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[WP] You feel the emotions of anyone you touch. You accidentally brush hands with the barista when they hand you your coffee. You're the most scared you've ever been in your entire life.
[deleted] | What are feelings?
They aren't thoughts. You can't put them on paper. Not exactly. They can only be described. Asking someone how they're feeling is like asking them to describe the colour blue. They can only reach for analogy. Blue is like forget-me-nots, the sky, and the ocean. And how am I feeling? I'm feeling like a wind-up toy with a broken mechanism.
When I was younger, my mechanism worked. I knew my purpose in life. I was the guy who made people right with the world.
The girl at the party brushes past my shoulder and I learn that she's feeling lonely. I invite her over to join my friends dancing around the karaoke machine. In no time her mood has improved.
The guy moping his way down the street accidentally kicks my shoe. He's feeling like the world is a cold, dark place. I double back, shadow him, and get ahead of him in line at the grocery store. I pay for my grocery's and his, and later I confirm that his mood is up, just a little.
These little kindnesses brought me joy, right up until they didn't.
This will sound silly, but I spent so much time tracking other people's feelings that I forget to check how I was doing.
It was only late at night, in those dark feathery moments before sleep, that the truth of my own feelings snuck up on me.
I was feeling sad. Used. Depressed. I was giving so much that I had nothing left for myself.
But it was worth it. Of course it was. I'd made a difference in so many people's lives. The world would be a meaner, unhappier place without me in it, but only as long as I kept fixing people's problems.
That's what I told myself. That was the language I used to pave over my own feelings. But they remained below the surface, and the pressure there grew, until I feared that some day they'd burst through my mantle of self-deception. A volcanic eruption of disregard for myself.
And then I met her.
Actually, 'met' is the wrong word. It's funny for me to think that my life has been so completely affected by someone whose name I only know from having read it off her name tag.
Alicia. A barista. A girl with scraggly dark hair, kind eyes, and the ghost of a smile.
I went into the cafe to tell an old man he was looking handsome. I figured I might as well get a coffee while I was there. Alicia took my money. The tips of my fingers brushed her palm.
Her feelings were like none I'd ever empathized before. It's hard to put into words.
She was, quite simply, full of love.
It cascaded from her. She was in love with her job, her coworkers, and me. She loved the air she breathed, the crummy shoes she wore, and the coffees she served for eight hours a day. Every part of her life was something she considered worthy of her attention, affection, and care.
And there I was, the brokendown saint, the man who was supposed to care for everyone, and I knew that all I felt inside was resentment. I resented the people I helped. I resented my power. I resented myself for feeling the way I did.
I wanted to throw myself at Alicia's feet and beg her for her secret. I wanted to offer her my power. She could use it to far greater effect than I could. I wanted to run away from myself, leave my empty husk of a body standing there in the cafe, while the essential part of me went off to live somewhere I didn't have to go on being me.
Alicia handed me my coffee and wished me a good day.
I took it outside and sipped it. It tasted great. The sun warmed me. A breeze came down the street, and it carried the smell of sycamore trees from the park up the street.
My mood stabilized. My heart slowed. So I wasn't a saint. So I wasn't cut out to help every person I met.
That was ok. That was who I was. That's who I am.
My mechanism isn't broken. I'm not dead. What I am is in flux. But I've gained a new power, one that's available to everyone and is so much greater than the one I was born with.
I've gained the power to choose my responsibilities.
This, more than anything, brings me joy. And through it, I'll bring more joy to those around me than I ever did before. | “Cold.”
“Pardon? Are you alright? If the coffee is cold, I can get you another one, I just didn’t think it would cool so quickly.” The barista gave me a puzzled look as I stood there dumbfounded, a looming sensation of fear travelling down my trembling hand, loose bits of coffee spilling from the hole in the lid.
“N-no, the coffee is fine, its just cold today.” I stammered out a response as soon as I could manage, not wanting to make the emotionless void of a person suspicious.
“Cold today?” He glanced at the door, trying to judge the weather behind the glass. “I guess it might be a little chilly today. Is that all? I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s other people waiting, and their coffees will get cold if I don’t hurry.”
“Yes, sorry. I should get going. My name isn’t Brian, that was a fake name, its Liam, so um, April fools?” I chuckled to myself, backing away towards the door, tripping over it as I hurried myself out of the store.
I looked back, seeing the barista and customers watching me, each sharing that same puzzled expression, knowing only the customers expressions were genuine. The barista merely emoting to fit in with the crowd. No emotions laying dormant beneath his skin.
As much as I wanted to rush home, I found my legs were still shaking, unable to do more than drop me onto the side of the pavement, anxiously sipping my coffee, looking over my shoulder making sure the man didn’t follow me outside.
It wasn’t possible, even the evilest of people had emotions, for someone to be void of emotion that was unheard of, unhuman. The caffeine did its job, stabilizing me enough that I could gather my thoughts.
No emotions? What did that make him then? Was he an alien? A robot? I know people often joked about retail workers being empty husks during their shifts, but that was a joke, not the reality presented before me. The more I thought about it, the more my anxiety grew, my foot tapping against the concrete below, trying to stomp out the nerves.
“You alright? You kind of freaked out back there.” I shot up onto my feet, turning to face the man, still wearing his blue and white apron, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, leaning against the wall of the store, lighting it.
“AGH, y-you scared me, stay back.” I stumbled, tripping on the curb, falling flat onto my back. I tried to scramble onto my feet, only for him to stand over me, his cigarette resting between his lips as he offered me his hand.
“Jeez, that answers that. You should see a doctor or something, you don’t look too well.”
“I’m perfectly fine, it’s you that needs to see a doctor, you emotionless monster.”
“Emotionless monster? Help yourself off the ground then, I don’t get paid enough to deal with this crap outside of the workplace. You think I deserve to get abused for just doing my job?” He didn’t even bother to finish his smoke break, turning to head inside.
“No wait, that was rude of me, your right.” I dug my hands against the ground, pulling myself to my feet. “You’re not emotionless. It must have been a misunderstanding. Maybe I messed up. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I have a gift for reading people’s emotions and I just read nothing from you.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you. That sounds like something you would hear sprouted from the mouth of a naked, crazy person. Look, just think about what you say next time.”
“I will, I promise. I’ll get going, I have probably driven enough people away from your business with my antics.” Turning to leave, his voice stopped me.
“Before you go Brian, just know that no one will ever believe you.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“No one will believe that I’m an emotionless monster. You tell anyone about this, and they will mock you. You’re right, I am an emotionless monster and I’m not the only one. There're hundreds of us just waiting to take over this planet, so enjoy the next few years before we do.”
The barista flashed a grin, his eyes glistening with a purple hue before shifting back as he headed inside, leaving me speechless. I had discovered the existence of monsters, and there was nothing I could do to stop them from taking over.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-04-02T21:15:49 | 2021-04-02T20:22:15 | 171 | 122 |
[WP] WANTED: MALE/FEMALE ROOMMATE TO ROOM WITH THREE OTHERS - $190 PER MONTH. We are three lovely HUMANS currently renting out Acre house, just off campus. We’re walking distance from college, have WIFI and air conditioning. 4 rooms. (Just to clarify, we are definitely human) | [Part 1 of 2]
“Look mum, I know it’s weird, but they wouldn’t specify that they are humans if they weren’t. What sort of person lies just to get money? Do you want me to get an education? If so, be a good parent and support my decision to move out of home. I need to be close to the campus. Yes, I’ll be safe. I love you too.”
Despite my mother’s skepticism, I was optimistic. A home close to campus, one with three other roommates to share drinks and laughs with. All for the price of $190 a month. What more could a person ask for? I expected to be far too late when I called about the advertisement, certain that others would have already snapped up the offer, only to find that I was the first.
“Evening, I was enquiring about the recent offer for a roommate? I… Hello? Is someone there? I called the right number, didn’t I?” I looked at my mobile, shaking the phone, wondering if I had reception, all I could hear on the other side of the line was a weird groaning followed by a few high-pitched screeches. After a bit of shuffling, a voice answered.
“Sorry, sorry. Yes, are you interested in the roommate advertisement? Or are you another person asking if my refrigerator is running? For this last time, that was a onetime thing, and we caught it before it could cause any damage. You cannot sue us for your child’s distress at seeing a moving refrigerator.” The voice huffed, sounding ancient but refined.
“Hah… I get it, like the joke. Very clever. We have the same sense of humor.” I said, forcing out a fake laugh despite not getting the joke. Trying to get on their good side. “I was hoping I wasn’t too late about the roommate offer.”
“You actually want to be our roommate? You hear that? A human wants to room with us. How excellent.” The voice said before coughing, trying to disguise their recently uncharacteristic outburst. “Sorry, I’m an actor in my spare time. I get dramatic. Please come to the address of 142 Laneridge avenue, fellow human. We can discuss it there.”
“Fellow human? Is that an inside joke? Sure, I’ll bring myself fellow human.” The voice on the other end didn’t laugh, only hanging up the phone, leaving me to wonder if I had offended them.
I found one of my old suits, wanting to impress these potential housemates. Dressing in my best before driving to the property, only to realise it was far larger than advertised. The towering home having two stories and even a pool outside. For the price this would be the steal of the century, so what was the catch?
Approaching the door, I gripped the metallic skeleton door knocker, lightly smacking it against the door. After getting no response, I tried again, this time nearly crushing my finger as I slammed it, feeling the frame shake before stabilizing. That knock appeared to get the attention of the household. I heard a few whispers before the door opened, a voice shouting. “No, let me answer it, Madeline!”
Standing behind the door was a six-foot woman, her hair a light grey with a matching set of eyes. Her mouth sat open, teeth sharpened, giving me a dead stare. I offered her a wave, and she only let out a soft groan, shambling away from the doorway to drop onto the couch, closing her eyes.
“Um, sorry. Did I interrupt something?” I asked, poking my head in, only to watch a shadow dive behind the couch, as a younger male stepped forward, his blond hair neatly cut, dressed in a suit far better fitting than mine.
“No, no. I just didn’t plan this very well. Its nice to meet you. I’m Jacob and that lady there is Madeline. I’m sorry about her, she is rather shy with guests. She also needs a lot of rest before she can get on with her day. It’s a good sign that she answered the door, though. It means she’s curious about you at least. Or hungry…” He said, not realizing I could hear him.
“Uh… ha… I’m Liam. Nice to meet you both. Aren’t you a little young to be renting, though? I thought you were someone’s child until you spoke. Anyway, isn’t there meant to be a third person here?” I asked, looking at the old wooden interior. It had a pleasant warmth about it. A coziness that came with its old age, despite the cold temperatures.
“A child? I’m at least ninety years older than you. I just have a condition that affects my aging. That’s besides the point. Would you like me to show you to your room?” His face scrunched, taking offence at my questioning of his age.
“Sure, I can tell the air conditioning works. This place is freezing. Luckily, I enjoy the cold. So, what sort of Wi-Fi speeds do you get here?” As we passed through the kitchen, I glimpsed the fridge, which was chained to the wall, an oddity but one I wouldn’t question.
“Oh, most excellent. We need to keep it cool in here. Madeline isn’t pleasant to be around when its warm. The Wi-Fi speeds are about one hundred megabytes a second. I think it’s a fair speed, we went all out in purchasing a good plan.” As we walked towards the staircase, he rushed forward, kicking a small door underneath the staircase shut. The edges of the door glowed with a bright red aura before fading. “Penny! For the last time, Close the door when you are doing your… tests. I don’t want a repeat of last week.” He called out, facing the living room. Was Penny the shadow I saw earlier?
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nkfsys/wp_wanted_malefemale_roommate_to_room_with_three/gzcyx48/) | "Alright, it's just not much to work with son and three people are missing, possibly hurt or worse."
"I'm telling you that's all I know," James said, working to the bottom of his second cup of coffee. He didn't feel like eating.
"Take me through it again," the detective said patiently. The smile looked practiced. "Maybe you'll remember something new."
"Okay," James said, setting the coffee down. He'd need something stronger when he was done here. "I answered the weird ad and someone told me the address. When I got there, the front door was open and all the lights were off."
...
"Hello?" James called out, risking sticking his head into the dark apartment. Who leaves their door open in the middle of the day?
"Hello," three voices came back in unison, so instantly it made James jerk back.
"I'm here about the craigslist ad. I emailed someone yesterday." He tried to peer through the hallway but the sunlight from the doorway only illuminated the first few steps. The voices had come from there, somewhere deep.
"Yes, excellent. Please come in. We are making the world's best chili at this time!" a man called out, he sounded eager, like a car salesman or a youth minister.
James had a friend that lived in these apartments a few years ago. The kitchens were right by the front door, not down the hall. James repeated the price in his head over and over. He hadn't found a place for under 500 dollars rent share in six months and this was 190, one frickin ninety.
As he walked in the door, he turned to see the spotless kitchen. He started to back out when he saw trash bags had been taped over the windows. This was some Dexter shit.
"Are you coming?" came a girl's voice, sinking his stomach with heavy dread. She sounded far too young to be renting an apartment.
"Please forgive the mess," the man's voice came again, eagerness bleeding into desperation now. "We had to fumigate from the last tenants and we're waiting for the power to come on today."
"Sure, Right, I get it," James said uncertainly, pulling out the flashlight from his phone. The door at the end of the hall was open. It looked like three people were leaning against an overturned mattress. It was hard to tell. "Can you guys come out here?"
"Why?" the girl's voice came again. The people in the room didn't seem to move, staring at something on the far wall. "You wouldn't want to agree to rent an apartment you haven't seen. We don't bite."
James watched unable to look away as one of the people began to turn towards him in slow, halting movements. It was a young woman and she was smiling wide, too wide. All the money in the world wouldn't be worth this. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not feeling it. Thanks."
The light on his camera clicked off just as the door behind him slammed. He heard them then, scurrying like rats, not slowed at all by the dark.
...
"And you managed to find the window in the dark and bust through it?" the detective asked, taking notes in a small book in his lap. "And didn't manage to cut your hands at all?"
"I told you, there were bags over the windows. When I busted through the-"
"Right, we didn't find those, James. We didn't find any trace of these people you're describing. You didn't see any sign of the actual owners of the apartment or get a good look at any of these people you say were claiming to be the renters? Even the girl?"
"I mean, she was around ten maybe, white I think. It was hard to tell. Maybe she was older and just short."
"Right," the detective said through pursed lips as he stood. "I'm going to-"
The door opened abruptly and the detective's face scrunched up as a tall, thin man in a long brown duster walked into the room.
"Who the hell-" the detective started.
"Special Agent Berns," the man said lazily, flicking a practiced wrist to flash a badge, arching it over for James as well but he didn't have time to read it. "We're taking over this case. I'll expect all your files by the end of the day."
"You can't just bar-"
"You saw me do just that," the agent said, turning and looking down. "James, right? You're with me. Let's go."
"That man is a suspect in an ongoing-" the detective started again, red in the face.
The agent didn't respond and James followed as the detective continued to shout behind them. He followed for a moment barking behind them before suddenly going quiet and wandering back into the interview room.
"First question, James," the agent said as he led the way through the police station. "Did you accept an apology from any of them, the people in the apartment?" He put a strange emphasis on the word people.
"What? No, I only said a couple of things to them before I got away. Who were they?"
"That's good. They must be young ones. They pick up that trick pretty quick, usually." No one stopped them as they left the station and approached a chirping white van. "Any nausea, fatigue, strange dreams?"
"Where are you taking me?" James asked. "What trick? Why would I be nauseous?"
"All those answers and more await you inside, my boy," the man actually seemed a little unhinged for a government agent. He pulled back the sliding side door to van and gestured for James to enter with a slight tremor in his hand.
James looked at the logo on the van. Mama Curling's World's Best Chili. The man shoved him to topple into the van. All the seats had been removed and there were no door handles on the inside
"Ready?" the man asked as he slammed the driver's door closed past the partition.
"For what?" James asked as he fell back on the floor as the van accelerated forward."
"Hunter training starts today, kid. You survived an encounter on your own, so you've earned a shot. And don't ask if it's vampires. Trust me. It's never vampires."
/r/surinical | 2021-05-24T21:33:15 | 2021-05-24T21:31:44 | 779 | 276 |
[WP] Due to an incident, you end up getting possessed by the ghost of a serial killer. However you're already use to dealing with similar intrusive thoughts, so their attempts to control you are laughable at best. | "*Excellent*," the Norwood Slasher whispered to himself as he slowly spread his influence through the man's body. The ritual worked; he didn't quite expect him to, but as I lay on the floor bleeding, the police closing in, he was more than willing to try. Now, here he was, possessing a man's body, ready to wreak havoc once more.
He slowly inched his way towards his eyes and looked through them, seeing the man at work, checking out a pretty assistant. *This will do nicely*, he thought.
"*David*," he whispered, "*that woman - she mocks you, hates you, despises you. You can't let her do that, can you now?*" he said and felt emotions start bubbling up in his vessel.
"*You must follow her to her home - make her pay, make her suffer, not let her demean you like this,*" he continued to tempt the poor man with his poisoned words.
"Nah mate, sounds rubbish, how about ya just chill out ya cunt, grab a brewski or two, ey?"
The voice came from behind the Slasher, almost startling him - it was... not the man's, another voice of a terrible accent... could he not be alone in here? He turned around and saw another spirit.
"Who **are** you?" he asked angrily.
"Oh, don't listen to him," another, far more refined voice said from the darkness of the man's mind, "all he desires is to drink beer and," the voice stopped and made a half-gagging noise, "*eat marmite.*"
"Oi, cunt, is good shit innit. Whaddya like, Taxman?" the Ozzie ghost yelled back.
A man dressed in a cheap suit stepped forward, tightly holding a pile of papers, and adjusted his glasses.
"I wish for David to be *responsible*, thank you very much. Do you know how long it's been since he's last-" he started.
"Taxes, yeah, yeah, I fucking know mate, is all you gab about for fucks sake, innit boys?"
Two more ghosts stepped forward from the darkness - a woman dressed in Victorian-era clothing and one that seemed to wear peasant rags circa... 15^(th) century?
"I must say, good man," the woman started, "you are rather preoccupied with the financial matters," she said.
"Wat are taxis?" the peasant added.
"Oh, hush now dear, don't you worry," the woman said in a kind yet condescending voice.
The Slasher looked at the collection of peculiar individuals.
"What's going on here? You've all done the rituals too- wait, you two seem way too old to have lived in this same time period," he stated, utterly confused.
"Well, I *never*," the woman scoffed and started leaving.
"Ay, youz new here, aintcha?" the Ozzie said.
"You appear to be mistaken, sir," the Accountant said. "We didn't get here by some ritual; David is just somewhat of a..."
"A witch!" the peasant yelled.
"...conduit for spirits, yes."
"And we're sharing him, aight? So dontcha go gabbing on about some killin' hogwash or we've got ourselves a pickle," the Ozzie said, expression dark and angry.
"Yes, I must agree with Harry, for once," the Accountant interjected. "We have no wish for David to get into *any* trouble and will be forced to take action should you... misbehave."
The Slasher looked around once again - his spirit temporarily free of malice and anger, now filled with confusion and surprise.
"***What the fuck?***" he concluded. | He didn’t tell me his name, yet I was sure I knew every serial killer to walk the earth from having a Netflix subscription. I never really liked true crime, but my sisters loved it. I normally watched it with them, and they’d hoot and holler more like they were watching a soap opera than a disgustingly true story.
I knew that voice wasn’t mine. It’ll drive you crazy to think that the voice in your head doesn’t really have a voice. But I had this loud voice that sounded like it was coming from outside of me. I knew it was a man, but he had no detectable accent. I guess it was vaguely Midwestern, but that didn’t give me enough to google who the fuck he was.
I asked him a lot of questions about who he was. He told me he had something of a Jekyll and Hyde personality. By day, he was a wholesome, suburban husband and father “I died before I got caught” he said “only death would have stopped me. Because nobody guessed it, you know? They all thought i was real nice”
By night, he raped and killed young men he picked up from outside a college bar. In some situations, he would have an affair with them before he killed them. He laughed about it, and said I fit his victim profile pretty well. But, he said, we were friends. “Even if I had my body, I wouldn’t go after you. You’re a very interesting person. I like talking with you”
One day out of nowhere he said “I wouldn’t have done it to a girl. I have a lot of sisters” “do you have a daughter?” I asked him. He took a break and then he said “Yeah. I had two”
When he saw my friends, he told me what I should do to them. His voice became thicker then, like there was gallons of spit in his throat and they were flying out like a sprinkler. You could hear his arousal, He was absolutely giddy. I tried to tell him to stop, the things he said about my friends were vile to even hear. Eventually I came to terms with it. He was a pervert, I wasn’t. So I had nothing to worry about. As he realised I wasn’t going to rape and kill my friends for him, he stopped saying those things, and just muttered his obscene thoughts about the guys I hung out with under his breath.
“You know” he said one day while I was in the bath, his voice totally calm and dry. It was almost serene “If I hadn’t killed those guys… they’d either have told my wife or forgotten all about me. How could they forget about me when I killed them? I wasn’t gonna be ignored, you know. When I kill them, it’s like they’re tied to me”
Suddenly I felt an affinity to him. My whole life I had been forgotten about. I fell in love hard, and fast, and by the time I had snapped out of my rose tinted lust, I would realise the other person barely gave me a passing glance. I walked past a woman I swore I would have done anything for, and she didn’t even look at me. She didn’t even look at me.
I messaged the only girl i would actually have said I was in a relationship with on Facebook immediately. We dated when we were both 15, she was my neighbour. We’d never become intimate, even in a curious teen way. We’d only ever watched movies and talked about being boyfriend and girlfriend. I secretly planned our future together. I figured we’d go to the same college. We’d rent an apartment together. I’d propose on Christmas. She loved Christmas. I even named the kids we’d have, two girls, Brittany and Pearl.
“Sorry, Who is this?” Was all she said back to me, after all these years.
She’d forgotten about me.
How could she?
I wasn’t going to be ignored, you know. | 2022-02-13T10:14:06 | 2022-02-13T09:36:47 | 279 | 19 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | *Note: All three parts have been collected* [*here*](https://www.reddit.com/user/MjolnirPants/comments/sty7h1/jerry_and_the_goddess/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*, and that link is where I will post any future entries.*
I tossed the book down on the table and stared at the computer who'd betrayed me for a moment. All I wanted to do was get some info on an intriguing Proto-Indo-European deity, but the internet hadn't given me anything but her name and her portfolio; writing and learning.
I turned my ire upon the book, supposedly the definitive guide to this ancient culture, but it hadn't had any more to offer. "Sarisa, a little known deity often associated with scrolls and students." Pffft. What use was that to my dissertation?
A fit of pique came over me. I grabbed the book and stepped out into my parent's back yard, tossing it in the fire pit. A quick squirt of lighter fluid and a flick of my bic later, it was happily burning up. Twenty dollars, down the drain. Whatever, I'd only bought it for this purpose, and the clerk at the bookstore assured me that no refunds were possible on used books.
I held my hands up to the sky, channeling my inner theater nerd and called out in a mighty bellow (read; nasally yell), "Sarisa, I offer this sacrifice to you! Please bestow your wisdom upon me!"
Nothing happened, of course. I didn't really believe anything would. I sighed and checked the time; 11:47pm. Whatever, burning the damned thing had been cathartic, at least. I went back inside and went to bed.
It was still dark out when movement in my room awakened me. I blinked the blurriness away and my eyes focused on a slim, feminine figure, arms raised as if it was dancing. Except it was completely motionless. A rush of adrenaline sent my heart racing and rocketed me to full wakefulness. It wasn't just the fright of awakening in the middle of the night to find a figure in my room, but the sheer incongruity of a woman actually entering my room of her own free will.
Okay, stop with the jokes. I've never kidnapped anyone, man or woman, and I'd certainly not bring them here if I had. Yeesh, I've heard them all before, anyways. Can't a guy be an introvert in peace?
"Uh, hello?" I said. The figure put its arms down and I jumped out of bed, backing up to the wall. "I know karate!" I shouted, panic making me stupid. After a few seconds of no more movement, I edged over to the door and flipped on my lights.
It was a woman. A tall, thin woman with a willowy figure. Her eyes were focused on nothing, her face blank. She had tan skin and dark hair, and her eyes were completely black, even the whites. And she was completely nude. My mind bounced around in my skull like a ping-pong ball on fast forward. Confusion warred with fear and horniness, and emerged triumphant over both, though fear wasn't quite dead, yet.
"Hello?" I said again.
She fixed her gaze upon me. "Jerry Williams," she said, a strange accent audible in the way she pronounced my name. "I have waited many lifetimes for this day."
A grin appeared on her features and she suddenly rushed towards me, stopping with her hands gripping my upper arms and her face an inch from mine. "Do you want to learn about dung beetles?"
"What?" I asked, terrified and completely bewildered.
"Dung beetles!" She replied, brightly, "They're fascinating little creatures. Did you know that some of them can bury up to two hundred and fifty times their own body weight in dung in a single night?"
"What?" I asked again.
"Okay, what about Wickerstedt? It's a part of Bad Sulza now, which is a shame, because it's the hometown of Thomas Naogeorgus, who was a simply amazing playright and poet who-"
"Who the hell are you, lady?" I finally blurted out. She cocked her head to one side and then laughed, booping my nose with one finger.
"I'm Sarisa, silly. You made a sacrifice to me earlier. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, but no-one has sacrificed anything to me for thousands of years. I needed time to get my energy back. So what do you want to know? I can tell you about all kinds of things. Did you know that there's a physicist in Italy who gave up on a paper he was working on just an hour ago, after an experiment seemed to falsify his theory, but another physicist in Copenhagen is currently writing a paper that will show that the experiment didn't actually falsify anything... Okay, you're zoning out. Why don't you tell me what you want to learn about?"
She walked over and sat down on my bed.
"Uh..." I said, being the silver-tongued devil that I am.
I took a breath. I still had no idea what was happening here, but I decided to run with it.
"I want to learn about you," I told her.
She smiled again, a little sadly, then pointed at her breasts and spread her legs. "Sorry, I'm not that kind of a goddess."
I blinked in confusion, and then I noticed she had no nipples. And no... Uh... Well, you know. Just smooth skin. I shook my head.
"No, I'm not flirting with you, I'm writing a dissertation on the history of education, and... Well, I wanted to start as close to the beginning as possible."
"Oh," she said, chipper and grinning again. She patted the bed beside her. "Well, that I can do. Come, sit down. I'll tell you all about myself. My first worshipper was this woman named Gil, which is why I'm a goddess and not a god. She had this idea of gathering all the kids in her tribe and showing them..."
I grabbed my notepad and sat down. | “... and thus, I pray to you Zeelota, goddess of Firstborns and Early Tides.” Callum itoned, having laid a seared blobfish and small bunch of grapes on his make-shift altar. Rhody laughed, and Mira rolled her eyes. But they each had their own alter and tithe to their lost gods.
