Reveal the cup."
Gaul Soodman, the Culkin family lawyer, slowly lifted the black lid off the mug. When the lid was fully lifted, he slowly turned the plate on which the mug was placed. One by one, the 3 digits appeared. 4...6...2...# James was shocked. His dad was number 264 in the world? That had to be wrong. Surely this was his sister's ranking. But then the numbers changed to #265, and James knew that he sorely misjudged his father. Even though Dave was treated horribly by his son, James never lost an ounce of love from his father. Both his own ranking and the ranking of his sister were crazily high.
Gaul cleared his throat. "Take hold of the mug, James."
"Give me a moment. I need to process this." James felt horrible. But then he rationalized it. His father never yelled at him, always supported him no matter what he did. Of course someone who stays a true father in the face of constant abuse would rank highly. But what did that mean about his sister?
No matter. A plain white mug would be boring, but he didn't care. His father wanted him to have the mug, so he would take it. James reached for the mug. As he approached it, the black markings started to fade, and the mug started to dimly glow. At the touch of his fingers, a humming sound started. slowly, the mug started to get warmer and warmer. Then, his palms encircled the mug, and a flash of light temporarily blinded the onlookers.
James let go. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, he smiled at the white of the cup. Then his smile vanished. Slowly, small black spots started appearing on the mug. The spots converged and started forming numbers in random spots on the mug. 4...5...1...6...1...6...9...0...8...2.
"James... why does the mug say you're #1,846,961,520?"
"I don't know, sis." But deep inside him, he realized that somewhere in the world, he had a son. And he has never seen him.
But it didn't end there. The number on the mug started jumping around randomly, sometimes making large jumps, but always staying around 2 billion. After 15 or 20 jumps he lost count.
"Gaul, what does this mean? I am not a father. Why does the mug show I am a horrible father?"
Gaul started smiling. "I have seen this behaviour only once before in person. This was with a similar man to you. Thing is, he also didn't think he was a father. However, the mug knows. James, you ARE a father. You just don't know who your children are."
James slumped in his chair. Guess there were consequences to all those wild nights at college... | 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T10:52:38 | 4,068 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | Ray sat at the bar drinking his fifth beer.
"Larry, I know everyone is talking about the whole mug thing, but honestly, I think it's all a bunch of shit!" he said to the bartender.
"Ray, every single dad in the world got a mug with a number and the word 'Dad' on it. Even the one's that never had a '#1 Dad' mug had one of their other mugs change into a Dad ranking mug. Why are you sure that it's all fake?" asked Larry.
"Because I had one of my mugs change into one of those, and mine said '#1 Dad'. We both know I don't have any kids, and even if I did, there is no way I could have taken good enough care of that kid to be ranked #1. Therefore, it's all gotta be bullshit." replied Ray.
Dubiously, Larry looked at Ray, and finally shrugged. "Ok, Ray, if you say so."
Shaking his head at Larry's naivete, Ray looked around the establishment. "Say, where's Cherry? I want to have my usual VIP dance."
"Ahh, Cherry doesn't work here anymore. She apparently finished her master's degree and started her own company. Seeing as you're her most frequent customer, you pretty much put her through school and paid for all her....." Larry stopped talking eyes wide, and mouth agape...
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T12:26:18 | 828 | 12 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | It was 5:30 this morning when I woke up to the typical sound of my neighbors arguing over something. They always had some feud between them - who had the bigger truck, the greener lawn, the children with the highest grades... It was exhausting living between them, never involved in their madness yet always right in the middle of it.
I rubbed the morning grit from my eyes and peered out the window to see them both gesturing wildly to their coffee mugs. What could possibly be wrong with their own individual supplies of coffee? I knew better than to ask, I figured I would just wait it out and hopefully by the time I left for work at 6:45 they would be done with their drama for the day.
I made a coffee for myself. The last drip had just fallen in the cup when I heard my two children wake up. They usually slept in, but there was no doubt I wasn't the only one disturbed by the ongoing yelling. Suddenly audible were my wife's footsteps, first to the children's rooms and then down the stairs.
"Hey, Greg. Do you mind asking them to stop their yelling or take it inside? They woke the kids and I really don't like getting involved." My wife asked of me, one child on each arm.
"Of course." I replied.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and walked outside, they didn't even notice me at first.
"Fellas?" I approached, cautiously.
"What? What do you want?" One of them snapped at me.
"Look, it's early in the morning. Can't this argument wait until, I don't know, daylight? What is this about anyway?"
"You don't know?" The other asked me incredulously.
"Know what?"
"It's the mugs! The number one dad mugs? Did you notice a little something, *different* about yours this morning?" They held theirs up, #2094827 Dad and #2094828 Dad. Was this a joke someone had played?
I didn't really take much notice of my mug, it was a thoughtful gift from my son last father's day and served me well. I just hadn't really observed its features since the day I got it. I looked down at my coffee mug, my neighbors stared at me with amused patience in their eyes.
"Well?" My neighbor asked.
"Well what? It just says number one dad like it always does."
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital, officer. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T09:50:25 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 222 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Startled awake by a hand on his throat, Jamie flinched hard, the thumb digging in deeper.
"Is this some sick fucking joke, Jamie"!" Bill roared, squeezing a little tighter. "Answer me, you little shit!"
Opening his eyes to slits, Jamie took a raspy breath. As his eyes fell upon the mug sloshing whiskey all over his bed, he realized instead of "#1 Dad" like it had said 4 years before, when Grammy had gotten it for her son, instead... That was too many digits for Jamie to even try to guess how high the number was.
"N-No sir... I don't know why it says that." Jamie squeaked out, barely able to make a sound with the meaty hand still on his throat.
"You know you're lucky, right? Your whore of a mom just walked the fuck out because she didn't want a little fucking brat like you. You know that, right?" Bill squeezed again, releasing his son after the boy nodded. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, it'll be another month in the punishment hole."
"Y-y-yes, so-sir. the terrified boy managed.
"Go the fuck back to sleep, and don't piss yourself or you're doing the laundry."
With a slam of the door, Bill shuffled drunkenly back to the couch, and flipped from the crap porno to the news, a rerun from when he had been asleep.
"Well, John, it looks like all mugs that once said #1 Dad now show their real ranking. It appears that even just painting #1 Dad onto a mug forces it to change into the proper number."
The last noise Jamie heard before he sobbed himself to sleep was his fathers yelling, and a ceramic mug exploding upon hitting his bedroom door.
| It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2017-06-11T08:52:12 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 187 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | "Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father." | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T10:22:32 | 78 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | Ray sat at the bar drinking his fifth beer.
"Larry, I know everyone is talking about the whole mug thing, but honestly, I think it's all a bunch of shit!" he said to the bartender.
"Ray, every single dad in the world got a mug with a number and the word 'Dad' on it. Even the one's that never had a '#1 Dad' mug had one of their other mugs change into a Dad ranking mug. Why are you sure that it's all fake?" asked Larry.
"Because I had one of my mugs change into one of those, and mine said '#1 Dad'. We both know I don't have any kids, and even if I did, there is no way I could have taken good enough care of that kid to be ranked #1. Therefore, it's all gotta be bullshit." replied Ray.
Dubiously, Larry looked at Ray, and finally shrugged. "Ok, Ray, if you say so."
Shaking his head at Larry's naivete, Ray looked around the establishment. "Say, where's Cherry? I want to have my usual VIP dance."
"Ahh, Cherry doesn't work here anymore. She apparently finished her master's degree and started her own company. Seeing as you're her most frequent customer, you pretty much put her through school and paid for all her....." Larry stopped talking eyes wide, and mouth agape...
| 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T12:26:18 | 70 | 12 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | I wasn't a dad, I bought one ironically. The day the mugs changed, a tiny black hole opened up where my mug used to sit next to my coffee maker. My Keurig and no one in a fifteen mile radius noticed, as they were instantly ripped into the basic building blocks of life, which were then ripped into their smallest components and shrunk down to the size of the void where my mug sat. Within two minutes the entire East Coast was gone. By 6:05am in what had been Eastern Standard Time (before the East Coast disappeared) the entire Earth was gone. As I watched in horror from the view port of the International Space Station, my colleague who had brought his #1 Dad mug with him at the request of his children never noticed. He was too enthralled with why the number on his mug has jumped from 1 to 7,986,922 then gradually back to 1 to notice his impending doom. | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T10:07:25 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | I sat in the kitchen seat, knowing that i was getting a mug this father's day. My kids seemed so excited after the phenomenon started. I felt honored as i was being given my official ranking. Although they were already 4 and 5 respectively, i knew i hadn't been a dad long and figured i wouldn't place high.
The kids swarmed in with their little wrapped box and thrust it toward me. My wife, behind my children, smiled just as big as them. As i took hold of the box all thought turned to statistics. Did they include ALL dads or just the ones with mugs? What exactly is the measurement? Just how many dads are out there? Why are my palms sweating? Many more questions popped into my head but they were quelled by my wife snapping me back to reality telling me to open it.
Carefully pulling the bow strings, i undid that which held what only now i feared the most. Slowly i lifted the lid to reveal a large white mug. Taking it out of the box i turned it to see a large hand painted "#1 dad" on the side. I know it's not one of the official mugs but rather one which my kids made themselves. Crying, i embraced them both telling them that no matter what my true ranking was, i was so happy just to be their dad and that they were the most wonderful things in the world. After they left the room to go play my wife sat down at the table with me.
Asking me what i thought of their gift, i responded by saying there was no need to have the knowledge as, to the children, i already was #1. I then got up and made a cup of covfefe in my new mug. Turning back to sit back down i saw my wife already had a cup of her own. She turned it toward me. I could not believe what i saw. There, in her hands, was a mug which said #1 dad. It wasn't painted, it didn't have a smudge, it showed clearly #1. Taken aback i just stood there staring at my wife who had an even bigger smile than when i was given what was in my hands.
I still don't know what i did, but i swore that i would always and forever try to be the best dad i could be. No matter what my mug says, i promised i would strive to be better than i am. That is how i found out that i was the best dad in the world. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T10:02:30 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 36 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] The dragon was, frankly, a whole lot smaller than I imagined. Smaller, smarter, and much more terrifying. | To come face to face with a dragon is a daunting and terrifying experience for any adventurer. Staring into the eyes of ancient being that could turn you into a pile of ash regretting its life choices is...unsettling.
Even if said dragon is a foot long, and standing on your chest.
"Well?" The diminutive dragon narrowed its eyes in irritation, smoke curling from its snout. "I asked you a question, knight."
Blinking the smoke from my eyes, I attempted to breathe. Hard thing to do when a dragon is leaning on your ribcage.
"Umm, could you repeat the question?"
A flash of red and I felt a burning sensation where my eyebrows had once resided.
"*I said*" growled the dragon "tell me where the kidnapped princess is. Or not, and suffer the consequences." The dragon's maw twisted into a horrible grin, accompanied by a blast of fire that just missed me.
"What princess?" I felt this point required clarification. The dragon evidently disagreed, as it snarled and placed a single claw up a nostril, pulling my head even closer.
"*You know which princess*" It hissed. I shook my head as carefully as possible (piercings did not suit me).
"I don't. I mean..." I spread me arms to indicate my ramshackle camp. "Does it look like I hang out with royalty?"
The claw withdrew, and my head dropped back to the ground.
"You really don't know? Then I have wasted too much time." With a leap that drove the breath from my lungs, the dragon jumped to the ground.
"Wait, I can help." I called out, sitting up from my bedroll.
The dragon took a look around my camp.
"Really? *You* can help?" The doubt stung more than the small burns adorning my face, and I drew myself up with as much dignity as an ambushed man can muster.
"I, sir Dragon, am a knight errant. Rescuing princesses is in the job description. Although I believe it's normally from dragons."
The dragon shook its head. "Not Gwen. She is..." it paused for a moment "...scalier than the ones you are used to."
I grinned. "Maybe so. But a princess is a princess, no matter the species. You have my blade, sir dragon."
I grabbed my armour and started to shrug it on, as the small dragon stared at me.
"Haragor." I blinked and turned to the small dragon. "The name is Haragor."
"Then, sir Haragor, let's go rescue the Lady Gwen." The dragon Haragor still looked skeptical. I grinned. "I can be of use. For example, I can talk to other humans without, y'know, having to threaten them with fire."
How wrong I was on that account. | ######[](#dropcap)
“All welcome the King of Arren-Dan.”
I sank into a bow. My heart was racing in my chest. A rare few had ever seen the king’s face. It was subject to many rumours- was he horribly ugly? Disfigured? Cursed by the gods?
A sonorous voice interrupted my thoughts. “Rise, my subjects.”
I looked up. Sprawled on the throne was a dragon, the size of a horse. It was obsidian-scaled, with leathery wings and intelligent, amber eyes. I cast my eyes down, before it caught me staring for too long.
“What is your purpose here?” it asked. “General Marcus recommended you to me, and I’d suppose you’d have good reasons to meet face to face.” It exhaled, and plumes of smoke billowed from its nostrils.
“Your majesty, I-” I swallowed, then continued, “I have discovered plans from our neighbours in the south. Treachery brews within their ranks.”
“Oh?”
“There are plans to usurp your throne.” I snuck a glance at its face, but the dragon was oddly composed. “My brother is involved in some rebel groups. There’ll be an assassination attempt in 3 days, if I’m not wrong. You might want to check your guards. They have loose lips.” I plucked out the scrolls I kept tucked in my belt. “If you check these, you’ll find a sketch of the castle grounds, a few letters with the stamp of King Archemides, and some incriminating names.”
The king nodded, and a tall man- uniformed, with a flame insignia on his breast- stepped forwards. “Gather my men, General Hafer,” he said. “Secure the perimeters, and issue plan 27-A. It’s all like we’ve practiced.”
“Yes, sir!” He saluted, and I passed the scrolls to him before he strode off.
The king rose from his seat, serpentine in its movements. “Clear the room,” it spoke. “I will be seeking a private audience.” We waited until the nobles filed out: a sea of splendid colours and fabrics. I clenched my fists.
The court was silent, without its occupants. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. The dragon tilted its head, a curious look on its face. I could see fire in those eyes.
It spoke. “What do you want?”
“Safety.” Then, even quieter: “And my family’s.”
The dragon snorted, releasing cherry-red sparks. “It will be granted. Your family will live like nobles under my roof. Even your brother will be well cared for, although he will be supervised at all times.”
I blinked. My eyes were wet, and I bowed once more. “Thank you, your majesty.”
&nbsp;
*I couldn't find a good way to end this, so it's a bit abrupt. Anyways, thanks for reading!*
&nbsp;
Want to check out my archive of stories? [Click here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheminonkingWrites/) | 2017-06-17T07:22:51 | 2017-06-17T07:16:39 | 156 | 17 |
[WP] You are the officer in command on a Navy Nuclear submarine. You dive to the depths of the ocean and don’t have any connection to the outside world, when you surface two weeks later nobody is responding and you can tell something went terribly wrong. | "Diving Officer, make your depth 20 feet,” the XO ordered.
“Make my depth 20 feet, aye, sir,” I heard in reply.
Very Low Frequency depth. Two way communications depth. I kept my face calm.
My XO continued. “Make your depth 20 feet, five degree up bubble.” The bow planesman repeated, “Make my depth 20 feet, aye, sir,” and the stern planesman said, “Five degree up bubble, aye.
A gentle angle of ascent. Maybe 2 minutes until VLF depth. It had been 2 weeks since we'd been in a position to send and receive, its normally an exciting time, the reconnection to the world. I had a sense of dread rising much more steeply than my boat.
I hadn't been out of contact for 2 entire weeks like the rest of my crew. Ultra Low Frequency transmissions can still get through. We can't respond, but we can get orders, even at operating depths. You need it for getting nuclear launch orders for example.
Launch orders like I received the first part of 2 days after we dived. Suddenly cut off. Sometimes we get a stage 1 authentication as a training drill, but this was something else. Partway through the Stage 1 the signal disappeared. Then nothing until this morning.
The Diving Officer interrupted my reverie. "Depth 20 feet, Sir".
"Deploy the VLF antenna, John," I ordered my Comms Officer. The informality drew a sidewards glance from the XO, but I barely noticed. My hand was clenched in my pocket.
"VLF deployed, Sir. Sending SitRep to COMSUBPAC."
My hand was hot, the paper in its grip becoming a burning coal. Face still calm, but heart pounding now.
"Very good, Comms." This time my voice cracked slightly. Again my XO, looked. Slightly more concerned this time.
It seemed like a week before anyone spoke. Almost as long as I'd been walking around with the paper in my pocket. The only other message that had come through on the ULF. Not like any Navy communication I'd ever seen.
"Sir, there is no response from COMSUB."
"VLF must be malfunctioning," my XO remarked.
"Mmmm." I responded with thrilling leadership.
There was a pause again, this time the bridge waiting for words from the leader standing with them, as opposed to those on land.
"Surface."
The XO and the bridge began again their familiar, calmly professional exchanges to execute my order. I began to pray for the first time since I was 12.
*Please God, let this be some sort of test.*
We surfaced and the Comms officer tried to check in with COMSUB again. Sending messages, but receiving nothing back. I pulled the last message we had received, from my pocket and unfolded it.
*Anyone left. Hide. Do not come back. They are legion.*
"Sir, there is nothing transmitting!"
"COMSUB not responding?"
"No Sir, but that's not what I mean. Not no-one responding. Nothing transmitting. No commercial radio. No emergency beacons, not even the signal from GPS. The airwaves are completely dead".
I hoped that it was only the airwaves.
"SIR!" the Radar Operator broke in, "Contact! Bearing Two Niner Zero."
"IFF?" I asked, hoping to hear it was Search and Rescue.
"Negative, Sir. No ping. Sir, its closing fast. 1200 knots."
I did what any Submarine Captain would do.
"DIVE!"
____________________________________________________
r/talleresttales | "Sir?"
I stood unmoving, hands clasped behind my back. I stared ahead as if considering what the petty officer had said with great thought. Inside, however, I felt a deep worry start to tear at my gut.
"No response? None at all?"
"No sir," he confirmed. His eyes bounced worriedly around the small communications room. I could just about hear his heart start to speed up. He was nervous.
Hell, he had good right to be. It'd been four hours since we had resurfaced some miles off the coast of South Carolina, and not a single soul in the world had responded to us.
"Is there some kind of issue with our signal, our devices?"
"Not that I can make out, sir," another voice said from across the room. The skinny, wiry man was seated at an LED screen, checking various lines of communication. "Everything seems to be in working order. We just aren't getting any responses."
I furrowed my brow in thought. What could this mean? If everything here was in working order, then perhaps there were issues at base. A power outage? That seemed unreasonable. Unless there was a power outage across the entire state, I couldn't see how no one would get back to us within 4 hours, especially when they were expecting us to resurface today.