“Who decided that this was the right way to get into the occult studies program?” Viv asked, staring at her altar, and even as she spoke a large portion listed to the side before tumbling down altogether.
Callum shrugged. “It doesn’t matter does it? All that matters is that professor Ritchards ‘finds’ them and is ‘impressed’ by our diligence.”
The four of them had met in undergrad and, through a series of strange happenstances, been in a majority of their classes together for the last four years. They’d joined the same clubs, gone to the same parties, and at some point just decided that they were meant to be friends.
And occult studies? Well, they’d spent one day their sophomore year exploring the campus’s steam tunnels, and when they’d finally popped out in an old, “abandoned” classroom, they’d been nearly scared witless by professor Ritchards who had been sitting in the dark. It had turned out that the floor was dedicated to Occult studies, and the steam tunnels were the only entrance.
“Fine, let's get out of here,” Mira said, grabbing her pack and heading for the “escape hatch” as she jokingly called it.
The others made a few last minute tweaks to their alters, and Viv grumbled as hers toppled over once again, but then they were done. Callum was never sure what had prompted him to choose Zeelota, but a final backwards glance at his altar, and he thought he saw the faintest of glows.
—
The next morning, Callum was awoken by a sharp clatter from across his dorm room. He’d lived there for the last four years. His roommate had moved out their junior year, so he’d had the room to himself the last year and a half.
Groggy and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, at the same time reaching for his glasses, he saw a murky shadow move quickly across the room.
“Whoever you are,” he said as he jammed the wire frames on his face, “you need to leave!”
There was a small squeak, and then another clatter as something else was knocked over.
Eyes finally focused, Callum saw a young girl in strange robes, trying to hide in the corner of his room. Her hair was long, loose, and tangled. A seafoam green, not unlike the color Viv had dyed her’s last summer.
“Bu-u-ut, you’re the one who called me here?” the girl said, her voice high, and Callum could hear the anxiety.
He rubbed his head, checked he hadn’t shucked his sleep pants in the night, and stood up. He didn’t remember calling anyone, certainly not this girl, who’d he’d never seen before. They hadn’t gone to the bar after leaving campus, but they’d had a few beers at Rhody’s place.
“I think you might have the wrong room…” He was sure he’d locked his door, but it wasn’t the first time a girl had ended up there that he couldn’t remember.
“No-o! You’re Callum!”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes…”
“You called me! From the altar! You even brought me my favorite fish!”
Callum just stared at the girl. After a long moment she looked crestfallen, tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
“Zeelota? Goddess of First Borns and Early Tides?” she said, extremely disappointed he didn’t recognize her.
Callum barked out a laugh. “Okay, was it Rhody or Viv that put you up to this?”
She just blinked, and shook her head. “No, it was you. Last night. I heard you call my name, and it was like a bell rang in my head. Sweet and clear. It had been so,” she choked up, “so, so long since I’d last been called upon.”
Callum was really laughing now. “Yeah sure. What did they pay you, twenty bucks? Dammit, shouldn’t have given Rhody that key.”
Tears now spilled freely down the girl's cheeks and her shoulders slumped in silent sobs.
“Oh come on now. It’s alright. Where’s your dorm? Or do you live off campus? I can give you a ride.”
“Why… Why did you call me here? If you aren’t even going to believe in me?”
Callum went towards her, grabbing yesterday’s shirt off the back of his chair and tugging it on over his head. He went to put a hand on her shoulder, more to steer her out of his apartment, rather than to support her - but his hand went right through her.
Even as he watched her, she started to flicker in and out of sight. He instinctively tried again, and again his hand fell right through, maybe it slowed a hair, like moving from cold thin air to hot and muggy - only without the temperature change.
He blinked and took a step back.
“Zee..zeelota?” he asked, no longer laughing.
She sniffled and seemed to once again become solid. She nodded.
Callum just stared at her. A goddess. Here. In his dorm room?
What was he going to do? What was he going to tell the others? Had their gods shown up too?
\---
r/LandOfMisfits | 2022-02-15T11:18:40 | 2022-02-15T10:56:35 | 1,504 | 199 |
[WP] When you had died, your Grim Reaper had been none other than your grandmother, whom you hated more than anyone else. When it’s your turn to become a Grim Reaper, you are told it’s soul of the person you hurt the most in your lifetime. Your heartbreaks a little at seeing your daughter. | When I died, I thought that would be the end of the vitriol in my heart. Unfortunately, those feeling seemed to stick like an oil sheen, refusing to go away no matter how much I scrubbed away at it.
It was once filled with hatred for my grandmother. A woman who compared, and put me down at every opportunity. Now, it was filled with fear that my daughter—a woman who I’ve repeated the same, ingrained, mistakes of years past—would hate me.
“Eve,” I said, the words caught in my bony throat.
“Dad,” she said, stiffer than a corpse.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “To take you to where you need to be.”
“Of course. Now, you’re here,” Eve chortled, tortured, jagged peals of laugher filling the infinite space between us. “Took you long enough.”
Decades of death felt like lifetimes of learning. I sucked in a deep breath, and said the word I’ve refused to say when I was a live:
“I’m sorry,” I said. “So, so, sorry.”
Eve stared at me, those beautiful eyes as hard as diamonds.
“A little late, I think,” another bitter laugh rocked the space. “You ran away. You broke my heart.”
“I… I didn’t… I couldn’t…”
I stopped. A thousand reasons and a million excuses came to my head. They all fell apart, dry, dead leaves in the crushing palms of a curious child.
“You won’t forgive me,” I said. “You must hate me. But I am here for a reason. Your time has come.”
“I can see it. It is pretty obvious,” Eve said. Her eyes flitted towards her computer. “Is it bad that I’m still thinking about finishing this project? Any chance I can push back the deadline, reaper?”
“No.”
“Shame,” Eve said. “No love lost for this job, anyway.”
She stood up, and I could see more plainly the years that ate away at her body. Each little movement she made seemed slightly laboured, and each join cracked. But she made it up to me, and grabbed my outstretched hand.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Who’s ever ready to go?” Eve said.
“I was.”
“Sucks for you, then,” Eve said. “I have so many regrets.”
I held out an outstretched hand. Hesitance took over her face, before a warm palm slipped into my bony fingers. And though no tears came out, I was bawling.
“But I did one thing better,” she said. “I will not appear for my son’s death. That cycle is broken.”
I lead her through the gateway, and she had one foot in. She turned around again, staring wistfully past the wall of her current room.
“I love him. He’s everything to me,” she said. Then, she turned to me.
“I loved you, dad. Still do, against my better judgement,” she whispered. “That’s what makes everything hurt more.”
“I won’t be able to make up for it,” I said. “Not in a thousand lifetimes. But you’ve done well, Eve.”
I felt a face buried into my chest. The tears began soaking through the front of the reaper robes.
And though no tears came out, I cried along.
---
r/dexdrafts | I had died at the young age of only thirty four years old. I was walking my dog, when a drunk driver going 90 miles per hour swerved and hit me. I wasn't expecting it, and at the very least my dog managed to nearily avoid the collusion.
All I remember was hearing the squeaking of tires, a fast car coming at me, and boom everything went dark. Enough time passes by, and I leave my shattered body behind to see my grand mother.
I had hated her so much in my life, she abused me as a little kid, was the only person who hit me, and would hit me for any small reason she could find. She favored my siblings and cousins over me, and told me I was a plague upon our family.
She smiled at me, wickedly when I saw her, "I made sure that car would hit you, you know.." Disgust and anger filled my soul as I yelled at her, "Your great grand daughter will now grow up without a father, your daughter will now grieve me!"
she didn't care, so long as she got what she wanted, which was me no longer being alive..
After enough time had passed I spent time in the spectral city us humans would refer to as heaven.
It was quite the place to say the least, I got to visit lots of people I had never thought id get to see again.
Finally enough time passes and an angel chooses me to be a grim reaper to a particular soul, "the soul you hurt most in your lifetime on Earth"
the angel tells me.
I resist, saying that I have no desire to be a grim reaper to any soul, but the angel cares not and off I'm sent to my assignment..
What surprises me most, is I find out that I'm to be the grim reaper to my daughter..
This breaks the heart of my spirit, and i'm left shell shocked, and to be honest very hurt over that revelation.
I ask the angel, "How.. how was she the person I hurt most in my life?"
he doesn't answer, but it doesn't take long to find out.
She still visits my grave three times a week, and each time she cries and sheds tears.
"Wow, she really does still care" I think to myself..
She was only thirteen when I passed away, I knew it would hurt her, but I thought overtime she'd get over it and forget I even existed.
As her grim reaper, its a painful task, to be the one that most take your own daughters life.
However; it is a pleasant sacrifice for me to make, as I spend my time as her grim reaper saving her life hundreds of times. a car that spun out and woulda hit her, i send to the guard rail instead.
When she goes cliff diving, and would have hit a rock, I make sure she just nearily avoids the rock enough to notice it, but not get hurt.
When a escaped convict was going to run into her while she was alone and walking to her car, I make sure that the patrolling cop finds the convict just in time to stop him.
When she was about to eat a food that she was deathly allergic to, I make sure the waitress remembers to tell her about that ingredient in the food before she ate it.
Because of this, she lives an insanely long life. She ends up eventually passing away to natural causes at the age of ninety five, i'm unable to protect her from her own biology of course.
She sees me as her grim reaper and gasps, "so you were the one that saved me all those times huh dad?" she says.
I simply smile at her, and hug her, we hug each other for a while, and then off we go together back to the spectral city. | 2022-03-05T12:24:13 | 2022-03-05T10:40:23 | 133 | 35 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all. | Warning: This story might contain content or hints of horror and violence that may be disturbing. This is a three part series, please enjoy and be careful.
"Do not tell them."
I gazed down at the note, trying to figure out it's meaning ever since it floated down in front of me on the sidewalk. Just like it did for everyone who turned 14.
Mom had told me about this day in lengths, but it was weirder than I thought. I grasped the note tighter.
*Do not tell them... what?*
"Hey Lee!" I practically jumped up, startled by the sudden call from behind the alley. Brian ran up behind me, finally catching up and grabbing me at my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry I'm late dude, my mom made some Churros yesterday for today and insisted I take some with...", he reached behind into his backpack, fumbling with the zipper and pulling out a worn box.
I only processed it in a few minutes before hastily scrambling the note together and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans. Trying to look as calm as possible.
Brian held up the box to me, revealing the warm, sweet smelling pastries. "You want some?". I hastily shook my head. "No thanks, dude, I'm okay."
Bri' shrugged and let go of my side, walking next to me. He shot me a look of curiosity.
"Did you get yours already?"
I blinked, feeling my insides clutch at each other.
*"Don't tell them"*
"Uh, what'd you mean, dude?". He rolled his eyes. "The note, dude?? Like mine arrived this morning, and I'm so hyped for.." he continued on, getting more and more lost in his excitement. He would have a chance to show of his powers soon. I wasn't sure what to expect.
*What the heck were mine?*
"So.. Brice," I said, pushing him out of his rant and away from the topic. "Have you heard from Clairetop yet? She was supposed to meet us here for school."
Brice lifted a brow, clearly weirded out but going along. "Uhm.. Yeah I guess.. I mean, I heard her talk with her mom yesterday on whether to come to school tomorrow or today, I dunno man, it slipped my mind." My throat felt scratchy all of a sudden, dried out like a lump of meat in the sun. I coughed up and asked. "How'd you know that? I mean, isn't that private and all?" He shrugged non-chalantly. "My mom was talking with hers yesterday on the block, next to the wallmart. Seems something happened with her gift."
Chills spread like waves all over me. What the heck happened? | 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T09:32:40 | 689 | 60 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | "Don't sign the form".
This did not surprise me. Since I've been 7 years old I've been receiving these messages.
"Don't chase Jimmy" was the first. It was my birthday party, and I had received a bright red, toy car. I instantly fell in love with it's shiny coat and slick design. On the card read the usual message of my parents, wishing me happy birthday, and how much they loved me. But underneath, in red marker was, "Don't chase Jimmy". I was confused, but decided the toy car was more interesting than the strange message. Then my cousin Jimmy grabbed the car with glee in his eyes, spit on my shirt and ran. I almost ran after him, then jerked back, remembering the message. At the time I didn't know why I remembered it or even decided to heed its warning. At the time, I didn't realize how much I would learn to trust this voice, that the voice knew I would have no choice but to listen. I watched as Jimmy ran across the street in the middle of the road and be struck by a large truck, the toy car's pieces scattered, no more.
The messages followed, mysteriously. I never could catch who wrote them, but I soon learned this person, or being, knew my life intimately. They knew who my crushes were, my fears, desires, and even my thoughts. More importantly, it knew my future. "Don't pursue Rebecca". My crush at the time, but I listened. A week later I learned she had secretly been a lesbian. Some messages were commands. "Talk to Mr. Latham". He was my 7th grade biology teacher and after speaking with him, I found I developed a new found love for science. Perhaps it was his encouragement, or maybe even my enthusiasm born from reaching out, but I had become an A student in he class. In fact, I was the best student. I wasn't sure what the implications of this would be for the future, but I had learned many of the warnings and commands had far reaching consequences.
The future. It seemed almost predetermined for me. I felt lucky, incredibly charmed, that I had a secret informant. I've often tried to find ways to communicate with my benefactor. I would go out in the predawn hours, visit crossroads and graveyards, whispering, "are you there? Who are you?" I would plan for potential messages, spying on birthday cards, graded tests, letters. But the mysterious informant was always ten steps ahead of me. I never spoke of this to anyone, because I was afraid it might stop. I was afraid I would never have this help again.
So when I became 14, I was expectantly very excited. This was the time when one was given their powers by the Donarius Imperium. A vast, super-computer being created in the 70's. It had solved all of humanity's problems, such as disease, food waste, and war. Now, we have healthy conflict, nutritional exposure, and human cropping. All this has been possible due to the D.I.'s gifts - powers granted to humans when they turn 14. We are then drafted into our new roles and trained. I'm not sure why I never suspected the D.I. for sending me the messages. It probably had to do with the messages always being hand-written.
But after I had been given the edible tablet that would transform me, after I had been given the report, did I finally realize who had been writing me. I don't know why it took this long to realize, but it had been obvious from the start. The writing was unmistakable, but too strange to even comprehend. The writing was my own.
​
"Don't sign the form". Within the packet was the form asking if I would like to join the Peace Division. I had always wanted to be a part of the healthy conflict sector, to do away from those who would threaten our peaceful society. But the voice had spoken, I had spoken. And they have never once, in 7 years, been wrong. I took the form and then placed it into the shredder, waiting for the consequences to follow, as they always do, like dominoes. | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
​
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
​
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
​
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
​
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
​
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
​
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T10:12:49 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 646 | 128 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | At the age of 14, all children are lined up and sent into the "Eternity Chamber" built by one of the founders and pioneers of the Power Attainment Information of the Nation (or P.A.I.N) for short. They have built this chamber to assess and safely test all powers plausible and insert the perfect job for said powers to prevent society from collapsing.
This, was the worst day, for everyone else, as I walked into the chamber and began awaiting what manual of powers was going to be thrown at me.
*Don't. Be. A. Hero.*
*You have been granted the power of pushing back against the order. You are to restore balance and shatter the peace and idea of order. To put things back into balance, chaos must exist for order to have meaning.*
I froze in place, was this a joke? I was waiting for the chamber, someone, anyone, I needed reassurance, but received none.
*Your powers have already begun to take form, be ready, and use your brain. You're going to become incredible and very important within this role. Do not fail, and Do NOT be a hero.*
As those last words rang out, alarms began buzzing, and guards swarmed the room. I was held at gunpoint and heard the triggers squeeze. Everything slowed down, the bullets, the sounds, everything. I was nearly paralyzed and dropped to my knees in fear. The world got faster, and those bullets all missed me and hit the other guards in the crossfire. I ended six different lives by proxy. My body started screaming at me to run, to escape, and so I did. By some sheer luck, things went my way, doors being jammed open, other guards being unusually inept, I had made it out with my life.
I couldn't go home, I couldn't go to my family, my mom, my dad, my friends. They had some of their "professional heroes" staked out. I was ostracized and outed from this society, and when that hit, I began to cry; Like a newborn for their mother, I was alone. Those horrible words *Don't be a hero* echoed once again, and I felt my body become oddly calm. I walked to the nearest convenience store, took some snacks, and walked out without paying. I was destined to one day, bring a level of chaos to the amount of order created...I gotta start somewhere I guess. | Warning: This story might contain content or hints of horror and violence that may be disturbing. This is a three part series, please enjoy and be careful.
"Do not tell them."
I gazed down at the note, trying to figure out it's meaning ever since it floated down in front of me on the sidewalk. Just like it did for everyone who turned 14.
Mom had told me about this day in lengths, but it was weirder than I thought. I grasped the note tighter.
*Do not tell them... what?*
"Hey Lee!" I practically jumped up, startled by the sudden call from behind the alley. Brian ran up behind me, finally catching up and grabbing me at my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry I'm late dude, my mom made some Churros yesterday for today and insisted I take some with...", he reached behind into his backpack, fumbling with the zipper and pulling out a worn box.
I only processed it in a few minutes before hastily scrambling the note together and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans. Trying to look as calm as possible.
Brian held up the box to me, revealing the warm, sweet smelling pastries. "You want some?". I hastily shook my head. "No thanks, dude, I'm okay."
Bri' shrugged and let go of my side, walking next to me. He shot me a look of curiosity.
"Did you get yours already?"
I blinked, feeling my insides clutch at each other.
*"Don't tell them"*
"Uh, what'd you mean, dude?". He rolled his eyes. "The note, dude?? Like mine arrived this morning, and I'm so hyped for.." he continued on, getting more and more lost in his excitement. He would have a chance to show of his powers soon. I wasn't sure what to expect.
*What the heck were mine?*
"So.. Brice," I said, pushing him out of his rant and away from the topic. "Have you heard from Clairetop yet? She was supposed to meet us here for school."
Brice lifted a brow, clearly weirded out but going along. "Uhm.. Yeah I guess.. I mean, I heard her talk with her mom yesterday on whether to come to school tomorrow or today, I dunno man, it slipped my mind." My throat felt scratchy all of a sudden, dried out like a lump of meat in the sun. I coughed up and asked. "How'd you know that? I mean, isn't that private and all?" He shrugged non-chalantly. "My mom was talking with hers yesterday on the block, next to the wallmart. Seems something happened with her gift."
Chills spread like waves all over me. What the heck happened? | 2022-05-08T09:53:03 | 2022-05-08T09:32:40 | 197 | 60 |
[WP] You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. | Alex finds his mother in the kitchen, complete with a large copper key sticking out the nape of her back. The key protrudes through a hole in her olive-green sweater; it looks like a rust-red butterfly and it's about the size of Alex's arms outstretched.
Why the hell is there a key in his mother's back?
His Mom's bent over the sink, unmoving, her hands in the water clutching a pot. She looks like a waxwork replica of his mother, or -- he thinks with a chill -- a well preserved corpse.
Alex tries to swallow his fear but it won't go down.
"Mom?"
No reply. How long's she been like this?
He dips his hand into the water and finds it's ice-cold. He raises his mother's hands out of the liquid and places them on the draining board. They're red and raw.
Out the window, a bird is paused in the sky, framed against a silver cloud the shape of a question mark. Alex squints at the bird. It seems to have a key in its back too, although it's difficult to be certain from this distance.
*This isn't the real world*. He knows it. It can't be. He's woken up in some terrible nightmare where everything is a run-down automaton. And yet he knows it is real, in its own way. This is where he exists now. Where they all do.
He thinks of going to find his dad. Dad would know what to do and might be able to get them out of this. Except, for some reason, he can't think where his father might be. When he tries to remember a black fog that tastes of acid rises in his mind.
He places both his hands on the copper key and begins to wind his mother back to life. As the key cranks his mother begins to move. Her hands splash back into the water. She scrubs at the pot, although it already looked clean to Alex.
He stops turning the key, has barely wound it yet. "Mom... Are you okay?"
She turns to look at him. Shakes her head. Then returns to the washing.
Her hands are blood-read from the scrubbing. As if she's been doing it hours, days even.
"Something bad's happened, Mom," Alex says. "I'm sure of it. This world isn't right."
"I know, sweetie. But if you let us both wind down, then it'll be much easier for us to cope with."
It's with a burst of gut-wrenching fear that he places a searching hand behind his own back. That he finds the key.
The morning comes back to him in a burst of black and white, how weak he felt as he wound himself up for another mechanical-day, another repetitious slice of despair. Every day has been getting harder, slower, to wind himself up. He's not sure how much longer he can keep doing it for.
His father died three weeks ago. Unexpectedly. A heart condition that should have been found years ago, but wasn't.
His death transformed both Alex and his mother into this. It changed the world around them, even -- everything became cold and mechanical, always running down and out of steam.
He's been fighting it as hard as he could. He wants it to change, to get better, and deep down he knows the only way for that to happen is if they continue with their lives. Is if they keep winding themselves up and slowly, slowly trudge forward.
But maybe his mother's right. Maybe they should let themselves wind-down permanently. That way, the pain would have nothing to latch onto. They could embrace -- as his mother is trying to -- a state of unemotion. Of not-existing. Of being in the world, but not being part of it.
His mother's cleaning motions slow down. He's not wound her enough to keep her going. He hears her sigh with relief at the oblivion she's sinking, slipping back into.
"No, Mom," Alex says, grabbing the key and winding again. "No. You can't."
"Let me sleep," she says. Her voice pleading, begging.
"We have to face it," Alex says. "We both do -- together. I wind you, you wind me. We both keep going, okay?"
"Why?" she says, her voice slow, her energy depleting.
Alex feels selfish saying it, but the words swell up and spill out like a black ocean wave. "Because I *need* you. I've lost him and now I really fucking need you." Alex is crying but keeps turning the key until he's too tired to wind any longer.
For a while, there's nothing. No washing. No talking. A silence sits deeply between them.
Alex has run out of energy, he realises. He's spent it all on his emotions and the winding and talking, and now he stands staring at his mother, his eyes still damp, his body unresponsive.
This is it, he thinks. This is it for the rest of both their existences. Stuck here, in this desperate moment.
And then, unexpectedly, his mother beings to move. His mom is trembling as she turns away from the sink, as if Alex's wound her too much, made her jittery in her motions.
His mother hugs him. Pulls him into her chest.
"I'm sorry," she says. She kisses his head and Alex cries. "I'm sorry."
It'll get better, he wants to say but his voice is empty.
Alex feels his Mom's hands reach around him. He feels the winding of his own key resonate through his entire being.
We can do this, he thinks. If we keep winding up each other, keep each other going, we can get through this. | *Tick Tock. Tick Tock.*
I heard a story once. The details eluded me, but a lone spaceman was on his ship when he began to hear a constant 'ping' sound somewhere around him. He checked every system, searched every nook and cranny but he could not find the source of the sound or anything wrong with his ship. He was afraid he'd go insane from going months at end hearing the same noise and having nobody else to talk about it. So, instead, he decided he'd fall in love with the noise and accept it until his time to return to Earth came.
*Tick Tick Tick Tock Tick Tick Tick Tock.*
I should thank my subconscious for reminding me of that story. The first few days in this eternal monstruosity of a dollhouse were absolute hell not because of how endless it was, but because of the nigh incessant sounds of clockwork. It haunted me wherever I went, it kept me from sleeping, it scared and confused me the first time the clicking and scratching intensified as clockwork gears moved the room I was in to a different part of this eternal house. Hunger and thirst were seemingly not a problem, but the sound would drive me mad, and I knew it.
*Tock. Tick Tock. Tock. Tick Tock.*
So I learned to embrace it.
*Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.*
I timed my breathing to the orderly clicking and clacking of the house. I'd keep moving when the noise was loudest, and when I found a place where the sounds were quietest I'd take it as the place to sleep. When the sounds intensified indicating the room I was in was about to shift I simply sat down and accepted it as a moment to rest as the gear moved me. The clockwork helped me. They aided me. I embraced it's presence.
*Tock. Tock. Tock.*
I came to hate the plastic house and hate everything about it. I hated the fake furniture, I hated the sinks that did not give me water. I hated the refrigerator that was as lukewarm as the rest of the furniture and the plastic food boxes taunting me within them. I hated the plastic beds with their rigid plastic bed dressing that actually made them even more uncomfortable to sleep in than if they had nothing.
*Tick. Tick Tick Tock. Tick. Tick Tick Tock.*
I could not see the sky: there were no openings. Windows only showed the inside of other rooms, the occasional skylight only revealed a strange yellow-brown ceiling. Light seemingly came from everywhere, my shadows diluted and unfocused.
*Tock Tock Tick. Tock Tock Tick.*
In the brief moments when the rooms moved however I could see the clockwork beneath the house. Enormous gears. Tiny levers. Springs and handles. Always moving in time with the clicks and clacks around me like magic.
*Tock. Tock Tick. Tick. Tick Tock. Tock. Tock Tick. Tick. Tick Tock.*
The gears have begun to click faster. I move to the edge of the room I am in, holding myself steady with one hand on the doorframe. I knew what was about to happen.
*Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tick Tock.*
The six rooms ahead of me will move to the sides: two to the right, one to the left, one to the right, two to the left. For a brief moment I will be able to see the the enormous clockworks beneath me.
*Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock Tick. Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock Tick.*
Then the room will move forward. A slow, constant pace. Like a perfectly well-oiled machine. Which it was.
*Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick.*
I could not wander these rooms forever. I lost all sense of direction. When I thought I was making good progress the rooms would move and I would be lost again. The plastic dollhouse was chaotic, hellish, fake.
*Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick.*
The clockwork was real. It was realer than the house. It was more honest with me. It told me what it was going to do. Just as it did just now, as the rooms ahead of me began to move. Two to the right. One to the left. One to the right. Two to the left.
*Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock.*
The room I stood in began to move as soon as the others stopped. I looked below. I know it is dangerous, but I think I could do it. It was better odds than the endless, hellish plastic rooms that were pretending to be something they were not.
*Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock.*
I saw my opening: a flat, horizontal gear. I knew it would be there: the clockwork told me with it's specific ticking. I waited calmly as the room moved forward, then took a single determined step forward towards the gear below. It would lead me to another path.
*Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock.*
And worst comes to worst, I have made my peace.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
------------------------
I always loved clock towers. They are weirdly soothing for me.
EDIT: Here's a fitting song for this piece: [Across the Drift by FlyByNo.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewh4yaX_3Zw)
/r/Tallen | 2022-06-03T05:44:34 | 2022-06-03T05:29:49 | 576 | 24 |
[WP] You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. | It's all plastic.
Artificial.
This is the world in which I live, though who's to say the world I lived in previously was any better? There's bubblegum pink walls, a baby blue floor, the furniture is lime green... Bright, bright colors with a sheen as though brand new, as though reflecting light but there is no light. There never is. Outside the windows is black, and beyond featureless picture frames are endless columns of machinery. Greased bronze and gold cogs and wheels and tickers, clocks without numbers and hourglasses without sand.
Every floor is different, but the same.
Vacant.
Sterile.
Not a soul, plastic or not, to be found. Nor food or water or anything seemingly *real*, yet I don't get hungry, parched, or famished. Am I fake, too? Can't be, my arms are doughy like flesh, my face and hands and legs have bone and muscle and fat... Are my insides like what surrounds me? If I were to dig my fingers into my belly and tear it apart like a gift, would my innards have the same glossy sheen, the same smooth surface? Does even blood run through my veins or air fill my lungs?
It must since I'm alive.
It's taken me what feels like weeks to pry open the attic door, using the tiny blunt silverware placed perfectly on the kitchen table. The door bent and molded but eventually something snapped like bone and I'm able to push it open.
I stand upon a landing beneath towering machinery, so tall I can't make out the top. The columns rotate as chains flow over cranking gears, the floor stretching before me is flat and copper. Bits of it twirl like a twist of the wrist, revealing more inner workings underneath. But there is no sound, silent as the very house.
"Hello!" I call, my voice echoing until it's nothing. "Is anyone here?"
Despite no answer, I start ahead carefully, keeping my eyes to the ground. I don't know what would happen if I fell through. This massive place cannot be connected to the small house. It's an entirely different world, one of metal and cold steel, grease and oil. Not a piece of plastic to be seen. The giant edifices whirl and I keep my distance from them.
"Hello," I shout again. "Anyone here?"
Gloom smothers the distance, just wide alleys between the workings. Just like the house, I don't know how much time passes as I walk. Maybe days or weeks or months. Is time even relevant here? Does it *even* exist at all? A word and nothing but?
The darkness subsides and a brown door's revealed in a wall. I touch it and find it's real wood, actual lumber. I smell it and I catch hints of mahogany. I stop myself from licking it, to taste anything real, and instead turn the knob. It opens and a flight of winding stairs greets me.
At the top is another door, this one lighter brown. Oak, maybe. Birch. Things I've long forgotten... Opening this one, it reveals a small room with yellowed pages, covered in diagrams and blueprints, plastering the walls, the ceiling, some of the floor. An easel is in the back, a stool before it and on it...
"A man," I gasp, my heart berating my chest.
He drops his pencil, straightens, and turns to me. Wispy gray hair outlining a bald scrap, a long crooked nose and thick lips. Glasses perch before his eyes. I keep myself from sprinting and grabbing hold of this flesh and blood and muscle and sinewy and someone that isn't damn well fake and oh God I want to breath his musty scent in like the door because he's real, he's real, he's *real*.
"You got that pesky door open, have you?" he says. "Thought I fortified it enough the last time, but guess not."
"Wha—who am—are?" My words trip over one another.
The man stands, thin and tall, and the faded blue robe he wears drags on the floor as he walks towards me. "I know, I know. Many questions, many answers you want." He stops a foot away, peering down over his nose. "Like yourself, none of that matters."
"Why?" blurts out.
"Same ol' question, over and over," he says, "I'm surprised you haven't thought of something different after this many attempts."
"Different—attempts?" My mouth hangs open and I can't help the tears that fall. "What does any of this mean?"
He bends forward to eye-level and places a hand over each shoulder, long fingers prodding bone. "That's for me to know." His cold palms hold my neck, "but not to worry, son." He smiles. "You'll forget this soon and, maybe, one day, you won't be an only child."
Thoughts crash and boom and clatter and whorl and a maelstrom brews in my skull and I can't and don't and won't understand what all of this means, the house, the gears, this old man, me, me, me—what am I? What's my purpose? What am I here?
His finger rests at the base of my neck. There's a twinkle in his big eyes. "Sweet dreams," he says and
It's all plastic.
Artificial.
This is the world in which I live, though who's to say the world I lived in previously was any better? There's...
---
If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/MicahCastle/) and consider subscribing. | *Tick Tock. Tick Tock.*
I heard a story once. The details eluded me, but a lone spaceman was on his ship when he began to hear a constant 'ping' sound somewhere around him. He checked every system, searched every nook and cranny but he could not find the source of the sound or anything wrong with his ship. He was afraid he'd go insane from going months at end hearing the same noise and having nobody else to talk about it. So, instead, he decided he'd fall in love with the noise and accept it until his time to return to Earth came.
*Tick Tick Tick Tock Tick Tick Tick Tock.*
I should thank my subconscious for reminding me of that story. The first few days in this eternal monstruosity of a dollhouse were absolute hell not because of how endless it was, but because of the nigh incessant sounds of clockwork. It haunted me wherever I went, it kept me from sleeping, it scared and confused me the first time the clicking and scratching intensified as clockwork gears moved the room I was in to a different part of this eternal house. Hunger and thirst were seemingly not a problem, but the sound would drive me mad, and I knew it.
*Tock. Tick Tock. Tock. Tick Tock.*
So I learned to embrace it.
*Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.*
I timed my breathing to the orderly clicking and clacking of the house. I'd keep moving when the noise was loudest, and when I found a place where the sounds were quietest I'd take it as the place to sleep. When the sounds intensified indicating the room I was in was about to shift I simply sat down and accepted it as a moment to rest as the gear moved me. The clockwork helped me. They aided me. I embraced it's presence.
*Tock. Tock. Tock.*
I came to hate the plastic house and hate everything about it. I hated the fake furniture, I hated the sinks that did not give me water. I hated the refrigerator that was as lukewarm as the rest of the furniture and the plastic food boxes taunting me within them. I hated the plastic beds with their rigid plastic bed dressing that actually made them even more uncomfortable to sleep in than if they had nothing.
*Tick. Tick Tick Tock. Tick. Tick Tick Tock.*
I could not see the sky: there were no openings. Windows only showed the inside of other rooms, the occasional skylight only revealed a strange yellow-brown ceiling. Light seemingly came from everywhere, my shadows diluted and unfocused.
*Tock Tock Tick. Tock Tock Tick.*
In the brief moments when the rooms moved however I could see the clockwork beneath the house. Enormous gears. Tiny levers. Springs and handles. Always moving in time with the clicks and clacks around me like magic.
*Tock. Tock Tick. Tick. Tick Tock. Tock. Tock Tick. Tick. Tick Tock.*
The gears have begun to click faster. I move to the edge of the room I am in, holding myself steady with one hand on the doorframe. I knew what was about to happen.
*Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tick Tock.*
The six rooms ahead of me will move to the sides: two to the right, one to the left, one to the right, two to the left. For a brief moment I will be able to see the the enormous clockworks beneath me.
*Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock Tick. Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock Tick.*
Then the room will move forward. A slow, constant pace. Like a perfectly well-oiled machine. Which it was.
*Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick. Tock tick tick.*
I could not wander these rooms forever. I lost all sense of direction. When I thought I was making good progress the rooms would move and I would be lost again. The plastic dollhouse was chaotic, hellish, fake.
*Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick. Tick Tock Tick Tick.*
The clockwork was real. It was realer than the house. It was more honest with me. It told me what it was going to do. Just as it did just now, as the rooms ahead of me began to move. Two to the right. One to the left. One to the right. Two to the left.
*Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tock Tock.*
The room I stood in began to move as soon as the others stopped. I looked below. I know it is dangerous, but I think I could do it. It was better odds than the endless, hellish plastic rooms that were pretending to be something they were not.
*Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock.*
I saw my opening: a flat, horizontal gear. I knew it would be there: the clockwork told me with it's specific ticking. I waited calmly as the room moved forward, then took a single determined step forward towards the gear below. It would lead me to another path.
*Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tick Tock.*
And worst comes to worst, I have made my peace.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
------------------------
I always loved clock towers. They are weirdly soothing for me.
EDIT: Here's a fitting song for this piece: [Across the Drift by FlyByNo.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewh4yaX_3Zw)
/r/Tallen | 2022-06-03T05:30:49 | 2022-06-03T05:29:49 | 102 | 24 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | You sit in your cell, awaiting the return of the guard with your last meal. Or, you hope, the guard will return empty handed and you will be set free. At the end of the hall, you hear the distinctive sound of the door unlocking, and the footsteps of someone approaching. Only one set, so no priest. A good sign.
The guard arrives in front of your cell, staring at you through the bars for a moment.
"Would you have actually eaten it?" He asks.
"Of course, why else would I have requested it?"
"You would have straight up eaten a copy of Half-life 3?" He asks, unlocking the door to your cell. | "Quite embarrassing huh? Such a glaring loophole." She taunted the guards as they returned her clothes and she changes into them with not a hint of shame. The guards glare at her as if she where some monster, and even if she was innocent, she definitely was, for the way she forced her freedom.
Any request for a last meal must be honored, critically, no restrictions where placed on what was chosen, so long as it was edible. Most wouldn't assume there needed to be strict guidelines, the requirement of edible should have prevented anything truly outrageous. Most who tried before had simply been forced to stomach their genius request. Not her.
When she was asked to submit her request, she smiled, and requested an offal stew, prepared table side, using the inards of a human no more than one year of age.
No matter if she was innocent of the crime that saw her sentenced to death, she was a monster. | 2022-07-17T16:30:58 | 2022-07-17T16:27:09 | 1,737 | 186 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | Aaron had had plenty of time to consider what his last meal would be while on trial for triple homicide. Aaron had gone from 'rambunctious child', to 'teenage delinquent', finally to cunning career criminal; and was feared in the underworld and so-called 'normal society' alike. He wasn't sorry for his crimes; nor was he interested in playing games like previous death row inmates. He scoffed; no matter how creative their requests had been, the system won in the end. He had watched his previous cell mate worry himself half crazy while waiting to see if his request for dragon steak would set him free.
Aaron cared little for experiencing that kind of maddening wait. He also didn't think much of being 'free' in a world that would likely shun and reject him. Aaron wanted to sow one last seed of chaos before he left the world.
Aaron chuckled as he was led to the kitchen to discuss his last meal with the chef. Radiating evil glee, Aaron looked the Michelin starred chef the prison kept on retainer in the eye as he demanded:
"12 deep-fried 9 volt batteries. With a balsamic reduction."
His maniacal laughter almost drowned the screams of rage that emanated from chef Gordon. | "I don't understand what you're saying. Can we do it or not?"
"What I'm saying is, I'm not sure. Modern science theory assumes that the luminiferous aether doesn't exist."
"So it's another 'doesn't exist' case. Easy. Make something up and name it luminous whatever."
"Not that simple sir... unlike the usual imaginary cases, luminiferous aether actually does have an existing, scientifically codified definition. We would have to create something that fit the definition."
"Well, get the scientists on it then. We've gotten breakthroughs before- remember the one that requested a black hole singularity? Most expensive last meal to date. Sure it was microscopic, but we had a whole commity verify that they had created and suspended a black hole in stasis with sufficient lifetime to be swallowed. The journalists loved that one."
"Yes, sir. But in that case, black holes were already known to exist, and we even knew how to create them, it was just a matter of getting all the specifics down."
"Hmm. Well maybe we can treat it as a technicality? Like the request for the body of Jesus Christ... honestly, that was even easier than the usual "flesh of so and so". We didn't need to fire up the tissue cloning machine, we just got a Catholic priest to come and do communion. The prisoner argued that it didn't count of course, but it was ruled valid."
"That is probably our best bet, sir. I'll have to go read over the exact wording a few more times."
"Then get to it. Dismissed." | 2022-07-17T20:40:56 | 2022-07-17T20:02:33 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | Aaron had had plenty of time to consider what his last meal would be while on trial for triple homicide. Aaron had gone from 'rambunctious child', to 'teenage delinquent', finally to cunning career criminal; and was feared in the underworld and so-called 'normal society' alike. He wasn't sorry for his crimes; nor was he interested in playing games like previous death row inmates. He scoffed; no matter how creative their requests had been, the system won in the end. He had watched his previous cell mate worry himself half crazy while waiting to see if his request for dragon steak would set him free.
Aaron cared little for experiencing that kind of maddening wait. He also didn't think much of being 'free' in a world that would likely shun and reject him. Aaron wanted to sow one last seed of chaos before he left the world.
Aaron chuckled as he was led to the kitchen to discuss his last meal with the chef. Radiating evil glee, Aaron looked the Michelin starred chef the prison kept on retainer in the eye as he demanded:
"12 deep-fried 9 volt batteries. With a balsamic reduction."
His maniacal laughter almost drowned the screams of rage that emanated from chef Gordon. | Ugly Willy, that was his name, was about to get killed, after 34 years awaiting the death sentence he had been issued by the supreme court of alabama. He had kill 3 babies in a satanic ritual, and ate their freshly dead bodies. Although, he always had thought highly of himself, thinking that he was a pretty cool guy, easy going and fun to hang out with. Now, he knew his last chance was to order something to eat that nobody on earth could ever find for him. And, he had a pretty good idea. An alive baby. He was winning on every point, if they could not, he was free, if they could, at least he would be able to enjoy his favorite meal before going to hell...
They came early in the morning, and here it was, a cute little baby, with great blue eyes and blond hair, on a plate, laughing and giggling, not aware of the terrible fate awaiting him. Ugly Willy was salivating. As soon as he began spreading ketchup all over his food, he heard the familliar sound of a key inside the lock of his door's cell.
"How the fuck could have you let him get that poor kid ?"
It was Archibald Monk the jail's director, with a guard.
"I am sorry mr Monk, but if we had not did it he would have been set free !"
"Are you mad ? Free him then. And get that baby back where he belongs !"
"All right mr director".
The first thing Ugly Willy did when he was free was to eat a baby burger with a lot of ketchup. | 2022-07-17T20:40:56 | 2022-07-17T20:03:06 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "You guarantee that I will be able to eat it before my execution?" I asked the agent. She nodded in affirmation. "And if you fail, I will be a free man?" I asked with hope. She nodded again.
I smiled, finally relaxed. "I would like to be served my own brain that has been taken from my dead body, all of it--with no part missing, that has never experienced time or dimensional travel, cooked well-done, and served with my smoked liver and heart on the side." I said.
The agent's eyes widened in horror before she brought her phone to her ear and said "We have a problem." before leaving the room.
After a few days she returned and said "You win, we can't grant you your last meal." I smiled "You are free to leave." She said as they opened my cell.
I nodded at her "Thank you." I said politely before setting my feet outside for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She said to me and I turned back to her "Would you like a job at our organisation? We could use smart people like you."
I shook my head and said "For my own safety, I would rather not know what an organisation that can easily procure dragon eggs or alien steaks is up to."
As I left, I heard her mutter under her breath "Smart indeed." | "I don't understand what you're saying. Can we do it or not?"
"What I'm saying is, I'm not sure. Modern science theory assumes that the luminiferous aether doesn't exist."
"So it's another 'doesn't exist' case. Easy. Make something up and name it luminous whatever."
"Not that simple sir... unlike the usual imaginary cases, luminiferous aether actually does have an existing, scientifically codified definition. We would have to create something that fit the definition."
"Well, get the scientists on it then. We've gotten breakthroughs before- remember the one that requested a black hole singularity? Most expensive last meal to date. Sure it was microscopic, but we had a whole commity verify that they had created and suspended a black hole in stasis with sufficient lifetime to be swallowed. The journalists loved that one."
"Yes, sir. But in that case, black holes were already known to exist, and we even knew how to create them, it was just a matter of getting all the specifics down."
"Hmm. Well maybe we can treat it as a technicality? Like the request for the body of Jesus Christ... honestly, that was even easier than the usual "flesh of so and so". We didn't need to fire up the tissue cloning machine, we just got a Catholic priest to come and do communion. The prisoner argued that it didn't count of course, but it was ruled valid."
"That is probably our best bet, sir. I'll have to go read over the exact wording a few more times."
"Then get to it. Dismissed." | 2022-07-17T21:30:21 | 2022-07-17T20:02:33 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "You guarantee that I will be able to eat it before my execution?" I asked the agent. She nodded in affirmation. "And if you fail, I will be a free man?" I asked with hope. She nodded again.
I smiled, finally relaxed. "I would like to be served my own brain that has been taken from my dead body, all of it--with no part missing, that has never experienced time or dimensional travel, cooked well-done, and served with my smoked liver and heart on the side." I said.
The agent's eyes widened in horror before she brought her phone to her ear and said "We have a problem." before leaving the room.
After a few days she returned and said "You win, we can't grant you your last meal." I smiled "You are free to leave." She said as they opened my cell.
I nodded at her "Thank you." I said politely before setting my feet outside for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She said to me and I turned back to her "Would you like a job at our organisation? We could use smart people like you."
I shook my head and said "For my own safety, I would rather not know what an organisation that can easily procure dragon eggs or alien steaks is up to."
As I left, I heard her mutter under her breath "Smart indeed." | Ugly Willy, that was his name, was about to get killed, after 34 years awaiting the death sentence he had been issued by the supreme court of alabama. He had kill 3 babies in a satanic ritual, and ate their freshly dead bodies. Although, he always had thought highly of himself, thinking that he was a pretty cool guy, easy going and fun to hang out with. Now, he knew his last chance was to order something to eat that nobody on earth could ever find for him. And, he had a pretty good idea. An alive baby. He was winning on every point, if they could not, he was free, if they could, at least he would be able to enjoy his favorite meal before going to hell...
They came early in the morning, and here it was, a cute little baby, with great blue eyes and blond hair, on a plate, laughing and giggling, not aware of the terrible fate awaiting him. Ugly Willy was salivating. As soon as he began spreading ketchup all over his food, he heard the familliar sound of a key inside the lock of his door's cell.
"How the fuck could have you let him get that poor kid ?"
It was Archibald Monk the jail's director, with a guard.
"I am sorry mr Monk, but if we had not did it he would have been set free !"
"Are you mad ? Free him then. And get that baby back where he belongs !"
"All right mr director".
The first thing Ugly Willy did when he was free was to eat a baby burger with a lot of ketchup. | 2022-07-17T21:30:21 | 2022-07-17T20:03:06 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. However, you are immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours, and the entire cult was a prank you pulled centuries ago. | Hmm... Consciousness coming back, that's nice...
Let's see, head feels clear, probably no concussion then, good. Concussions are a pain.
Eyes... Oh good, still have eyes. Last time it took forever to get the color right again. Blindfolded though, that's annoying.
Limbs... Right leg feels broken, other leg is fine. Arms too. Tied to something hard. Probably an altar judging by how they have my arms and legs spread.
At least this time they left my clothes.
Chanting... What is that, Latin? No wait, that's Original Babylonian, Latin was the closest language to come out of that whole tower thing.
That means... Knife in the heart, yup. Wonder why I didn't notice that first, that stings...
I wait for the chanting to stop, eventually the cultists realize nothing is happening, you know, aside from the murder.
Once the nervous accusations of unfaithfulness turn into a brawl I dislocate my thumbs and pull my hands free of the bindings.
I sit up and pull off the blindfold. The dude who stabbed me looks like he's trying to decide if he's going to use his mouth to scream or throw up.
Eventually he takes the third option and passes out.
One fixed leg later and I'm slipping out the back door. Just as the brawl turns into more murder.
As I walk down the alleyway, a group of shadows pull towards me, deepening the already dark night.
"Bro" I say, "there are easier ways to get hold of me. I told you I'd get you a cell phone. I'll even pay your bill. I get a good deal if I bundle multiple lines."
"But then I wouldn't be able to pay you back for Atlantis."
I grin. "How was I supposed to know your incarnation that time would be allergic to seafood?"
"Dinner's on me" the shadow says.
"There's a great sushi place just down the road" I reply.
"Dick" | Loud laughter filled the room full of cultists, where this laughter was coming from? A man is tied up in the middle of the room with his friends summoning symbols around him. "You're going to sacrifice me? Me, of all people, to your god? God, this is so funny!" He laughed harder.
The cultists stared at the man on the ground before the priest banged a staff on the floor. "Silence! How dare you make fun of our god! Our founder would be so ashamed of this behavior that one of you dimwits get the knife." Right after that statement, one cultist brought the knife to him. The priest walked towards the man on the ground before bringing the knife down.
He smiles as the knife lands on his neck, going right through. His head rolled on the ground across the floor as the symbol activated and glowed a bright red.
The cultists looked on in awe. "It's working, it's actually working! Come, free us from salvation and this pitiful world."
"Who dares summon me?" A monotone voice slowly rises out of the ground with a red-looking portal. The person had long brown hair with sharp point ears and white eyes. They were wearing long robes. "I, Kiomi. Will gran-" Pausing and looking on the ground to see the decapitated corpse of their dead friend. Screaming in anger, they lashed out and hair tendrils wrapped around their neck. "How did you kill him? What are you? I gave him that blessing so we can live together forever. What did you do?" Kiomi screeched angrilyy.
The body on the ground twitched before meaty-like tendrils latched on the decapitated head, and his hands moved to adjust the head. "Ki, calm down! I'm still alive. Stop worrying!" He says quickly, not wanting to turn this into a slaughter.
Kiomi, almost instantly forgetting all their problems, dropped them on the ground, and lept into the man's arms. "What in the world did you think you were doing? In this, some sort of prank."
He laughed a little and rubbed the back of the angered god. "Maybe I just started this cult to you as a small joke and to show my love to you. Guess things get out of hand sometimes." | 2022-09-10T17:35:30 | 2022-09-10T14:17:44 | 843 | 71 |
[WP] You've just been assimilated into a hivemind... but it's a very weak one. It can't control you or anything, it's more like a telepathic group chat that you can't turn off. | Did you ever visited mall on Saturday in a megapolis, like Tokyo or Shanghai? There is always this constant nightmare of epileptic fest, with constant noise from people, shops and speakers, which play one sing on loop 24/7?
Well, imagine this feeling is directly in your head, multiply it by 10 and congratulations - you now know how we feel in "Buddy's Covenant". Well, that is how I name it - we long ago decided that everyone can call this connection however they like. Including Buddy themself, which is obviously isn't their name, but is just easier that way, since now I have only one Buddy in my life.
You probably want to ask - why the hell would you agree to this covenant? Well, numerous reasons - none of these is worth it, mind you, but before you connect it might sound appealing. Want to instantly know about every new event in the colonies before it hits media? Buddy's Covenant. Want to know every known language? Buddy's Covenant. Want to know answers for your exam and don't want to cram another night? You guessed - Buddy's Covenant.
And the most appealing thing - it is cheap! No entry fees or anything. You just need internet connection, go to the official site, read a spell from it and you are in!
Congratulations, now you instantly hear every thought of every being in the Buddy's Covenant which reached 500 000 000 members this month! And you can't turn it off. Oh, you don't want to hear about Zoghrahj's mating ritual? You don't want to see over9000 variations of the same meme, but by different species and colonies? You don't want to listen to some generic domestic conflict between old man and woman? Sorry, it is all or nothing package. You gain knowledge of 500 000 000. All of it. No exceptions.
Oh, you are interested why I entered Buddy's Covenant? Well, this is obvious - money. What money, you ask? How can you profit from it? You see, telemarketing these days is pretty hard. But what if you can market your product directly to minds of your fellows of Buddy's Covenant? Now everyone knows about your product! And they can't ignore it! By the way, are you interested in this sweet new device from Zalum 4, that makes amaz....
*Interview discontinued due to nauthorized ad*
Edit: grammar | Stewie poured a bowl of raisin bran before soaking it in milk. Classical piano music jaunted softly as evening snacks were prepared.
Mini kolaches, finger sandwiches, his bowl of raisin bran, a jug of orange juice, a few family sized bags of chips, several bottles of water, a lovely charcuterie board with various meats and cheeses, and to top if off a bottle of Chateau Lafite's 1869.
Stewie settled into his cozy, leather, green recliner and took a quick couple puffs from his pipe, stuffed a few small kolaches into his gullet, and downed a full bottle of water. Nourished, Stewie leaned back in his chair, focusing his energy to that dark corner of his mind, hoping he wasn't late for the day's event.
\---
Oliver was mid-speech when Stewie arrived.
"..never had a united front! Look at us, we are four-hundred million men, women, and children strong, and what have we to show for it?" Oliver paused for an audience applause, one man sneezed. The other two politicians openly laughed at their podiums. "I'm glad you think this is a laughing matter. This will reflect poorly on all of us at the centennial ceremony."
Mentioning the ceremony had a profound effect, and Stewie hissed and roared along with the other minds. The hundred year ceremony would determine their next hundred years; Stewie hoped they could be ranked higher among the hives and gain the VIP status that came with the privilege.
Oliver continued on, perspiration dripping slowly down his spine to soak his pants. His airs stood on end as he continued, occasionally slamming his fist on his podium as his pits gradually wetted.
Many minds wandered. Stewie took a break to use the restroom and eat a few more mini kolaches. He also slurped up his very soggy raisin bran, just the way he likes it.
Delving back into the deeper recesses of Stewie's mind, he reentered Oliver's rather tedious speech.
As Oliver continued on about the logistical steps that could be taken to perhaps increase their hive mind ranking, Stewie felt a sharp tug to his left, towards the stairs that led up to the stage.
An enormous man cloaked in a shimmering black and red cloak mounted the stage, throwing his cape over his left shoulder with a grim confidence.
The mountain's essence reached towards the audience and politicians, sucking their minds, hearts, and souls into his.
Stewie abruptly felt his legs and arms jerking about. He, along with approximately four hundred million other men, women, and children, climbed to the highest building within a ten mile radius of their current location, and took a blessed leap into heaven. | 2022-09-17T15:15:41 | 2022-09-17T15:00:48 | 404 | 38 |
[WP] A rapper finds himself in Valhalla because he died during a rap battle. | Ya Boi blinked awake, his back against hard wood and a whole buffet place in front of him.
"Whoa! What's all this 'bout?" He called out, and looking around, he could see ripped Vikings, chowing down on big mutton legs and the best beer. Looking closer though, there were also others among the Vikings. Soldiers, of all kinds of countries and times it looked it. Some random people, dressed in pretty weak fashion.
A big hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Ya Boi startled, in one fluid motion taking his gat out and aiming it behind himself. The huge bearded man with one blind eye smiled and praised him. "Even now, you are ready for battle. You truly belong here."
"Yo, like, where even am I, dawg?" The rapper asked, but with how friendly the big guy was, he put his pistol away. "Last I remember, I was like, at a battle, spitting fire, this other guy couldn't keep up..."
The large bearded man belly-laughed. "Yes! You fell in battle, your opponent striking you down with a surprise weapon not unlike the one in your pocket. Now, I am Odin, the All-Father, and I am pleased to welcome you, to Valhalla!"
Ya Boi blinked. "Uh, like the Avengers and shit?"
Odin tilted his head. "I am not sure what avengers you refer to, my friend. But here, you will dine and enjoy the finest food and drink, you may roam and meet some of the bravest warriors of all time."
"Whoa, like, other rappers too?"