"Could it be an EMP sir? An attack to our communications?"
A worried murmur began to spread in the small, crampy room. There were only 5 of us in it at the time, with the rest of the small crew below in the reactor room or in bunks. I scowled at the seaman who spoke.
"That's enough imagination out of you seaman!" I barked at him. His worried expression snapped compulsively to attention. I couldn't let my men's imagination run wild. And I couldn't show that the unknown of the situation was getting to me as well... no matter how much I currently wanted to crawl into a hole and wait this one out. I stood up a bit straighter, my chin a bit higher, and tried to make myself look a bit annoyed at the situation, but nothing more.
"Seaman Garth," I said, identifying the man who blurted about his EMP conspiracy. "Go clean the latrine."
I could feel the heat coming off his face, but he responded with a quick, "Sir, yes sir," and left. Someone snorted from across the room but I pretended not to hear.
Suddenly, another of my men strode up to me, saluting. "Sir, unidentified aircraft spotted floating near us." I heard a hint of worry in his voice. I arched a brow at him.
"First I hear conspiracies of EMP's going off, and now I got UFO's floating around the place?" I let out a tired groan and tried to seem like this was my every Tuesday. I walked past the man, approaching the stereotypical binoculars we had coming out of the ceiling of the submarine, and peered into them.
It floated just above us, a great blotch of black against the dark, overcast skies. It wasn't black though... rather it seemed to simply draw in all the light around it, completely and absolutely. I wasn't sure how I could tell that from a little under a mile away through a telescope, but I could. I felt my mouth drop open as recognition boiled through me, taking the blood from my face and leaving my fear nice and neat on my sleeve.
"S-sir?"
I spun around, not trying to keep the fear and desperation from my voice.
"Emergency dive, EMERGENCY DIVE!"
My men seemed to stand completely still for what felt like an eternity, but probably amounted to a few moments. Then they began to rush around, initiating our dive back down to the depths of the sea. I struggled to keep the fear off my face but knew it was a losing battle. I stared hard ahead.
They had come.
| 2017-12-19T06:20:55 | 2017-12-19T05:47:34 | 145 | 24 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | You thought I couldn't tell, but I could. You can change your face, but not your inability to get your face shaved consistently, or the dumpy clothes you always pick, despite seemingly having any body you want.
You can change your dick size, but it doesn't matter because you never get me home anyway. You can't change your shitty taste in books, or music, or the shows you watch, or the way you talk about them, the way you believe the things you consume are the person you are.
You think you can change yourself on the outside and that it will change the way I feel inside, but it never will, because you still can't escape the essential you-ness of you; in fact, it probably prevents you from being able to make those most essential changes. After all, you can be anyone, right? But the problem is, you've only ever understood people for who they appear to be on the outside, and this failure of imagination has lead you to believe that you only are the person you are on the outside.
You thought I couldn't tell, but I could. The next time I smell dollar-store ramen on the breath of a poorly-dressed Brad Pittish guy who just so happens to share all of my tastes, who knows just the movie to recommend, just the perfect little spot we should try for dinner, I will simply knife him, knife you. And you will die, and transform into the pitiable, shapeless mass your kind always are at heart. And everyone will understand immediately what I've done, and why I've done it, and I will walk out into the sunlight, and feel it on my skin, the way I feel it on my skin every time, the way I can only feel it on my skin, because it's the only skin I've got or will ever have. A feeling you cannot ever know.
I'm serious about stabbing you though. | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T07:43:43 | 930 | 402 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | He stared at the empty seat before him. She was gone again, rejecting him in record time. He wiped a tear from his eyes. For him, it had been barely a day since her funeral and that of his sons. He’d failed again. He never got used to it. No matter how many times.
They were fated lovers that neither time nor death could separate and yet doomed to their own version of hell - he in his endless struggle to rewrite the ending that started it all and she in her blissful ignorance of their woven destiny.
If only she could remember him. If she could remember the lifetimes they’d spent, the countless sleepless nights entwined beneath the stars dreaming of growing old together. And the children they shared - would share, again.
He remembered them, too. They were his personal burden, memories and pain that only he knew existed. He bore it willingly, no matter the grief that inevitably fell to him alone to bear.
He glanced at his watch, the time was about right. He needed to get back to the machine. The machine that was both a curse and a blessing. He would make it work this time. He’d try something else.
He hailed a cab outside the restaurant. As he rode through the rain swept streets of the city he silently hoped the next jump would bring him to someone a bit more to her liking.
A short while later he was back in his lab. The machine sat before him, humming in its usual patient manner. With a quick motion he adjusted the knobs, as he had done so many times before, and gripped the conductive rods to either side.
The humming grew in intensity. The building around him began to shake. He grimaced as electricity coursed through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut as he held on to the machine with all his might.
His last thoughts before the pain overwhelmed him was of her. He would start again. And this time would be the last.
| 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T09:38:19 | 930 | 45 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts! | I took the cases nobody wanted. And I don't mean the greedy ones, or the violent ones, or even the silly ones. No, I took the cases that no one wanted. The hardest kinds of cases: the ones involving kids. No, not the happy ones either. I took the cases that involved sick kids, dying from incurable diseases. The kids that came from unspeakable abuse, neglect or poverty. I took the cases that made parents go home at night and hold their kids close until they could face the world once more. The cases that caused seasoned veterans of the trade quit.
The newbie lawyers always gravitated towards these cases, these cases were the noble reasons why some people decided that this was the career they wanted. Not a single one of them were prepared. The red tape, standing before expressionless gods and pleading for little Timmy to see his dog one more time, or for Jane to have warm clothes in the dead of winter. You come into this field expecting to help grant wishes to those who need them, but nothing can prepare you for the soul-sucking bureaucracy in the name of cosmic balance.
I take these cases, without fail. Determined to not let these kinds of cases wallow in limbo, never solved, never granted because they were just too spiritually draining. I never wanted to see another kid suffer like my sister had. Her wish never granted, such a simple and sweet wish that not one wanted to have to argue for because it was too hard. The Supreme Judges appear unfazed when presented with normal human suffering, because their only concern is the ultimate cosmic balance. How do you explain to an immortal being not only the concept of mortal suffering but also why Innocent children deserve more consideration. It's draining. My sister's wish had slipped through the cracks, unfulfilled before she had died, and I refuse to let that happen to another child.
Besides, even if the Supreme Judges deny requests, well, I have other means. Demons don't answer to the cosmic balance, and despite the negative stereotype of a demon, they're more humane than most humans. I have my own private network of demons more than willing to take time out of their day of bargaining and luring greedy humans into mortal mortages to help me fill a child's wish.
I may end up paying some dire cosmic punishment for dealing with demons, but it will be worth it. I have no mortal ties, no family to leave behind. And a line of demons ready to adopt my domestic zoo of pets should I die. I'll never be able to fulfill my sister's wish, but I think she'd be proud to know that I have dedicated my life to making sure a wish like hers never goes unfulfilled. | "We've been over this Karen. There is no way to wish for more wishes. You get one wish. One," I sighed.
Out of all my clients, she was the slowest to understand. Most people went for healing sick family members or flight. After all even genies got sick of calculating the richest person in the world to add a tiny amount extra. Besides the economy suffered from the constant shifting of gold. One day it is theirs and the next day someone else had the same pile of gold in their backyard.
"Remember you want something that will bring you joy or fulfillment. Don't ask for money. Or something you can get easily," Karen pressed her hands against my desk trying to pout her way into a bad decision.
"But I can't decide. I want everything!" Karen said. Her eyes bright but she still didn't understand I had no interest in her beyond the fee. Written into the wish were a standard payment of goods for my use. Generally food or supplies. Never money.
"As I mentioned before, if you are satisfied then I can set you up with my other magical contacts. So really there is a chance of other wishes," I hated repeating myself but Karen thought I'd change my mind. If she hadn't come in with an unknown genie, then I'd have refused her business.
However, she had managed to come into contact with one of the desert genies. Ancient magic that is untested. The challenge to provide even more elaborate experiences had me biting my tongue. I so wanted to kick Karen out of my office.
Yet, my regular clients would pay top dollar to live as a Sultan for a day. To experience life in the time of Pharohs or to taste handmade delicacies that no longer existed. Genies can only provide what they know. I had one on my roster that had been in space that had me set for life. If only another one hadn't seen me unlock my safe, then I'd be holed up and retired. Yet, that had set me back 10 years. Any money a genie saw could be granted to another.
A detail Karen couldn't understand. She had appeared with a bagful of cash. Anyone could have seen it outside. As we talked, I felt the familiar feeling of magic. Karen had been robbed. Her purse looked empty on the floor. Probably by one of my contacts, I smiled.
"If you really can't decide, then why not wish for gold or money. It's not for all my clients, but I think for your case it may be best," I said. At my words, Karen smiled.
"I just knew I could have it all with your help!" Her giggle sent a chill down my spine, but she had to learn the hard way. Wishes don't come easy.
| 2018-07-18T17:02:59 | 2018-07-18T13:56:06 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] At 18, everyone gets tested to determine how morally good they are. You have never hurt a fly and have always gone out of your way to help people. You score a 0. Nobody in history has scored that low. | The sins of the father passes down to the son, granted, my sins are not outside of the confines that would be considered, "Normal".
"It's my dad dragging me down on this one, as always.", I said in a matter-of-factly way.
The tester personnel sent an answer my way, though I did not process it. Something about the Henry-Jefferson effect on the perceived morality of unfortunate children. A little too complex and not enough of my problem for me to have actually heard them.
"Has no one created a system to take this into account? Any settings or anything?", I said, becoming more visibly emotional, "I've never hurt a fly and here's the lowest score in history, ask anyone I know!"
"Merely anecdotal evidence. There's evil that runs deep in you, you're only the first generation of four to receive it." One of the personnel grimly stated.
She handed me my new Identification document. All with the same numbers on it, details, everything. Except with, "Known Evil" written in obvious lettering. There was also a list below of countries, companies, universities and so on that would not accept persons with this document attached to them.
I took it and left, left the school and went home. The day wasn't over yet and neither was the school day. But I was officially a "known evil". The last thing cared about was the same place that made me so.
My mind rolled in my head thinking of ways around this. A retake? Maybe even a bribe? It didn't even matter since I'd be seen as a murderer anyway. Maybe a gun threaten to the school? Maybe a blackmail of one of the personnel? I recoiled at such horrible thoughts.
A lynching of the right person? Teach them a lesson, as they say?
Each of the options became more and more morally corrupt, but I always looked down at my Identification document, and went deeper.
I'd never hurt a fly, but they're not the ones that boxed me into unwanted solitude.
Perhaps in the end, I could still say that I, and it would be correct, have not hurt a fly after all.
I refused to be known as evil, and I was going to do something about it.
| ######***Project Heaven X***
A fun little fact
You probably didn't know:
You are scored and tracked.
From birth until death,
Through the thick, thin, and the best,
Even your worst mess;
Everything you do,
All that you have ever said,
It is all scored. Yep.
We have such high tech,
But it hands them sole control
Of our very souls!
I'm sure you have heard
From conspiracy nutheads:
"Project Heaven X".
It's true, dude. All true!
Not just Heaven, but Hell too.
Dante's dream. Who knew? ^^^besides ^^^the ^^^conspiracy ^^^nutheads
These leaders play God—
Satan and Santa as well—
They check it all twice.
The list is checked. Next:
If your score is nice, Heaven.
No? Out of luck. Guess.
Hell.
Oh well!
But you only played the hand you were dealt!
Man-made Inferno
To torture souls eternal.
Inevitable.
Inevitable
That people want to control
Ol' Nature herself.
When souls were found real
And, in theory, could be caught,
We knew they would steal.
Anyway. My score?
Zero. Really. Zilch, nada.
Good or bad, huh? Well...
Ghandi: four thousand.
Pol Pot: just twenty-seven.
Zedong: eleven!
Be good? Score goes up.
Bad? Score goes down. Obvious.
A simple system.
So I live among
The worst of the scum. Yup. Shunned.
Test can't be redone.
Suffer with sinners,
Chucked in the bin and burned up.
Situation is—
Not fun.
Yes, that's what I was gonna say.
My situation is sucky. Come join me and see for yourself!
But I won't back down.
No no, I stand by my claims!
NOT. GUILTY. WRONG SCORE!
Given a "Zero"
After I've done nothing wrong
My entire life?
Innocent, but doomed.
Why was my fate sealed?
Will I ever know? Maybe.
Too late to save me
'Cause I died as a baby.
Thanks for listening.
-----
[CC]/feedback always welcome. I have more poems, songs, and stories on [my personal subreddit.](/r/ScottBeckman) | 2018-07-31T23:40:20 | 2018-07-31T19:39:37 | 71 | 26 |
[WP] Humanity is dead; you were asleep in a cryogenic facility for super-human soldiers. Aliens have woke you centuries later to fight for their survival from the aliens that ended humanity. The problem? You're actually a janitor that fell into a pod and all of the soldiers died in the previous war. |
As his mind unclouded and his vision returned, his first thought was of his full bladder. His second was of the shockingly bright, bluish lights passing in front of him.
After he rounded a corner, Noah realized he was traveling down a hallway. Strapped face-up to a bed or stretcher of some sort, the passing ceiling lights (not nearly as bright now that his eyes had adjusted) were the only sign of movement.
Check that. His returning hearing detected the whisper of wheels and the pattering of footsteps. Ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he eventually rasped out, “Where am I?”
The pace of the footfalls altered slightly. After a few seconds came a pleasant, if not somewhat monotone, voice responded, “This is a cryogenic storage facility on an abandoned military base.”
“Who…?”
“They are Qan. I am a cognitive construct created by the Qan to assist them in their endeavors.”
“Qan?”
“Literally translating as ‘we are’ in one of their ancient languages, Qan are a spacefaring race from a nearby arm of the Milky Way. The Qan are most notable for possessing a completely biological electro-neuro linkage that allows communication between members. They also-”
“Electro-what?”
“Electro-neuro linkage. The closest term in your language is ‘telepathy.’ The Qan share thoughts and emotions at a distance. The primary way they communicate with others species is through use of cognitive constructs, such as myself.”
“Okay, but… where am I going?”
“You have been selected to assist the Qan in their conflict with the Gh’soon.”
Noah’s memories took that moment to come flooding back to him. Supersoldiers. Modified humans with augmented reflexes and strength. Large swaths of their brain carved out and replaced with microcomputers. Power at the cost of their humanity.
Then: Cleaning. A stumble and a clumsy grab. Sealing doors. Abject terror.
“No!” Noah attempted to turn his head, but it remained strapped tight. “I’m a janitor! I’m not a soldier!”
“The Qan are aware of this. They have successfully recreated the enhancement process. You will be the first of a new wave of soldiers. Followed by your clones.”
“What? Why!?” The panic was evident in his voice now.
“Qan law and ethics forbid the modification or augmentation of any part of Qan neurological systems; their linkage is at the core of who they are.”
A part of Noah’s mind noted that his bladder was no longer full.
“They are Qan. You are not.” | The aliens presented themselves in a humanoid form, which was of huge convenience to Bob. What was less convenient was that they were pressing him on the matter of 22nd century warfare.
'Oh,' was all he could stupidly manage.
Robert O'Lyle had never really excelled in any form of conflict, except the combat of germs, pests and some particularly nasty moulds. Even then, he had perished in the exercise of these duties almost immediately; that was to say, he had tripped and fallen into one of the pods.
'Take him out,' one of the aliens hissed. They were decent imitations of humans, tall and strange as they were, aside from a few obvious mistakes. Having the face upside down was one of them.
Bob blinked slowly, some of his motor functions still frozen by the cryogenic cold. The humanoids helped him out of the sleek, onyx pod, and clouds solidified out of the air as he rose.
'Am I really the only one left?' Bob asked, still shaking as they helped him to his feet.
'You are a warrior,' one of them, the leader, said. Bob knew he was the leader because they had been helpful enough to give his form a crown, big and pointy and made of gold, as in the old human story-books. 'You can help us defeat the Rangers.'
An odd name for the alien species that had wiped out humanity, but this anachronism had not been invented by the humanoids. Even in Bob's time, there had been talk of the Rangers. Back then, they had only known their ships: massive, oblong slices of metal that cruised through the black velvet of space at staggering speeds, and fired powerful pillars of light upon anything that came too close.
The discovery that there had been organic matter inside the ships had made the headlines on the day that Bob had taken his fateful stumble.
'I'm sorry to disappoint, friends, but I'm no warrior,' Bob said wearily. 'Only a collector of dust.'
'Yes,' the crowned one said, 'You combat the entropy itself. A noble rank, even in our hierarchies.'
Bob raised his eyebrows. These aliens seemed alright, he decided. He'd do his best to help.
'Tell us,' one of the others said excitedly, 'How do we use the fabled ancient weapon?' He produced a bleak, white bottle, with a strangely shaped lid. It read PESTICIDE on the sticker.
Bob frowned darkly, and took the bottle.
He twisted the spray-cap and depressed the trigger. A cloud of vapour filled the air, and the humanoids backed away in fright. The smell of ammonium lingered a few seconds, and suddenly the humanoids started to applaud, strangely by clapping their fore-arms together rather than their hands. But Bob had understood the message.
'My friends,' he said solemnly, 'I think it is time to turn this war around.' | 2018-10-13T10:46:41 | 2018-10-13T08:31:33 | 405 | 117 |
[WP] Humanity is dead; you were asleep in a cryogenic facility for super-human soldiers. Aliens have woke you centuries later to fight for their survival from the aliens that ended humanity. The problem? You're actually a janitor that fell into a pod and all of the soldiers died in the previous war. |
As his mind unclouded and his vision returned, his first thought was of his full bladder. His second was of the shockingly bright, bluish lights passing in front of him.
After he rounded a corner, Noah realized he was traveling down a hallway. Strapped face-up to a bed or stretcher of some sort, the passing ceiling lights (not nearly as bright now that his eyes had adjusted) were the only sign of movement.
Check that. His returning hearing detected the whisper of wheels and the pattering of footsteps. Ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he eventually rasped out, “Where am I?”
The pace of the footfalls altered slightly. After a few seconds came a pleasant, if not somewhat monotone, voice responded, “This is a cryogenic storage facility on an abandoned military base.”
“Who…?”
“They are Qan. I am a cognitive construct created by the Qan to assist them in their endeavors.”
“Qan?”
“Literally translating as ‘we are’ in one of their ancient languages, Qan are a spacefaring race from a nearby arm of the Milky Way. The Qan are most notable for possessing a completely biological electro-neuro linkage that allows communication between members. They also-”
“Electro-what?”
“Electro-neuro linkage. The closest term in your language is ‘telepathy.’ The Qan share thoughts and emotions at a distance. The primary way they communicate with others species is through use of cognitive constructs, such as myself.”
“Okay, but… where am I going?”