The All-Father shrugged. "If that is what warrior type you are, then there are likely other rappers around. The last thing is, my wife Freya and I gathered you all here for another reason beyond honoring your bravery and valor. We here will all fight at the end of times, against the Jotnar. I am destined to die, as are many others, like my sons. But we will die in battle, and you all shall aid us in defeating those that are not to survive."
The rapper looked around. "Uh, hey man, I dunno if I can like, take down shit like that if it can kill like, vikings and you and shit."
Odin smiled. "Do not worry, warrior. At the end, all forms of battle are allowed. So you will be able to use your preferred weapons as a rapper, and the Jotnar will face you in that battlefield, at least the ones that face you."
Ya Boi grinned. "Hell yeah, man! I'm gonna smoke all these Jotty fools!"
"That's the spirit! To our newcomer Your Boy!" All mugs raised in toast. | "What the fuck yo?" I was confused *as shit* man. There was dragons and stuff around, and people were in big wooden boats and shit. What the fuck man.
"Greetings brave war--" The big bearded bro stopped when saw my fly ass.
"Shiiit man!" I came forward and dapped up big bro. "Nice fucking tats man, who done your ink?"
"W--"
"Wait wait... Don't tell me." I leaned in close to him. "You ever want a good deal, my cousin does the shits in his basement. Bro... shit's FIRE!"
"T-the... The Valkyries brought you here?" Big bro looked hella confused, and I gotta say. I was too.
"Ima be honest brother, I got no fuckin clue what a valkagay is." I tapped him on his meaty ass shoulder and walked by. "But this shit right here is hella fly! This shit heaven or something?"
"You... You're a warrior?" He ran up to me and grabbed my shoulders and shit. Kinda fucking hurt, but I ain't no bitch. For-real for-real. "Say man! What is your weapon!"
"Fuck man!" I yelled as he shook me like a soda can. "I don't have a name for it or nothin. I just call it my meat!"
He cocked his head, "You wield meat?"
I pushed him off me, "Not for money or shit man! I ain't no hoe!"
"You wield a hoe! You died defending your farm!"
"Ahh shit G," I dapped him up again and smiled. "I appreciate the gas-up, but I aint no pimp. That ain't really my style."
The bearded bro shook his head all confused like, and he looked at me with some wild ass eyes. "Just say man! What is your battle!"
"Fuck player," I puffed up my jacket. "Why didn't you say so... I'm the king of the streets man, best free-style rapper there is. Hey, since you asked my sound cloud is--"
"Free-style rapper... Odin's beard."
"Woah woah! I don't owe you shit dog, let alone a beard! You must be thinking about my cousin or some shit."
The big boss grabbed my arm and started dragging me away and shit. It was fucking wild, he was saying all this shit about how I was to meet their greatest warrior, and how I was important and shit. It was crazy.
He took me to this big ass open room with a throne at the top of it. "Man! Where the fuck did you take me man?"
He pushed my ass forward, "We've been waiting years for another one. Please, speak to our greatest warrior."
"Man what the fuck." I dusted off my nice jacket and walked closer to the throne, and wouldn't you fucking know it.
"Ah hell no!" I turned to see if I was on candid camera or some shit. "Of fucking no way! Tupac!?!" | 2022-10-02T13:33:34 | 2022-10-02T11:44:53 | 396 | 240 |
[WP] "Really?" The Dark Lord asked in disbelief, "This is the best the Chosen One can do? Screw it. If we're doing this, we're going to do this properly. I'll train you." 10 years later, your training is complete, but your time spent with the Dark Lord has given you some conflicting feelings. |
"How are you doing, kid?" I asked the bedraggled young man.
He peered back at me through the iron lattice of his jail door. Hungry eyes locked onto the tray of food in my hands and he took half a step forward before hesitating.
"You want it?" I asked, holding the tray towards the dedicated slot in the jail door. This was, if you listened to the usual tales, an unusually humane feature to be found in the dungeon of a Dark Lord.
But this realization had not yet struck my young guest. Instead his hunger steadied into resolve.
"Enchantress," he spat. "You won't trick me that easily."
"Two days," I said, and left him to ponder what that meant.
---
Two days later he accepted the tray of food without protest. I watched him eat it greedily, and then as if realizing what he'd done, he hurled the empty tray back at me.
It bounced off the jail door, and clattered harmlessly to the ground.
"What now?" he asked hoarsely. "What cruel fate have I harnessed myself to? Will you turn me into a horse to draw your carriage? Or a sheep to grow wool for your spinning needle?"
"A pig," I said before I could stop myself, "to fatten for a feast. No, don't look like that, I was joking. I won't turn you into anything you don't want to become."
He did not seem particularly reassured by this. "I've heard of men who willingly submitted to the magic of beautiful sorceresses."
"If you genuinely want to become a pig," I said, " then they really did do a number on you. What's your name?"
"What's yours?" he asked craftily, and I remembered the old sermons we'd been taught about the power that names were supposed to possess.
"Ladria," I said.
"Ladria, "he repeated, and then more shocked, "*The* Ladria?"
"Yes," I said. "The very same."
"But I remember you. I had just joined the monastery when the monks picked you as the Chosen One. You look..."
"Wiser?" I suggested.
"Older," he said, until my sigh reminded him that he was still talking to an evil enchantress and probable companion of the Dark Lord. "Wait, I didn't mean... but you were the Chosen One... they told us you were dead."
"Better older than dead," I observed.
This observation also failed to find agreement. "Not if you had to join the Dark Lord."
"Oh," I said breezily. "You mean Fred? He's not so bad when you get to know him."
"But he's an evil wizard!"'
"A very skilled engineer and scientist," I amended.
"But he kills people!"
"A highly successful disinformation campaign," I said. "Mostly propagated by the monks who raised us in that wretched cult of an orphanage. And who, I suppose, also told you that you were the new Chosen One?"
"I am here to defeat the Dark Lord!"
"To murder him, you mean?"
"Well...," he said, and trailed off.
"There is no magic," I said. "There is only sufficiently advanced technology. Technology that could help people and save lives."
"But the monks- "
"Would have a lot less influence over us if we didn't need them. "
He tried one last defence, one that he'd obviously been saving. "If you can't use magic to see the future, how did you know it would take me two days to accept the food you've been bringing?"
"Because," I said, "ten years ago I sat in your place in that very cell, and that's how long it took me. Now, would you like to see what we really do here?"
---
More stories at r/jd_rallage | # Soulmage
**The Witch of Warp and Weft left no bodies when she killed.** Quivering from my hiding place behind the ruined central hut, I watched in silent, trembling horror as she methodically *imploded* every goblin in the village that tried to stand in her way, sending bullets of warped space like hunting hounds after the people who'd taken me in.
The tribe's elder snarled a wordless challenge and drew mischief from her soul, teleporting forwards in a blur of sparks, but the Witch scoffed contemptuously and flicked a hand, curving space in a twisted knot moments before Ragan's teleport finished. I'd never wanted to know what happened when you teleported into a spatial anomaly before, and as the gore and organs that had once been someone who'd cared for me splattered on the dirt, I wished I'd never found out.
"Did you really think that using teleportation against a witch of *space* was a good idea? Ugh, I knew goblins weren't sapient, but this level of idiocy is really something else." The Witch's eyes scanned the tribe; despite the fact that everyone left standing was either hiding or fleeing, she unerringly fired another round of six spells outwards in spiraling arcs. In my barely-developed soulsight, I saw six lives shatter like so much dropped porcelain. "Ah, well. Makes monster-hunting duty a little easier, I suppose. There's no point in hiding; I can see your souls." She turned to the right. Another four spells cast. Another four lives lost. She turned a little further—
And stared right at me.
She stopped, blinking in shock. A brave warrior—someone whose name I'd never known, and now never would—leapt at her, spear in hand, but his attack simply *slid* off the witch's back, space itself bending around her to protect her. Idly, she flicked a hand, and the warrior... ceased. I whimpered, frantically scrambling back as I reached for the magic in my soul.
"There, there. What's a human child like you doing in this hovel?" The witch stepped forwards, a disconcerting compassion in her eyes. "Did these monsters kidnap you?"
I tried to speak, to cast a spell, to run, but something deep inside me had just *snapped,* and I couldn't move, couldn't control the magic leaking from my soul. I shrank into myself, trying to hide from the world, to hide from the latest monster to rend my home to ash and rubble—
I froze as I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You have a strong soul," the witch whispered. "And nobody deserves to be left with these vermin. Why don't you come with me, hmm? I can teach you how to control that magic of yours."
Frantically, I shook my head. "Y-y-you killed them. You killed my family."
She frowned. "Your family? Child, these are *goblins*. Did you think they were people?"
"I—"
"We'll have to get that straightened out," she said, picking me up as if I weighed no more than a feather. "Along with any other things that these monsters might have done to you."
"They're not... they're..." I tried to assemble a coherent thought, but the terror and fear were overwhelming, and it was so much *easier* to just let the witch hold me, to stay quiet and do what she said. "I..."
"It's alright, child. I'll protect you from the monsters." Her voice curdled into something I think she thought was kindness. "Even the ones you think are people."
And against my numb, shocked protests, the Witch of Warp and Weft carried me out of the ruins of my home, leaving nothing behind but empty houses and bloodied soil.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! To catch up on the rest, check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or browse r/bubblewriters for more! | 2022-10-09T20:10:51 | 2022-10-09T19:35:16 | 860 | 149 |
[WP] As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA? | PSHAW!!!! My first wife was mortal. We loved with a burning passion. She was a beauty beyond compare and in my eyes a heart so pure I could not bring myself to turn her, yet in her dotage she begged me and I relented. I watched as my immortal kiss returned my love the beauty of her youth and i was pleased.
Years and decades passed and I watched as my loves pure heart turned cold and I am still, millennia later, cleaning up after her. She loves having an Elder as cleaner. I, not so much!
So to you youngling, I would think again about the responsibility of turning your mortal wife. You might bite off more than you can chew!
ps. Don't chew, it's unseemly
Yours forever,
~~Vlad.~~ | INFO:
Firstly, how long did the two of you date prior to your engagement, and how much discussion did the two of you have regarding your eventual \[undead\] lives? Most relationship issues can be solved with clear and honest communication; whether to keep finances separate or combine them, whether or not to have/create offspring, whether to continue a monogamous relationship or allowing for additional vampire brides, etc, these topics should have been discussed thoroughly to determine whether your undead/life goals were truly compatible.
Secondly, what is the age gap between the two of you? Sometimes a marked difference in maturity levels can lead to conflict. Even amongst humans, May–December romances can be quite complicated due to generational differences, so I can only imagine the misunderstandings that must ensue in a 21st century–Pre Industrial era romance. With these generational difference there are oftentimes a great deal of misalignment in what each party assumes are "givens."
My advice would be to sit down and have an honest discussion *now* around relationship goals and how the two of you plan to spent either her remaining years or eternity together. Good luck. | 2022-11-28T19:02:28 | 2022-11-28T18:42:15 | 104 | 21 |
[WP] As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA? | PSHAW!!!! My first wife was mortal. We loved with a burning passion. She was a beauty beyond compare and in my eyes a heart so pure I could not bring myself to turn her, yet in her dotage she begged me and I relented. I watched as my immortal kiss returned my love the beauty of her youth and i was pleased.
Years and decades passed and I watched as my loves pure heart turned cold and I am still, millennia later, cleaning up after her. She loves having an Elder as cleaner. I, not so much!
So to you youngling, I would think again about the responsibility of turning your mortal wife. You might bite off more than you can chew!
ps. Don't chew, it's unseemly
Yours forever,
~~Vlad.~~ | NAH
Vampires have a tradition of biting human partners at their wedding, but humans don't. In fact, we have a tradition of wanting to remain living, healthy and whole, inherited all the way back from reptilian ancestors millions of years ago. You seem to have respected that just fine until now, you even came to talk about how you are aware of it. Humans also happen to often have strong opinions on traditions.
For some reason, you assumed she would be okay with being bitten and she assumed such thing wouldn't happen. I'm sure you both worked past a lot of things to get your relationship to this point, and this takes both, all the differences considered. Just keep in mind she didn't disrespect vampire traditions, because she is not a vampire. Unfortunately, she can't both be transformed and not transformed so one must give. On the other hand, humans are comparatively short lived and fragile so do make sure you know what she actually wants you to do regarding her health moving on - bodily autonomy is fundamental. Disrespecting that with any partner would make you a huge AH. | 2022-11-28T19:02:28 | 2022-11-28T17:15:37 | 104 | 18 |
[WP] As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA? | NTA. How presumptuous of that… harlot to look upon the gift of vampirism and turn away! Does she understand how incredibly rare it is for us immortals to deign to add another to our number?! This is like telling someone they’ve won the lottery and having them say “Nah”. Not to mention the sheer selfishness! “Oh honey, I hope you understand, I just want you to stay young and hot forever while I age out of my looks, until I die and you have to remember me for the rest of your immortal existence!” I bet if you asked her for a prenup she’d also try to give you an ultimatum. She’s using you honey. The humans always do. I’d recommend leaving her and finding yourself a proper vampire woman. | NAH
Vampires have a tradition of biting human partners at their wedding, but humans don't. In fact, we have a tradition of wanting to remain living, healthy and whole, inherited all the way back from reptilian ancestors millions of years ago. You seem to have respected that just fine until now, you even came to talk about how you are aware of it. Humans also happen to often have strong opinions on traditions.
For some reason, you assumed she would be okay with being bitten and she assumed such thing wouldn't happen. I'm sure you both worked past a lot of things to get your relationship to this point, and this takes both, all the differences considered. Just keep in mind she didn't disrespect vampire traditions, because she is not a vampire. Unfortunately, she can't both be transformed and not transformed so one must give. On the other hand, humans are comparatively short lived and fragile so do make sure you know what she actually wants you to do regarding her health moving on - bodily autonomy is fundamental. Disrespecting that with any partner would make you a huge AH. | 2022-11-28T18:21:15 | 2022-11-28T17:15:37 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] After death you meet your guardian angel who welcomes you to a place where every appetite can be satisfied. There's just one rule: don't ask questions. Particularly about the nature of the universe. Even suggesting a question makes your guardian angel very, very angry. | "So, wanna stay here for a bit to relax and catch your bearings?"
"You fucking hypocrite."
I looked at my guardian angel, seeing a look of confusion cross her face. All this time she told me not to ask questions, and even the harmless question about asking her something(which I didn't get to finish) caused her to get snippy with me. And here she was, asking me a question.
"You go on and on about how I can't ask any question whatsoever, get snippy with me about just asking one, and you won't let me find out more about this or why I can't, and you have the audacity to ask me a question?"
"....What?"
"And there you go again! That's two questions you've asked me! So maybe you can explain why the hell you can ask questions while I can't!"
She started looking a bit worried. "Raoul, it's not like that—"
"Then what the fuck is it like?! Is it a 'rules for thee but not for me' sort of thing?! Or did you forget a rule yourself about asking questions?!"
"So you're telling me I'm bad at my job?! Take that back, jackass!"
"THEN TELL ME WHY THE FUCK I CAN'T ASK QUESTIONS WHEN YOU CAN, YOU SNOOTY PIECE OF—"
"Raoul!"
At once I felt a hand grip my shoulder, the long nails prodding my skin. The speaker held me in place, and I didn't struggle against her.
"That's enough."
I didn't argue with her. The angel, however, sighed in irritation.
"This is why we don't ask questions. You summon your guardian devil, who just so happens to be my ex. Anyways, Jezebel, you seem to know Raoul already."
"Shauna, it's been 20 years. I've moved on already and I've remarried with Gabriel. We don't have to bring this up again." Turning towards me, she exhaled, trying to calm down. It worked. "So, anyways, as you already heard, I'm Jezebel, your guardian devil. I'll handle the questions if that's fine with you."
"Perfect. So, what's the nature of this place and why won't Shauna tell me?"
"Well, the reason Angels hate being questioned about this place is because they don't know. However, us devils do, since it was created as a way to safely enjoy vices. Care for me to go into its history?"
"Sure." | huh? I woke up in my own bed. After the initial morning confusion, I turned got up and sat on my bed, but my head snapped to the side.
A woman with dark hair was just standing there. She was wearing a blue sweater, along with black pants and dress shoes. She had a jacket folded over her arm.
"You're up!" she said.
"huh? Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm your guide!" she said putting on her jacket.
"I stayed in the room, not knowing what to do. Did I get drunk the other night? I couldn't quite place this woman.
I went down beige carpeted stairs. And too my confusion she wasn't there.
"Weird," I said without thinking.
"Where are you going." The voice called out again as I made a turn for the kitchen.
"Look, you, I think you have me confused for somebody else. I never set up a guide. I've never met you in my entire life." I said irriated.
"You do relize what this means, don't you?" she said.
"relize what? That you're in the wrong spot, or that you're dumber than you look?" I replied curtly, as I made my way to the kitchen again. But she cut me off.
"We don't have time for this, you need to come with me," she said while contorting her face.
"Look, I don't have to do a god darn thing." I replied.
"your'e dead," she said flatly.
"Dead?" I asked.
"Yes, dead." she replied just as flatly.
"I don't understand, someone sent you to kill me?"
"No, I mean you passed away already."
"I don't believe you," I said.
"Then come out this door, let me show you," she replied.
She went through the door, as soon as I went after her. The place outside looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn't help the feeling that something was off. Something about the colors, or the placement of things.
While walking with her for a block or two, I noticed no one seemed to be around.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"Well, no one's really here," she said.
"Come on, I'm not the first person ever to die," I said.
"I mean, the section we're in. No one's here. This section, you have all to yourself. And you're going to be here for a while. But know that all the stores are filled. And you can still buy stuff online."
"With what? Beyond the grave money?"
"It doesn't matter. You're fine."
"This is somewhat like a dream, how do I know I'm not dreaming?" I asked.
She stopped in her tracks and looked at me angrily, "Why are you making this so difficult! you've passed away deal with it!" | 2022-12-10T16:46:04 | 2022-12-10T12:43:35 | 91 | 17 |
[WP] The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks | Angus was disoriented by the blare of noise and light which were an affront to his senses. The room was awash with a fluorescent glow, the metallic walls were cool to the touch. Mechanisms vibrated with activity and screens illuminated with facts and figures in a language he could not comprehend.
Movement.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silver and white humanoid shape stirring. He turned toward the movement but halted when the form spoke, “stop right there!” It said.
“Welcome traveler,” replied Angus as he raised his hands into the air. “I mean you no harm.”
“What year is it?” Inquired the being curtly.
“It is the fifth year of the era of the Third Mage Lord, of course,” replied Angus as he furrowed his brow. “What kind of—“
“Third Mage Lord?” Said the being. “When is that in relation to 2022? In plain terms, please.”
“When…?” Said Angus. “Why, at least 1,300 standard rotations if my horological education serves.”
“Jesus,” murmured the being. He had overshot his mark. By a lot.
“What are you exactly?” Asked Angus.
“Sorry. Just trying to get my bearings straight. I’m Captain Robert Ellison, Horotrek division. I appear to have overshot my destination. Can you point me to your nearest Master of Time?”
“Master of Time?” Said Angus with a puzzled look. “I know not of what you speak. Whatever are these devices and by what sorcery are you controlling them? I’ve not seen such an ability.”
“Shit,” muttered Robert. “You mean to tell me I’ve hit a mystical vein? God I should have known when you told me what year it was. Computer,” he ordered, “calculate atmospheric content.”
“Calculating…” said a voice from above. Angus fell to his knees in deference. “78% Nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% Argon, 0.1% other.”
“And atmospheric pressure?”
“Calculating…1.01 atmospheres,” replied the Computer.
“Good,” Robert said as he removed his helmet. His beard was askew and his hair matted down, but it was a relief to breath fresh air.
“You’re a person?” Said Angus with a sense of relief. “What are you doing here and how did you get all of this into this cave?”
“Look,” said Robert,” I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything. What I can tell you is this: I’ve travelled here from the past and you’re living in what is known as a mystical vein. This era is temporary and illusory. I need you to take me to your—what term did you use earlier—Grand Mage was it ?”
“Mage Lord,” interjected Angus.
“Ah yes, Mage Lord,” continued Robert snapping his fingers. “I need you to take me to this Mage Lord so that I may convene with him and get myself back on the proper timeline.”
“I cannot promise that the Mage Lord will grant you an audience, but I can take you as far as the Capitol Court in Gravesend. We should set out soon. I expect to learn more about your land—er, time, on our journey.”
“Very well,” replied Robert as he approached a console. He typed vigorously at keys before exhaling sharply. “This shit is fried. Ok, let me gather a few items before we venture out.” With that Robert opened a hatch and removed a rigid, white pod. He began filling the pod with foodstuffs, water, weapons, and a digital notepad. He could feel Angus staring at him.
“You must teach me this sorcery. How do you fit all of that in such a small pod?”
“Oh. Listen,” said Robert, “I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s going to happen at some point. I like to shoot straight and I don’t want you to be shocked when this comes up down the line. Sorceries are a scam, fake. There isn’t any sorcery about this; this is science. The pod acts as a conduit to a parallel timeline that is empty. I can place and remove objects as I need.”
“That sounds like sorcery to me,” said Angus. “And if there is no such thing as sorcery, how do you explain this?” He raised his hand and said, “Lumier!”
Nothing happened.
“I’m sorry, this is most embarrassing,” said Angus. “This never happens to me, I swear.”
“Ha, don’t worry about it, that’s a feature, not a bug,” said Robert with a chuckle. “You see, my ship here exists outside any illusionary tacks within a mystic vein. That is to say, your sorcery is no good here.”
Robert could tell that Angus was confused and more than a little hurt that his powers had failed him. “Oh, come here, I’ll show you what I mean.” | Harcourt woke in cold, close darkness, alarms vibrating in his right ear. Intruder alerts; he shut them off with a thought. And for long moments after he was left in silence, wondering how many years had passed him by. If the cryogenic pod would open. If the others had survived, the thousand and one souls that he had slept sentinel over, always ready to awaken at the slightest vibration of the implanted in his right ear, grafted onto the very drum.
All was silence, and the silence laid heavily upon him. Thick as death, thick as ice. It was a weight on his chest growing, growing, growing—
Until the running lights blinked on, the chamber unsealing with a pneumatic hiss.
And Harcourt stepped out.
He remembered what had happened very clearly: the last in a calamitous series of wars had forced humanity’s best and brightest underground, had degraded them enough to accept to accept a guardian like him; a soldier, the last vestiges of war. He called for light, but the armory’s overheads did not come on. He called for status updates, and the computer’s voice was a slurred thing aching in his inner ear. All the words confused, like it syntax had decayed in the intervening centuries. *Could a computer go insane?* Harcourt wondered. Perhaps. The bunker’s computer had been more intelligent than most, a braked AI left alone for all this time. The overhead lights had supposedly been good for a thousand years, and if they were dead—
A computer might indeed go insane. He shut off its connection to him, let those ramblings drift away.
Through the security door he heard young men’s voices. Excited sounds coming closer, carried by the ringing of heavy boots. *Military?* He dismissed the thought. In his time, true soldiers had forgotten how to laugh.
Harcourt flexed cold muscles, looked down at his hands. Big hands, calloused, full up with the stuff of life—which meant they knew ten thousand ways to kill. In the pale light from the cryogenic chamber, he could still see that strange species of ice clinging to his skin. Violently blue, it lent his paleness an inhuman, metallic sheen.
Harcourt did not entirely disapprove.
“Open,” he commanded the door.
A sound of locks unseizing. Rust fell from the ceiling pooling in drifts upon the floor. The voices outside stopped. The door opened slowly, grinding centuries to dust.
He’d been woken by a pair of boys.
They froze still as statues, watching him. Late teens, Harcourt thought, not yet twenty. Thick around the chest and soldiers, boys who’d known hard work, with dried mud clinging to no-nonsense leather boys. Swords on their stout belts. A hatchet. Harcourt filed that away, along with their clear terror.
“The year?” he barked.
They spoke. He did not understand.
“English, damn you!”
Babble, babble, meaningless babble!
The taller of the two approached him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He wore sackcloth trousers and a much stained jerkin, had the wispy makings of a beard. A hard-set jaw like he was trying to be brave. He babbled, babbled, made as if to touch him.
Harcourt shot him then, the gun simply appearing in his hand. Shot his friend too, and in the shattered quiet, after, he perceived no other sound. The boys had come alone, a pair of naïve farmhands off on an adventure. He didn’t pity them; in Harcourt’s time they’d have already been fed into the charnel houses of Graveyard France or fired off at Mars, that doomed wave of colonists.
Harcourt searched the bodies, came up with food and water. Took the better of the swords. He found a torch and lit it, and saw the ruin that the bunker had become. Tree roots heaved the walls as thick around as his waist, and rust pock marked every surface. Even the plastics appeared moth eaten, but of course, given enough time something would have evolved to eat them too.
He turned, and the torch cast its flickering light down the hallway across the first of the thousand and one sleepers, those brilliant minds who’d shone like atom bombs across his time. In his orientation sessions—unsuccessful brainwashing—they had told him that these minds could reconstruct the battered Earth. Real Utopian shit. The kind of shit no soldier could believe.
So he chose not to. Simple as that. Turned the computer in his ear back on and listened to its incoherent groaning—no threat there. No threat from the thousand and one either, like being afraid of the contents of your own freezer. Frozen chickens could not come home to roost.
And then something curious happened: Harcourt laughed. He couldn’t explain it, it just happened, bubbling up like some superheated gas, exploding out of him, filling up the room. The laughter bounced off the walls, off the cryo chambers, off the cooling bodies, bounced like gunshots, and that made him laugh all the harder.
It was the last time Harcourt would ever laugh. He savored it, filed the sound away.
Then went up to greet an unsuspecting world.
r/TurningtoWords | 2022-12-19T12:55:51 | 2022-12-19T12:14:38 | 813 | 100 |
[WP] The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks | "It is the 30th year of the Lord Yffral on the Throne of Krat", I answered, almost without thinking.
The thing in front of me continued wobbling, with odd hissing and purring noises.
"That does not help me", the thing said. It had no mouth, yet a voice emerged from what must have been its head, sounding like the voice of someone trapped.
"I'm sorry", I responded, not sure of what to do. It looked somewhat like a reanimated skeleton, but also like a tree, and like a sculpture.
"How many lords before Yffral on the Throne of Krat?", it asked, and when repeating my words it did it also with my own voice. I shuddered and gripped my sword harder.
"I mean you no harm", the thing said, noticing my reaction.
"Seven lords", I said.
"For how long did they rule?" the thing asked.
I finally started to realize what it really wanted to know.
"We are on the Second Age of the Wonder in the West, it has been seven hundred years in this age".
The thing's head tilted sideways.
"How long since this Wonder... showed up?"
"I believe the First Age of the Wonder in the West lasted for two thousand years, after the Wonder Rose, but you'd have to ask someone who knows more than me".
The thing nodded shakily.
"Please, tell me if this means anything to you: The Synth Era".
I shook my head. "No, I don't know what that is".
"How about The Local Expansion Era?", the thing asked.
Again, I shook my head. "I understand those words better, but no".
"How about The Common Era, or The Christian Era?"
I shook my head once more.
"Do you know the names of any other ages or eras, or even kalpas, before the First Age of the Wonder in the West?", it asked.
"I know there was a time of gods, and a time of the arrival of men. And a time of heroes. And The Founding of Feraim", I offered.
The thing remained silent for a few moments.
"The arrival of men, you say. Also Feraim could be Prime. What is Feraim and how long ago was the arrival of men?"
I shrugged. "I don't know how long ago, I'm not an erudite. As for Feraim, that's the Legendary City, built in the times before time.
"Does the sound Masada, seems at all familiar to you?"
I thought very hard for a few moments. "It sounds like a lot of things..."
"Old things, ancient things perhaps", the thing suggested.
"I don't know, I'm sorry", I said finally, giving up.
"Masada Fortress? Masada Prime? Sanctuary Alpha?" the thing asked.
"I know what a fortress is, and what is sanctuary", I said. I was now feeling quite dumb for being unable to answer any of the thing's questions.
The thing went silent again.
"I was fearing I'd have to emerge too soon. But perhaps I am too late. I should see the night sky", the thing said eventually.
"Sure, I can show you the way out" I said, finally feeling like I could help.
The thing nodded and started to walk, so I walked ahead of it.
"Why do you want to see the night sky?" I asked after some steps.
"I hope I can determine the time by the positions of the stars", it answered me.
I thought for a little bit, then asked, a little ashamed for my continual ignorance: "What are stars?" | Farren had made a bold decision.
North of the Elfitch Forrest was a ruin of cracked stone. The outside being littered with discarded containers, broken glass, and general filth. Farren entered the ruin and what was inside, was a deep stairwell.
The adventurer slowly made way down the seemingly never-ending steps. Each step more he made only echoed slightly more throughout the entire passage.
After what seemed like an eternity, Farren reached the end. In front of him laid a long corridor, with what seems a figure, hunched over at the end of it.
Curious, Farren crept up to the figure. As he got closer, he identified certain aspects about it. It seemed like it was made of metal, and rather large. It had a circular device mounted on the right side of it's helmet, and tubes ran into the centre of it, too. The shoulders of the figure bore seemingly-heavy metal pieces, with a small circle being cut out at the top of each.
The face of the figure is what terrified Farren most. It's cold, grey visor glared back at the adventurer, even though it appeared unconcious.
Farren reached forward, to try brush some dust that laid on the figure's head.
*Then it moved.*
Loud whirring and clacking sounds roared throughout the corridor, and the figure quickly scrambled to it's feet, creating loud booming sounds.
Farren jumped back, and drew his sword, nervously pointing the tip of it at the metal-clad figure.
*Then it spoke.*
"What year is it?"
The figure spoke through what could be discerned as a crackly radio, most likely implemented into the figure's helmet as to counteract the helmet muffling the figure's voice.
"Wh-what?" Farren stuttered.
"I said."
It's voice boomed.
"What. Year. Is it?"
Farren stood his ground.
"Wh-what year are *you* f-from?"
The figure stumbled for a bit, and firmly stood up straight.
"2288."
"You're using the Old World's timekeeping system?"
"Old World? You mean pre-war?"
"...what?"
The figure stood still, almost confused.
"Answer my question."
"The thirty-fourth century."
Farren sheathed his sword.
"You mean no harm?"
"I don't. I woke up from what felt like the worst nap I've ever had."
"You don't look like you dozed off for a quick sleep."
"Right.You have a radio or anything? I need to see if any of the brotherhood is still active."
"Brotherhood?"
"My allies. Friends. Family."
"I'm...I'm sorry to say but, whoever this brotherhood your talking about is, they might not be around, given the year."
The figure fell silent. It looked around, and switched on the circular device mounted on it's helmet, to revealcit was a light-source of sorts. It scanned throughout the corridor the two stood in.
"But then, why am *I* here?"
Farren took this into consideration.
"Fair point. Maybe there's more of your friends out there. Maybe in this cha-"
The entire structure trembled. It was caving in.
"RUN!"
Despite having ordered the young adventurer to run, the metal figure scooped Farren up into it's arms and stomped through the corridor, quickly approaching the exit. By a stroke of luck, the two made out just when a large barrage of stones sealed off the entrance into the catacombs below.
"Jjeeeesssus." The figure exclaimed.
"Jesus? The old world preacher?" Farren spoke.
Through it's grey helmet, the figure glared.
"Come on, we have to go."
"W-wait!"
Farren grabbed the gauntlet of the figure.
"What's your name?"
The figure turned back, and removed it's helmet, slowly, to reveal a man, with a hood covering his entire head besides his face, sporting a tattered beard, and battle scars.
*"Danse."* | 2022-12-19T16:15:04 | 2022-12-19T14:29:13 | 63 | 31 |
[WP] Today, you went into the room your parents told you to never go in.
Realized the Grammar error after posting.
On mobile, very tired, scared of toasters. | Ever since I could remember, that room has been off limits. I mean, it doesn't really look like anything out of the ordinary; it's just a door. It's wooden and painted white. The door handle is one of those old ones and it looks almost black from numerous hands turning it. The keyhole looks rusty and dusty as though no one has been through the door in ages.
I don't know why my parents don't want me to go in that room. I have never even seen them enter it themselves. I hear no strange noises or witness strange smells coming from behind it. But needless to say, I am intensely curious what is behind that door.
Until today, I have never even attempted to enter that room. But there is nothing on TV, I have no books to read and my parents have both left for the day. I'm bored and curiosity is about to get the better of me.
I step closer to the door and take a deep breath. Taking a long shot, I try the door handle and turn it slowly. It turns with a squeak and I have to pull hard on the door as it sticks. The door opens with a groan or rusty hinges and stale musty air assaults my nose. I sneeze, five times in rapid succession. Stupid allergies.
When I glance into the room, I am not sure what I am seeing. The single window is covered by a heavy curtain and the room is dim. I can see shapes against the wall covered in sheets caked in dust. I cross to the window and gently pull back to curtain to let a shiver of light stream across the floor.
With the room brightened, I notice pictures on the wall. I slowly walk over, staring at it incredulously. I notice one in particular that is old and covered in a thick layer of dust. I gently wipe it off with my sleeve. In it, my mother sits on a chair with my father behind her as they look grimly in the photographer's direction. The picture is without colour and they are dressed in what looks like clothes from the 1800s, if I was to guess.
I guess the part that shocks me the most is that I am in the picture, standing beside my father, with the same grim expression on my face. | Ten years. Ten years they had been telling me not to go into that room. Then I saw her put the key away. They had hidden it so well, but I caught them. It was stuck to the back of the big mirror on the wall at the foot of their bed. It's sad that this was the most exciting moment of this seventeen year old's life, but alas, it was true.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when I got in. The clock ticked on the wall, and I sat on the couch holding a magazine that I had no intention of reading. It had been a cover. Look engrossed, like nothing else matters. But I hadn't read a single word, I have just glared out the window. Dad was at work, and Mam had just left to do the shopping. This meant I had a minimum of forty minutes. Ten minutes there and back, assuming traffic was light, plus time for parking and doing the actual shopping. I waited three minutes, just to be safe, before getting up and going for the key.
My hand trembled as I slid the key into the lock. I turned it slowly, waiting for the heavy clunk of the blot. For the first few seconds I just stood there. I couldn't bring myself to go in. It's not easy to cast years of warnings aside. I put my hand on the handle, and turned in. The door creaked and opened slowly. Oh God. Why did I open that door. I should have listened to them. There was nothing int here for me. But it was too late. I had seen it, and I couldn't unsee it.
The smell of leather was overwhelming. The room was spotless, like an operating theatre. The walls were lined with leather straps, and latex masks.There were whips and chains, and toys. God, the toys, I had never seen anything like it. I stepped in and turned on the light. in the center of the room was a huge wooden contraption. There was a wheel at the side. It looked like you could tie someone to it, and stretch or spin them around. I could't handle it and stepped backwards, almost falling over myself. I locked the door behind me and returned the key, not knowing how I could face my parents after this.
Fifty minutes later my mother arrived home, smiled at me and walked towards the kitchen. I felt ill. What's worse is, I had left the light on. The next day my parents would ask me a question, and things would get very awkward. | 2014-07-10T06:59:03 | 2014-07-10T06:35:28 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| As the humans had become more self aware, we marveled at how little they progressed. They have done nothing but bicker over their meager lands, invest in immature sciences, squabbled over what invisible man was the one who would become their salvation from the endless void after life... But one thing we did not expect to come from these primates was something that took the breath from the whole cosmos. It resonated through the stars. It resounded through the crystalline skies of our worlds. It shook the very core of our being. They call it music. We call it harmony. Perfection. We had not known such bliss until we felt those impossible waves of sound embrace our bodies, smother our cynicism, and purify our minds. Their genius has taken the universe by surprise, and in return, it is out duty to protect the human species, to nurture this gift of music. Humanity is young and immature, but even we immortals have much to learn from their mind, as they do from ours.
Alternate ending-
This document will henceforth place Earth under the protection of the International Conglomerate, as sanctioned by Overseer Malachezeth. As concluding words, we would like to pass on some words of wisdom from the humans who most influenced us- be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes!
(This was done on the phone so sorry if there are any mistakes!) | 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T10:29:19 | 1,186 | 353 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | That evening marked the end of the first month I had fought these creatures, and in that time I had lost more soldiers than in a sixty-cycle career. I worked special-operations, pitting my small number troops against the best of the best in any in a planet we choose to invade. These losses made me fearful. If one of their warriors could wipe out eight squads by itself, there was no telling what destruction they might bring about once the full assaults began. It was imperative that we speak to this creature and try to find out a bit more about it. This was the historic day that we caught a human alive.
From around the corner Dzoo-Rad, my trusty assistant, scuttled on his five natural legs, with his sixth synthetic one clinking on the ground in a rhythmic fashion. He had left to examine the remains of our troops, and from his expression, I could already tell that we were in a lot of trouble.
“Give me the truth, Dzoo-Rad” I growled “What are we dealing with?”
Dzoo-Rad gulped. He said nothing. The vents on his head widened, and I could see heat waves shimmering from the gaping holes. Dzoo-Rad was venting stress, or fear. Either way, I was shocked. I’d seen the guy loose a leg in a bombing raid and barely stumble as he ran to give medicine to another fallen warrior. Supposed to be disabled, he was one of the toughest spawn-of-a-qkawk I knew. What could have unnerved him so?
“Dzoo-Rad?” I said more gently “I need to know,”
“It’s jokes, sir” Dzoo-Rad finally whispered “Some of the guys heard snatches of the ‘man walks into a bar’ variety, but it seems to be mainly puns, and lots of them,” He stopped, sickened. This I understood. Everyone knew that the use of poor jokes had been outlawed under the 62223rd Articles of Interplanetary Warfare, or at least, everyone I knew. Someone had obviously forgotten to tell the humans.
“Exactly how bad are these jokes?”
“Awful, sir,” he responded seriously “One of them had our troops cringing so hard that Zorl’ak’s guts tried to escape out his ass. They’re still banging around in the airducts, we’re trying to coax them out with treats but it’s not going so well”
I began to pace outside the interview cell. This couldn’t be happening.
“That’s impossible. How did they manage to build a pun generator? We’d have picked up if they were using that kind of power anywhere on the planet’s surface, and that’s to say nothing of the expertise or the kind of population needed to maintain one. Are you telling me that they somehow managed to make a portable pun machine for one of their soldiers to just… To just carry around?”
Dzoo-Rad looked me in the eye. There was something I wasn’t getting.
“Sir… They don’t have that kind of technology. Frankly, I’m surprised they got this far into our space,”
“Then how-“
“IT JUST MAKEs THEM UP, SIR!” Dzoo-Rad screamed “IT LEARNED OUR LANGUAGE AND JUST STARTED TELLING THESE JOKES, OVER AND OVER, AND IT WOULDN’T STOP. IT DOESN’T NEED A MACHINE, IT JUST DOES IT BY ITSELF!”
A biological pun generator. I had seen and read some strange things in my time but this… This was far beyond anything our science-fiction writers could have come up with.
“I see,” I said softly “How safe is it, if I go in there?”
“Not… Not safe, er, sir” he said, fear clear in his eyes “If it decides to tell a joke, you’ll be dead in less than two seconds,”
“Then that’s a risk I’ll just have to take,” I said “Open the doors and cut off all sound from the interview cell. I’ll have no jokes escaping into the outside world,”
Dzoo-Rad looked as though he might argue, but seeing that I was not to be turned aside, he wordlessly handed over his holo-slate and retreated. The air-lock sealed behind me before the second door opened before me. Inside, sitting awkwardly on a chair designed to relax four more legs, sat the human warrior. I first strolled behind him to remove the gag, before taking the seat opposite the human. I looked at the holoslate, and read its name, presumably what our soldiers had heard the other humans call it.
“So…” I read from the slate “D-Dad? You are dad?”
“Yes,” it said in my language. A poor accent, but still clear enough.
“By now, I’m sure you know how dangerous your jokes are against my kind. What I need to know, er, Dad, is how many more have training like you? How many *dads* are there, capable of this kind of punnary?”
The creature laughed, as though I had said something amusing. But I suppose that any creature capable of deploying bad puns as indiscriminately as this one had must have some strange sense of humour.
| "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T13:40:10 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] It has been proven that there is a wishing well that actually fulfills wishes (provided that they aren't outlandish), the only catch is that it takes 10 years for the wish to come true. You make a wish almost 10 years later you realize that it's the last thing you want to happen.
You make a wish **AND** almost 10 years later you realize that it's the last thing you want to happen.
Typo. | I wake up in a strange bed with needles klinking to the floor. Startled, the sound of metal hitting the cold marble floor jars me awake.
"Where is my beautiful wife Emily and my two precious kids?" I think.
A musky rank odor fills the air as I strain to make sense of this unfamiliar surrounding.
The window to my left, allows streaking light through the moth eaten drapes, adding further creepiness to this already weird scene.
"Honey" a meek voice calls out,"will you get me some more coke?"
A sillioutte of a women, once beautiful, once powerful, once my only crush and desire is now a shadow of herself.
Lindsay Lohan, if only 10 years didn't look so bad on you. | I was an angry teenager. My parents were too controlling for my liking, so I wanted to be free.
There had always been a well in the town square, fairly busy and had coins thrown down it all the time, they said it was once so deep that you couldn't see the bottom. Enough wishes had been made that you could now see coins piling up.
I reached into my pocket for a handful of loose pennies and dropped them in.
"I wish my parents were gone. I wish I would never see my siblings again and I wish that I wasn't this unhappy."
I went home without giving another thought. The decade passed by and I come by the well again. The well was almost overflowing now and you could touch the coins if you reached.
I opened my front door. I was still living at home and I was glad for the support I had. I stepped into the house and the world went black. I shouted for my family. My siblings helped me too my feet, but it was still so dark.
I was helped back to the well by my younger sister and told her to undo my wishes, but the well was full. No more wishes for anyone. | 2015-02-21T08:10:06 | 2015-02-21T07:13:29 | 82 | 17 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" said the killer
Jason was sitting alone at his dimly lit dinner table, in boxers and a tanktop as the masked killer stood over him with a revolver
"No thanks I don't need whatever you're selling pal" said Jason nonchalantly while finishing the last slice of pizza
"I'm not selling you anything, I'm about to put a bullet in your head and then rearrange your organs to make them look like my mother."
"That was a good pizza, I make killer pizzas. Pass me that bag of chips, will ya?" asked Jason
The killer didn't know why he complied, but he did
"Here's your last bag of chips, buddy, enjoy it."
"Ah fuck, it's the last one already? I hate making grocery runs." Said Jason in a genuine tone
The killer is not sure what Jason is doing, none of his previous murders involved someone like Jason.
"Finish quick or I'll jus--
"Did you know that there are 7 days in a week?" jason interrupted
"Uh, yeah, and?" replied the killer
"And did you know that there are 4 weeks in a month?" Jason asked
"Duh."
"Then surely you know that there are 12 months in a year?" Jason asked again
"Everybody knows that, it's common knowledge." The killer said impatiently
"Well then there should be 7 X 4 X 12 days in a year, right?"
"uh huh.." said the killer, unsure of the answer
"That's what I thought, too, until I learned that there are 365 days in a year, that's like an extra month, you believe that shit?!"
The killer is standing there doing the arithmetic in his head when he started to realize that he can't move
"This isolated house has always looked like an easy target for people like you, that's why I live here." Jason said while wiping his hands and mouth
"I bet you didn't know about the neurotoxin that I put on my door and window handles." said Jason in an increasingly sinister voice as he got up and walked toward the killer
"And I'm assuming you don't know why all the other serial killers stopped killing?" Jason continued while jumping in some bloody overalls he pulled from a cabinet
The killer is standing there frozen in place, he can't speak, but he's clearly terrified.
"You'll have all the answers soon enough." Jason told him.
| *Disclaimer: This is my first one in English ever. And I suck at English (not my native tongue at all). Please be kind while criticising.*
---------------------------------------------------------------
—You... do know I'm about to kill you, right? —I told her.
—Yes, we've already established that, sir. What I fail to grasp is how are we going to cope with the aftermath. There will be lots of cleaning to do.
—Sorry to interrupt you, —I told the girl, while thinking of how preposterous all this had become— but that's *my* problem, not yours. You're gonna be dead.
—OK, OK, but, see, you've come in here with that... that knife. I guess there's going to be lots of blood, all messy, sticky. Oh, and you'll have to take care with your feet, what about leaving footprints and stuff, you know.
—Nothing matters to you if I'm going to kill you.
—You're *not* telling me what matters or not. You're not my mom. And speaking of that, knife and all, you're nicer than my mom. Way nicer.
—No, I'm not. I'm what TV series call "a serial killer". I'm not Mr. Right Guy. I'm not nice. I come and kill you, right? I'm a killer, a murderer.
—Now you're being redundant. You're repeating yourself.
—Oh, the irony... What you just said, ***THAT*** is the biggest fucking redundancy of all! That's the *mother of all redundancies!*, —I lost my shit there. Not only this young lady was oblivious to what was coming, she was quite obnoxious as well.
—You're not well. I'll make you some tea. With scones. I have scones.
—No, you're not. You're going to die.
—Aren't we all, pal?
—I'm not your pal. I'm your final fate.
—Oooooohhhh. Now that's *deep!*
—Are you being sarcastic on me?
—Nah, just joking. Now, where were we?
—We were in the part where you can't fully grasp that I am going to kill you, to end your life.
—Still redundant, I see. Can't get that off of you.
---------------------------------------
—It went like this, I tell you. And it was then that I said "i'm the fuck outta here", slammed the door shut, went for a walk, and chose this new victim randomly, a saner one, detective.
---------------------------------
.
.
*Edit: "most fucking redundancy" for "biggest fucking redundancy". English is not easy!* | 2015-04-29T08:30:24 | 2015-04-29T07:57:35 | 227 | 134 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" said the killer
Jason was sitting alone at his dimly lit dinner table, in boxers and a tanktop as the masked killer stood over him with a revolver
"No thanks I don't need whatever you're selling pal" said Jason nonchalantly while finishing the last slice of pizza
"I'm not selling you anything, I'm about to put a bullet in your head and then rearrange your organs to make them look like my mother."
"That was a good pizza, I make killer pizzas. Pass me that bag of chips, will ya?" asked Jason
The killer didn't know why he complied, but he did
"Here's your last bag of chips, buddy, enjoy it."
"Ah fuck, it's the last one already? I hate making grocery runs." Said Jason in a genuine tone
The killer is not sure what Jason is doing, none of his previous murders involved someone like Jason.
"Finish quick or I'll jus--
"Did you know that there are 7 days in a week?" jason interrupted
"Uh, yeah, and?" replied the killer
"And did you know that there are 4 weeks in a month?" Jason asked
"Duh."
"Then surely you know that there are 12 months in a year?" Jason asked again
"Everybody knows that, it's common knowledge." The killer said impatiently
"Well then there should be 7 X 4 X 12 days in a year, right?"
"uh huh.." said the killer, unsure of the answer
"That's what I thought, too, until I learned that there are 365 days in a year, that's like an extra month, you believe that shit?!"
The killer is standing there doing the arithmetic in his head when he started to realize that he can't move
"This isolated house has always looked like an easy target for people like you, that's why I live here." Jason said while wiping his hands and mouth
"I bet you didn't know about the neurotoxin that I put on my door and window handles." said Jason in an increasingly sinister voice as he got up and walked toward the killer
"And I'm assuming you don't know why all the other serial killers stopped killing?" Jason continued while jumping in some bloody overalls he pulled from a cabinet
The killer is standing there frozen in place, he can't speak, but he's clearly terrified.
"You'll have all the answers soon enough." Jason told him.
| So there that fucking guy was. I thought I was going insane. He's been sitting in that chair now asking me what it is that I want from him for a while. Calm as a bird. He tells me, almost with a smirk, that we can figure this out and that I shouldn't be nervous, he'd get me what I wanted, whatever it was. I ignored him for a while before I looked him in the eyes and told him and told him what I told everyone.
"I don't need or want anything from you."
I love this moment, playing with their mind. Seeing the eyes so blank. The realization that this is it. The death of all hope. But this fucking dude, this mad man did fucking nothing. He sat there, like he was just peculiar of what I said, not scared.
"Come, on," he told me, almost smiling, totally relaxed. "Dude, there has to be something? Money? I got money."
I wanted him to feel fear, to be afraid of me. To be scared, terrified of the monster I had become. The monster even I have nightmares about whenever I get to sleep. The monster I fear more than anybody in the world. I got out my gun, my old revolver, the biggest fucker I could buy. I put it on my lap and repeated.
"There is nothing that I could ever need from you, you have nothing to give me. Nothing to keep this from happening. You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?"
Now, here we go. This is it. The moment of terror right before the end.
"Come on, man, anybody can be bought, I got more cash then you ever saw. More money then some countries."
This guy is a monster, I realised with fear, he sold his soul long ago. This guy thought he had the world in his pocket with all his cash and there was no way to make him think not everything is for sale. A life has no price for me, but this guy is the first that will never realise that all the money or connections in the world have no meaning. This guy can't realise that he's as feeble and fragile as us all. As useless and small. There was no fun in this for me. No victory. No pride. This monster I had been feeding could not be fed anymore.
After this guy I couldn't go back. This high profile powerful man. I can't just leave this building anymore. I knew I wasn't going to make it out. I knew it would be my last. But now it feels like it has all been for nothing. If I can't save this man the world is lost. I regret everything.
I cocked the gun once and shot. I cocked it once more turned it around and with tears in my eyes I shot again. | 2015-04-29T08:30:24 | 2015-04-29T08:21:14 | 227 | 38 |
[WP] An unnamed henchmen has the audacity to murder the protagonist halfway through the villain's monologue with a complete disregard for the plot. | "Don't worry love, we'll be out in a tiff."
The man in a pinstripe suit fumbles in his bonds. His index finger reaches for the crown of his wrist watch, finally managing to press it down.
A small mechanism springs open to reveal a serrated knife inside the watch. With each tick of the second hand, the blade strokes back and forth over the rope.
"But my love! Dr. Demented will see you and drop us into the acid!" protests his busty companion and newly engaged wife, the ravishing Sexena Innuenda.
She points her head at a large monitor displaying the severely burned visage of the aforementioned Doctor. The man was in the middle of explaining the ironic genius that Agent 69 would perish in acid, the same weapon that he had used to disfigure Demented.
Agent 69 chuckles. "Oh, you needn't worry about that. Around the fifth time in I realized it's a bloody recording. He can't even see or hear us. Cheeky bastard got tired of writing new monologue scripts. Anyway, my watch will finish cutting my ropes with about a minute before the platform descends into the acid. Plenty of time to untie you and hop to safety."
This explanation confused Sexena, as she was fairly sure this wasn't how international espionage usually played out.
Well, at least that meant she still had an enduring, satisfying married life to look forward to - that would in no way be marred by sudden tragedy.
Suddenly the lab doors swung open. A burly henchman sporting a balaclava and a slung M16 strode in.
"Who in the bloody hell are you?" demands Agent 69. "Is that an assault rifle? Dr. Demented's henchman are supposed to only be equipped with standard issue stun pistols! You know, the kind that shoot really slow laser balls that I can reflect with the mirror face of my spy watch!"
The henchman only lights a cigarette in response, taking a long drag. Then he spoke.
"Do you want to know a really great way to throw off pursuers in a car chase? Install a compartment in the back of your car that drops a bunch of steel spikes onto the road. Press a little button, watch their tires pop. Problem solved."
The henchman pauses, blowing another line of smoke.
"Of course, once the spikes get on the road they stay there. So that the next guy that comes over - let's say a middle aged family man driving his wife and kids home from the park - runs right over them. Couldn't even see that they were there."
Launched by a flick, the cigarette bounces off Agent 69's head and makes a *psssh* sound as it hits the acid. The henchman removes his balaclava, dropping it to the floor.
His face was completely unharmed. Not a cut or even a blemish in sight. He had chubby round cheeks, a receding hairline, and the scraggly beard of a man that had long ago stopped grooming. His eyes were red with tears, stark against the shadowy bags underneath.
"He loses control, and clips a tree. Wife goes flying through the windshield, kids snap their necks on impact. But the father's airbag deploys in time. He gets to walk away."
A fresh magazine is pushed into the M16 with a *clack*.
"W-what do you want me to do about it? Money?! I'm very wealthy! Power? I'm a high ranking government official, you could be made for life!
WHAT DO YOU WA-"
**BLAM**
The weeping man pulls the screaming, blood-drenched Sexena from the platform and unties her knots. She decides that three days isn't really a lot of time to know a man before marriage, and that a free diamond ring meant she was coming out of this situation ahead.
The man turns to watch the body of Agent 69 slowly melt into nothing.
He stops crying. | He was at it again, his monologue, blasting away on why what he had to do was not evil, how it was necessary for world peace. Most of us had heard this at least ten times before. Agent Jamie Blud of H.E.A.R.T. had probably heard it more than the most of us. He had always stopped him when we got closed. The bastard had killed my brother, shoot me twice and his henchmen.. or his fellow agents had killed half my friends last time. And here Dr Jubby had captured him again, we were all getting nervous. The good Dr. only had to press the button and we would accomplish all we had worked so hard for. By working hard I mean us laboring and guarding and the good doctor planning and inventing. Not that he was bad at his jobs. I mean I had a handheld supercomputer in the early 80’s and it’s still better than your average laptop. Back then he was only a thief. That was before those danm terrorist and government killed his wife. The only woman I have seen who could say no to mr Agent and his ilk. Wait Im doing a inner monologing now. Fuck this.
“there wont be peace as long as that area still exist. The only way to bring peace to them is to nuke the whole place and build a parking lot over it. But I will do so much better. Wil my new” BANG BANG BANG… BANG BANG..