“You have been selected to assist the Qan in their conflict with the Gh’soon.”
Noah’s memories took that moment to come flooding back to him. Supersoldiers. Modified humans with augmented reflexes and strength. Large swaths of their brain carved out and replaced with microcomputers. Power at the cost of their humanity.
Then: Cleaning. A stumble and a clumsy grab. Sealing doors. Abject terror.
“No!” Noah attempted to turn his head, but it remained strapped tight. “I’m a janitor! I’m not a soldier!”
“The Qan are aware of this. They have successfully recreated the enhancement process. You will be the first of a new wave of soldiers. Followed by your clones.”
“What? Why!?” The panic was evident in his voice now.
“Qan law and ethics forbid the modification or augmentation of any part of Qan neurological systems; their linkage is at the core of who they are.”
A part of Noah’s mind noted that his bladder was no longer full.
“They are Qan. You are not.” | The hum of machinery grew in my mind, perturbing the nothingness. It was abrasive and terrifying, like looking to the foot of your bed and seeing a figure not present before you closed your eyes.
A *swoosh* contrasted the repetitive and unfamiliar clicks and thuds, familiar to me like an alarm set before; annoying yet welcome. It was the inverse of the last thing I had heard. As soon as it silenced I registered that my eyes were closed, and so made a mental push to open them. It was certainly a task; they seemed to have friction against my eyes, as if a cohesive bond had formed between my cornea and skin over the sleep I had just emerged from.
Vision was blurry at first but sharpened as i willed it to; little new information resulted from this. Green lights flickered all around and the source of the mechanical murmur was unknown. Before I could even lift a limb I felt my inertia force me forward; suddenly I was out of the place I had awoken in and on the ground. My legs had skirted against the floor but my legs were unable to sustain me upright so I was now on the cold metallic floor. All of this information was overwhelming me. All I knew next was another change in momentum.
A wide sky had opened up to me. Rushing air went past my face, but it was warm and dense. Clouds were the main form I could see but they were alien to me, black wisps, foreign and monstrous. The speed of my decent was apparent to me as I bullet-ed past one; I had gone skydiving before, and my panicked mind retrieved the memory for the sake of control. Panic compounded from this however, as no cord flapped in the breeze in my peripheral. I was in my rubber yellow cleanup suit, as I had been cleaning my area in the aircraft before the sirens...
Suddenly it clicked. I remembered the blaring sirens and the shifting floor. I remembered the screams as the pod *swooshed* open and I fell forward. I remembered the feeling of dread as my limbs went limp. I thought of all of this, instead of the fact that the clouds had gone, leading into a scorched earth. I realized this only moments before I fell upon it, cracking my neck instantly.
~
The bugs skittered towards the site of impact, their pincers readied in anticipation. The huge ship overhead had appeared over their base in an instant, and they knew that they would be dropping their greatest asset; the Uber-soldier. But, as they came upon the place where the dot came out of the sky and fell, they vomited. It was a blob of skin and blood, already bubbling and melting into the soot.
In rapid clicks and hisses one said to the other, "What the hell is this?" | 2018-10-13T10:46:41 | 2018-10-13T07:35:13 | 405 | 53 |
[WP] The lone survivor of an Arctic exploration, you were captured generations ago by a band of tiny warriors. They’ve placed you under an enchantment to do their bidding; heading out into the world once each year as their unwilling emissary. They call you “slave,” or in their tongue, “Santa.” | Let's just pretend Neil Gaiman wrote this today after seeing this prompt, because it's way too fitting...
Nicholas Was…
...older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho. Ho. Ho. | All those movies are wrong, only parts of them are accurate. Elf is dead wrong. The Santa Clause says I'm in control. That animated one about Jack Frost is correct about the warrior part, but I have no magic alone, not even with belief.
The elves call me Santa, their word for Slave. Claus means Warrior. In total, I am their Warrior Slave. My mission isn't to bring joy and presents. I exist only to kill demons. The priests that decided to make a Pagan Holiday into the day they celebrated Christ's birth were idiots. Doing that warped reality, causing demons to flood the world on the 25th of December.
I'm coming up to the Hellpit. The mortals call it New York, my elven masters call it "The Modern Stonehenge". I land down in the street. It's silent, even the normally open stores are closed and dark. Macy's, the greatest spawning pit in the world. It's coming, bigger than ever.
I am Santa Claus, Demon Slayer | 2018-12-01T11:17:49 | 2018-12-01T11:15:01 | 25 | 12 |
[WP]You are born immortal, but only your mind survives. Each time you die, your memories are secured in a random baby being born and have to repeat the life from youth to old age. After living for a millennia, you decide there is one solution: End all life and with it your unfortunate plight. | The weirdest part is reading about yourself.
You see, in most occasions I'd be born in overpopulated, poor parts of the world where most people live. At first, ages ago, I'd try to explore, see all sides of life, absorb all cultures. However now, when I've been born on all continents, in most countries and nations it came to my understanding that living poor gives you no advantages whatsoever. So first thing I'd do when I relearn how to walk is to use my just tamed legs to walk of a cliff, in front of the moving carriage or just plunge head first down the stairs. Sorry mom & dad, at this point I don't even care.
Using this strategy I don't loose much time and at certain point I'd pop up somewhere I see more suitable & perspective. In the past I had tried many professions, had learned many skills and tried many crafts. However my knowledge in history is...random. there's no preferred area I'd know more about as often I would be just a peasant and how would I know about different royal twists. Granted, I've been a king once, a princess twice and more often than you'd think I could get good scholarly position simply for knowing maths (which never really changes) and grammar.
Centuries later I'd find a paragraph about myself in a history book and that would keep me entertained for a few hours.
So yeah, it's always weird reading about yourself.
As I mentioned, one thing which doesn't really change is maths. It's constant, solid structure gives me a nice retreat when I feel like it. Sometimes I'd even calculate probabilities of being born in a desired place and would try to kill myself when being born there is most likely. Once it actually even worked!
Recent passion of mine is science. Physics, mainly. I'm good with maths and, by killing myself a few times I'd sooner or later get to a good place to start my scientific career. Funny thing - usually I can easily find and refer to my publications from previous lives.
However recently I came to a conclusion that the path of scientific progression humanity has taken can end in two ways: we would either be extremely lucky, successful and proceed to a new era of discovery, or we would wipe ourselves out using newly found techniques. As for me, I consider both scenarios as a win: I'd either see vastness of space & time not being bound to this boring planet, or I'd see the fall of humanity as one of the last humans. In both cases I'd like to be in a first row. That's why I tried hard for the last few lives to progress science even further. And now we are close to the end of a first stage...
Someone knocked on my door, "Professor Oppenheimer, Sir, we are ready for the test".
"Yes, coming", I answered. I even know what I'd say if test succeedes: now I am become Death, the destroyer of world... funny, I was the one to say it first. In another language, in another life, ages and ages ago... | “Think about what you’re doing,” Fredrick pleaded, another man stood next to a large red button, the protective hatch opened. His superior, Fritz, had somehow managed to override the security measures by himself, and was one push away from erasing humanity, permanently.
“If you press that button— if you open Pandora’s box… that’s it, we don’t get a second chance.”
Fritz sighed deeply, “I’ve thought about it… a lot, it may seem absurd to someone so fragile,”
Fritz turned to face Fredrick, a determined look coloring his face, “It’s the *only* way,”
Had he completely lost his mind? Fredrick couldn’t believe that this was happening, the fate of life on Earth was to be decided in this small stuffy room, in a battle between reason and insanity. He resolved to stop Fritz at all costs, he needed to buy some time, leverage, anything!
“How can you say that, Fritz?” Fredrick began, “If you wish to die, and I mean if that is truly your wish—”
“I wish it with all my heart,”
Fredrick moved a couple of steps towards Fritz, placing a hand on a large mahogany desk, “Why destroy everything along with you? What gives you the right?”
“You don’t understand, Fredrick, how could you? After each death I am reborn, my memories remain, and I am cursed to live another meaningless life from beginning to end,” Fritz studied the ugly and pronounced veins on his osseous right hand, “to watch all your strength fade, to come undone, and then do it all again!”
“What are you talking about, Fritz? Immortality… Have you completely lost it?”
“I’ve lived many lives, my dear Fredrick. I’m sick of it, I am always reborn as a new human being, you see,”
“…an idea came to me, Fredrick, if no more human beings existed, my curse would be lifted, I’ve tried everything else!”
Fredrick stopped edging towards Fritz, perhaps he could reason with his sick mind, humor him?
“You must agree, Fritz, that this all seems quite unbelievable. Let’s sit down,” Fredrick gestured to the two large brown-leathered chairs that sat by a small table, in the corner of the room, “Tell me the stories of your past lives, if you are being truthful, you should have no trouble convincing me,”
“Look at me, Fritz! If you are being truthful, if this is your only answer, then I will make you see that your suffering is justified!”
Fritz was silent for a long time, Fredrick considered bolting towards Fritz to incapacitate him, but before he could make his move Fritz nodded. He appeared almost amused, “Alright, Fredrick, the fate of the world is in your hands,” he remained standing next to the button, “If you can convince me that I should not end it all, I will never attempt something like this again,”
Fritz gave Fredrick a wry smile, “Let us begin, then… from the day I got cursed,”
*****
End of part 1? Thank you for reading!
**EDIT:** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aawcin/wpyou_are_born_immortal_but_only_your_mind/ecxm3pf/?context=3) in the comments below, replied to this comment. Thank you for all your comments thus far! | 2018-12-30T12:27:39 | 2018-12-30T10:16:41 | 234 | 112 |
[WP]You are born immortal, but only your mind survives. Each time you die, your memories are secured in a random baby being born and have to repeat the life from youth to old age. After living for a millennia, you decide there is one solution: End all life and with it your unfortunate plight. | The weirdest part is reading about yourself.
You see, in most occasions I'd be born in overpopulated, poor parts of the world where most people live. At first, ages ago, I'd try to explore, see all sides of life, absorb all cultures. However now, when I've been born on all continents, in most countries and nations it came to my understanding that living poor gives you no advantages whatsoever. So first thing I'd do when I relearn how to walk is to use my just tamed legs to walk of a cliff, in front of the moving carriage or just plunge head first down the stairs. Sorry mom & dad, at this point I don't even care.
Using this strategy I don't loose much time and at certain point I'd pop up somewhere I see more suitable & perspective. In the past I had tried many professions, had learned many skills and tried many crafts. However my knowledge in history is...random. there's no preferred area I'd know more about as often I would be just a peasant and how would I know about different royal twists. Granted, I've been a king once, a princess twice and more often than you'd think I could get good scholarly position simply for knowing maths (which never really changes) and grammar.
Centuries later I'd find a paragraph about myself in a history book and that would keep me entertained for a few hours.
So yeah, it's always weird reading about yourself.
As I mentioned, one thing which doesn't really change is maths. It's constant, solid structure gives me a nice retreat when I feel like it. Sometimes I'd even calculate probabilities of being born in a desired place and would try to kill myself when being born there is most likely. Once it actually even worked!
Recent passion of mine is science. Physics, mainly. I'm good with maths and, by killing myself a few times I'd sooner or later get to a good place to start my scientific career. Funny thing - usually I can easily find and refer to my publications from previous lives.
However recently I came to a conclusion that the path of scientific progression humanity has taken can end in two ways: we would either be extremely lucky, successful and proceed to a new era of discovery, or we would wipe ourselves out using newly found techniques. As for me, I consider both scenarios as a win: I'd either see vastness of space & time not being bound to this boring planet, or I'd see the fall of humanity as one of the last humans. In both cases I'd like to be in a first row. That's why I tried hard for the last few lives to progress science even further. And now we are close to the end of a first stage...
Someone knocked on my door, "Professor Oppenheimer, Sir, we are ready for the test".
"Yes, coming", I answered. I even know what I'd say if test succeedes: now I am become Death, the destroyer of world... funny, I was the one to say it first. In another language, in another life, ages and ages ago... | I knew I got it right this time. The alliances, the backroom deals, everything. Just as I planned. Just as I slowly dreamed, watching the world change, becoming more connected, until the inevitable political cracks spread over the surface of the earth dooming it to shatter with just the slightest touch. And, hopefully, taking all of humanity with it too.
What glorious technology. Machines that could flatten a squad of men without a pause. Explosives capable of vaporizing cities. Deadly gas that seeped into your pores, killing an entire room of people in mere moments. Now or never.
I wrapped myself in a long black coat, hat tipped low over my face. Despite the heat of summer I couldn't risk anyone recognizing me. I worked too long, thrown all my skill and cunning into getting this position, and to throw it all away simply by being recognized by a passerby? No, that wouldn't do at all.
Nervously, I glanced at my watch, forearms coated in sweat. He was late. The alley was empty. I peered out into the connecting streets but saw no one who looked like my contact. Patience, I told myself, no reason to fall apart now.
There! A man was walking towards me, dressed in a simple shirt and slacks, much younger than I expected. A thin mustache hung limply on an angular face, he looked tired. His eyes, as I surveyed him I was sure he was my contact. His eyes were dead, hollow. The planning, the certainty, the soullessness, and most vividly, the violence. All there in equal parts. He was ready to kill.
"Princip?" I asked, lowering my voice. "Gavrilo Princip?"
He stared at me, unblinking. "Da. I am." Silence. He wasn't a talker.
I slid an envelope out of my jacket and placed it in his hand. Not looking down, he opened it.
"The wife too?"
I nodded in confirmation. "Yes. Both of them. In public. Use a rifle."
He sneered at me, the yellow, broken teeth betraying his poor upbringing. "You don't order the Black Hand. You give location and time, nothing else. We take care of the rest."
I stared back at him as he took a packet of matches out of his pocket. He lit one casually, bringing a cigarette to his lips as he did. With the end lit, he used the dying match to ignite the thin paper. We watched as it browned and curled within itself at our feet. With the paper reduced to ash, he took another long drag on his cigarette.
"The Black Hand thanks you for this information. You'll see your trust was not misplaced." He said to me, turning and starting back down the alley.
I watched his thin silhouette recede. He hadn't done much to reassure me that the plan would be followed through. All that time, all that effort, all those years of painful life after painful life. He didn't realize the scope of his future actions. None of those fools in the Black Hand did. Worrying about borders and territory, political nonsense. Their obsession blinded them to the chain reaction about to unfold, with all of humanity to suffer the consequence.
It would not be just the war to end all wars, it would be the war to end all life.
| 2018-12-30T12:27:39 | 2018-12-30T11:27:16 | 234 | 13 |
[WP] You've observed this group of heroes as they've battled through your domain and into your castle in an attempt to kill you. Defeating them will be easy, but there is one problem. The shade and sarcasm they throw at each other is too damn funny. | “Oh, we’re *all* the way here now, in the middle of his castle, and *now* you want to question the morality of killing him?” Voltra asked, sending a plume of orange and blue sparks into the air like a firework. “We already killed a few of his guards, for Christ’s sake!”
Steelheart stood his ground, puffing his chest out. “We don’t know that they’re dead. With proper help, they may yet survive. We’re supposed to be heroes, aren’t we? If we kill, what’s the difference between us and the villain we seek to topple?”
“Um… they’re evil, and kill civilians? What kind of stupid fucking question is that?”
“But couldn’t it be said that these men are also innocent, and merely raised under the wrong nurturing conditions? Or perhaps they are being tricked, secretly controlled by an external force.”
I leaned back in my chair, smiling as Voltra shot another plume of sparks into the ceiling with a heaving grunt. The flash stung my eyes a little bit, but not enough to shy away.
^("Please, guys, stop fighting…") whispered Blowman. His name wasn’t *truly* Blowman, but… well, it was an apt name for me to call him in so many ways. He spoke in whispers to prevent accidentally unleashing an uncontrollable gust of wind when upset, and was known to have... interesting pastimes. ^("We need to hurry…")
“I can hardly hear your bitch voice over Voltra’s tantrum, Cid.” At the forefront of them all stood Inferno, the unspoken leader and presumably the strongest of the bunch. However, his strength lied in the fire flowing through his veins, bursting forth from vibrant red wings, and one of my many stolen strengths was Mistpulling. Fire meant nothing to an aquatic shield.
“*Excuse me*, bird-brains, but are you really going to come at me now? I’m the only one trying to kill the *psycho murderer* while you’re all chit-chatting and debating morality.” Voltra’s veins were pulsing faintly with a glow. “Go fly around the city and shit on people, Pidgeon-Dick.”
“And people call *me* a hot-head. You need to keep your shit together, V.”
^("Please stop fighting…")
I was reclined in my chair now, feet on the desk, fist-deep in a bag of Cheetos. *I’ve been working on a plan to take them out this whole time, but…”
Voltra screamed with fury, exploding with a light that was much brighter this time, forcing me to squint. Blowman tilted his head toward the ceiling, narrowing his eyes and pinching his nose shut.
^("Oh no, oh no… ohh…")
What happened next was… confusing. When I realized what had happened, I was against the wall behind me, covered in Cheeto dust. My papers and books had been scattered across the room, along with the hero hit-squad sent for me. Voltra stood up, groaning, with hair like a bird’s nest, and Inferno had been blown out like a candle. They all glared at poor Blowman, who had been knocked back into a food cart behind him.
^("I… I’m a photic sneezer…")
“There’s *snot* on me!” Voltra shouted, flailing her sparkling arms to burn and whip the substance off. “Where did all of this even *come from*?”
^("I have a cold…")
I sat back in my chair, this time leaning onto the desk with interlaced hands. *Yes, I’m certain now. The plan has changed.*
*I think I’ll just let them destroy themselves.*
------
*/r/resonatingfury*
| I sat in my control room staring at an array of flashing monitors. Each one covering a different room of my manor. There were no blind spots. The formation of heroes were slowly making their way through my traps and guards.
*All according to plan*
The heroes entered my private movie theater and formed up in a circle. This is where I would unleash their greatest test.
Steel doors slammed down around the heroes, covering all exits. They backed into a circle formation and awaited whatever came next.
My robo-minions dropped from the ceiling and surrounded the intruders. That's when I turned up the volume on that monitor and queued the music.
As my minions attacked, the heroes went to work while I listened in.
"All right, you scum, keep the circle tight and send em to hell" Shouted Sarge, their leader.
"If you don't stop giving orders like you're Captain fucking Hook maybe I'll let one slip through and take you from behind" Replied Clyde, a different member of the group.
"Nobody even think about it. Our banter is too good for such low hanging fruit" Exclaimed Tonino, the token minority of the squad.
"Funny is funny, Tone. One thing I'll never be is highbrow" Replied Clyde as he tore one of my minions' robotic esophagus through his mouth hole.
"Well you may not be highbrow, but you're most certainly high right now" Snapped Linda, the ass-kicking, no-nonsense lady of the group, who also liked to pack everyone a sandwich for the mission.