They all looked at me ”what the hell ? “ Dr. Jubby stagger back in confusion as I walked over to the agents and shoot him two times more in the head. BANG BANG! “a warning next time. “ The dr. turns towards the panel and sighted as he looked at the button . “ fuck it.. come here. What’s your name again?”
I holstered my gun and stepped over the dead body. “ Fritz Cull. Nr 24 sir!”
“Number 24? You survived that long? Number 637. Clean the mess up” He looked over my shoulder to my co guard and looked down at the button. “ you press it. Its just as much your victory as mine.”
"I looked at him and I was getting confused. Then scared. He is going to kill me. Fuck.. danm Im doing a monolog again . I pressed the button and nothing happened. “ I’m dead aren’t I?”
He shuck his head and smirked. Your not supposed to feel anything but its done. We made world peace.
The satellites worked perfectly, the redundant operation system crashed of course as the agents of H.E.A.R.T. had instructed it to, no knowing it the secondary system was the actual main system and untouched by their hacking. The beams struck down on all the 500 designated areas and within 1 hours there was no longer a middle east just a bunch of island the size Hawaii. All the major holysite where gone so was the major cities. While it lasted the world was filled with a strange music, from instruments nobody could really place. When it was owe the clouds all over the middle east formed into the words “ Do not kill in my name again!”
Dr. Jubby walked away from the control panel to his study, halfway he looked at me as to tell me to follow, I followed. I had just killed more several million but It didn’t dawn on me yet. He told me to sitt down at his desk. I looked at the chair. It had several hidden deadly traps and devices installed in it. I sat down as he took out a bottle of whiskey. “ so we did it. “ the always so elegant Dr. open the bottle and drank straight from the bottle, like he did when we had started. I just nodded and he handed me the bottle, “ 24? That means you were part of the Switz bank heist?”
“yes sir. Got shot there. First time you meet him. “ I nodded back to the door and he smirked.
“the good old days. Who would knew he would be such an asshole, you know he tried to seduce my daughter. He is 20 years old then her.. was I would say. “
I drank and handed him the bottle. I guess I would celebrating now.
| 2015-06-24T02:27:12 | 2015-06-23T23:22:04 | 106 | 31 |
[WP] you are the lawyer in charge of getting every single GTA character out of jail with no repercussions. | It's the same thing every time they bring in this guy. My accountant wouldn't be able to keep track of the bodies left behind when this maniac goes on a spree. No, that's not my job. I don't have the luxury of an opinion.
I'm a public defender. I have a responsibility to provide -to the best of my ability- legal defense to my client. That's the system. Innocent until proven guilty. It's why I still do this job. It's important, a public service. That's what I tell myself. That's what I need to hear.
When I wake up, I see the blood-red light of sundown dredge through the half closed blinds. The glare in my eyes reflecting off the empty bottle. Sometimes I think to myself how do I sleep at night? The truth is I don't. I drain glass after glass of whiskey until I'm too drunk to pour myself another and then I just take it straight from the bottle.
An incoming call is the only alarm I have. The skull shattering vibrations dragging me back to reality. It's him again. Of course it is. It's always the same too. I think he likes putting me through this. He knows what I'm going to say, so does the judge but they still make me go through the motions.
I arrive at the court with no time to spare, there's no point in being early anymore. I place myself square in front of the judge. My *client* sitting comfortably beside me. The judge rambles on some rigmarole about the course of justice. Then the prosecutor outlines the horrors charged against the man beside me.
It's my turn to speak now. I stand then turn to the judge and say the same thing I have every other time we've been here. The same routine. I say my piece so this guy walks and I go home and try to drink myself to death.
"Your Honour, I call for a mistrial. My client was never read his rights." | "Y-Your honor," The man said, trying to keep his composure. "T-the defendant would like to plead temporary insanit-"
"Liar." The defendant said, leaning back in his chair. He was an arrogant asshole, and everyone in the room knew it.
"Uh, um," The defense attorney stuttered, confused. "I t-thought that this is what we agreed on! You know if this doesn't work out for me, I'll never be able to show my face here again!" He whispered down to the defendant, tears appearing in his eyes.
"Who gives a shit?" The defendant laughed, grinning. He was experienced in court. Had been here too many times to count. "I don't care about your sorry ass, we fight this."
"B-but..." The lawyer stuttered, terror showing on his face. "There's no way we win, you do know what evidence they have against you, right?" At this, the judge cleared his throat, reminding the two that they were currently in a courtroom.
"Just fight it, I don't care," The defendant said. "Not guilty, need me to spell it out? N-O-T-Space-G-U-I-L-T-Y. That's what we're pleading." His lawyer broke down where he was standing, tears leaking onto the floor. The judge sighed, and suggested that the court take a recess. The lawyer and his defendant left with a detail of guards.
"Well done," The defendant hissed to the lawyer. Subtly fist-bumping the defendant, he responded.
"I'll be getting my pay later, right?"
"Of course," In the next moment, a wall blew open. The guards were gunned down by men in varying masks. The lawyer always thought that they looked creepy, almost clown-like.
"Thanks Mr. Lawyer, we'll take it from here!" Said one, gesturing for him to get on the ground.
"Of course," He replied, allowing himself to be tied up. "Enjoy yourselves out there." As quickly as they had arrived, they were gone, fighting police down the street.
___
Thanks for reading! If you like what you saw, check out my subreddit, /r/OpiWrites, where I post all of the stories I write on WP! | 2015-11-12T07:25:08 | 2015-11-12T06:45:17 | 1,210 | 211 |
[WP] You have a dead-end IT job where all your coworkers are computer-illiterate and constantly bother you over every small problem. When supernatural things start to happen around the office they nonchalantly continue to ask you to solve these new problems. | "It doesn't work!" John again. I add the missing line — the rune twitches and glows. John looks at me sheepishly and mutters something vaguely grateful before getting back to work.
My phone beeps. A new ticket, urgent. "The walls bleed Again!!" This _is_ urgent — last time some blood seeped into the server room — never again. This time a few balancing wounds and refreshed seals subsided the flow before any major damage. If only we had better seals.
Screams from accounting. Two blind walkers — dispatched them both with a shovel, but too late for the new intern. Root cause — Kate botched the prayer, third time this month. Next time I'll get there slower — they don't have any more interns to spare before they face their mistakes.
New ticket — "Wifi for the pale kings". The good part. Sure, their eyes and teeth are uncanny, but at least they can follow instructions. I'd take a pale denizen over my coworkers any time.
More tickets. Hive breaches, app updates, incinerating virus, broken sacrificial knives, blue screens. I barely find the time for lunch.
Finally, a meeting with Rob the restructuring manager. "I am watching you" says Rob "and I have no idea, honestly, whether you are adding any value or just reacting to minor issues. And here we don't have place for minor issues. What do you say for yourself?"
I open my mouth, but before I can say something Rob drops on the floor, in pain. The walls tremble, and burn with the words. "NO! SHE IS THE KEY THAT KEEPS ALL TOGETHER. TOUCH HER AND YOU WILL SUFFER."
Finally, something appreciates. | "So... Ted... about my computer achieving artificial intelligence... when are you going to fix it?"
"UH... it's just AI, shouldn't that help you? I've got other *more important* things to fix"
"HELPFUL?!? My computer is trying to destroy humanity dude, it thinks it's HAL9000 or something..."
"Eh... have you tried closing and restarting it?"
"Huh. Ok I think I'll try that later when it isn't controlling the taser on my desk"
"Why do you have a ta- Ah... the whole alien invasion incident got you scared?"
"N-no... I'm not scared, they were probably fake anyways..."
"Says the guy who now gets PTSD from just looking at staplers"
"I... anyways, anything new? What's your little important job?"
"Nothing much... but the old telephone booth boss bought for decorations turned out to be a time machine."
"Eh? The blue one from London?"
"Yeah... and now he expects me to fix it so it's no longer a time machine..."
"Oh... speaking of portals, have you finished closing off that portal to Hell in the bathroom?"
"No... I keep telling you guys I'm just tech support, you need like an exorcist for this j-"
"Just close it already man, I have to walk across the street to MacDonalds just to take a leak,^(God what do we even pay you for?)
"I heard that you unappreciative ass."
"Oh, Mike says you still haven't fixed his Trojan horse problem?"
"IT'S NOT EVEN A VIRUS, HOW DID HE GET A HUMONGOUS WOODEN HORSE THE SIZE OF A 5 STORY BUILDING INTO HIS OFFICE IN THE FIRST PLACE??!?!? PLUS THERE'S GODDAMN GREEK SOLDIERS EVERYWHERE!"
"Geez calm down man, It's just IT work, the project proposal that I've been working on lately is way more stressful"
"..."
"What? It's true man, IT is like an easy job with easy pa- OH MY GOD IS THAT A STAPLER?!?!"
"*sigh*..."
| 2015-11-17T02:26:09 | 2015-11-17T00:16:11 | 238 | 39 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | "Ha! Look at that!" the man dressed in gold and red exclaimed as he watched the news footage taken mere minutes ago of his latest heroics. "Hey roommate! Marvel at my might!" His voice boomed triumphantly as he dashed to the fridge to grab another beer in the blink of an eye.
"What's going on?" came a meek reply followed by a crashing sound coming from the other room.
"You okay?" The superhero sighed, used to his roommates clumsy antics.
"Yes! Yes! Just-" BANG! "Forgot where i put my glasses." His roommate stumbled out of his room and joined the superhero in the living room.
"Witness! fifty-seven humans saved!" The costumed man bellowed as he beat his chest with a closed fist, causing the very walls to shake. "No mere building fire can stop the mighty Hyperion!"
"Yes..." his roommate replied readjusting his glasses as he read the news crawl just below the live footage, "But so much property damage and injuries..." his voice trailed off.
"Ah yes! But imagine the destruction had I not been there to stop the flames with a single mighty clap!" The superhero boasted.
The news footage of the smoldering ruins ended as the screen focused on a reporter who stood across the street from the once blazing building.
"Ah! Increase the volume, i want to hear the details from my victory!" Hyperion commanded, and his roommate complied.
*LL: Thank you, Tom. Tragedy strikes as a ruptured gas line causes an explosion downtown near the famous S.T.A.R labs. Dozens are wounded but there seems to be no reported casualties at this time. Behind me you can see the fire marshals dousing the ruins, but the lives saved are thanks to the city's newest hero, Hyperion.*
Hyperion pounded his chest again at the sound of his name.
*LL: Hyperion managed to rescue fifty people from the burning building before putting out the fire with a single clap. The fire marshals also reported that the damages could have been even more catastrophic had Hyperion not sealed the gas lines with what appears to be his ice abilities.*
"Looks like you did a great job," his roommate nodded, "And this time no one got badly injured... it appears."
"Haha! Yes, its all a matter of..." Hyperion paused, turning to his roommate "Did she just say 'ice abilities'?" For the first time, Hyperion's smile faded and his face contorted in a mix of confusion and rage.
"Yeah, I think she did..." his roommate said meekly.
"HE COULDN'T HAVE! I WAS THERE THE ENTIRE TIME!" Hyperion exploded "HOW COULD THAT EMPOWERED IMPOSTOR DO THIS!?"
"Do what?"
"I DIDN'T USE... I DON'T HAVE 'ICE ABILITIES'" he continued to scream.
"Woooah there, you still got the credit." his roommate reasoned.
Hyperion gave pause for thought. His eyes focused on the television, deciding whether to use his atomic vision to burn it to ash. He took a deep breath deciding that one fire was enough for one day.
"I suppose you are correct. It's just infuriating." The superhero sighed.
"What is?"
"This... This... man. He is always at a crisis, always there... taunting me. He is lucky the other humans haven't noticed or I would have found him months ago and showed him what *real* power is."
"Very lucky," agreed his roommate. "Anyway, I'm off to work, your heroics won't write themselves into the papers."
"Be sure to mention the number saved was fifty seven. They seemed to have miscounted my heroism."
"Of course," his roommate chuckled as he left for the Daily Planet. | "A superhero? Wow," I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. "You didn't strike me as the type."
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. "That's kind of the goal," she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. "Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness."
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. "So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I don't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?"
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
"Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18."
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
"Impressive," I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a (totally fake) sense of awe. "If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?"
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. "That," she said, voice full of spite, "Would be Captain Justice. Captain "Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect" Justice."
She said it, not me.
"I, uh...." I said slowly, "I take it you don't get along all that well?"
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
"He's such an ass!" Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. "I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous."
That caught me off guard.
"His... His suit?"
"Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on."
"...... Right." I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. "Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you," she said rather melodramatically. "There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls...."
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me 'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected. | 2016-03-23T20:39:21 | 2016-03-23T15:53:56 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | "Blllrrgghhglglglglg"
I look around my room, as I rub my eyes. "What the fuck was that?"
I blink a few times and sit up abruptly as I hear it again.
"Blrghg blruruhrgrhhrhrurrururrr"
I look over to my aquarium and see Stanley my goldfish pressed up against the glass.
"Blrghg grrlrlrlrlrlrrlgghh"
"Umm... are... are you talking?"
"Blrrgh," he replies, and does a quick lap around the cube.
I stand and cross the room, where I dip my hand into his bowl and pull him out.
"Can... you stop... undressing in front of me," he wheezes.
"Holy fuck! You can talk?!"
"You... dumb... bitch. You... topped off my tank... with alcohol."
"Oh my god."
"Put... me back..."
I drop him back in his bowl. I freak out that I just put him back in his alcohol water.
"Blrhrgghglgl" | I dunno how much of that fucking Stoli I had last night. It's all a weird blur. For some reason, the clearest memory I have is dumping a lot of the water out of my goldfish Spike's bowl and replacing it with the vodka. To "give the little guy a buzz" or something, I dunno why I did it. I remember after I did that, Spike swimming around really fast and running his mouth up and down a lot, and me laughing. He looked like he was really drunk and it was funny as shit, I dunno.
But then he broke the surface of the water, leaned his front fins on the glass, looked right at me. Ad I had to be drunk off my ass, but I can pretty clearly remember Spike yelling at me.
"You **ASSHOLE!!** You titanic **DUMBFUCK!!** This shit BURNS, you fucking IDIOT! I can't BREATHE! I think my GILLS are BLEEDING! WHAT the actual **FUCK**, you fucking KILLED ME you stupid drunk PIECE OF SHIT!"
I think I reeled and passed out. Woke up this morning and went to feed Spike, but he was laying dead out of water next to a bowl that still stank like vodka.
I dunno for sure, I had to be hungover as hell, but it almost looked like when he died, he had curled his flippers back so it looked like he was giving me The Finger. | 2016-08-02T20:33:34 | 2016-08-02T20:31:04 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | *"Hey. HEY! Water tastes funny."*
I groggily opened my eyes, a pounding headache already making itself known in my temples. Somehow I'd ended up on my couch -- sort of. One of my legs hung over the side, my foot brushing against the cold glass of an empty vodka bottle. It had been one of *those* nights.
*"Holy shit, I have a castle!"*
I stuck a finger in my ear, convinced I'd left my phone auto-playing youtube videos for the whole night. I wasn't in the mood to hear some fake-happy personality talk about clickbait bullshit.
*"Hey. HEY! Water tastes funny."*
I managed to drag myself up to a sitting position, more or less. Whatever it was, it sounded distant. Small. Only now did I notice the empty six-pack spread across my couch. Great. The smell was going to take weeks to come out.
*"Holy shit, I have a castle!"*
"What the fuck was I watching?" I asked no-one in particular as I forced myself to stand, uneasily swaying as my body fought against every action with a wave of nausea and a hammer-blow to my head. I scrambled for my phone, tossing away couch cushions until I found it in the crack between two thick pillows I'd taken from my bed. The battery was completely drained.
*"Hey. HEY! Water tastes funny."*
The voice was a little louder, but still on the edge of my hearing. Someone else had to be in the house. I wasn't sure whether to be terrified or thrilled. Roy had been trying to set me up with this girl from his work, but we'd never really gotten past the 'casual conversation' stage.
At least, I hoped so.
*"Holy shit, I have a castle!"*
No, the voice was definitely not coming from a woman. Or a man, for that matter. In fact, it seemed to be coming from the side table. Confused and exceptionally hung over, I stepped toward the small, unassuming fish bowl that my sister had bought me as a shitty birthday gift several months prior.
*"Hey. HEY! Water tastes funny."*
I almost fell backwards as the tiny voice squeaked from the equally tiny gold fish that was staring up at me, its tail flicking back and forth in the water. A small bottle of vodka, like you'd get on an airline for twelve bucks, bumped against the glass lip and bobbed gently.
The gold fish watched me for another second, then turned and audibly gasped.
*"Holy shit, I have a castle!"*
I swore to never drink again. I'd been piss-drunk a few times before, but hallucinations? That was something entirely new.
The gold fish -- I should really name him one of these days -- completed its loop of the little plastic castle and returned to its former spot, bumping into the glass.
*"Hey. HEY! Water tastes funny."*
Somewhere in the back of my mind, it made perfect sense for this fish to be talking. Talking to *me*. The gears slowly turned over as I pointed at the bottle.
"Uhh...I think I put that in there last night. Sorry."
It looked at me like a cow would look at an oncoming train, then promptly turned around.
*"Holy shit, I have a castle!"*
I swayed in place. "Wait...am I drunk, or are you?"
Temporarily satisfied once more, it stared at me in thought before answering.
*"...yes."* It blinked. *"Hey. HEY! Water tastes funny."*
"Right, well...I'm just gonna go to bed now. I'll change your water later, I guess..."
I stumbled into the bedroom, collapsed on the mattress, and passed out to the tiny voice rediscovering its only source of entertainment.
Over and over. | (AN: I seem to have interpreted the prompt a bit differently than most. I'm also writing this on my phone, so I'll edit for grammar in the morning.)
'Fucking college students.' Skittles often wondered what fueled the obsession to keep vodka in water bottles, much less the stupidity needed to keep such a bottle right next to the actual water bottles in the fridge. It was difficult being the most intelligent life form in the frat house, but somebody had to do it.
The night had been quiet until about three, when his pack of loving - though misguided, at times - owners stumbled through the kitchen's old screen back door. The Delta Omicron Omicron brothers, stinking of cheap beer and quality hash, piled into the house with all the grace of a troop of baboons. A few acknowledged the cat's presence, offering a scratch behind the ears and slurred murmurings of "Hey Skittles," though most simply dispersed towards the house's various sofas and bedrooms. The organization's president, a tall stereotype of a young man named Oscar, called over his shoulder as he stumbled toward the staircase. "Dun forget to feed Skittles, pledge." The last word seemed to be spat from his mouth, and a moment later, Skittles was alone with the newest face of DOO.
The boy was thin of frame, a shock of blonde hair sticking up on the back yet falling in his eyes. He was visibly wobbly, though a smile seemed almost plastered on his face. "You have a goo' night, buddy?" His words were loud and bright as he scooped a half cup of dry food in the vicinity of Skittles' bowl; the majority landed on the floor. Skittles decided he didn't have much of an appetite anyway.
The boy then opened the fridge to retrieve a bottle of clean water for the cat, but lo and behold, thanks to the implicit genius of the his owners, the boy nabbed the bottle of vodka instead.
Had he he ability roll his eyes, Skittles would have.
As the boy uncapped it and prepared to pour the contents into the remaining bowl, Skittles cleared his throat.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
The pledge froze. He blinked his bleary red eyes a few times in disbelief.
"You absolute fucking moron," Skittles continued. "Can you not smell that? You're literally about to pour half a liter of grain motherfucking alcohol in my bowl. I'm a cat, Michael."
Knees buckling, the boy wobbled a moment before collapsing onto the tile floor, sitting splay-legged at the cat before him. "Skittles... Skittles, are you talking?"
Skittles, too, sat down. "Don't act like an idiot. It's pathetic. That much alcohol will kill me. Do you understand? Are you trying to kill me, Michael?"
The boy shook his head fervently, blonde hair flopping like a mop.
"Good." Skittles stood again, taking three easy steps toward the boy and climbing onto his lap. "Listen close, now. You're going to put that bottle back in the fridge. You're going to give me actual water." He put his paws on Michael's chest and leaned in close. "And then you're going to go the fuck to bed. Do you understand?"
Again, he shook his head violently, quickly standing up and doing as he was told. Less than a minute later, Skittles' bowl was full and the boy was headed towards the stairs. But before he could climb them, he was stopped again by the surprisingly deep voice.
"You'll tell no one about this, will you Michael." It was clear from Skittles tone that this wasn't a request, and the pledge wearily nodded.
"Or I will kill you, Michael." Skittles winked as the color drained from the boy's face and he stumbled up the stairs. 'Fucking moron,' the cat thought to himself, as he climbed into a basket of laundry and fell asleep. | 2016-08-02T22:05:24 | 2016-08-02T20:53:54 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr. | ***Her husband’s name is Chris.***
Sylvia brought her hand to her forehead. She knew it started with a ‘C’. She whispered, “Chris, of course. Thanks,” before she reached for some toilet paper.
. . .
It had startled her the first time. Walking into your bathroom and seeing blood smeared across the mirror is prone to do that to a person. It had taken her five minutes to build up the courage to go back in and read what the bloody text actually said, and that was after she grabbed the baseball bat she had stored under her bed.
***Don’t forget to pay the rent***
*Well damn, Frank. That’s one way to make your tenants pay their rent*, Sylvia thought.
After cleaning up the mess (and ruining some washcloths), she brought down her rent check to Frank’s door.
“Here’s your money, dude. And for future reference, I’m all for a sense of humor, but that's pretty messed up, especially after all that’s happened.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Sylvia?” responded Frank. She waited for a smile to break through, but Frank continued to stare at her with a genuine look of bewilderment.
“The blood in my… Nevermind.” She started to head back for her room before turning around to look back at his confused face and slightly ajar mouth to add, “... Nevermind.”
When she closed her apartment door behind her, she spent a few seconds to focus her thoughts before marching decidedly to her bathroom mirror.
***Remember the cable bill, too***
“What the fuck,” muttered Sylvia. She grabbed her bat, stood at her front door and shouted into her apartment, “Whoever is trying to mess with me better come out now, because if I find you creeping around in here, you’re gunna have a violent and repeated meeting with this bat. And you better believe I didn’t spend my time playing softball twiddling my thumbs.”
She searched every corner of her apartment, but couldn’t find anyone hiding. If fact, there was no sign that anyone besides her had been in the apartment recently. *Remember the cable bill, too.* Well now that she thought about it, she had forgotten to send in that check. It was usually Paul that handled those sort of things. And with his funeral two weeks ago, she had just forgotten to get around to the cable bill, among other things.
Sylvia was never a superstitious person. The only myth she ever believed in was the one that said Tupac was still alive. But as she sat in her bathroom staring at the bloody message before her, she could only think, *Paul.*
She then immediately realized that she was being a crazy widow that was buying into the disgusting prank of some asshole that thought it would be fun to pick on a lonely woman. She picked up her phone and called the police.
An hour and some thorough inspection later, she was thanking the kind officer for coming out, before closing the door behind him. And locking the door. And putting a chair under the handle. She went around and locked her windows, too. She even put some duct tape on the seal so that if anyone came in, they'd have no way to replace it once they were on the outside. Before laying in bed, she wiped the blood from the mirror, with toilet paper this time; She was not about to ruin anymore cloths.
She slept with her bat in hand that night.
Having had trouble falling asleep all night, she slept straight through her alarm when she finally did fall asleep. When she woke up an hour later, she sprang up, looked at her clock, and rushed straight into the bathroom, completely forgetting the night before. That was, until, she looked up from the sink to see,
***Work starts at 8***
Everything came back to her then, and she frantically ran to the windows. Sealed. Then to the door. Still barred with the chair.
She slumped down against the wall opposite the mirror in the bathroom. After silently staring at the crimson letters for a few minutes, Sylvia whispered, “Is it really you, Paul? Did you come back for me? . . . I’ve missed you so much, Paul.”
. . .
It’s been four months since she first saw the bloody messages, and they haven’t stopped appearing since. Sylvia was convinced after the second day that Paul was communicating with her. Since then, she had tried countless ways to respond to him. She started by trying to talk with him. She skipped work and spent the rest of the second day talking to her mirror, walking in and out of the room, the apartment, the building, talking to his old clothing, talking to pictures of him, but Paul would never directly reply to her. He did however, remind her that the milk was going to go bad.
She started to get desperate. Next, she tried her own hand at writing with blood. First with some pig’s blood she bought from a butcher, but then with her own blood that she withdrew with the slice of a blade across her palm. Despite numerous attempts, the only difference she observed was an increase in the consumption of toilet paper. Sylvia even hired a medium to come to her house to open a telepathetic portal to the other side. But when the medium arrived and heard the story, he quickly realized that he was being scammed, noted the irony, and left.
And through it all, the messages kept coming. Call your mother at some point. The car’s registration expires soon. Eat your vegetables. Sylvia quickly began to despise the messages. Paul was so close, but she couldn’t get to him. She couldn’t be with him, and now that he’s back in her life, she couldn’t even mourn him. It took her a painful month to reconcile the frequent bloody messages and her grief. She realized that everyone has voices of loved ones that carry on after their deaths, the ones in her life were just a little more… messy.
With time though, the messages became farther and farther apart. All the constant reminders helped Sylvia fill the roles that Paul normally filled. And slowly, Sylvia began to move on. Paul became more of an occasion than a daily occurrence. He would chime in to reminder her to bring an umbrella on a rainy day, or to remind her of the name of his friends.
. . .
As Sylvia left the bathroom, she said the same thing she said every time she got a scarlet scrawling from her husband,
“I love you, Paul.” | It isn't necessarily uncommon for Sydney to be awake at 3 in the morning. Sure, she has work tomorrow--today, her mind helpfully supplies--but could this reality tv splurge really wait? What if she lost her place on this thread if she went to bed now? This documentary about conjoined twins on YouTube isn't going to watch itself! Nobody is judging her but God and her asshole girlfriend, anyway, so what's the harm?
Besides, Ally's not coming home from vacation for another day. Nobody's stopping her from eating three bags of microwave popcorn before the sun comes up. Nobody's stopping her from drinking the entire pitcher of lemonade in the fridge, either.
She's about halfway through Mulan when her laptop's fans start whirring a little bit too fast to be safe. It's been hot for a while now, and it's kind of digging into a bad place on her stomach, so she makes the executive decision to, first: put the laptop on the cooly-thing that Marcia bought her, and second: take a much-needed bathroom break.
When she wakes up next, it's not to her alarm clock, but to the title music from Mulan on repeat. She groans, feeling around the bed for her glasses and picking popcorn out of her hair. Her glasses have grease on the lenses. Of course.
She spares a glance to the clock on her bedside table.
"Shit!" Current time: 7:20 AM. Work starts at 8:00, sharp, because even though she's a coffee-running meagerly-paid intern currently, even one minute late at this stage could cost her the internship.