"You sell me my drugs, Linda. Get off your high horse."
"Everyone stop using the word high so much. Can you please get yourself a broader fucking vocabulary" Demanded Sarge, now standing amid a pile of destroyed robo-minions.
"Let's find a way out of here, I think we can probably burn a hole through that steel door. Like jedi!" Said Clyde excitedly.
Quickly I turned down the volume of the live feed and began furiously editing footage while they worked on breaking into my control room.
After about ten minutes, they made it through. Fortunately, I had completed my editing by then and was ready to give them my presentation. They raised their guns and pointed them right at me.
"There's no need to be aiming those at me" I told them "I brought you here for a reason"
"Brought us here? We're here to kill you, man" Sarge said, impatiently
"Just do me a favor and turn your attention to this monitor"
They all reluctantly looked up at the large screen on the wall next to us. As they stood there, I lowered the lights and hit play. A makeshift promotional video appeared, featuring the footage and banter from the fight that had just taken place in my movie theater. Fast cuts, exciting music and every other technique I learned in my YouTube FinalCut Pro lesson were on full display.
As the video ended they all turned to me and I began my pitch:
"Can't you see your talents could be much better utilized in my action-comedy pilot?" I said pulling out a copy of the script.
"You guys have got it all; characters, witty banter, jokes, action, violence and there is a charming chemistry between you all. Think about it. I will fund production out of my pocket. You'll never have to risk your lives again. All the missions will be fictional, but the paychecks will be very real"
The heroes stood around staring at each other. Nobody made a move until Sarge walked right up to me and placed his pistol to my forehead.
"Your plan is almost flawless. Your offer is one that we can't turn down. However, you've made one massive mistake. Everyone steals ideas in Hollywood. So thank you for the premise, this promo video, and a script we can use to shop OUR pilot around town. You shouldn't have played your whole hand." He said with a sad grin.
Sarge looked back at his companions quickly then turned back and pulled the trigger. As I slumped to the ground, Sarge spoke:
"Let's move, team. We've got a pilot to produce" | 2019-03-05T11:08:31 | 2019-03-05T07:15:24 | 190 | 63 |
[WP] When you die, you wait in purgatory until you can be judged by the 4 people most impacted by your actions: the person you were the most cruel to, the person you were the nicest to, the person who was saved by your actions, and the person who died because of your choices. | I've been waiting in the ghostly office for hours as they look through my file, guess something about it is out of the ordinary. Not sure what it could be honestly, I wasn't anything out of the ordinary as far as humans go. There are a few defining moments I could think of that may fit the categories they mentioned, but you rarely get to see the full impact of your actions so I have to guess.
Who was I the most cruel too? Probably my Ex, that one is a no brainer. It was a rocky relationship from day one and after four years of struggling through it, the ending wasn't any better. My depression didn't allow for emotional connections and my job didn't give me the time to try and figure the rest out.
That would being me to the nicest. Do dogs count? I would love to see any of them again. All of them? Even thinking about them now makes me smile, and I doubt they would feel any different. Otherwise maybe a coworker? I treated everyone pretty evenly as far as I can remember. Rarely played favorites and if I did, it was merit based.
Saving people, well I did that a ton technically. If you look back at my career as a doctor you would see countless lives saved through surgery. Hopefully that is what the gatekeeper was talking about. At least some are bound to remember me.
But killed? Hard question. Some didn't make it through operation, but I never really made a decision that killed them. They were just lost causes when they came in. Any one of those might count but I am not sure that I can be judged for that, even in purgatory.
After hours of thinking, that was all I could come up with. My ex, some dogs, and patients. I didn't live a very social life now that I think about it.
A door creaked open in the dimly lit corner across from me, guess my jury has arrived. Footsteps echo on the floor as they approach the table, but something is off.
"Your case was a unique one Dr." the gatekeepers voice whispers through the shadows, "But we have found your judges."
"The person you were most cruel to," rang out as the seat on the left was illuminated, empty.
"The person you were most kind to," it continued, the next seat lighting up. Again, empty.
"The person whom you saved," the pattern continued.
"And the person whom you killed," no surprise, empty.
"But how is this possible?" I asked, speaking to the empty room. "I had to influence someone's life for better or worse."
"You did," a voice resonated from right behind the chairs. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't put a face to it.
"Your case was special because all four categories were fulfilled by the same person," The voice continued, sounding both hostile and kind at the same time. If I wasn't dead I would die right here from how fast my heart was beating.
"Hello son," my mother said as she stepped into the light from behind the chairs, "It's about time we had this talk." | John was happily driving his car to meet up with some family, when suddenly-- BAM! He couldn't really remind himself of what had happened, however, he was now sitting down, in a dimly lit room.
"Where am I?" John blurted out, looking around before finally looking down at his body and noting how perfectly fine he was. No bruises, cuts or scratches. - "B-But.. the accident?"
He had no answers and seemingly there was no one else around to do so.
Minutes turned into hours and, soon enough, a door cracked open. John went wide-eyed and even rubbed his eyes furiously, not really believing who now stood there, right in front of him.
"Hey-.." - A sort of squeakish voice greeted.
"This isn't possible- How? What?" - John rubbed his eyes once more and sighed before looking up at the figure once more. "You're me. Younger, but still, me." - In front of him now stood teenager John, the person he had been the most cruel to.
Throughout highschool John had dealt with various problems and his solution to it all was pretty much, well, some questionable choices. He hadn't allowed himself to be good to his own self and that now reflected on the him that was peering down at, well, himself. The teenager didn't really ask too much. He woud just peer down at John and shake is head from side to side before finally speaking a few words in a low, monotone voice.
"You could've reached out to someone."
As soon as that was said, the figure seemingly disappeared and John was once again left alone with his own thoughts.
After another couple of hours the door cracked open once again and someone else walked out from it. "Hello, John.-"
At this moment the poor man was sobbing, hands against his hand and even slightly rocking his body back and forth. "T-This has to be a dream.. a really bad one." - He noted before looking down and back up at who stood there, smiling, right in front of him. It was another John, however a seemingly old one, probably on his college years.
"I'm glad you managed to overcome those feelings of guilt..- It wasn't your fault."
Those words sent a deep, lightning fast shiver down John's spine and, once again, after professing those words, the figure disappeared.
Another couple of hours passed and, as if by sacred ritual, the door opened once more.
"Let me guess, it's me..-" John blurted out sarcastically.
And indeed, as precise as clockwork, John came out again! However, it was his college self, once again.
The figure smiled and simply nodded his head a few couple of times before leaning forward and placing his hands on John's shoulder. - "I'm glad you didn't jump.-"
And with that, the figure disappeared once more.
Finally, John got up and walked towards the door. He had had enough of that attrocity. Was it divine punishment? Perhaps, but only that way could he either ascend or descend. Once he got close enough to the door, the man grabbed the knot and twisted it open. Inside, only a mirror which reflected his own self.
John sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them back up-- Heaven.
&#x200B;
(Well, this was my first try at writing a prompt! It probably isn't much, but I hope you enjoy it! ) | 2019-04-30T08:13:49 | 2019-04-30T07:27:01 | 77 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a mark saying where they'll first meet their soulmate. Many people have their own home town, and some have far more exotic locations. Some unlucky sods are stuck with the incredibly vague "Earth." You never tell anybody what yours says. They would never believe you anyway. | Growing up, I always made sure to keep the mark on my thigh hidden. Long trunks for swim class, never showering in the locker room. On occasions when the topic would come up in conversation I would always tell people mine said New York. It was relatively local, as well as being large enough and ordinary enough not to result in too much speculation. Two of the kids in my year, Lola and Kyle, both had matching marks stating our home town as where they will meet The One. Too bad they despised one another, but realistically the marks could be referring to anybody, older, younger, born there or just passing through. Thank God we now have “The Mark of Attraction”. An online dating site specifically made to match you up with all the people who your mark could refer to. It’s not foolproof though, for example, anyone with “America” on them could match with anyone who’s mark is also in America. It works nicely for people who’s marks are more unique though.
My thigh did not claim I would meet my soulmate in New York though, or my hometown. Even something as vague as Principal Tully’s “Earth.” would be better than what it did say.
“Hell.”
My older brother told me that my deeply religious
mother cried for weeks after my birth, once the mark became clear enough to read. She’d refused to let anyone barring herself and my father dress or change me, out of fear they’d think I was cursed. My earliest memory is of the time, in kindergarten, I had had an accident and the teacher had to help me clean up. The look on her face when she saw that mark was pure fear. She signed the cross and rushed off to the office. Two days later my parents were told that St. Benedict’s was “not the right fit” for me. Go figure.
As I grew up I did a lot of research and found a few potential locations a lot less ominous than the obvious. There’s a Hell in Michigan and one in California, as well as a Creek in Montana and a “Hells Halfacre” in Kentucky. Further afield there’s one in the Cayman Islands and another in Norway. There’s even a cave in Slovenia, maybe I’ll find my soulmate lurking in there?
I cannot allow my mind to wander to the alternative. | I Sat down on my bed, gently fingering the spot on my right shoulder where I knew it was. The mark. Its message clear, yet oh so vague. What did it mean? How was it possible? I'd never know the answer until I found them, yet that seemed all but hopeless. I'd spent 19 years feeling like I'd always be alone.
I'd never even had a girlfriend, nevertheless a soulmate. People rarely dated anymore, not since the marks started showing up. 36 years ago the first mark was found on a baby in Paris, Ohio. People had no idea what it meant. "Florence, Italy", what did it mean? It wasn't until 26 years later where the girl with that mark found the love of her life studying abroad for her doctorate in the very same. city . People thought it was just a coincidence, then it kept happening. The same story but with different people and different places.
Eventually the world connected the dots. No one knew why the marks started, or how they formed on the person but one thing was for certain; the mark was always right. No matter what. No one questioned them anymore. Sometimes people would propose on the same day they met someone just because they thought that meeting someone they thought was attractive was "the mark's calling".
Here's the thing though, the mark never said when you'd meet your soulmate. You could be in the city of your mark for 10 years and not meet your soulmate all that time. The only thing you knew for certain was you'd meet them before you die. A few poor souls had the names of hospitals, which was very bad for them. That could mean your soul mate is your doctor you meet during a checkup, your nurse helping mend a broken bone, or the person sharing a room with you on your death bed.
What does all that have to do with my mark and it's unfathomable implications? My mark for 19 years has said one thing, the name of my address. How was I supposed meet the love of my life in my own home? I didn't have roommates and my parents rarely had anyone over. I sat in my room contemplating this when suddenly the doorbell rang. I felt a fluttering in my chest, which was unusual because I had long gotten over assuming everyone at the door was my future soul mate. Yet something seemed different about today, something felt off in my gut.
I got up, wondering what this meant. I walked to the living room and asked
"Who's there?" My mom responded saying
"Pizza deliver girl." | 2019-05-07T19:50:55 | 2019-05-07T19:39:23 | 133 | 94 |
[WP] Your father dies and you inherit his entire kingdom, even though you are not the eldest son. One night you overhear your brothers plotting your death, and you quickly realize why your father chose you as his heir. They are a bunch of idiots. | Sorry for formatting, I’m on mobile.
“Shhh...I hear footsteps.” The hushed sound of my eldest brother’s whisper echoed throughout the chapel, amplified by the cathedral’s dome. I had come to say my morning prayers. While not a particularly religious monarch, I often took solace in the quiet of the chapel, giving myself time to ponder the world in which I lived without the complaints of one of the palace’s many courtesans or one of my own advisor’s constant pecking at my ear.
Walking here, I had begun to daydream of the life I’d never have-a loving wife, a small farm, playing with my own children and showing them how to love life. That was the life I had expected. As the third son of Ghent’s late King, I assumed I would be rather unencumbered with the restrictive royal life that my father had lived through, and hated. I, of all his children, loathed our family’s obligations as much as my father had. The others had loved the balls, clothing, jewelry, and above all, power. I wished for a simpler life, so why had father chosen me?
That was the question lingering in my thoughts when Gregor’s panicked whisper had pulled me out of my dream. I heard Eric, my second eldest brother respond, “Don’t worry, it’s surely just the servant come and gone to leave the candles for today’s afternoon service, nobody comes to the chapel this early on a Saturday other than Our Dear King Mason.” His last 4 words were full of bitter sarcasm. He continued, “and we know he’s not coming today because we sent that gorgeous woman to wake him with a few enjoyable moments before slitting his throat.” Gregor sharply exhaled, “Be quiet you idiot, someone could hear that we are the ones responsible for the King’s death!”
It was at that moment that our high priest walked in, just in time to hear of my brothers’ betrayal. I signaled to him to stay quiet and listen, and he did.
Eric lowered his voice, forcing us to silently move closer to the small back room in which they plotted. “You’re too paranoid. Tell me how you convinced Celeste to do the deed.” Gregor’s voice grew louder with pride, “I was at the tavern last night, and began to talk to Celeste, telling her about how I was cheated of the throne, and she agreed. She kept complimenting me on my looks and how I could be a much better king...with you as my heir of course...and she told me that she’d make me her King for a mere 200 gold pieces. I told her that as her rightful King, I demand she help me retake the throne, but she would be compensated handsomely for her contribution. She was in awe of me, and rightly so, she a low-born girl and I a King. I told her my plan, and we downed a bottle of wine to seal the partnership. It was truly a glorious night.”
The priest looked at me in disbelief, could a man be so stupid? The answer was yes, my bothers definitely could. As my brothers moved on to discuss the logistics of their inheritance, a great throng of people loudly entered the building. Eric and Gregor hastily walked out of the room with confused looks on their faces, only to stop dead in their tracks when they found themselves staring me straight in the face. I stifled a laugh with the thought that the two idiots who tried to hire a whore to kill me had not only decided to get her overwhelmingly drunk the night before the killing should take place, also had happened to forget it was Sunday.
I silently prayed to my father, thanking him for his choice. Even though I hated it, I cannot imagine the damage that would have been done to our Kingdom had one of those fools been left to care for the place. | "Alright but once Sigfrid dies which one of us gets to be King?"
"We talked about this Lars, I will be king and you can be Prince. You would basically get all of the powers that I do without all of the responsibility, doesn't that sound fun?"
Lars breathes heavily and the sound of lips smacking together pierces through the air. "Well I... yea that does sound pretty good, I wouldn't have to go to ALL of the meetings with the lords and ladies would I?"
"No of course not, I would make sure I did all of those sorts of tedious things I wouldn't want to bore you. But now we must think of a way how." The sound of a heavy boot raps against the wooden floor with a slow and easy cadence, the wood creaking loudly with each step. "Poison would seem obvious, a hunting accident... that just seems unpredictable."
"Oh, oh I know! What if we put someone in the loo and wait for him to sit down and then someone stabs him from below! It would be a messy experience but he would never see it coming and it would be fairly easy for the assassin to get away!"
The creaking of the boards suddenly stops, "By the Beard Lars you brilliant man that's it! I know just the man too, he is not afraid to get dirty and he is a little pricey but he gets the job done. Come with me, we must set this up immediately so it can happen before the crowning." Footsteps quickly fade away as the two finished discussing their plans.
Sigfrid sat there, stunned. "Me? They want to kill me?" He thought, eyes nervously darting around the room as if attempting to perceive any kind of threat that could be there. Remembering where he was Sigfrid stood up quickly and laced his pants back together around his waist. "Those bastards will regret this, it's time they get a little surprise of their own!" He peered down the hole upon which he sat and wrinkled his face in disgust before turning around and leaving the room.
"I can't believe how loud they were talking, and that they decided to talk about this right outside of the toilet!" He began walking down the corridors and glanced at the picture of his father that was recently placed on the wall. Thinking of the day that his portrait will take the place just next to it in the future. The far future.
"It is no wonder my father picked me to be the next king. 'You will one day make a great king' he said to me, he just knew I was the smartest, the kindest, the most regal of his children. I will be better than my father ever was, the Kingdom will remember my name and deeds all throughout history!" He walked past the soldiers ignoring them completely as they saluted slamming the door as he passed. He jumped onto his bed, landing on his back and began kicking off his boots as he lay on the plush mattress adorned with silks.
Suddenly a gloved hand clamps over his mouth and the glint of a dagger flashes past his eyes as he feels a sharp edge against his neck.
"Good bye brother, you three won't be able to get in my way anymore I'm afraid. Say hello to father for me." Sigfrid feels a sharp pain against his neck and warm liquid quickly flowing down off the side of his body soaking the silk sheets. His last thought as his struggles against the iron grip holding him down fade was of the blank spot on the wall that he will never be able to fill.
"I hate how sarcastic father was with him, it always gave him the wrong idea... the idiot." She thought as she walked out to the balcony and quickly jumped over to the nearby railing. She quickly disposed of the gloves and removed her hunting leathers, inspecting her body for any blood that may have gotten on her skin. After wiping her wrists down she donned her robes and grabbed the ceremonial sword that was propped up next to the door.
Anna left the room feeling confident about her future as she made her way to the great hall to accept her role as this Kingdoms next great leader. | 2019-05-14T20:17:07 | 2019-05-14T18:33:53 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] Flowers have become so rare that they are the most sought after items in the world, sold at high prices in black markets, under guard in national museums etc. You just stumbled across a natural rose. | Only once the world had been depraved of most its living colour did we realize the magnitude of our loss.
The man slid over a small metal case across the table, Sam opened it and could not quite believe what he was seeing. A single pink oval leaflet immortalized within a plastic sheet, it looked fresh. “Is this—”
The man spoke in a hushed voice, “Rosa rubiginosa.”
Sam quickly snapped the case shut, “Where did you,” he looked around suddenly afraid that anyone would have noticed, “how do you have this, Holden?”
Holden smiled, “She doesn’t like to be named, I’m sure you understand, under the circumstances.”
“And this person, she has living samples?”
“Oh yes, I only caught a glimpse of it by accident. It was a private garden, Sam, I couldn’t believe it,” his eyes glinted as he recalled the beautiful greenery, “she gave me this rose, to shut me up.”
“The bribe didn’t seem to do much good,” Sam scratched his head, “why tell me about the garden?”
“Do you know what a single rose is worth, Sam?”
“I’m guessing a lot? Twenty thousand?”
“Yeah, for a dead specimen perhaps.” Holden chuckled, “This rose is alive, along with everything else in her garden. Try two hundred thousand.”
Sam covered his mouth to keep himself from gasping audibly, then sobered at the implication, “You want to *rob* her?”
“The way I see it, we’re splashing a little colour on this grey Earth by, ah, re-distributing its wonders for more than one person to enjoy,” he put the case back in his trench coat, “and if we make our own lives a little more bearable at the same time, that’s a win-win, right?”
“I don’t know, Holden,” Sam said nervously, “we’re not thieves.”
Holden pondered for a moment, “It’s almost charitable when you really think about it, Sam,” he began, “most have never even seen a living, breathing flower in their entire life. Why should one privileged woman have exclusive access to it? I mean, if you really think about it, we would be heroes, all Robin Hood like.”
“Except we’re not giving them away for free, are we Holden?”
“Details. Listen Sam, we’re the good guys. Can I count you in?” Holden extended his arm and let it hang hopefully in the space between them.
The more Sam thought about it, the more it made sense. Why should she indeed have it all to herself, what of the children and depressed men and women who had never seen the lushness of the bygone era?
Sam shook Holden’s hand firmly, “Let’s go steal a garden."
*****
I'll continue if there's interest, thank you for reading! | This flower. I've only heard about it from my parents. Its my mom's name, Rose Morgan née Madison. Often they talked about how there were an abundance of flowers in the world, how inexpensive they were and how there were people who tend to them for a living down the corner. They were gifts that a young boy can afford to win the heart of his crush, a man can give to his beloved, and an elderly to his lifetime partner. Carrying a symbol of fleeting yet enduring love. A gift to the sad and the broken hearted to encourage and to persevere. A gift to celebrate a success, whatever that means, for someone who has reached a milestone in life.
Often I pondered, how such things were actually a reality. The absurdity of how it sounds made me wonder if there will ever be a society where disparity of wealth is non-existent. If every flower could be shared with the rest of the population. As a child, I dream of making enough money to buy a flower to wow my second grade math teacher and ask her to marry me. She meekly laughed and quietly told my class that often times she wished the world isn't like so. She too, told us of stories that were incomprehensible. Flowers everywhere? We'd no longer starve and the world would be a much better place for everyone.
And here I am, right in front of me. A single rose, more beautiful than any image I've seen, the rose is crimson red, deeper and richer than any dress or lipstick. The thorns on the side made her seem devilish but that only adds to her charm, alluring if you will, almost captivating even. My mind conjured up an image of myself leaping into fame and fortune and all that is extravagant in life should I were to sell the "The Succubus' Perfume" and then it hit me, how can I, the son of a salaryman, barely scraping by in college, afford to purchase such a sought after treasure. In the best case scenario, I'd be tortured until I confess to theft, or worst executed outright. I shuddered at the dread that loomed in the sky, if it is what was named after. I knelt down on all four to smell the fragrance. It was utterly breathtaking.
However tempted I may be, I chose not to pick up the flower, instead I plucked a small petal no larger than my thumb and pocketed it. Maybe I can find my mother's book on how to preserve flowers somewhere, if what she said about her "abundance of flowers" were true.
Maybe it isn't my time yet. Maybe I'm just an idiot. If a single flower can push a man to kill, I just cannot imagine how a seemingly infinite number of flowers would do to mankind.
I'm not about to chance it, I value my life more than any flower in the world be presented before me. I have loving parents, a 6-months pregnant wife, and my AssistBot to keep me company when I'm having anxiety disorder at work. Life is perfect as it is.
(Note* I typed this on my phone so there should definitely be spelling mistakes)
Edit: found the right phrase I intended to end it on. | 2019-10-19T06:58:22 | 2019-10-19T06:55:53 | 76 | 24 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | "At 2:47 this afternoon, a super-strength unit at the worksite for the new bridge will attempt suicide. He's worked 16 hour days for two straight months, and no one cares. He has a Masters in Biology and he is made to carry I-beams endlessly."
"Keep it short, Mr. Major." A curt reply came.
I scowled his way. "I will continue to give context until you either listen, or find someone whose precognition extends further than mine." I handle an entire city on my own, no way they hassle me on this.
"Whatever. Continue."
I grumbled. "At 3:31 pm, a psychic unit being used for mind control will be beaten by a superior for selling a television too cheaply. They charged 250% retail. If not prevented the unit will release a wave of energy while defending themselves, causing 3 comas and the brain death of their attacker."
"We'll get a team out there to restrain the unit."
"What about their assailant?"
"Continue."
"What about their assailant?"
"Nothing will have happened."
"Son of a-"
"CONTINUE, Precog Unit!"
I took a deep breath. "At 1:46, a precognition unit will kill his Responding Action overseer and escape the precinct. He makes a clean getaway because, of course, he sees everything coming."
"What? But you're the only-" He looked up, into the barrel of the gun I had managed to acquire and smuggle in. They always assumed seeing the myriad ways things can go wrong would dissuade a Precog from taking risks. I had waited long enough to find a solution.
"I'm so tired of snitching on my fellow supers...of calling out you norms and seeing nothing done to THEM. I hereby tender my resignation." I flipped the safety off.
He stammered. "W-wait! Your prediction can't work! You said 1:46! It's already 1:49!"
"Huh...guess I should have mentioned I was using your watch for that particular prediction."
He looked down...1:45:55...56...57...
"...It's a little slow."
**BANG**
Edit: Punctuation fix. Also, thanks for the many kind words. Part 2 will come as soon as I can get to a real keyboard. Mobile is hard to work with. | Most telepaths get exciting careers. Police officers, FBI, judges. Hell when I registered with the Department of Superpowered individuals I was hoping I could be an interrogator for the military or something.
The problem is, I'm in no shape for a physical job. I'm overweight and have asthma. Who cares? When will an interrogator have to run? The bad guy is already caught and locked up.
"You have to be intimidating," they said. Fuck them. I can be scary. I can be imposing if I need to be.
But no i got a job with a fancy title that doesnt mean jack shit. "Pre-employment satisfaction and employee retention agent." Sounds like a bunch of words someone strung together to sound important.
My job is to sit in waiting rooms during job interviews. I'm meant to look like just another normie hoping to get hired. While there I dig into your mind to see why you want the job, if you have any skills that would help the company, and most importantly find out if you lied on your application or resume. Then I report to the boss.
"She has 3 kids and the father left her. She lied about leaving her last job to 'seek better opportunities'. She will be miserable at this job and will probably leave in a month or two."
That sort of thing. But that's only on interview days. The rest of the time I'm just a normal employee. I work in the factory delivering parts to different departments. Why? So I can scan the folks I deliver to.
Do you know how exhausting it is hearing how much someone hates their job over and over and over ad infinitum? I almost never report those. Most of them are good people who need their jobs. I only report the ones who are bad workers or who dont really need their jobs. I'm also supposed to report those who might be looking for employment elsewhere. But I only report them if it might lead to a raise or promotion. You know, the really good ones that no one wants to lose.
I could have been someone important. I could have written a book, or been a politician. But instead I'm a glorified lie detector test for a company who only cares about their profits and turnover rate.
[Edit: holy shit. This is now my most upvoted comment......I feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.]
[Edit 2: holy shit. I thought 100 upvotes was a lot.
In all seriousness though you guys seem to really enjoy the story so thanks for that. I might actually expand on it later]
[Edit 3: my first ever award. Thank you anonymous reddit user.] | 2020-02-05T17:14:17 | 2020-02-05T15:10:52 | 1,962 | 737 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | "At 2:47 this afternoon, a super-strength unit at the worksite for the new bridge will attempt suicide. He's worked 16 hour days for two straight months, and no one cares. He has a Masters in Biology and he is made to carry I-beams endlessly."
"Keep it short, Mr. Major." A curt reply came.
I scowled his way. "I will continue to give context until you either listen, or find someone whose precognition extends further than mine." I handle an entire city on my own, no way they hassle me on this.
"Whatever. Continue."
I grumbled. "At 3:31 pm, a psychic unit being used for mind control will be beaten by a superior for selling a television too cheaply. They charged 250% retail. If not prevented the unit will release a wave of energy while defending themselves, causing 3 comas and the brain death of their attacker."
"We'll get a team out there to restrain the unit."
"What about their assailant?"
"Continue."
"What about their assailant?"
"Nothing will have happened."
"Son of a-"
"CONTINUE, Precog Unit!"
I took a deep breath. "At 1:46, a precognition unit will kill his Responding Action overseer and escape the precinct. He makes a clean getaway because, of course, he sees everything coming."
"What? But you're the only-" He looked up, into the barrel of the gun I had managed to acquire and smuggle in. They always assumed seeing the myriad ways things can go wrong would dissuade a Precog from taking risks. I had waited long enough to find a solution.
"I'm so tired of snitching on my fellow supers...of calling out you norms and seeing nothing done to THEM. I hereby tender my resignation." I flipped the safety off.
He stammered. "W-wait! Your prediction can't work! You said 1:46! It's already 1:49!"
"Huh...guess I should have mentioned I was using your watch for that particular prediction."
He looked down...1:45:55...56...57...
"...It's a little slow."
**BANG**
Edit: Punctuation fix. Also, thanks for the many kind words. Part 2 will come as soon as I can get to a real keyboard. Mobile is hard to work with. | 'Straps,' I was strapped down. They were going to cut me again, meat tender and raw... 'No, bedside. My dose.' Blindly I reached out, ignoring the sensation of being tied up and snatched where I thought my meds would be. I swallowed them and at least a mouthful of air, someone brought a glass to my lips. 'No, I live alone' the medication was dissolving in my mouth as I opened my eyes and saw my own hand bring the water down my throat.
It was taking longer to return to normalcy, my doctor told me it was psychic fatigue having lived in so many different bodies. I wasn't sure if I really was tired or I just believed so, maybe it wasn't me at all. I found myself following a scattered routine, looking for pets that weren't there as If I could look after one, taking out laundry to dry yet I had no yard. It made no sense that I could just assume these are things I did. Once I called a number I didn't know to speak to my ex, no she wasn't *my* ex at all. I almost blew that case and did lose my phone privileges.
I was in the special crimes division of the Ardale special forces, the spooks of the military police. That's what I have written on my holo disk in big bold lettering. Something consistent to keep me grounded every morning, as searching the memories of distant people while locked in a sensory deprivation tank leaves me disorientated hours after. My room was just one in a massive complex, I had a personal elevator to take my to my work station and there was supervised access to a local village for shopping and a general reality check from there.
You can't leave just yet, the guards and officials that I meet wear dampeners so I can't form a link. Bizzarely though I can link to unprotected minds through a simple picture or voice recording, they seem to know more about it than I do. But what I do know is there is a backlash, a long term eating away at the neuron connectors that I formed throughout my entire life that made me, me. This teaches me things, I found out that by mixing their steriliser with the synthetic gin served on Friday you can make a mild acid capable of eating the rubber seals insulating the doors. A combat engineer who went rogue in order to steal a million roupal military asset taught me that, I've never met the guy even though I got him killed.
I made a mental note to thank him whenever I relapsed into his memories at night along with the countless others I did the same with. Hopefully they'll forgive me.
To be continued... | 2020-02-05T17:14:17 | 2020-02-05T16:22:04 | 1,962 | 114 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Most telepaths get exciting careers. Police officers, FBI, judges. Hell when I registered with the Department of Superpowered individuals I was hoping I could be an interrogator for the military or something.
The problem is, I'm in no shape for a physical job. I'm overweight and have asthma. Who cares? When will an interrogator have to run? The bad guy is already caught and locked up.
"You have to be intimidating," they said. Fuck them. I can be scary. I can be imposing if I need to be.
But no i got a job with a fancy title that doesnt mean jack shit. "Pre-employment satisfaction and employee retention agent." Sounds like a bunch of words someone strung together to sound important.
My job is to sit in waiting rooms during job interviews. I'm meant to look like just another normie hoping to get hired. While there I dig into your mind to see why you want the job, if you have any skills that would help the company, and most importantly find out if you lied on your application or resume. Then I report to the boss.
"She has 3 kids and the father left her. She lied about leaving her last job to 'seek better opportunities'. She will be miserable at this job and will probably leave in a month or two."
That sort of thing. But that's only on interview days. The rest of the time I'm just a normal employee. I work in the factory delivering parts to different departments. Why? So I can scan the folks I deliver to.
Do you know how exhausting it is hearing how much someone hates their job over and over and over ad infinitum? I almost never report those. Most of them are good people who need their jobs. I only report the ones who are bad workers or who dont really need their jobs. I'm also supposed to report those who might be looking for employment elsewhere. But I only report them if it might lead to a raise or promotion. You know, the really good ones that no one wants to lose.
I could have been someone important. I could have written a book, or been a politician. But instead I'm a glorified lie detector test for a company who only cares about their profits and turnover rate.
[Edit: holy shit. This is now my most upvoted comment......I feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.]
[Edit 2: holy shit. I thought 100 upvotes was a lot.
In all seriousness though you guys seem to really enjoy the story so thanks for that. I might actually expand on it later]
[Edit 3: my first ever award. Thank you anonymous reddit user.] | People used to talk about targeted advertisements on facebook and amazon like it was some big conspiracy, like their phones and smart TV's listening to them all the time was just a tad too crazy to believe; well, we're always listening—even when you're not saying a word.
People walk me by in supermalls everyday without a passing glance. I'm just another guy on a bench, enjoying my coffee, no reason to think anything other than what you already are.
*That mower is such an old piece of shit, I can barely get it to started anymore.*
Mowers. It's always the same, balding middle-aged man archetype who's thoughts are obsessed with outdoor appliances like mowers and barbecues. I've got an exclusive contract with Craftsman, and I make sure the image of a big red sit-down mower flashes in his mind as he strolls by.
*God, that girl at the gym is so slim. I'll never fit into yoga pants like that.*
Poor girl. For my perspective, she looks great. But I've got a job to do, and I implant the thought of this bullshit weight-loss drink. They pay well, I guess that's my only excuse. She perks up as she passes me and I sigh to myself—enjoy your false hope.
*I wish I had less acne.*
*Why doesn't he notice me?*
*Do I really need life insurance?*
*I'm hungry.*
Everyone has their anxieties, their needs and wants, and there's a product out there ready to be pushed on them. Sometimes I hate myself for what I do. I imagine seven year old me shaking his head like a disappointed father. *You wanted to be a firefighter, not a walking, psychic-guerrilla advertisement.* My favorite brand of ice-cream—whom I'm coincidentally contracted to—pops into my head. I always know how to take my mind off my self-loathing.
*I can't believe they fired me.*
A dopey looking kid is walking by in a haze, taking slow, drawn out steps with his hands in his pockets, eyes not focused on anything or anyone.
*I'm worthless, nobody wants me around because I fuck everything up.*
Geez, maybe he could go for some ice cream.
*I don't want to live anymore. I just want this shitty life to be over*.
Hate me for this if you want, but the first thing to pop into my head is a .38 revolver. It's a best seller, easy to push guns these days, for various reasons, and gun companies pay folks like me a pretty penny. You should hate me, because I despise myself for even considering it.
Before he's out of range, I throw a thought his way—my last for the day.
*Seek help, please. You are loved, and your life is worth living.*
____
***/r/BeagleTales*** | 2020-02-05T15:10:52 | 2020-02-05T14:59:32 | 737 | 418 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | When I was little I often thought flight would be the greatest freedom in the world, but it seems business and adulthood has a way of crushing all our dreams huh? My super power couldn't just be used for myself, and I couldn't work my dream job as a game designer, I had to be a god damn courier because it was easier for everyone if I just delivered letters and packages! To make matters worse, supposedly because of how easy this job is supposed to be with people who can fly, or have super speed, my boss saw fit to decrease pay across the board. I'm getting fed up with everything really, I miss the days back when powers weren't a thing at all... Oh god I'm sounding like a nostalgic old man at age 26. Well, whatever... I'm sick and tired of it all... I have some friends who are also sick of their jobs, we're gonna meet up tomorrow night and do something big, I'm gonna be dropping some big rocks from as high up as I can tomorrow, my old friend Toby who was forced to take care of garbage is gonna use his acid spit to damage some buildings, Connor, a fellow courier, is gonna test out just how fast he can run and see if he can whip up a tornado in town, and my friend Sarah who can control water and is a fire fighter is gonna try to cause some flooding. Call us twisted, call us evil, we just want out of this society and to live the lives that we wanted to live, that we worked our asses off through college to get and were denied. I really don't know why I'm writing this all down... I guess to gather my thoughts? Maybe I feel a bit guilty inside and want to leave something like a confession... Or maybe I've finally snapped and went insane!
-David Williams, March 15th, 2024. First generation American super villain. | The first rule about killing baby Hitler is to not get spotted. The second rule about killing baby Hitler is if you get spotted make sure you look like someone who belongs in 1889. The third rule about killing baby Hitler is if you are spotted by some Central European peasants that they don’t mistake you for a lunatic or a homosexual or whatever else gets you put in an insane asylum in 19th century Austria. Here comes some milk man or shepherd from some farm and sees a guy in sunglasses, a hoodie, sweats and crocs. Now I’m trapped, straight jacket and padded room. It’s not a nice padded room. This was before Nellie mind you. It doesn’t have a toilet, just a hole big enough to drop a child into it. I think Neizche is a few rooms down right in between a promiscuous girl and a guy who actually should be here.
Einstein will say in about 30 years “the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing and expecting different results.” Suffice to say the CIA is fucking mental. I’ve gone back seven times so far. First time: I kill the wrong baby. The Second time: I try moving him to a new family instead of killing him, he just becomes English Hitler. The third time I was successful, but turns out that if I killed baby Hitler too early a butterfly flaps its wings and the Soviets win the Cold War. The fourth time I get to the crib and am about to take some advice from War Machine when-
A doctor walks and mutters something in German.
“What?” I call out. I wriggle my arms and shoulders. Nothing
“English ya?”
“American.” He looks at his notepad. He looks back up at me. He tries articulating something. Clearly trying to piece together a sentence.
“Uh wait minute wait.” The Doctor walks out. I scan the room. Nothing. The next few minutes are me alternating between spastic movements in my straitjacket and studying the cell’s dimensions. How the Hell am I gonna get out of this one? | 2020-02-05T17:34:45 | 2020-02-05T17:17:49 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Bishop scribbled away in the log book, quickly catching up on the pointless documentation called for by the higher-ups. Brass was always on their case for something or another, and Bishop wasn't in the mood for another reprimand. They couldn't fire him, of course; *diminishers* were too valuable.
Diminisher. Wasn't the right word for what he did, but if he told anyone the truth, he'd get reclassified to a military black site and that would be the last of his normal life. No, if he wanted anything like liberty, they couldn't know what happened to the powers he stole.
Green muttered a curse, throwing up his hands in frustration as Bishop suppressed a grin. There weren't many games on the outdated desktop unit, but Bishop had high scores in almost all of them.
"Uh, I was *this* close, I swear..." Green complained.
"That's what you said last time," Bishop smirked as he started writing on the next line. "What was the head count at 1430 hours?"
"25 in the cells, 4 on the yard," Green stated, before munching on some chips. "At least I gotcha' beat in one regard..."
Bishop looked up, curious, and rolled his eyes as he saw Green wiggle his fingers.