So she scrambles, pulling clothes out of the closet at random--what's the dress code today? Is this Ally's, or mine?
She runs into the bathroom, content to be in and out as fast as humanly possible, when--
"What the hell?!" She screams, because she was in this bathroom not even five hours ago, and that had certainly not been there before.
'Dress code is business-professional today,' the mirror says. In what looks like blood.
God.
She makes eye contact with herself in the mirror, part of her face obstructed by 'today.' She glances down, and maybe that color would not be a good choice for work. She goes back, pulls a smart-looking outfit off a hanger, and walks to the other bathroom.
She hadn't been late to the internship, after all. But her mind had been elsewhere the entire day, and she eventually had come to the conclusion that unless the message was still on the mirror when she got home, none of that whole ordeal had actually happened. Still, she's standing and staring at the door like there's a known serial killer in there instead of maybe a message written in blood on her mirror. Which, on some level, should be reassuring. She opens the door.
'You and Ally have dinner with your friends on Saturday! And you promised on your cat-naming rights that you wouldn't skip out and watch Iron Man again like last time!' The mirror says, and that's blood, because why wouldn't it be? Why wouldn't Sydney's life be normal?
Speaking of which, at least she now has time to mentally prepare herself for the dinner. She totally forgot about the whole cat thing, and Ally would've sprung it on her at the last second, like blackmail or something, so she'd have to go even though she would've been all prepared for another night in watching clips from Jeopardy. She isn't keen on passing up an opportunity to name a living thing something amazing when the alternative is a boring cat name like 'Mittens,' though.
She zones back in and--blood. Blood writing on the mirror. Her house is haunted and the ghost is writing her messages in blood on the mirror. She frowns and really Does Not want to touch it. She decides, instead, to treat herself to fast food for dinner and text Ally about it.
Safely tucked into a booth at her local McDonald's (playplace included), she sends her first message.
[so the house is haunted probably
[most likely
She gets through about half her fries before Ally texts back.
]what.
[i think there's a ghost in our house
]I know what haunted means.
]Why do you think the house is haunted?
[the ghost reminded me about the dress code and about the torture, oops, I mean dinner, on Saturday
[on the mirror.
[in blood writing.
]are you serious?
[deadly
]you're not just trying to prank me again?
[why would i make something like this up????!1!
]you kind of have a history of faking stuff like this.
[blood writing on the wall
[from a ghost
[or a demon
[kind of helpful but still
[d e m o n
[thats just not fakeable
]where are you right now?
]did you call the police?
[im at mcdonalds
[im kind of annoyed at the blood writing so i wanted to leave the house
[also:
[how would the police catch a ghost? Lmao
]did you even once consider that maybe the entity that wrote you the 'blood message' might be dangerous?
]maybe another person?
[the messages were good tho!
[and besides, it was like the writer knew what I needed help with. Even a stalker can't read my mind
]please be careful. I'm coming home tomorrow, y'know. At least try not to die until then.
[that manager that always side eyes me when we come here is doing it again
[im gonna go home now
[talk to you later? Love u
]love you. Don't text and drive.
Sydney is standing in front of the bathroom door. Her haunted bathroom door. She doesn't really know what she wants to be on the other side when she opens it. The blood message from earlier could still be there, or nothing. Or, the demon could've written a new one by now. There's always the possibility of a serial killer.
"Whadda'ya know, Mr. Ghost?"
'You need to order that bag for Marcia by tomorrow if you want it to come on time with free shipping!' The mirror replies.
Sydney's eyes widen. "Oh yeah! I've been meaning to do that for weeks!" She turns her back to the bathroom starting up her laptop. "I could really get used to this... It's like have phone reminders that keep track of important things instead of foreign holidays."
She glances back to the bathroom.
'Just so you know, your house isn't haunted, technically, because I'm a demon, not a ghost. But that's all just in the fine print.'
| 2016-08-07T19:16:10 | 2016-08-07T17:19:29 | 136 | 71 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | "But I haven't even seen the Northern Lights." I protest to my weary sounding family.
"Kevin... you can't even *see*. Your eyes went 400 years ago - you will *never* see the Northern Lights. You've been incontinent for even longer than your sight has been gone. We're fed up of looking after you, whilst you just kind of... linger on. I really think its time you moved on to, er, to a better place." says Jason.
"Well that's bloody lovely - my own great great grandchild thinks I should die. What about family loyalty, ey?" I reply
"I'll be Frank, Kevi-"
"Hi Frank!" I say, and I wait for the rapturous laughter that is sure to follow. To my surprise there are a number of groans. They must have misheard.
"Hello Frank!" I repeat
"This is exactly what I mean. That kind of humour died out long ago Kevin. I think its time you followed its example."
A murmur of agreement.
"I'm not going anywhere." I say stoically.
"Yes you are!" says Jason.
"Kevin, have you heard of forced Euthanasia?" someone else asks me. Could be a great grand niece. I can't quite place the voice.
"Euthanasia... is it a country in Africa?" Again no laughs. What a strange bunch.
"No! No." The voice sounds exasperated. "It's something that can happen to old people like you, when they have outlived their usefulness to society. Their family or carers can vote on terminating their life. It's uncommon, as usually old people have the courtesy to do it themselves. Anyway, the procedure is relatively easy, just a needle in the arm."
"Easy? Sounds bloody murder to me." I say laughing. I find myself still chuckling as the needle glides in to my forearm.
---
For more of my WP responses please check out /r/nickofnight
| 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T07:31:09 | 916 | 380 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | When she was two, she tugged on the dog's tail, causing it to yelp slightly and growl at her. Her creamy white blood now tainted with thin wisps of black, but still mostly pure. It was nothing, but the blood didn't care.
When she was five, she lied and said it was the baby that had drawn on the walls. Wisps of black marbled through the young girl's slightly off-white blood. The blood didn't care.
When she was twelve, she cheated on a test. She could feel the new wisp of black join the others, but she didn't care. The blood didn't care.
When she was sixteen, she fought him off. It was dark; he was so strong. She had screamed out, but nobody had heard. She needed help; she had tried fighting back, but the few black scratches on his face and arms seemed to do nothing to deter the monstrous man.
His sick, vile words as he tried to tear the clothes from her body, her screams relentless as she kept pleading for someone, anyone, to save her... when her hand glanced over a large shard of glass, abandoned on the concrete.
Grabbing onto it tightly, she swung at him, slashing at his throat; he collapsed, choking on his blood as his body quickly plummeted to the ground. As she let the shard of glass fall to the floor, she noticed it had cut her hand.
She watched in horror as the grey blood oozing from her hand darkened to a tar-like black. She wept, realising she had murdered someone - one of the worst acts to commit.
The blood didn't care.
When she was twenty, she eagerly awaited her wedding.
But when she had fallen, just a week before the date, she was terrified to see her blood splatter across the cream carpet. What kind of woman would he think she was?
She expected him to run, to scream, but he just stood there, looking at her hand as the bleeding slowed.
She explained that night. She knew he wouldn't understand. She wasn't evil, she wasn't a monster.
But he did understand - when he sliced his own finger, the black blood trickled down slowly, pooling a little in his palm.
"She-" he began hesitantly. "She pinned me down, she tried to- to..."
"I know," she replied, putting an arm around him.
As they held each other in embrace, twins in blood and history, they knew they would be okay.
The blood didn't care; neither did they. | The sole reason I had met him was our love of coffee. He was a man who had worked for the military, I knew he had to have some darkness to his blood. That didn't matter to me, his childlike love had long since taught me better. The much harder part was hiding my own from him. We had both grown up in the city, he had left it to do good abroad, I stayed to do good by my city. Over time, I had become more ruthless, and it showed, crime had dropped to an all time low. The mayor had claimed responsibility, I had been working with him for some time. The darker acts I had committed had been simple crimes of passion, or gang related violence, the better were his workings. All had gone on as I had desired. As a creature of habit, I had my own routine. Wake up, shower, cleansing. All allowed me to do what I do, to put those who need down, down. I had never once considered that I might appreciate another, how could I? All I have seen of our city has been filth. I had worked my entire life to keep our city pure, not just pure, but to prevent any "hunting'. Once it was learned that there was a direct connection between blood and sin, I had to adjust my aims. In the midst of this, I had found Tom. I loved every part of him, but I never could tell him of what I have done, surely my blood must be black as sin. I learned that as heft the military, he had no desire to do anything ever again for the government, maybe all the more reason his blood might've matched mine. I will never be able to properly describe the day we both learned our true natures. He was on his way home when he had been hit by a van and was rushed to the E.R. He had needed blood, and I knew I was the closest match, so I offered my own black blood, knowing that no doctor could disclose this, and that since he was unconscious neither would he know. My blood had brought him to stable, though it was less dark than I thought. It was a sort of grey. During the surgery to repair his bones, I had noticed his blood was as black as any criminal I had ever seen. No matter, I have darkness of my own, just a bit less. After he was discharged, we spoke, we had both understood each other's life, both darkness in the light. I took him home, simply happy to have him there. My last memory will always be him and the knife, with the words, "The Mayor sends his regards." | 2016-09-22T23:53:24 | 2016-09-22T21:45:49 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left. | I sighed and pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose. I'd been at it for close to eight hours now, and the mark still wasn't squealing. I hadn't anticipated it would be this difficult.
See, I was born with a 'gift', so to speak. I was able to make anyone talk. Now, that doesn't sound all that impressive by itself, but what made me stand apart from any other Interrogator was, I was able to do so without resorting to violence. I liked to think I was classier, more sophisticated than that, and the men who hired me liked the fact there wasn't a bloody trail for them to clean up behind me. As the old saying went - 'Win, win'. Well, now of course, people just said, 'Wins'. There was no need to waste a word of your Count by repeating yourself when a plural would do just as well.
The woman sat across from me, eyes flinty and creased slightly in the corners. I could tell she was amused by the situation, by the amount of effort it was taking me to keep my cool. The blue Count number glowed on the back of her hand, showing a numerical '1'. I had to be careful with this one, no pun intended. I needed her to tell me where the girl was, and I needed her to use only one word in doing so. She would immediately expire after doing so, of course, but that was of no concern to me. The Boss had people that could take her of her body - 'fish bed', as the saying now was. All I had to do was convince her to use her last word.
"I know you know where she is" I said, and the woman raised one eyebrow. 'Do you, just?' this expression clearly meant. "I need to know where. It's imperative that we find her. Her life may be in danger." The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes - 'Don't take me for a fool, boy'. I could understand the meaning as clearly as if she had spoken the words. I blushed slightly - I wasn't used to feeling inferior, especially to a mark. Especially to a woman mark. But the woman was close to 400 years old, and no-one gets to that age without considerable intelligence and wit. She knew that the man who wanted the girl dead and the man I worked for were one and the same.
See, the Boss fancied himself a bit of a ladies man. Unfortunately, he already had a lady - and one that had been beside him while he had built his extremely legally-questionable empire. The Boss's Wife knew way too much, and had far too high a Count, to be underestimated as a risk. The pigs had been after her for years, trying to get her to talk in exchange for immunity. She'd remained stoic throughout.
Unfortunately, the Boss had become careless with one of his many floozies, and the girl had ended up pregnant. Refusing a termination, she had since fled and gone into hiding to protect her unborn child. A noble act of course, but a stupid one. The Boss's Wife was loyal, but even the most faithful wife could not be expected to stand her husband fathering a bastard with a casino bar girl. We had to find the girl and make her talk - literally. If we could run down her Count, she would die and the whole mess would disappear.
The woman took a cigarette from the pack on the table between us and lit it, inhaling and blowing the smoke directly into my face. I grimaced.
"Look. I know you care for her. My Boss cares for her, too. And his child - he just wants to know where they are, so they can have the type of life they deserve. You can understand that, right? You must be a mother yourself." I gave her my most winning smile. She responded by flicking her cigarette in my direction - the ash fell onto the palm of my hands, which were risen in a 'be reasonable' gesture over the table. I screamed and jumped to my feet.
"Listen, bitch. You aren't leaving this room alive - one way or another, we will find out where she is. Why don't you do her, and yourself, a favour and tell me where she is. Just the street name will do - we know she hasn't left the country."
Her eyes lit up and her cigarette paused. She exhaled her smoke and licked her lips. I paused. I could feel a word forming in her throat. I leaned forward in anticipation.
She breathed out with a giddy shudder, and the word caught in her throat. I almost didn't hear it at all.
Her head immediately dropped to her chest and she slumped forward onto the table. Her Count glowed a brilliant white, then winked out for the final time. The cigarette rolled out of her limp hand and onto the ground. I slowly stood up, walked around the table and picked it up. I needed a drag, and besides, I didn't want it to start a fire. I was going to be in enough shit with the Boss without that as well.
How was I meant to tell him that the street name we'd be given was 'Main'? | I paced around the man tied to the chair in the dimly lit room. My frustration was growing, but I knew better than to let my temperament get the better of me, I would waste about half a year venting out my frustration. The man sat silently, yet calmly. I had done everything I could think of to make this mark talk, from beating him with a bat I normally use, to threatening to shorten his wife's lifespan about 15 years by making her talk. Although bruised and bloody, he refused to talk.
I finally broke, I knew I had to keep myself calm, but the only way to get him to talk was if I did. My life literally depended on being short with him. I only had about 7,000,000 words left. "Mr. Briggs, is it?" He looked up, his face was one of exhaustion. His lip protruded from all the beatings, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was still strong enough to respond. "You know who I am and why I'm here. To keep it simple. You fucked up, made one of our bosses talk too much. He lost 800 words that night because of you. I'm here to make sure you repay that debt. We are aware you're down to your last." I took out my silenced handgun and placed it inbetween his eyes, and pulled back the hammer. I chuckled and said, "shame. You've still got some years left, if you don't say another word. But unfortunately, I'm going to make you say that word. If you don't say it within the next 10 minutes, I'll kill you anyway, and your word will be wasted. I'm getting tired of this." I refrained from saying anything else. Briggs looked towards the table and directed my attention to the notepad I set up for when I didn't want to speak to him. The general norm of the country is to have a notepad with you at all times. It's always been easier to write rather than Europe's way of trying to communicate through sign language. I decided to go along with his idea. I untied him, kept the gun trained on him and gave him the notepad and watched him slowly write.
He was obviously weak. It took him 3 minutes to write a paragraph, however it took up a good portion of the notepad. He held up the notepad, and I quickly snatched it out of his hand and tied his hands up again. This wasn't the first time someone has written on a notepad during my interrogations, but I learned to always retie the mark back up. I began to read what Briggs had written. "You know me, you know what I've done, and I knew you would come for me. Do you even know why I did it? Does the name Jennifer ring a bell to you?" I looked at him puzzled. I knew several Jennifer's, both personally and through my "business." Briggs nodded to the notepad in my hand, he wanted me to keep reading. "I only did to him what he did to her. I heard her, pleading for her life as he silently held a gun to her head. I tried to get her to stop wasting her words, but my mouth was taped shut by your boss. I wanted to scream to help her. Waste my life to savor hers. He never had the intention of shooting her, just like you and all of your organization, you make the people kill themselves. Then the blood isn't on your hands, is it? My wife is gone because of your boss. And I took away a good portion of what your boss has left, and all it took was putting a little bit of my secret talk drug into his drink at the bar. If you only knew what came out of his mouth. You're all as weak as he is." The final words were etched in large letters. "WANNA KNOW WHY I DID IT COWARD!?" This enraged me beyond belief.
Once more I trained the gun to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger and not even let him speak. Our organization doesn't kill, we get reprimanded pretty bad if we shoot our marks dead without it being in self defense. They make some of us even read the entirety of books as punishment. But I could just say he broke loose, and tried to take my gun. His life didn't matter to me. Briggs was just another asshole. And just as I began to pull back the trigger, he uttered his final word. "Vengeance." The next sound was a silenced bullet whistling through the air and lodging itself into his skull. 'SHIT,' I thought to myself. I now had to find a way to untie him and make it look like a struggle. But what circled through my mind was what he said. Vengeance. Even though he fucked my boss over big time, I couldn't say it wasn't justified. I would have done the same honestly. Briggs had been a decent man, if he hadn't been a mark, he could have been someone I respected. However, Briggs, like all of us, are on borrowed time. He was a man with plenty to say, but not enough to say it. In some other time and place, I could have learned to respect that ideology. I quickly faked a struggle scene and contacted my boss through text. "Mark has been taken care of. Category: waste. Reason: struggle for weapon. Disposing of body now. Payment as usual should be left in briefcase in second stall of office bathroom. Will await next mark." | 2016-10-10T21:24:01 | 2016-10-10T18:58:05 | 68 | 20 |
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left. | I pressed my gun into his back as we walked across the green carpet. No one noticed, no one even looked up from their wine. Of course, my guy could always shout for help, but that would quite defeat the purpose. Overhead, the speakers were playing what must have been some pretty expensive music- it had singing in it. Of course the more exclusive restaurants would be playing rap, but no one could call this place exclusive. Speeches and toasts were for the rich, who could afford the extra words and a better class of restaurant. This place was mostly quiet.
We were seated and handed our menus, but I didn't even look at mine. We wouldn't be here long enough for all of that. I ordered a beer from the touchscreen display and then ordered a random entree for my friend. I didn't bother to glance at the dietary restrictions on his public profile- he wouldn't be eating anything tonight. The waiter came and brought my beer. He slammed it down on the table in front of me with a disapproving look before walking off. This was definitely more of a wine place than a beer place, but I wasn't here for the atmosphere.
It wouldn't be long now, a man with a tray was approaching. First he sets down the bread sticks. The same bread sticks this place has been serving for centuries. Next, the giant bowl of salad. He looks towards me, and I indicate my friend, who was looking smug only a minute before, but looks as though a thought has just occurred to him. He breaks out in a cold sweat as the server produces a cheese grater and a lump of Parmesan. With a friendly smile the waiter says "Say when" and starts grinding.
edit- a word. | I scratched the back of my head softly, not really thinking about anything but my target. Sophia. That poor girl, never hurt a fly, a lovely person. But... this was my job, and even if I hated it, I had little choice.
My parents threatened to disown me if I didn't join the cause, "the only honorable way to live" they called it. I was adopted, and both of my moms were high ranking officials. My biological parents left me. My real parents shoved me into the force. It wasn't that bad though, usually I worked in therapy, this case was different though. Most officers are rough and beat words out of their victims. I take a softer approach, if I absolutely have to make them talk, I do it slowly, with precision.
"Hi Sophia, how are you?" I wrote down, I have to be mindful of my words just like everyone else. She simply nodded and sat down.
I didn't want to do this. When I signed up, I didn't want *this*. Here she was though, this beautiful, amazing girl, and here I am. This girl is about to die at the hands of her own girlfriend.
I knew what I had to do, though. "I love you, cupcake." I said to her softly, tears burning my eyes and staining my cheeks.
She smiled and started, "I--" her smile faded. Her eyes grew wide, and then she dropped to her knees. She went to talk, to ask why I could be so cruel as to do this, but nothing came out. Nothing but a gasp. She fell down, limp.
I couldn't hold it back, I broke. I started screaming, yelling at the top of my lungs, even though no one could hear me. There was no one any where near us. I wiped away her pink hair that she got done last month, and kissed her. I felt awful though, I had just taken the life of the one I loved. | 2016-10-11T00:18:07 | 2016-10-10T23:28:32 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has a counter above their head. On it is the number of times they have lied to you. One day you meet a complete stranger. His counter is higher than anyone you've ever seen. | He wore his beanie at an angle to reveal long side-swept hair that partially covered one eye over his horn-rimmed glasses. He walked with a slouch and a shuffling gait, as if he wasn't in a real hurry.
I had never seen this guy before and yet he'd lied to me more than the average politician.
"Hey," I said as I approached him.
"So I'm new around here. Could you tell me where I can find a good local brewery. One that isn't thronging with tourists."
He stopped and gave a polite smile. Then he started giving me directions to the art district, I kept trying to locate him in my memory but couldn't.
"I'm sorry, but have I seen you before?" I asked as he was about to leave.
"No, I don't think so."
It was getting awkward. He walked away and I turned around. But the question kept burning in my head. Who was he? A Buzzfeed writer? A reddit commenter? I guess I'll never know. The internet is a vast place. | Eight million, two hundred and twenty-four thousand, nine hundred and thirty-nine lies. This character was off the fibbing-charts. Standing face-to-face in the back alley of McEnroe's bar off 5th blvd., I look at the scruffy figure once more. Dark tan hessian boots covered in a sticky-looking brown paste, ripped black chinos, dirtied white shirt and black tie, bowler hat -- six foot four, lean, fisherman beard. Our gazes meet as my eyes finish scanning his mannequin and I stare in to him, attempting to garner any sort of recognition from either of us. "Who the hell are you, buddy?" I say, breaking the impasse. He, the fabulist before me, broke into a grin. "Well, Mr. Yak, it is a surprise you do not recognize me, but perhaps you can be forgiven on account of my vagrant appearance. Samuel, the truth is I am your father." Eight million, two hundred and twenty-four thousand, nine hundred and forty lies. "Sir, with all due respect you have a fucking counter above your head, I know you aren't my father. Tell me straight and tell me now, who are you and why have you lied to me so many times?" I reply. The man shifts in his scabby breeches and screws his face into a contrite glare. | 2016-12-17T09:04:49 | 2016-12-17T08:07:22 | 161 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | It only started with one.
A single tabby, following me to school. I was only 5 and delighted to meet the new friend I had seen watching me from afar for the past few months. Proudly sitting myself down to first class I presented my new friend to the teacher, who quickly sat him outside the door and proceeded with the lesson. When the scratching intensified and she finally relented to see what was working the poor creature up, four cats entered the room and sat themselves around me. "How peculiar..." was all I remember her saying, staring intensely at the gaggle of felines now surrounding my desk. Phone-calls must have been made. Concerns were raised. How would we manage four cats following him everywhere, how are other students meant to focus? It was merely the beginning of many uncomfortable questions.
That was 11 years ago. I slide from my bed, carefully setting my foot between a nest of clawed limbs and lazily flicking tails. I trudge to the window, ignoring the chorus of irritated chirping, cutting through the apparent sound of 100 tiny engines gently idling. Outside was as it always was: A complete wreck. The lawn, where visible, was minced, scattered with feathers and tufts of errant fur. What remained of the tiny birch tree my father proudly planted 13 years hence sat forlornly amidst the ocean of lounging bodies, forming a muted rainbow stretching into the street and far beyond.
Raised voices carry up from the hallway downstairs, juxtaposed to the combined sound of hundreds of resting cats. The specifics are muffled, but I catch the words "institution"... "properly manage"... and "Gift", the latter-most dripping with sarcasm as always and marking the voice as mothers. Some people get strength, others get insight, one guy even had a formidable understanding of marine life. Somehow I got cats. They loved me, in the way that cats do obviously; no force could compel cats to stop being cats. They just felt the need to be cats around me, magnetically attracted in the aloof way cats are. I was pretty sick of it quite a while ago. At least they made an effort to listen.
The argument downstairs is getting more heated, I shush the surrounding cats in an attempt to better hear what's being said. The purring moves from a soft roar to a quiet hum both outside and inside; the discussion becomes clearer.
"I'm not sure you're grasping what I'm telling you here, how serious this is." my Mother explains, keeping her voice level this time.
"Alright, what's changed in your mind?" My father replies, obviously tired of rehashing the discussion
"I've been talking to, well, experts on these things, people who study these sorts of people."
"And?"
"Well, we all know the "Gift" peaks at 30, and starts showing around 5 or so".
"Obviously, we've all seen this ourselves on TV."
"Well, Jacks gift is what we call a "Quantifiable" gift, you can measure it, and compare it to other gifts people had."
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, gifts like these, the way they grow... it's exponential Charles..."
"What are you saying?"
"If we compare him to that Alex kid, remember him, had that reality show? The one that could lift buildings? Well when his gift started, he could lift 100 pounds or so pretty easy, when he was Jacks age, he could lift a Jeep, and when he hit 30 he was lifting entire buildings. And when you plot his strength over time, you can see how fast it grows..."
"And if Jack's gift does the same thing..."
"There's, what 1000 cats out there? At this rate, if he follows the same pattern as all the other quantifiable gifts... we're talking 100 million cats, that's basically every single cat in the country... and that's not even... there's a bobcat out there Charles..."
There's an uncomfortable silence as I feel my father process this information.
"Maybe be then he could control it better then, tell them to just go home... maybe he can..."
"I don't think you appreciate how important this is, the expert I was speaking to had to make reports to his superiors... there's a representative from Washington coming down later today to discuss how we... how anyone is going to handle this."
"I... Just... Shit..." My father struggles to find the words.
I step back from the window and consider everything I just heard. I feel oddly calm. Like this is what I knew would happen all along. I contemplate the prospect of commanding 100 million animals. It feels oddly right. The cats can feel the wheels turning in my mind, hundreds of yellow eyes turn to meet mine as I inspect the... my... horde. The window opens effortlessly; I move with complete confidence of purpose. I lean forward and tumble out of the open portal, landing immediately on a pile of cats stacked 10 high. They bear me gently to the ground, supporting my weight without hesitation. A trophy? A place on prime-time? A crappy reality show? There's a lot more that can be done with this. The cats look to me, awaiting a new command. Images of mountain lions flash before my eyes, of a horde that stretches a hundred miles.
We can make a start I conclude, as the cats surge me forward with surprising speed away from my home, toward greatness. | I was walking home from work in the cold sleet, wishing I had a car. No one did, not anymore. All the vehicles not used by the military were scrapped for the war. I lived in The Sanctuary, one of the few human cities independent of the Animal Kingdoms. We had to fight every day to maintain it, and military service was mandatory. I had worked at an ammunition factory for 3 years, ever since I was 14. After 4 years of civil service I'd only have to serve one year instead of two. I took this program because the pay's decent, and the average soldier lives for a few months.
Pets are nonexsitant here, but there are "stray" cats and dogs all over the place. On civil service program involves rounding all these up, but many evade them. These "strays", as all school children know, are very aggressive and hostile to humans, often growling and barking before scampering off; however, cats have never been like that to me. My friends would be hissed at and scratched, but I could pick them up and they'd purr with delight. This was noticed by many people, including the Ministry of Defence who feared that I, like the "stray" animals, was a spy.
Walking down the deserted alleyway, I heard a low rumble from behind. I turned, only to be confronted with two leopards. I tried to run, but a third leopard blocked my escape. They lunged, and slashed me across the chest. One tackled me, but was pulled away by a massive german shepherd. A pack of the biggest dogs I've ever seen flooded the alleyway, and parlayed with the big cats. I ran, and was stopped by a pitbull. It wanted me to follow it, and I did. It lead me out of the city. Along the way, I'd see small flocks of birds badger random areas on rooftops, only for a tomcat or two to spill out and get chased off. A few were scooped up by hawks.