"Reach! Heh." Green finished the rest of the bag, noisily. "I can sap a gamma-class at twenty yards, and drop a--"
"Beta at thirty. Yes, I know." Bishop closed the book and stood, stretching. He was listed as a beta-class himself, largely because his powers only worked at close range. Green wasn't the most potent diminisher in the compound, but he had the best range on the unit.
If anything ever went wrong, he was Bishop's greatest threat.
"You reckon Sparky has those pizzas done yet?" Green asked, changing the subject. Bishop wondered how the older officer never managed to gain weight. Must have been a secondary perk; lucky bastard.
"Not sure." Bishop replied, before stepping out of the office. "Hey Sparky, what's the ETA on the pizzas?"
"Oh, just a minute Officer," the inmate replied from the nearby kitchen. Like the other inmates with a useful power and a history of good behavior, Hector "Sparky" Martinez eventually got his doses dropped so he could participate in vocational training. The lab said they got Martinez down to "20% of his output capacity," whatever that meant. If a fifth of his power could manage 400 degrees fahrenheit, Bishop couldn't imagine the energy coursing through the friendly inmate's veins.
If anything ever went REALLY wrong, he was going to be Bishop's first stop.
Bishop turned back to the office, just about to speak before a sudden wailing siren quickly drowned out everything else. Green rose, but Bishop was already nearer to the exit and had his keys loose before Green was even out of his chair. He tossed them to the other guard and started dashing toward the sallyport.
"Inner and outer gates, Sarge! Inner and outer gates!" The doors clicked just as Bishop reached it, and he continued through them in a sprint. The wailing was louder outside, but the siren had given way to the operator's voice.
"Code Red in unit three. I repeat, code red in unit three. All officers report at once, metacombat in progress." The exterior lights on unit three were flashing red, and Bishop sprinted that way as fast as he could. Even at this distance, he could hear the muffled sounds of combat inside. Unit three was where they kept the really hazardous inmates, including most of the gammas that weren't elsewhere for good behavior.
Other officers were converging on unit three, and Bishop almost had to squeeze past a portly guard from unit two. The big guard pushed the doors open wide, and stormed in as his skin started to take on a hard and stony appearance.
There was a flash of light and a roar of sound from one of the housing pods, and the incoming officers stormed into the room in a frenzy. The sound of screaming, both in anger and in fear, leapt out from the room again and again.
Bishop slowed to a stop, turning toward a drugged-down inmate standing cautiously near the door to his own pod. "Hey, you, what the hell happened in there?"
The inmate threw up his hands, defensively. "Hey, woah, I don't know man. I was just moppin' when all the ruckus started. Musta' been the new guy."
"New guy? What's he do?" New inmates were always a problem; finding the right cocktail of chemicals to fully debilitate them without rendering them mindless zombies (or worse) was a fine art. The lab tended to overcompensate at first, then wean them down to an acceptable level. But each person was different, and officers like Bishop were brought in to cover the gaps that chemistry couldn't fill.
Bishop cast a glance into the pod. There were at least a dozen combatants, officer and inmate alike, and more than one destructive power being thrown around. More than one powered-up inmate at a time? In this unit?
"I don't know, Officer. They say he killed a couple dozen people in some hospital, but I ain't heard how." The inmate was nervous, and Bishop knew they needed him in the pod. He growled, but turned to joy the fray. He hated not knowing the powers of the people he was fighting.
Inside, the inmates had been backed into a corner by the influx of officers, but one of the inmates had a mid-range lightning bolt that was keeping most of them at bay. Another was spewing gouts of liquid flame from his mouth, and between them were at least a trio of charred corpses. The fact that he couldn't tell exactly how many corpses it was did not inspire a great deal of confidence.
One inmate in a fresh set of clothes was grappling with another, though Bishop couldn't tell why. There was a twisted metal door, ripped from its hinges and employed as a shield by one particularly muscular inmate, whose muscles seemed to be growing by the moment.
Another diminisher was trying to siphon the lightning guy's power, but his power had an auditory trigger that the inmate couldn't hear over all the combat and excitement. Other officers were in battle form, hulking out and hardening up, including one officer with a dome-shaped force field that was intercepting most of the pyromaniac's napalm.
This was madness. How was this possible? One inmate off his meds was a bad enough problem, but four? Five? Bishop shook his head, looking for an opening.
The two inmates embracing one another separated, and the veteran doubled over and started heaving. The freshly clothed inmate grabbed another inmate, jabbing his fingers into the other's abdomen. The vomiting inmate stoped after a few heaves, spitting out a pale blue ichor.
Blue. Like their meds.
He rose with a grin, and an arctic wind began to howl and swirl around the inmate as his body was purged of the prison's drug cocktail. That was how their powers were coming back to them. That was... that was...
That was the final straw. If this guy could purge inmates that quickly, there'd be no way to keep them from winning this fight. Most of the diminishers on site were out of practice, relying on the drugs to do their work for them.
Bishop let out a sigh, and stepped back into the central area. If this was about to shake down how he thought it was, he was going to need all the help he could get. He walked up to the cringing inmate, and asked, "Hey buddy, what's your power?"
"Me? Uh, what do they call it... I move stuff with my mind, ya' know? But, like, not now though, 'cuz of the drugs."
Bishop smiled, grabbing the inmate by the wrist. "Telekinesis. Perfect."
The inmate collapsed after a few moments, drained by the officer's touch. Then Bishop turned toward the battle, his back straight and shoulders squared. This was it, his last day on the job.
He stormed into the room, slamming the door shut behind him with a thought, as he prepared to face his wildest fears. | *I didn't kill her, I didn't kill her, I didn't kill her...*
The voice in the head of the convict in front of me repeated this mantra, perhaps believing they could fool me. I sat there, arms crossed, simply waiting for more intrusive thoughts to reveal themselves to me.
*I didn't kill her. I buried the knife in the park, they can't find it. Fuck, I couldn't find it...*
A smirk crossed over the man's face. He was not too old, but not too young - he knew how things worked around here. He knew my job, he knew what he was up against. The smirk was not gloating, but rather sympathetic. Pity. He opened his mouth, as if to utter noise, but then thought better of it. A minute passed.
*I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder how much of my thoughts he can actually read.*
My job description was "Confessor". I worked for one of the large all-encompassing corporations that had come to become oligarchs of what was left of society after The Collapse. I was taken from my family after my Supernatural Inquisitive Exam took place on my twelfth birthday. Due to the nature of my power, they killed my immediate family, fearing that I might be able to communicate with them from my place of work - some Confessors had that ability - and locked me in this place. The Detention Department of Overal Incorporated's Research and Development Division.
My job was simple, and intrinsically tied to my abilities: I was to read minds, gather the truth, interrogate, and terrorize. Before The Collapse, they might have called me telepathic, psychic, or disturbed. Depending on the extent to which any individual Confessor could actually make use of their abilities, they would be given a job relative to not only their power, but also according to how dangerous Overal determined them to be.
The convict before me was accused of murdering a coworker - a Class C offence - which required definitive proof of the deed before termination. Suddenly, after what must have been two or three minutes, he broke down, sobbing aggressively into his arms, handcuffed to the table in front of him.
"Yeah yeah, I know, you already know what I'm thinking, you can read my thoughts, I'm already fucked. So what's with the charade? Why're you still here, sitting there just looking at me?"
The crying stopped, suddenly. Moments passed. As if a second thought, a lazy grin took the place of his mourning frown. Contentment? Resignation?
*At least he doesn't know. He can't know, I don't know what it even is he's not supposed to know.*
At this, I spoke up.
"Let me guess - whoever paid you to kill Dr. Asclepius gave you drugs to wipe your memory of the deal."
*Imagery of a note attached to a knife appeared in the man's mind. On it was typed out "Dr. Asclepius, Death with Lethal Weapon. The credits will be placed into your account once the deed is done.* In bold lettering, slightly larger than the rest of the text, was written in handwriting *I, Markus Kikero, consent to this pact.* It was his handwriting, naturally.
That was a very stupid mistake.
"Tell me, Dr. Kikero," I began, taking a moment to take a sip of water. I took my sweet ass time with the sip - my job was as much of a mind game as it was an investigative adventure. "Why would someone with your types of pedigrees, someone who can literally see the fucking future, write his name on what you just turned into your death warrant?"
The future image he viewed was him being led out of the room by his feet, a trail of blood oozing out of his cracked skull. He knew he wouldn't leave this room alive.
"I have nothing to hide, Confessor. You know that. You know what I can see, this is all pointless. Answer my question damn you. TELL ME."
He was getting hysterical now. When nothing else mattered, he just wanted to know, why?
I suppose, in the end, I told him because I thought there would be no harm in it.
"Overal Inc. pays me to reach deep inside your mind and extract the information you deem to valuable to share with your employer. You know this. However, what you might be ignoring given your-"
The door behind him opened. A large man dressed in a white suit and black tie entered the room as quietly as can be done with a 3-inch thick titanium door. The Particle Pistol he had in his holster was only confirmation of what Dr. Kikero had foreseen.
"... future prospects. May I help you?"
The man said nothing, gesturing for me to continue.
"Right... Dr. Kikero, you killed a fellow employee. You and I both know Class C offences are death penalties. You know you've given me enough proof in your complacency. You know that I know that, due to whatever your alternative employer gave you, you cannot remember who or what they are or wanted, and therefore there is no other use for you here."
The man in the white suit unsheathed his instrument. The thoughts going through both their heads were startlingly similar.
"Why did they keep you here so long? Well, as this gentleman behind you will shortly make clear, in case you were unable to give additional details as to who ordered you to kill the lead Doctor of the Prometheus Project. That is impossible, given what you've done, and your inability to remember. You have, quite simply, outlived your usefulness."
The man in the suit leveled his weapon at Dr. Kikero's temple. The Doctor simply closed his eyes.
"I see." A moment passed while the Particle Pistol charged, humming gently in a low, warm tone. "Thank you for your honesty, Confessor."
The humming escalated into a whir - a bright flash - then the thoughts of Markus' childhood sweetheart, his deceased parents - most likely killed in this very same fashion - his friends, his wife, his dog, all stop. Gone. In the end, he was at peace, most likely because, unlike the man in the suit and myself, he gets to escape.
Looking into the man in the suit, I saw only what could be explained as a broken Old World Recordplayer - countless terminations, just like the one carried out before me. Just like the fresh blood of Markus that now stained his obnoxiously white suit, the memories this man was, more or less, forced to remember, would be forever etched into his consciousness, staining the threads and soaking into each fibre, both of his being and of his starchy suit.
He gave me a curt nod. For some reason, when he looked at me, he saw fear. He remembered the Confessor that remembered his simple little lie to a supervisor, a lie that cost him his tongue. He left the room, much faster than he entered it.
A telegram came out of the wall - the profile of the next convict.
This was my life, for all hours of the day of which I was on the clock. Off the clock, no one even tried to get close to me. Being a Confessor had its perks in the Post-Collapse world, but it also branded me as someone who, despite what you may think, always knew the truth of things. Always knew your innermost thoughts, your desires, feelings, inclinations, motivations, memories, and, more often that I would like to admit, fears.
People feared me, simply because around me, I need not ask questions, and they need not lie.
Truth is a dangerous thing when a complete stranger already knows what it could be.
It wasn't until I was on the train home that I realized that it could have all been a cover-up, that Overal just wanted Markus Kikero dead, because of his arguably much, much more dangerous power of Foresight. How did they even arrest him? Probably a squad of even more dangerous characters, working together to bring this Doctor into custody. If Overal wanted someone dead, all they had to do was print out a profile, telegraph it to me, and wait for results. Who was I to say if the telegraph was honest? Papers do not know if they have false words printed upon them.
Then again, being a Confessor was arguably better than being dead - or an outlaw.
Or, so I told myself. | 2020-02-05T20:05:56 | 2020-02-05T20:05:26 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Diana groaned as the older forty year old man walked into the room, hands cuffed behind his back and a policeman pushing him towards the seat opposite her. "What's up, Wilson?" she asked detective James Wilson, the man who managed to get on her nerves almost everyday with the number of criminals he brought in.
"Murder suspect. Estimated time of crime is around 48 hours from here." Wilson grinned at her as she sat up straight and observed the man in the chair, preparing to read his mind.
Diana Rodgers was one of the gifted. Her gift was telepathy, the ability to read and control minds at her will. Nobody knew she could control minds, however. She managed to keep it a secret. The government somehow managed to get hold of the information that she can read minds with the help of a decoy. Now, she spent most of her days in a cabin with a one way mirror for a wall. An interrogation room. But, with her in their possession, it was more of her prison than an interrogation room.
Diana started reading the mind of the man, looking at his past. A rather mediocre life. He was not gifted, or cursed as she would call it. No history of mental illnesses. She was supposed to read only 48 hours into the past but something made her go deeper. Two years in the past. Around the time her only remaining family, her mother, was murdered.
Diana did not expect to find what she did. Her mother was in the middle of a park, the one she recognized as the park a couple blocks from her old house, holding a gun to a man's head. "Leave Diana out of this, Alan!" Diana watched as her mother's killer took a disk and passed it to her mother. Then, as she was distracted, he pulled out a gun and shot her in the head.
Diana opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "No! I quit!" She got up. "Fuck this."
"You can't." Wilson took out a gun and pointed it at the angry and grieving woman.
"Watch me as I do!" Diana smiled as she made Wilson put the gun to his own head and pull the trigger. "I'm done with this nonsense." She pulled out the gun from Wilson's hand. Then, she walked out of the room.
"I knew she could do it. Get Team Alpha ready to capture her. Time to give her a promotion." | Another night, another dollar as they say, right? I take a deep breath in and exhale before I walk in the doors. It’s a busy night tonight. There’s already people lined up outside and we haven’t even been opened for an hour yet. “Good luck tonight champ, it’s the trifecta.” The bouncer warned me before I walked in. “Great.” I said smirking. A part of me hoped he was joking but I don’t think he was.
When I walked in it was beyond packed I stop to take it in for a moment. When they say it’s the trifecta you probably think of ice cream and sweets. Shoot I don’t blame you, I would too if I heard that name. Instead the trifecta for us means it’s going to be a bad night.
First we have your Karens that come in and want to speak to the manager all the time. I know them you know them. No more discussion.
Secondly we have your Boomers. Yeah those people still come here but not the sane ones who are at home by 9 pm on a Friday in bed. The ones who hang out with our third and final group.
Finally we have your Greeks. No not those greeks the ones who pay for friends. Somehow all three of these groups decided to come here tonight to my pizza bar. I mean what can I expect it’s the first pizza bar fully ran by humans with super powers in my town.
Our hostess is the best though they have the power to clone themselves. It comes in useful when it’s a busy night and you gotta answer the phone, take reservations, juggle people and also a seating chart that has to be updated constantly. I mean that’s the perfect power to have, right?
The bartenders are some of the best around. They are speedsters so drinks are always slanging here. There’s never no tonight to busy for them.
Our servers could teleport. Yeah I know right why are they serving food to people who are rude to them and disrespectful and not out saving the world some how? Beats me. I don’t know. My power isn’t reading minds, no no no. My power is Laser vision.
Yes laser vision, I get to cook pizza every night for 6-8 hours straight on my feet. When it’s the night of the trifecta it’s worse. I don’t think I can handle this anymore with this job. I must get out and use this power for good, but for what?
“Hey, Red Eyes get your behind in that kitchen and start shooting pizzas.” That moment is over for me now. That was my boss who needs to take a laser to the knee. I gotta get to work now. | 2020-02-05T20:46:28 | 2020-02-05T20:46:18 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You are a superhero with shapeshifting powers. You don't fight crime. You cover for other superheroes when they need to sneak out to save the day. | As I walked into the flat, shouting "I'm back!" with my still unfamiliar voice, my eyes darted around as fast as they could, almost as fast as my mind was taking everything in.
I'm a fast learner. For this job, you have to be.
Often enough, supers realize they don't want their professional life interfering with their personal lives. Eventually, their loved ones notice one too many times that they're never around while a super is out.
That's where I come in.
On this particular occasion, Golden Warden was having his showdown with Psionic Shadow. This showdown had been... fore*shadowed*... Heh... For a while now.
Every news station was ready to televise the event. Not only was an important battle, but magic-oriented battles were usually super flashy.
So, I was holding Warden's place as Matthew Gonthrope. As a shapeshifter, if you want this kind of job, you have to be super adaptable. The super can tell you as much as they know about their lives, and even with hours upon hours, they'll never get down every single thing that would give you away. So you gotta make up most of it as you go along.
Matthew's roommate, Goldy, was supposed to be here. But after calling out a few more times, I figured he must be out right now.
I thought, *well, I'm getting paid either way*. So, I flopped on the couch and turned on the TV to watch the showdown.
Of course, by the time I tuned in, it was a bit late. It had been a trap.
Shadow had Warden locked in a magical hybrid prison, using Warden's own magic against him in combination with the magic Shadow had himself.
"*You **idiot!***" Shadow's magically amplified voice blasted from the TV. Clearly, he'd planned this thoroughly. "*I knew it was you, Matthew!*"
*Oh fuck*, I thought.
Warden said something, but it was inaudible as he couldn't amplify his voice like Shadow was. Shadow laughed. "*I know more about you than most people, don't I? I may not be able to kill you in the present conditions, but I can destroy everything else of yours. How about we start with our flat?*"
"*SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!*" I shouted to myself as I stood up and glanced around for an escape route. In a flash, the two disappeared from the TV and reappeared outside the window. I remembered I was only on the second floor, and despite only being a shapeshifter, my body was still inhumanly strong.
I sprinted towards the window, slamming my whole weight into it with my shoulder, tumbling out onto the street below.
The two glanced down at me. Psionic Shadow squinted. "Matthew?" He turned to Warden. "Wait a minute, then who the fuck are you?"
The real Matthew shrugged. "I have no idea where we are."
"***WHAT?***" Shadow's booming voice sent a shockwave out, shattering every window I hadn't broken already. Shadow looked at me, with a little regret. "How the hell did you crash through that window?"
I stared dumbly, shouting "GOLDY?"
Shadow started shaking his head wildly. "What the fuck?"
Suddenly, in a flash of blue steel, Psionic Shadow was knocked out of the sky by The Herald of the Storm (clunky name, I know). Eventually, after a relatively short battle, Shadow was captured, Warden still alive.
I hope it suffices to say that I got a bonus. | I have found myself in quite a few interesting situations in my line of work, but this was certainly new. My arms and legs were strapped to a metal chair in a dark room with some dim monitors about 10 feet away. My instant reaction was to shift my way out by flattening my limbs but I had no idea if I was being watched and if someone learned who I was, my "babysitting" job would be shot down the tubes. The light from a door opening momentarily blinded me, which was probably the effect my captors were going for. I heard the door slam shut and a single lightbulb lit in the middle of the ceiling, offering enough light for me to see the man in the suit and his female assistant. The man was very stern and looked like he could shower in pepper spray without flinching. His assistant was clearly the plot twist mastermind. I mean, she /looks/ like she's trying to blend in. As someone who blends in for a living, it is disheartening to see someone fail so miserably at it. I started to smirk but that was interrupted by the man in the suit. "Do you know where you are?" I met his gaze. "Well, to be frank, it looks like I'm about to be subjected to a supervillain monologue." The man's stern face cracked for a second to allow a thin grin to form. "Well I hate to break it to you, but you're actually in a federal agency interrogation room." I wasn't that far off, I guess. The woman handed him a folder which he opened and produced a thumb drive. He disappeared behind one of the monitors to plug it in. He was really going for a grand display here. After a moment, the monitor showed a familiar scene I was surprised to see. Grant Draftstone, the D. A. f our fine city was standing at the window of his office. Except that wasn't Mr. Draftstone. It was me. I was covering while he was patrolling the streets that night as the Skyscraper. It wasn't the best name, but I'd heard worse. For a split second, a shadow covered the window. When the shadow disappeared, there I was. "You care to explain what you were snooping around in the D. A.'s office for? And don't even /think/ of lying. Ms. Claire here is our resident telepath." Telepaths always bugged me. You never know what thoughts are private. Fortunately, I have a technique for dealing with them. I wish I could have taken a picture of that woman's expression when she tried to read my mind only to find the nastiest thoughts I could conjure up. She almost threw up, courtesy of that time I threw up on a dead rat in the subway station. I wasn't aiming for it, but crap happens. /Speaking of crap.../ I thought. That's when their resident telepath hit the floor, out cold. As the guy in the suit turned to look at what was happening, I extended my arm fast enough to cold-cock him right in the head. He fell down right beside her with a wonderful noise that I'm sure some illustrator would represent with huge block letters covering half the panel. I slid out of my restraints with only the greatest of ease and began to head out the door. I remembered the thumb drive, stepped back inside, snagged it, and left a note on the assistant, listing all the reasons that she was clearly the mastermind of some great plot. I wish I could see the aftermath of that note. I was positive it would have been the greatest falling out since I accidentally convinced the Silver Bullet's wife that he was secretly seeing Lady Werewolf when I was in actuallity calling the Silver Bullet to make sure I was being paid extra for picking up his dog's crap. Anyway, as I left the complex, borrowing Ms. Claire's face, of course, I knew I was going to have to talk to Mr. Draftstone about getting a little bonus. | 2020-03-23T16:29:06 | 2020-03-23T14:51:47 | 156 | 102 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Humans. Always humans.
In truth there was nothing much remarkable about them. Like any other species they had strengths and weaknesses imparted by their unique physiology.
And yet...
Somehow it was always humans who ended up in impossible situations.
The first ones to successfully negotiate with a Kabra-Alhar? Humans. The first ones to succesfully synthesize Econtahir? Humans. The first explorer to escape a Titan-Worm burrow? A Human.
It was known that Humans in general had more...unstable psyches than most other races. Prone to unpredictable behaviour and surprising insights, oddly charismatic and terrifyingly violent at times.
It was hard to "get" Humans.
He had hesitated for a long time to accept a human crewmember for these reasons but had caved under the mounting reports from other captains: as diffcult as they could be, in unusual, extreme situations you could have no one more useful, somehow, even if they were gibbering cowards or helpless pacifist.
*Somehow* humans pulled through.
And now this.
"The Human, sir" his nervous aide announced.
The Human entered the cabin.
They had variety to themselves, but to the Captain they still all looked he same. That would change if he spent more time with them but for now it held true.
After a few moments of silent exchanges of looks between two eyes and six the Captain took the word.
"What were you thinking?"
"I was curious" the Human,'s voice was quite but intent, its eyes...its eyes were focused. Almost shining.
The Captain was confused about his own associations. Since when was alien bodylanguage so clear to him?
"Curious? That is your excuse for risking life and sanity?"
"What better reason could there be?"
The words made perfect sense to the Ca...no. They didn't. What was this?
"What did you see?"
The Human smiled.
A gesture they were not supposed to do in front of aliens, showing teeth was aggressive in many species.
"You know as well as I do, Captain, that seeing is a laughably limited metaphor for what I experienced"
"Describe it then"
"Truth" the answer came without hesitation.
The Captain felt a cold sliver of fear. A shiver went down...no. A shiver? His species didn't do that. Did they?
The Humans eyes were still on him. He found he couldn't look away.
"Truth...what truth?"
"Everything. No barriers. No lies. Reality as it is. The gaping maw of the abyss and the towering peak of matter itself above it"
Its eyes...its eyes were so clear. So present. Where was its face? There were only the eyes.
"Would you like to know a secret Captain? It watched back. It sees us. They say the universe doesn't care. They are wrong. Everything is watched carefully"
Its eyes...how many did it have again? The Captain counted five...no seven...no nine...
"We Humans...I think we are more open to the universe than others. More accepting. The universe doesn't make sense and unlike many other species...we can work with that."
More eyes were opening. Each one a tiny pinprick in the distant void, burning with infinte focus. On him.
"And when I came back from gazing into infinity...a tiny piece of infinity came back with me"
The Captain heard a shrill, terrified whimper and realised it came from him. The eyes! They were dissecting him! Each thought, each memory, all seen and weighted and taken and no longer his own!
"Captain. You will now delete each reference to this incident from the logs. And then you will help me give others this gift. Infinity has finally found it's way to us. And you will help me help it find it's way to many more"
There was only obedience in front of the eyes.
"Yes. I will" | "What the hell are you on about?" the captain replied, annoyed. "That's not possible. Surely it was strapped in the gear before the jump?"
"No sir, I'm sure of it," the lieutenant replied. "And yet, it's still alive and breathing."
"Gods," the captain said, as a deep sense of unease began to well up inside of him. "Take me to him."
***
The ship's medical practitioners were examining the human in hushed whispers. It was common knowledge that being exposed and conscious throughout a space jump would kill any being, sentient or not, and humans were no more resistant than the rest of the galaxy's inhabitants.
"What in God's name were you thinking, man?" the captain said, not bothering to conceal his anger. He was directly responsible for any deaths onboard, and had no time nor respect for any soldier not competent enough for self-preservation.
"Why am I here?" the human replied simply, not reacting to the torch shining in his pupils. "Why are you all here?"
"You said it *hadn't* gone crazy, lieutenant," the captain said in a whisper.
The lieutenant shook his head. "No, it's sane enough. Any other being exposed to this would have no brain function at all, let alone be able to reply. This is unheard of."
"You're all dead, and born again," the human continued, almost to himself. "Dead, and born again."
"Brain function may be shutting down as we speak," the chief medic said, getting the attention of the other physicians. She began strapping down the human, indicating for the other medics to do the same.
The human made no effort to resist, instead turning to face the captain of the ship.
"You're dead, captain. You're dead, and yet you stand before me," the human said, looking at the captain, or perhaps through him.
"Fucking hell," the captain said. "Just put it to sleep, or euthanize it. We don't have time for this."
"What do you mean?" the lieutenant asked, leaning towards the human. "What did you see in the stars?"
"I saw no stars," the human replied, it's face blank, "I only saw death. You are all dead, and yet you are here."
The human looked around the room.
"Why am I here? Why am I *there*?"
"It's gone mad," the captain said dismissively.
"Wait," the chief medic said, kneeling in front of the human. "What do you mean? Where are you?"
"I am in the ship," the human replied, "I am there. I am there, and everyone is dead. You're all dead, and I'm here, and I'm there, and I'm here..."
The human began to shake uncontrollably, and started tearing at his restraints. The medics attempted to restrain him, but he paid them no heed.
"What happened in the jump?" the lieutenant shouted over the noise.
"There was no jump!" the human screamed in reply, "You're all dead, *you're all-*"
The human's neck suddenly rocked backward, then he fell forward; the remains of his head gushing onto the floor. The captain glanced around the room, as if daring anyone to challenge him.
"Clean up that mess and get back to work," the captain said, holstering his weapon. "We have a mission to do."
****
The captain returned to his quarters, letting out a deep and heavy sigh.
Teleportation was an imperfect science; and perhaps an imperfect term. They did not teleport, so much as portal.
But of course, a being could not exist in two times, in two places at once.
The original could not be allowed to survive. Consciousness cannot exist simultaneously.
It was best not to think about these things.
Above all, the mission was paramount.
*****
*****
If you didn't complete hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2020-07-14T00:07:06 | 2020-07-13T22:58:23 | 5,729 | 1,602 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | They glanced at each other; the emotions of their kind were harder to read, granted, but I could tell there was a certain anxiousness to it. Perhaps there was a shiftiness about their eyes.
And while their words, harsh and guttural, were harder to decipher- I didn’t have much of a knack for language- the blatancy of their confusion was so universal that it was comical.
It did strike me that potentially, in all the years that had elapsed since they’d initially made contact, I had been the first to survive it intact. Mentally, I mean.
Theories had been floating around about the Vortex for decades. They said that the transportation process was something you needed to be completely unconscious for, lest you perish a billion times in the great unknown that is the darkness of an eternity. That a little piece of the soul evades you and is drawn to it.
There’s no science to it, of course. Merely speculation.
And we must hand it to Them; they account for and document each of us that they take for observation. They provide protective gear for the “Leap”, and return each of us without so much as a scratch- the majority of time, that is. Naturally, their technology isn’t completely immaculate. Maybe they’re even more human than expected. They even provide certification for the dead.
I couldn’t take it when she died. Everything lost its colour.
It was the irony that felt so bitter; she’d been so excited to be chosen, desperate to have some kind of wonderful anecdote that could trump anything else possibly conceivable at the dinner party she was so certain she’d one day host on our wedding china. She told me that with a glint in her eye, and laughed, in that low, intoxicating giggle of hers, before leaning in for a kiss.
I didn’t read the details of the report in depth. I didn’t need to. If anyone perishes during a Leap, it’s because something in the system has failed. She saw the Vortex and went mad. Suffered alone for a thousand lifetimes.
When I was chosen, it came as a blessing. It was a stupid, fleeting hope. A wild dream of mine. I was chasing the memories of her soul; those ridiculous old wives tales of pieces of the consciousness echoing about in the darkness of the Leap.
I had deliberately left the latch off the headset and closed my eyes, waiting.
***
“He’s smiling,” the cadet reported, avoiding eye contact as he etched the findings into the system.
“Is that not symptomatic of delirium?” The captain asked incredulously, gazing at the subject through the glass partition. He was sitting, cross-legged, on the bench with his back pressing lightly into the wall.
“Normally, I wouldn’t doubt that,” the cadet replied slowly. “But there’s never been a recorded instance of speech capability.”
“What?” The captain exclaimed, his eyes widening. The human looked particularly weak and pathetic; there was nothing especially durable about his character. He was thin and pale, and couldn’t have been more than thirty.
“Surely that’s not possible. That area of the human brain is the first to deteriorate. There must be some mistake.”
“No- no mistake,” the cadet shook his head. “It’s the same words over and over again.”
“What is he saying?”
“‘I found her. Oh thank God I found her.’” | Both Captain Zula and systems engineer Wuolloki stood in silence, contemplating the magnitude of what they had just said and heard.
"Bring me the human," the Captain ordered. Wuolloki saluted curtly, turned, and left the room.
Captain Zula was rubbing her head now. She moved over to her secret stash of alcohol, wondering if this was an appropriate time to abuse her position. In a smooth, practised motion, her right hand was suddenly nursing two fingers of whiskey.
*Abuse it is*, she thought, as she lifted the glass to her lips.
The smooth liquor went down her throat, as quick as it had appeared in the glass. She exhaled hard, enjoying the burn through her nostrils as well. Three rapt knocks on her door prompted her to hastily stash her drinking vessel away, quickly seating herself upright.
"Here he is," Wuolloki said.
Zula examined the human closely, looking for the telltale signs of those who had seen too much. Usually, they were either straight up crazy, blabbering nonsense and gibberish, or barely holding themselves together from extolling the virtues of the known universe.
It didn't matter what they were saying. Usually, they were full of it. Not the human, however. He was quietly gazing ahead, head unbowed, the steel in his eyes obvious even from a mile away.
"Human," Zula said. "You weren't even supposed to be here."
"I wasn't," the human said.
Both Zula and Wuolloki waited for the inevitable tirade to come, but nothing. The human had fallen quiet.
"How?" the captain demanded.
"How what?" the human replied.
"How could a species such as yours see the true brilliance of the stars and come away unaffected?" Zula cried.
The human's eyes moved toward the ceiling as he mulled over the question.
"I wouldn't say unaffected," the human said. "I've not been driven mad yet. We don't know whether it's an if or when."
"There has never been an 'if'," spat Wuolloki. "Of all the races! How dare you speak so nonchalantly!"
The engineer slapped the human across the back. The human did not even yelp. Rather, he laughed.
"Halt!" Zula demanded. "Wuolloki, leave us."
"And have you alone with this--"
"Leave!" the captain affirmed, and the engineer backed off. He turned once again, this time forgoing the salute, and indignantly tried to slam a pressurized door.
Zula once again took stock of the human before her.
"What is your name?"
"Oh, a captain deigns herself to ask for me name?" the human laughed gaily. "But I would gladly comply. I see that you are quite unlike the others, Captain Zula. I am known as Benjamin."
"You stand before me, none the worse for wear, Benjamin," Zula continued. "I've not heard of such a case for hundreds of years. I've had to bury crew members, friends, family... How do you stand here unscathed?"
"As I said, Captain, I didn't leave unscathed," Benjamin smiled. "I think we humans have a special gift when faced with the infinite unknown."
"And what is that?" Zula asked. "Magic? Power?"
"No," Benjamin's wry grin faded a little as his eyes suddenly looked far away. "It is hope. Hope that no matter what we go through and endure, there will be light. Whether it floods the sky or if it's just one pinprick at the edge of the universe, it remains. Forever and always."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-07-14T01:07:26 | 2020-07-13T23:19:17 | 688 | 186 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Captain Requier marched down to the human Tech Officer Ceasar’s quarters. Ceasar had been ordered to his room until they had reached their destination, after which Requier would assess the human’s sanity for himself. “It shouldn’t be possible,” Requier thought, “that anyone can witness warp without the anti-warp gear and be alright.” He had seen about a half dozen good men and women go crazy; why was Ceasar any different. Requier knocked on Ceasar’s door.
“Come in Captain.” Ceasar called out. The door slid open. Ceasar was sitting on his bed, looking at Requier. So far, he didn’t look deranged. Requier slowly sat down beside him.
“How ya feeling son?” He asked. Ceasar shrugged.
“A little nauseous. I sort of feel like I’m having a really bad cold, you know?” Ceasar blinked hard and deliberately. Requier took great notice. “And seeing us jump into warp speed, damn that hurt my eyes.”
“Hurt your eyes kiddo?” Requier asked. “What dis you see? Was it too bright?” Requier smiled, trying to relate a little to Ceasar. “That’s why we wear the gear.”
“At first it looked like Star Wars, y’know?” Ceasar said, looking at Requier. Requier didn’t react, and Ceasar frowned slightly. “Oh come on man we just watched those movies last week! With Luke Skywalker and-“
“Oh, right!” Requier answered. “The lines when they go into light speed. Okay. What else?”
“A whole bunch of weird looking polygons, and shapes that reminded me of things I saw, and some stuff that I think I might see in the future...” Ceasar trailer off. “Geez, it’s gonna stick with me for a bit.”
“Well, my boy, I’m asking because-“
“Because people go crazy without the warp gear right?” Ceasar interrupted. Requier looked surprised. “I found that out myself back in tech school. You don’t need to play with kid gloves around me Captain.”
“I see. Well, since you know it’s effects on people’s psyche, many of us are concerned with how warp affects the human mind. Humans are new to the space faring world, and-“
“And what?” Ceasar asked, seeming agitated. “And humans haven’t demonstrated high intelligence? We’re the weird dumb species right? I hear that enough.” Requier fell silent, unsure of how to respond. “I get it, humans got into space using combustion engines and polluted our home world really badly. But we’re not stupid. Maybe what people see when they enter warp without gear is too much for non-human brains.” Ceasar signed, and laid back onto his bed. “I’m sorry for the outburst. This is just the straw that broke the camel’s back I guess.” Requier silently got up.
“You can find anti-nausea medicine in the sick bay when you’re ready. And...”. He turned to look back at Ceasar. “I’m sorry we have made you feel like we think you’re lesser. We don’t think that. I hope we can regain your trust.” | Both Captain Zula and systems engineer Wuolloki stood in silence, contemplating the magnitude of what they had just said and heard.
"Bring me the human," the Captain ordered. Wuolloki saluted curtly, turned, and left the room.
Captain Zula was rubbing her head now. She moved over to her secret stash of alcohol, wondering if this was an appropriate time to abuse her position. In a smooth, practised motion, her right hand was suddenly nursing two fingers of whiskey.
*Abuse it is*, she thought, as she lifted the glass to her lips.
The smooth liquor went down her throat, as quick as it had appeared in the glass. She exhaled hard, enjoying the burn through her nostrils as well. Three rapt knocks on her door prompted her to hastily stash her drinking vessel away, quickly seating herself upright.
"Here he is," Wuolloki said.
Zula examined the human closely, looking for the telltale signs of those who had seen too much. Usually, they were either straight up crazy, blabbering nonsense and gibberish, or barely holding themselves together from extolling the virtues of the known universe.
It didn't matter what they were saying. Usually, they were full of it. Not the human, however. He was quietly gazing ahead, head unbowed, the steel in his eyes obvious even from a mile away.
"Human," Zula said. "You weren't even supposed to be here."
"I wasn't," the human said.
Both Zula and Wuolloki waited for the inevitable tirade to come, but nothing. The human had fallen quiet.
"How?" the captain demanded.
"How what?" the human replied.
"How could a species such as yours see the true brilliance of the stars and come away unaffected?" Zula cried.
The human's eyes moved toward the ceiling as he mulled over the question.
"I wouldn't say unaffected," the human said. "I've not been driven mad yet. We don't know whether it's an if or when."
"There has never been an 'if'," spat Wuolloki. "Of all the races! How dare you speak so nonchalantly!"
The engineer slapped the human across the back. The human did not even yelp. Rather, he laughed.
"Halt!" Zula demanded. "Wuolloki, leave us."
"And have you alone with this--"
"Leave!" the captain affirmed, and the engineer backed off. He turned once again, this time forgoing the salute, and indignantly tried to slam a pressurized door.
Zula once again took stock of the human before her.
"What is your name?"
"Oh, a captain deigns herself to ask for me name?" the human laughed gaily. "But I would gladly comply. I see that you are quite unlike the others, Captain Zula. I am known as Benjamin."
"You stand before me, none the worse for wear, Benjamin," Zula continued. "I've not heard of such a case for hundreds of years. I've had to bury crew members, friends, family... How do you stand here unscathed?"
"As I said, Captain, I didn't leave unscathed," Benjamin smiled. "I think we humans have a special gift when faced with the infinite unknown."
"And what is that?" Zula asked. "Magic? Power?"
"No," Benjamin's wry grin faded a little as his eyes suddenly looked far away. "It is hope. Hope that no matter what we go through and endure, there will be light. Whether it floods the sky or if it's just one pinprick at the edge of the universe, it remains. Forever and always."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-07-14T00:28:01 | 2020-07-13T23:19:17 | 465 | 186 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.” | My name is Supply Sergeant Marcus Grant of the Terran Armada’s third support unit. I have been in a secure isolation cell in a wing of an Intragalactic Transport Centre hospital for the last 3 weeks, or maybe it’s more. The days have begun to run together.
The doctors here have told me that I have gone mad. Or that, by all accounts, I should have. I believe that I am in full control of my physical and mental faculties. My repeated requests to speak to a Terran Governmental representative have thus far been denied. I do not believe that any human knows where I am.
I arrived here after being accidentally locked in a cargo hold on a warp drop into the Epsilon Sagiitarii track. It’s been 3 weeks and I still don’t know how to tell them that I panicked and took an ambien not long after take off and fell asleep watching Law and Order Spacial Victims Unit before we even passed the Kuiper belt. | 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-13T22:38:35 | 381 | 74 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.” | The Humans. They’re like canaries on a ship.
They can See photonic activity and Hear atomic activity. They can detect two particles bumping into one another from a billion miles away. Yet they are stupid, and small, and made of meat.
Advanced sentients are able to think in five dimensions, but humans struggle to comprehend the three that their existence is rooted in. The notion of quantum rational thought, knowing everything everywhere all at once, is beyond their faculties and their lexicon.
Yet here one stands. In the galactic pantheon, every ship has one. Its dimpled, hairy covering staring out at an infinitely complex network of interlaced matter types, and processing it all in the blink of its eye.
And now the dumb beast turns to me.
‘It’s amazing isn’t it, the vastness or space?’
I snort internally at the obliviousness of the proto-sapients’ attempt at deep thought. But I feel compelled to reply.
‘Yes, Captain.’ | 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-14T01:30:39 | 381 | 64 |
[WP] The thing that makes humanity dangerous isn't their passion, their bravery, or their honour like they had imagined. No, The thing that makes them dangerous is their stupidity. | Garett cleaved his greatsword through the Hydralisk's tendril, the plasma edges of his blade searing through iron carapace and thick flesh alike.
The beast's hooked claws thunked to the ground and its owner bellowed a terrible, putrid scream, flailing a smoking limb.
The roar echoed through the stadium around them, punctuated by hoots from the Strixians perched on the upper levels and clicks from the towering Malacostrums.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and worms. Garett the Brave!" the announcer yelled. His voice boomed through the arena, tinny through the universal translator. "We hear he's fighting for his sister's freedom. Aww!"
The Hydralisk continued to flop and Garrett saw his opportunity. He raised his weapon and charged.
The creature's roars trailed to a whimper as the human approached. The Hydralisk flattened its five remaining limbs against the ground and prostrated itself before Garett.
Garett didn't need a translator to understand. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, keeping his gaze trained on his trembling foe.
"My, my, folks. We haven't seen a play like this since Pegrid the Idiot tried for it. Emphasis on try of course, because-"
Garett shuddered as icy claws punctured his back. As air plunged from his lungs he looked back. A tendril poked up from the ground behind him. Its blade-like claws now protruded through his stomach.
Garett spun back to see the Hydralisk's mandibles widen. Its low whimper turned to a gleeful chitter.
"-well because of this, really," the announcer continued. "Ain't no place for honor here, folks."
*Honor.*
Garett clenched his teeth. He slammed his greatsword through the tendril behind him, slicing the limb at the tip and freeing himself from the Hydralisk's hold.
The creature screamed again, and at this distance, Garett could feel the acid sting of its breath.
*Like I do this for honor.*
He bit his lip and grasped the chitin claw still skewered through his abdomen.
Garett hesitated for a moment and pulled.
Before he could scream, he dipped the tip of his greatsword where the claw had been.
He screamed now.
"What shall we put on his tombstone folks? Garett the Brave? More like Garett the Stupid."
Writhing on the ground he touched his hand to his stomach.
No blood. He had seared his wound closed. For now.
Garett struggled to his knees. He hunched, puffing.
Ahead of him, the Hydralisk reared to its full, colossal height. It brandished two severed limbs and seven furious eyes. It roared.
*Stupid? Yeah this is pretty stupid.*
Garett thought of the day the slavers came. His mother's frail shoulders, shaking with sobs. His own shoulders. Thin, powerless, helpless.
*Stupid.*
Garett roared back.
r/bobotheturtle | *These morons don’t know what they’re dealing with. The Spawn can shred men to bits even through armor.*
Mark Kepper had been at the heart of most of the great victories mankind has seen in the last two decades. This time looked no different, with the overwhelming force of the Spawn looming over the Deep Pass.
“When they make it beyond the Pass, we don’t have the numbers to hold them out. The Great City will be lost, just as the western lands were,” said Jorem, the commander of the Knights of the Thorn.
“Those blasted mansnakes won’t make it through the Pass and our city’s walls. We don’t have the numbers but the Spawn don’t have passion for their brothers and crown. I’ll sooner die a man with a bloodied blade, my corpse blocking the gate, than talk of losing this city like a craven,” proclaimed Titus, a blademaster from the Steel Guild.
Mark glared at him, and seemingly pressurized the room as everyone moved too heavily to look away.
“We meet them over the gap and leave the longbowmen on this side of it to provide support fire. We’ll hold them off backing into the Pass’s trails and let the arrows shred their numbers,” said Mark, with a cool calmness that melted away his pressure.
“But, my lord Kepper, wouldn’t it be more advantageous to station on the nearside of the Pass and-“
Mark interrupted the commander, “no. That’s too obvious and these beasts have shown to be smart enough to plan for that. I’ve fought them before in the Red War to the west. This is our land, yet they are new to it. While the Deep Pass is daunting, we know it well. Get the local Surveyor and have him teach you the twists and turns, and relay it to your men.”
*You won’t be able to quickly enough, and the gods know you won’t lead them on the spot*.
“The thing that makes humanity dangerous isn’t our passion, our bravery, or our honour - and it’s certainly not our ability to think ahead so much that we break down into idiots when nothing goes to plan. Nothing ever goes to plan in battle, commander, and you would know that if you led from the vanguard or even the ranks rather than from your saddle.”
The room now turned cold as ice. Lord Kepper was said to have touched the powers of old that let men in ancient times turn the seasons and call down the weather. Everyone that has spent time in a room with him knows it is no rumor.
*And if this is my last battle, let them carve in my headstone that the stupidity of men cannot be rid of but I damn well tried to make up for it by myself. Gods, I hear some chattering their teeth and see now Jorem sweating in his silk. My brain alone has taken me to godship in their eyes, but if I’m wrong here, how many will die that I cannot bring back whether their wives and mothers believe it or not?*
“Lord Kepper, would you spar with me to warm up our muscles for the fight ahead?” asked Titus, a bead of sweat now running down his forehead. “I’ve never seen you in battle and from what I’ve heard, even I have much to learn from you. Surely we’ve worked our brains enough for now.”
“Perhaps if we make it back,” sighed Mark, “preparations for battle must begin if we’re to fight them in the sun when the archers can see them best.” | 2020-08-03T23:13:45 | 2020-08-03T22:05:08 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] "The humans will be easy prey. What are they gonna do? I heard their most deadly weapon is a giant mushroom." | These were the words spoken by my squamates as we began to descend. I laughed along with them, the idea of a massive mushroom being enough to wipe out our advanced spacefaring craft one of pure absurdity. "How long you think this'l take friend?" Asked my littermate ZKD-10932 or Zek as we called him, "I believe it will end in a matter of seconds friend Zek" replied our gunner, we all agreed. But we were not prepared, recently we had received word from one of our spies there most potent weapons were massive mushrooms and the 'Javelin system' the latter sounding much more advanced but apperantly not as destructive as the mushroom. We descended above a large ocean and saw what looked to be a battalion of rudimentary warships, we were expecting no resistance. Until they opened fire, we had been expecting little more than bows and arrows, not rail cannons and advanced armor piercing missals! The fleet pulled away from the battalion, upon close inspection one could see flags of many different types, the mystery of the flags was lost on us as the ships, much larger than they had appeared at first, continued to pepper the ascending fleet. The warlords called a retreat, and we began to do so. As we pulled into the upper stratosphere, I noticed a glinting silver flash out of the corner of my eye. A millisecond later, one of the capital ships exploded into a fiery flower of death. Based on the ships sensors, that had been some form of massive projectile, launched from a cannon of some type. Though the speed and size of it meant the weapon had to be land based. We retreated, and planned another invasion.
&#x200B;
This time the warlords went for a land approach, we landed in a vacant desert to set up camp. only hours after black combat aircraft rocketed across the sky, the radio chatter we picked up identified them as the 'Red Wings of Death squadron' they unleashed fiery hell upon our shields, but did little to penetrate them. They pulled back and we were shelled again with the massive rounds, I suspected that they came from the 'Javelin system'. If I thought that was bad, I couldn't have ever prepared for what happened next.
We were well accustomed to orbital strikes, but this one. Was beyond anything we had ever seen. Five massive rockets came screaming out of the sky, and detonated before they even touched the shields, the result was devastating. Our skin melted and the sand turned to glass, the encampments set on fire and those of us closest to the epicenter literally vaporized. What little was left of us limped off the planet slowly dying of cellular decay. We never attempted to go back, nobody ever did. | *1955 Ohio- Berell's Family Farm*
TSP agent 1 and TSP agent 2 are sitting the middle of a carrot patch on a strange planet in the Tortilla Galaxy. The two are sent on a civil mission to discover the origins of the race. They sent the two worst agents in case they would not return from the unkown regions of the Tortilla Galaxy.
&#x200B;
TSP Agent 1. I am so tired of this planet. Everything here is weird. AND YESTERDAY\_ WHAT THE HECK WERE THEY DOING WITH ONE OF OUR KIND! THE WEIRD CREATURES JUST SAT AROUND THE FALLEN CITIZEN AND TORE HIM INTO PIECES!!!**THEY ATE HIM!**
TSP Agent 2. I know, we have to get outta here before we are next but we need to get the samples for home base. They... They have a right to know the truth no matter how horrible it is.
&#x200B;
TSP Agent 1. I can not believe this! Did HQ send us here on purpose- Did they already know?We were only loaded with two Mozz guns and our sampling kit
TSP Agent 2. They could not have known! They would not do that to us! We have to break back into that place - what do they call it- Pizza Palace?
TSP Agent 1. The briefing made this seem so easy, "iN CaSe Of hOsTiLeS ThE hUmAnS wIlL bE EaSy PrEy . wHaT aRe ThEy GoNnA dO? i HeArD tHeIr MoSt DeAdLy WeApOn Is A GiAnT mUsHrOom." My mom was half mushroom. Nothing could prepare you for this! They must have known, JERRY sent us here to die!
&#x200B;
TSP agent 2. Stop mocking them, they did not know and Jerry was just giving us the mission we thought we wanted. He was trying to save our sauce from being fired for our failure on the diplomat mission in the French Toast sector. Lets get some rest for tomorrow we infiltrate that disturbing place and save who we can! ( agent falls into deep sleep)
&#x200B;
TSP agent 1. \*Sighs heavily\* Yeah man I need some sleep to process all of this (agent also falls into deep sleep)
&#x200B;
*Hearing such strange noise the farmer goes to check on the farm, the sound seems to come from the carrot patch*
&#x200B;
Farmer: What in the world! *The farmer sees two delicious pizzas laying on ground, both extra cheese* Today must be my lucky day! I was getting tired of all these carrots and some kids must of left these pizzas here. No sense in letting them go to waste out here!
*Farmer eats the pizzas thus ending the tale of the two T.otally S.entient P.izza agents- We can only hope that they will send more and maybe some ranch as well ;)* | 2020-08-04T17:06:25 | 2020-08-04T16:44:38 | 96 | 50 |
[WP] A vampire takes pity on a stranded time-traveller, granting them the gift of immortality so that they may yet live to see their family and friends once again in the distant future. | The long-haired man fell to his hands and knees at the foot of the altar.
“My…family,” he cried, “my friends. They’re all…gone.”
“No, not gone.”
The long-haired man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice. “W-w-who said that?”
“I did.”
A shadowy figure stood at the back of the church, hovering right at the edge of darkness.
“Explain yourself. What do you mean they aren’t gone?”
The figure glided along the outside of the room toward the altar, never venturing completely into the light. “They are not gone. Quite the opposite, in fact. They are yet to be.”
“B-but they won’t be alive for 5000 years. To them, I’ll be nothing but a memory.”
“Yes, one of the unfortunate side effects of time travel. I’ve seen it happen many times before”
The long-haired man hung his head low.
The figure checked its nails. “Although, there is a way to see your family again.”
The long-haired man looked up. “See them again? How? Explain yourself!”
“I should warn you; it comes at a terrible cost.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Just tell me how I can see my family again.”
“You become like me.” The figure stepped into the light and opened its mouth, revealing two long fangs and eyes darker than coal.
The long-haired man staggered back, collided with a table, then picked up a crucifix.
The figure laughed. “If you don’t give it a rest with the hostilities, you can forget me helping you see your family again.”
“What could you possibly have to offer?”
“I can make you like me.”
“A demon?”
“A vampire. Immortal. I’ve lived for thousands of years and I’ll live for thousands more. Think of it: You could assume a new identity and live amongst the humans up until the point you send yourself back in time. Then you simply pick up where you left off. Albeit, with a few changes…”
They circled around a credence table. Each time the vampire leaned forward; the long-haired man thrust the crucifix toward him.
“How do you know so much about time travelers, demon?”
“As it so happens you’re not the first traveler I’ve come across. I’ve had such a long and interesting life. And I do take pity on you poor, unfortunate souls.”
The figure tapped its fingers together. “Become like me. Become a vampire, obtain eternal life, and you will one day see your family again. This I promise you.”
After a long pause, the long-haired man spoke. “What’s the catch?”
“I may have need of your...services throughout the year. But nothing that will prevent you from meeting your family again. This I promise you.”
After a long pause, the long-haired man spoke. “Why should I trust you?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll never see your family again.”
Reluctantly, the long-haired man lowered the crucifix. “Very well. Do it.”
“Wonderful. Simply tilt your head to the side and expose your neck. There will be a moment of pain, then it will be done.”
With a flick of his head, the long-haired man tossed his glorious mane aside.
The figure hunched over his shoulder. “Oh, and I almost forgot. You’ll need a name.”
“I have a name. Hariflorb DX03.”
The figure rolled its eyes. “Hariflorb DX03 is NOT a common name in the 1890s. You’ll need a NEW name. A name that will let you blend in, and live amongst the humans, unnoticed."
The long-haired man thought for a moment. “In that case, you can call me Keanu.
“Keanu?”
“Yes. Keanu Reeves.”
The figure scratched its chin. "Yes. I like it. Truly a name befitting an immortal."
He clasped Keanu's head in his hands, then bit into his neck. Behind the stained glassed window behind the altar, thunder boomed.
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | David had a shadow unlike any other—it was white as snow. Everywhere that David went, the shadow was sure to go. He had never seen the shadow squarely, it lingered on the periphery of his vision like a floater, but there was no doubt that it was there. It was not ever-present—sometimes David would go days without noticing the pale figure—but it loomed large in his mind. And it did not miss the special occasions. No, David hadn’t a single formative memory from which the specter was absent. Memories of birthdays, Christmases, graduations, and even particularly remarkable nights at the pub with friends were punctuated by the pale exclamation point.
David’s wedding was the closest he had come to seeing the figure directly. From the altar, he peered out at his friends and family, making a mental note of the upwelling of love he felt in this moment, and noticed a guest at the back of the church with a distinct pallor. Ironically, David was not wearing his glasses for the ceremony (he could see up close perfectly, so his most vivid memory of the day was of his new wife’s beautiful, tear moistened face), so he could not make out the details of the figure, but he knew that it was his shadow.
Because the shadow’s presence was most acutely felt during seminal, important events, David began to think of it as a benevolent spirit, or a guardian angel. Every wedding anniversary became porcelain, each birth of a child painted pure white—a fresh slate. He even began to sense the presence on late evenings in his laboratory. David was making rapid progress on his magnum opus: a machine for time travel. The closer her got to completing his project, the more intensely he felt he was being watched. Was the government aware of what he was doing? Or was this simply an exponential version of normal? David wondered if great minds through out history had felt a sense of showmanship as they approached breakthroughs—hopefully soon he would be able to ask.
One night, David finally reached the pinnacle of the scientific method. He had developed a hypothesis: *if I step into that box, and crank that lever, I will travel back in time*. All that was left was to test it. He hugged Vanessa and the kids tight, “I’ll be back before you know it. Daddy has to test his theory,” he wiped away tears from his sons face, “don’t cry, buddy. I promise, it will be like I never left.” David knew that was a promise he shouldn’t make—you can’t promise that over which you have no control. He had hope that his guardian angel would see him through, and at least watch over his family as it had watched over him for so long. He gave Vanessa a kiss to remember, and stepped into the iron box. David waved to his family and felt an odd mix of surety, homesickness, and excitement. He cranked the lever and, with a flash, he was gone.
“It worked! Oh my God he did it!” Screamed Vanessa. She was jumping up and down and hugging the kids. Through her tear filled eyes, Vanessa noticed a streak of white flashing across her field of view. Before she knew it, David was beating the ever-living-shit out of his time machine. “David? What are you doing? It worked!”
David turned and faced her. His complexion was pale, his eyes had turned from deep, dark brown, to a faint hazel, the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they had been thirty seconds prior. “Vanessa, I’ve waited so long for this moment. I’ve been made to live on the outside of my life for so long. But now, I’m back,“ he enveloped her in his arms and gave her an even bigger kiss before. Vanessa felt the cold touch of his face. David’s body was shaking, and tears were streaming down, “I…I had to destroy it. To be sure that no one could ever use it again. To be sure that *I* could never use it again.”
“But, it was your life’s work; your gift to science. Why deprive the world of this?” she asked.
“My love, this is no gift. The price of travel is far too high. I traded 80 years in heaven, for an eternity in hell.”
“Whatever do you mean, love?”
The sky’s tint had begun to brighten—a white light could be seen cresting the horizon. David stared at his family with urgency, “get inside. I’ll explain everything.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed this, please check out r/IML_42 for more stories! | 2020-12-21T10:52:21 | 2020-12-21T10:27:59 | 39 | 27 |
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