Crawling through a small tunnel that smelled awful, I emerged in a forest, and collapsed from the shock and massive lesions across my chest. I awoke in a room. I could see the walls of Sanctuary out my window. I heard a knock at my door and two middle aged men came in. They introduced themselves as the King of Dogs and the Lord of Birds. I was in a fortress and main base of operations for the two men's war against the Queen of Cats. They told me I shared here affinity with cats, and that she wanted to kill me and take out a possible rival. My powers are weak now and I can barely control cats, but eventually they'll develop enough to rival her's. I was rescued so that they may use me as a weapon, I could undermine her powers and give them the edge they need to win.
I've been kept here for 40 days now. While I'm free to walk around the castle I'm escorted by sheep dogs and birds watch my every move. Lately I've been confined to my room. I have a marvelous view of the dogs and birds heading to the front. Everyday a column of dogs marches off in eager spirits. Every night, an equally large column of wounded dogs limps back. My room is right above the infirmary, the howls of anguish and the yelps of the doomed keep me awake for hours. The columns marching off have been getting smaller, and the ones marching back are getting larger. I see fewer and fewer birds flitting about. The war goes poorly. The dogs and birds have been fighting amongst eachother. The amiable sheep dog was replaced by a pack of mean wolves and a cassowary.
Tonight, I was awoken by a soft voice repeating "Wake up, wake up." I opened my eyes to see a cat standing on my chest. I jumped up but was hushed. "Silence in golden right now." the cat began "The Queen apologizes for the excessive forced used earlier, it really was over the top but you were incapable of understanding us at the time. The Queen wishes to have you in her palace. She is an old woman, and here years are numbered. While twice as powerful as her adversaries, thanks to her age, she is almost 80, and needs an heir. Come with me, we can smuggle you out and take you to the palace."
"I'm not sure I trust you." I proclaimed.
"That's understandible, but we're your best bet for survival. The dogs and birds have lost, their line has collapsed, the cheetahs have the area surrounded. There is a rift in the alliance. The Lord of Birds is retreating, and wishes to take you away with him. He's really bad at keeping a secret, since everyone knows and the King of Dogs wants to kill you. You can't return to Sanctuary either, as you were declared an enemy of the species and had your humanity formally revoked. If you could make it to their trenches alive you'll be shot on sight. Hurry now, with me. If you run away with the birds and are inevitably captured when the birds get intercepted no mercy shall be shown to you."
So now here I am. The cassowary was killed outside by the sound of it. I can see the King of Dogs marching through the courtyard with a group of wolves. I can here dogs and birds fighting out in the hallway. My only choice appears to be with the Queen of Cats, and I don't by that "excessive force" story. I fear this may be the end for me. | 2016-12-30T13:01:00 | 2016-12-30T11:51:08 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | A brief searing pain flashed through my entire body, and I woke up in the center of a grand hall. Everything was a blur, until I took off my glasses. Did I always wear glasses? Why would I have them? I didn't need them.
*Who am I? How'd I get here?*
I tried clearing my head. The lingering effects of the pain quickly subsided, and I stood. I was in the center of a grand hall. Marble floors lay before me, with intricate murals depicting great battles with monsters and man alike. The walls were adorned with weapons of every type; Each hung with care and easily accessible. The pillars reached hundreds of feet up, and the thousands of candles hung from chandeliers from the vaulted ceiling.
I had no memory of anything, and I knew I should be afraid. Yet I felt only a steady calm. Picking a direction, I began walking. Perhaps I will run into someone. Perhaps I'll find my own way out.
I passed a shield that had been brightly shined to a mirror finish. The mural on the wall depicted an athletic looking man using the shield to fight a monstrous woman with snakes for her hair. Looking into the mirror, I caught a reflection of myself. Skinny. Slicked black hair cut short, but without regard for any style. The marks on the bridge of my nose indicated a lifetime of wearing glasses. Pocket protector in my breast pocket. Two mechanical pencils and an eraser. A Timex watch adorning my thin wrists.
Seeing my reflection, a memory surged forward. College. I was coming out of a classroom when a beautiful girl with long brown hair asked me for help on her calculus homework. I knew her. I don't know how I knew her, only that there was a painful familiarity.
I kept moving. The next exhibit to catch my eye was a massive war-hammer. The murals surrounding that depicted a warrior fighting off hordes of blue crystalline giants. It was a beautiful weapon, and I instinctively reached out to touch it.
Memory flashed before my eyes again. I was in the hospital now. That beautiful girl was crying. Not in pain, in joy. I was there with her, crying. We were holding a healthy infant girl. My daughter? A voice was screaming in my head now, but I couldn't make it out. There was something I needed to remember, but I couldn't dredge it forward.
I forced myself to keep moving. I saw an exquisite broadsword, embedded in the wall. The murals depicted a beautiful and ethereal woman standing in the center of the lake, bequeathing the sword to a regal looking man. I reached out to grab the pommel, bracing myself for the memories to come.
I saw myself, sitting at a desk, being visited by a sympathetic policeman. He was telling me that my daughter and wife had been killed. I staggered for a bit, as the memory of that loss hit me in full.
I remembered their names. Alexandra. Ava. My wife. My daughter. I remembered everything about them. Our lives together. Watching Ava grow. Making love to my wife. Sweet sunsets spent together as a family at the dinner table. Long road-trips filled with obnoxious sing-alongs. Yet I could not remember my name.
Another weapon. This time, a spear. The murals showed an army of 300 facing against an impossibly large horde. I recalled feverishly working every night, often going days without eating or sleeping. I was driven. Diving into paperwork. Digging into stacks of records. Always searching. Again, my identity eluded me, lurking at the very cusp of consciousness.
A sling and a heavy rock. The murals depicted a slender young boy facing against an absolute giant of a man. I remembered being in court. My relentless search yielded fruit, and I was giving testimony. The trial lasted for weeks, and in between court sessions, messages were delivered to me. They alternated between promises of great wealth and of painful deaths. I was driven, ignoring all entreaties and threats. And finally, I was vindicated. I nailed the ones responsible for the murder of my wife and child with tax evasion.
I had reached the end of the hall. And there stood before me a simple abacus. A robust construction of wood and steel. And I knew this was mine. No murals surrounded it. I reached out to grab it, and the last of the pieces fell into place. I was beaten. Tortured. They kept me alive for weeks, as an example to others. And through it all, I never once gave my torturers the satisfaction of crying out for mercy.
I remembered my name. I am Ted. I am an accountant. | "You will not select the weapon, child. The weapon will select you." The old man's robe dragged over each crack in the cobbled floor as he walked through the grand hall, giving a detailed account of all the wondrous weapons that were hanging from the walls.
"But nothing is calling to me."
"Be patient, youngling. Give it time. You are in the presence of weapons collected over many millennia. Those rushing to find their partner are only going to be left disappointed. Patience is a must."
We walked through the hallowed halls, weapons wielded by deities and heroes flashing before me but none tempting my soul. And then it happened.
"What .. what is that?" I said, pointing towards the corner of a small unusual room. "I've never seen anything like that before."
"You do not want any part of that weapon, child."
"But that feeling you described to me. It burns within. I'm certain my choice has been made for me."
"That weapon has not been wielded since the year 2000. Nor can I ever recall it calling for a new partner."
I walked towards it, the pull as strong as any gravitational force I had ever felt. "You must tell me what it is."
"That is what they called a PC."
"A PC?"
"A strange weapon forged in the depths of Flame Wars and online battles."
"Flame wars?"
"Flame Wars. The most destructive and vile battles that took place within that era. Although they would mainly take place in public forums, I have read of tales of thousands of warriors battling it out withing single rooms."
"Single rooms? How was that possible?"
"The ancients named them 'Chat Rooms'. But the scholars believe the word 'Chat' was evidently code for 'Fight'."
"Entire rooms dedicated to fighting using this weapon. Incredible. And how would you wield it?"
"Perhaps this explanation is even stranger than the item itself. Great warriors would sit at the PC rather than swing it at their adversaries."
"You would sit at this weapon?"
"Indeed. You would sit and type super mean words to other warriors."
"Surely you jest. This is too horrific, even for a place such as this."
"Truly."
"Tell me more of these warriors. Did they have a name? If this weapon has truly called to me I must adhere to the lore."
"The ancient tales say they named themselves 'Trolls'. They would live deep within the depths of their parents basements, training their bodies to require minimum amounts of nutrition and sustenance, adapting to a life of fizzy drinks and small potato snacks."
"I can't even begin to comprehend the amount of dedication it takes to train your body to that lifestyle."
"They were truly remarkable people. The unusual pain and punishment these warriors would put themselves through is unheard of within any other stage of history."
"And how would they tackle the cold of the basement? Surely they would freeze in such conditions."
"That's were you are wrong, child. The Trolls would grow hair on areas of their bodies we would frown upon. They would birth entire scarves of fur around their necks and store excess fat on their bodies to retain heat."
"Why have I never heard of such elite troops? Why are we not taught about them?"
"The ancients have had, shall we say, difficulties in translating the readings of their historical documents. What you see on the wall next to the weapon is the largest portion of remaining text we have on the Trolls. It truly is a tragedy."
I walked towards the wall, my eyes flowing over the etchings.
*What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.*
"Maybe it is best that they did not last for their power may have been uncontrollable."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | 2017-02-07T10:43:54 | 2017-02-07T10:42:11 | 5,369 | 600 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | "Are you trying to tell me that this legendary weapon had been in my world, not once, not twice, but three times?" I asked the old man in disbelief.
With a heavy sigh he replied, "Yes, but when this Hall was created to only examine a warrior's prowess in battle, not their overall competence. That being said, you've only heard of one recorded account of this hammer in your world as a Viking Prince. The second warrior was set to conquer the Eastern world yet slept with a very obvious assassin. Thus died before he got going. Then the last one died of dysentery within a week of receiving the weapon. Once the gifted warrior has passed away however the weapon is returned here, which got that assassin I just mentioned killed as her contractor couldn't believe it just disappeared."
The Hall was immense, the vaulted ceiling was a dark abyss with no end in sight. Down both the left and right there were alcoves with weapons on pedestals. Long and short bows, katanas, bastard swords, and even exotic weapons that I knew not their names. Each was polished and looked as though it was placed right after being crafted.
*Ahh, finally...someone worthy.*
"What did you say old man?" I snapped my head to the right and looked at him. In his dark green robe, he turned to me.
"I've said nothing...But it seems something in here has spoken. I've never heard them myself but each of these gifts pick their new owner," he said.
*He is not worthy to hear our voices. He is weak, but you...you are strong.*
"How do they do this?" I asked the old man, still searching for which of these magnificent weapons had spoken to me.
"I know not, it is one of the mysteries of this place," the old man replied.
*Worry not about the feeble one. Come, take me, and let us start the beginning of the end.*
This time I could tell it was coming from the left, behind the old man. I pushed passed him, no longer paying him any heed. I walked longer than I could tell. The Hall was endless and so it was difficult to tell how long I had been running before I found it. Damn, didn't even realise I had begun to run, I was even winded. I looked to me left and right and saw two different weapons. On the left, I had only seen a weapon like this once before coming to the Hall. It was called a khopesh and had a golden pommel, with a fine leather grip. The blade itself gleamed in the light, the edge cut the light of the Hall creating a dazzling display on the alcove it rested in.
Yet this was not what spoke to me. On my right, covered in a heavy dust was something I had seen many times before. It was a hand a half sword, I had used one many times before and was familiar with the blade type. This one however seemed rusted and the leather strappings were cracked and faded.
*Excuse my appearance. It has been some time since I've feasted, and so I've let myself go*
"This is what spoke to you? Hmph, I would have imagined you would bring Excalibur back to Earth's surface. This though? This has only seen the fall of civilizations, nothing of worth has become of those who wield this," the voice of the old man came from behind me. I turned to face him, and here he was. I did not hear him come up behind me. Must be another mystery of the Hall.
*I was wielded by a fool who had no ideas of grandeur. She only wanted to destroy what her unfaithful king had created, and once she had done so used me to end her life. Those after her I had called to believed me to cursed. I am no such curse, but a promise. A promise to destroy who or whatever you want. It is up to you however to build the rubble into something worthy of my name*
"And what is your name?" I asked.
*Ex Nihilo*
__________________________________________________________________________________________
**This is my first time posting here, any words would be helpful!! Thanks for reading!** | Alabaster doors, unfathomably tall and unimaginably wide, shifted silently open beneath the gentle brush of Catarin's fingertips. Glancing once more behind her, she stepped into the Temple of Ages, the stone slabs swinging shut behind her.
*The Temple of Ages - an homage to the Old Gods, divine beings that granted Their chosen warriors powers beyond any mere mortal. Countless wars were fought in Their name, and countless people died to sate Their bloodlust.*
Catarin couldn't help but stare in awe at what stood before her. A grand hall of white marble stretched out before her, seemingly unending. Jewels and gems, silver and gold and platinum lie unmolested in ornate filigree. Crystal chandeliers hang suspended from nothing, flickering light fracturing and scattering into the darkened corners of the corridor. *Surely this hall couldn't fit in the Temple,* thought Catarin, *for the plateau upon which it stands is barely large enough to support the Temple itself. This hall should have broken off from the building and fallen into the Abyss.*
*None truly knows from whence it came. Some time after the Fall of the Ieryssi Empire, scholars believe, the Old Gods placed the Temple of Ages upon what was then called the Abyssal Spire. A singular column of volcanic rock juts out from the bottomless Abyss, and at its top sits the Temple.*
Reminding herself of her purpose here, Catarin strode forth into the impossibly long hall. Beautiful tapestries lined the walls, depicting ancient battles and long-passed conquests. Beneath each saga, the artifact of legend stood, seeming to wait for its next champion. Catarin walked briskly past each weapon, never giving any more than a passing glance.
*Excalibur, the legendary sword that Artur used to fell the armies of Myrdr. Mjolnir, the holy warhammer that Thor Odinsson wielded in his conquest of the North. The Horn of Yeshua, which razed the walls of Ierysalm itself long ago. Many have flocked to the Temple of Ages hoping to find their glory.*
Catarin stepped lightly, trying her best to not disturb the dead as she moved steadily toward her charge. Bones littered the beautiful marble floor, the bleached skeletons of would-be warriors and desperate fools. Catarin knew better than to reach for one of the Old Gods' gifts. *Pitiful,* she thought, *thinking Them anything other than fickle.*
*There is only one way to reach the Temple of Ages, and that is via the bridge. The Temple stands in the middle of a bottomless chasm, an ancient volcano that has long been dormant. The bridge is no easy task to maneuver, though. It is as old as the Temple itself, and has long been rotted and frayed.*
All the weapons were shining examples of ornate design, extravagant beauty and breathless wonder. All but one. Catarin stood before the altar, winded and feeling older than she began. Calloused hands lowered the cloth wraps from her face, and golden locks fell in waves as she gazed toward the image above her.
*It is the First, and it will be the Last. You are the only one who can rightfully take it up, Catarin. It's up to you to save us.*
It was a crudely drawn picture. Two figures in shades of sanguine reds and earthen browns, standing in resolution. Two figures, strengthened in their fraternity. Two figures, standing in opposition.
One figure, standing above the broken body of his brother.
*Only you can save them,* the First whispered to her, *and I can give you the power to do it.*
...
Catarin Ierys, Empress of Ruins, stared toward the Temple of Ages with a righteous fury. Its blackened facade seemed to laugh at her from atop the Spire, a cacophony of mockery that crawled beneath her skin. With a disgusted sneer, she took hold of the weapon she had traveled so far to obtain and hacked away at the moorings of the bridge. The sharpened rock sawed through the ropes with minimal effort, and within moments the rickety bridge was falling. She watched with satisfaction as it sank into the darkened depths of the Abyss.
And Catarin turned and began the long journey home to kill her sister. | 2017-02-07T12:46:10 | 2017-02-07T11:44:28 | 124 | 65 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | a'Kna Escu!h III, Galactic Ambassador to the Scunarian Sentients, pursed her *gnyrxs* in frustration. She had heard that this civilization was backwards, but it was only now that she had begun to understand.
She clicked and clacked her *snkths*, whilst her real-time translator interpreted her movements. "But how did you get here if you do not have Paradox Engines and *untranslatable concept*, as well as mastery of nuclear reactions?"
The Ambassador to the Galactic Empire, some bizarre bipedal with monstrous fur sticking out of its head in multiple ways, garbled somehting at her, whilst her translator interpreted. "I'm sorry, a Paradox Engine? I'm not sure I understand. Is that something like our Electromagnetic Motion drive, that seems to violate the Laws of *untranslatable concept*? That is, the law of Convervation of energy. I hope that gets translated properly."
...And *now* she understood how they'd got here. She was just bamboozled by the manner in which this species had both become space-faring and managed to traverse the Hypergrid. After all, they were missing the voidspace technology that allowed them to do so. But, she was advised, they had managed to break the laws of the universe in doing so. She thought, her *gnyrxs* twitching whilst she tried adapting her thinking, her febrile wings spinning in circles.
She spoke again. "Well, you know about the 'space that is no space', right?" The Ambassador nodded. "We traveled here through that in the space of a week on our ship. I'm sure your Science-Men would like to take a look at this."
She listened to the translation, fascinated by the horrible noise coming out of the bipedal's mouth. "Well, yes, of course. I would also like to share with you our technologies regarding inter-galactic travel. I'll arrange for our astronometrics teams to speak with your teams."
She nodded, wings twitching. "And as for that messy thing you call 'birth', how do your females cope without *untranslatable concept* and carrying their progeny? What do you do if there are complications?"
The bipedal Ambassador shrugged. "We have specialist doctors who deal with this. They are experts, and we have managed to get out planetary death-rate down to just 0.1%."
a'Kna was stunned to hear of such a high progenitor death-rate. It literally didn't compute that suxch a society could exist. It defied belief in the Divine Queens that a so-called enlightened society could shrug off losing children.
She *had* to report this back.
EDIT: Me can wurd god - i.e. I've made a basic spelling and grammar check on this. Working on Part 2 after real-life stuff. | "I am who I am."
I hear the strain in my voice, it's embarrassing. I stir the ice cubes in my lemonade to try and break the tension. The spoon clinks against the glass.
"I'm not... I'm not dumb. I'm pretty sure I understand the context here, of what you're asking. The fact that you're speaking English gives me some clue, too. But what else can I say?"
Out of habit I poured my guests some of the freshly squeezed lemonade too. But rings of moisture have since started to form under their three glasses on the table between us. Now that I think about it, they haven't moved since I started talking. What do they want?
There are two *or* three of them. It's hard to tell them apart. Their figures move together constantly, like water suspended in the air. And their hues shift between shades of red or blue or purple, depending on how the light hits them. It's strange to look at, it feels almost romantic.
"You asked me how I got here. Ok? I didn't make that up, right?"
They vibrate softly up and down. I hear their voices in my head.
"Right... So like before, as a human, I assume I can speak on behalf of all humanity. At the very least we can try and have a productive conversation, from one species to another, before the government finds you."
A quiet chuckle forces its way out of me. Am I on the right track? Sips of my lemonade helps.
"Well no one knows if God made us or by some evolution we got here, but we've definitely made some progress. We got books, electricity, internet, obviously all of this helps. We're working our way towards Mars I think, not sure when it'll happen, soon I hope, I -- you've heard of Mars right? It's nearby, relatively."
Frustrated cows start mooing loudly out back. I take another sip and move to the window in my kitchen. Poor Bessy, Wilbur, and Rose, I can't blame them for getting riled up. A giant floating spaceship has taken up a large portion of their pasture.
Staring at their spacecraft out my window I can't think of what else to say.
"Look we are who we are and I am who I am! I've tried to be friendly, but. I'm sorry but you'll have to give a little more if you want me to be more -- "
Ice cubes fall onto my lips from the glass I have raised, all the liquid is gone. I grab the pitcher off the counter and pour myself some more, then return to the living room.
But they're gone. The like-water in the air is no longer there, the dazzling shades of red and blue and purple have disappeared.
I rush back to the window in my kitchen. There it is, lifting off into the sky. The cows get knocked over from the windy escape.
I sit on the couch behind where they once floated and take a sip of my lemonade. It doesn't taste the same. It feels... my heart is almost broken.
I notice the empty coffee table in front of me with three rings of moisture seeping into the wood.
Well, at least they liked the lemonade.
| 2017-03-10T00:53:53 | 2017-03-09T16:52:29 | 240 | 129 |
[WP] After turning on the worlds most advanced intuitive AI, it is asked: "What is the biggest threat for humanity?" The answer is something completely unexpected. | "They're coming."
The Scientist stared at the screen. The government wanted to ask the first question of course. The Machine could be used for a thousand scientific questions later, they had the time. The government wanted to what the biggest threat was right away though. He had expected the usual answers from the AI; nuclear war, bio terrorism, climate change etc. But this? This was not what they were looking for.
The Scientist typed out his question. "Where are they coming from?"
The Machine sounded like a car as it's fans kicked up. The heat readings were rising. "They are coming from no where. They have been here for centuries, living amongst you. When they were ended, they hid but they did not die out."
The console was now perceptibly warmer. The Scientist couldn't imagine what kind of processing power the Machine must be using to overload the colling systems. The Machine must be straining at the very limits of its capabilities. "Then why did you say they are coming?"
"They are coming here." flashed on the screen as the first shouts could be heard from the hallway.
The Scientist panicked. He ran to the door and locked it. Moments after he heard someone or something try the doorknob before it began pounding on it. He ran back to the Machine's terminal and frantically asked "Who are they?"
The Machine whirred and hissed. An answer began to appear on the screen before with a sound like thunder electricity arced and destroyed the terminal.
The Scientist backed away from the terminal and realized that the banging had stopped only a moment before something struck him on the back of the head. He landed on the ground hard and but managed to roll over. He looked up and saw three men towering over him.
"What fools you men of science always are. Seeking answers where none should be sought. Did you think we would allow you to build a machine that could expect our every move?" The one in front said. His lips stretched into a crimson smile, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." | He stared at the screen on the wall. This was it. He was finally going to get to ask the question he needed an answer to. The question that had plagued him for decades--the reason that he had created this blasted machine to run simulations and determine what he could do to change the world.
Dr. Howard Smith took a deep breath and pressed a button on the wall. The button didn't give at all, feeling more like touching a solid mass. He drew in a deep breath and bellowed, "What is the biggest threat for humanity?"
The machine buzzed. "Cotton balls."
It must not have heard him correctly. He repeated the question again. Slower, louder.
Another popping sound and "giraffes" appeared on the screen.
He tried again, this time getting "biscuits and gravy".
For ten minutes, he kept pushing the button, getting more irate, more confused as the answers popped up. Every time it was something ridiculous. Kitchen sinks. Mini golf. Logic puzzles. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Candlepin bowling.
His fingers felt like they were going to break as he pressed the button one more time. His office door--a big heavy metal door with slats--was thrown open, illuminating the pale blue room with a cot in the corner. The machine on the wall disappeared and Howard wanted to cry. All that work was gone.
"Dr. Smith," the guard said in a soothing sing-song voice. "You need to calm down, sir."
Another man approached, holding the white vest, the one with the long arms and straps.
"I am calm! You stole my computer!" He pointed at the now blank wall. "Every time you come in here, you steal my computer!" Frustrated tears welled up. "I just want to know what the biggest threat to humanity is so I can stop it! I can save the world! I'm so close!"
He felt a pinprick in his arm.
The guards helped the medical personnel move him to the bed. As the door was about to close, one of them whispered to the other, "He should be asking what's the biggest threat to his sanity."
The door closed and the computer reappeared on the wall. | 2017-03-24T13:46:54 | 2017-03-24T12:47:15 | 73 | 19 |
[WP] Aliens have arrived and have been eating humans like a delicacy. An alien chef gets more than he bargained for when he tries to cook Gordon Ramsay, who surprisingly is less disgusted THAT he is being cooked than over HOW he is being cooked. | "Fuck me. Where am I?" Gordon groaned.
"Zarlac! Why is he waking up?!" Chef Drago asked. His assistant rolled his eye, "I told you that we couldn't substitute a bunch of local anesthetics for a general anesthetic."
*A look of shock and horror swept across Gordon's face*
Gordon: The fuck is this!?
Drago: We are sorry sir, we understand this must be difficult, but please bear with us, you should still not be able to feel any pain.
Gordon: I'm in pain alright. Look at the mess you've made here! You there! What's your name?
Drago: I am Drago.
Gordon: They use knives on your planet Drago, or have you just been tearing away at me with your bloody teeth?! I mean look at this! All these wasted scraps of me just littering the floor!
Drago: I am very sorry. This is my first time preparing human you see.
Gordon: Fuck me, I'm being cooked by an amateur.
Gordon: Right, Drago was it? What's boiling in the pot over there?
Drago: That would be your thighs.
Gordon: MY THIGHS?!
Gordon: Your microwave broken Drago?! You couldn't find a shittier way to prepare me?!
Gordon: And what's that awful smell?!
Zarlac: I keep telling Drago to stop seasoning everything he makes with the durian oyster sauce.
Drago: Shut up Zarlac! Nobody has ever complained about my durian oyster sauce!
*Zarlac shakes his head*
Zarlac: Never to your face Drago. The truth is before we serve your food we always remove your sauce as best we can, and add a splash of truffle oil to cover up the taste.
Drago: I do not believe this!
Gordon: You've got hear this Drago. You need to listen to your staff.
Zarlac: He does not even try his food.
Gordon: Is that true?
*Gordon takes a bite out of his shoulder*
Gordon: Fuck me.
Gordon: Drago, taste this.
Drago: I know what my food tastes like.
Gordon: First time cooking human, and already think you know everything? You're either arrogant, or too afraid to try your own food.
Zarlac: Try the food Drago.
Drago: Fine! I will taste it, and you will see!
*Drago takes a bite of Gordon's shoulder. A initial look of surprise succumbs to a look disappointment.*
Gordon: Would you serve this to your family? Would you let your children eat this?
Drago: ... I would not.
Gordon: You're better than this Drago, but you're not even trying.
Drago: I promise, I will do better. I make a dish of you that you can be proud of.
Gordon: The fuck you will. I'm taking over.
*Gordon grabs a nearby knife with his teeth*
Gordon: Starting with fixing up these ribs. | Zgorptroprt stared at the infuriated little being trapped under the transparent cookware lid. Its unintelligible noises and outrageous motions made for an appetizing dinner theater; as soon as Bthglindalf returned from Earth with the condiments the pair would feast upon the delicious fury trapped within. Zgorptroprt's glee caused her tendrils to alight with opalescent beauty as her shipmate began to materialize in front of her with the supplies.
"I got a *special* treat for us," Bthglindalf chimed, "it seems that this planet has something almost EXACTLY like Yggmarian frying sauce!"
Zgorptroprt's tendrils dulled slightly. "I was hoping we could eat the thing raw. Just *LOOK* at that succulent rage!" She motioned to the tiny white earthling, still screaming and banging against the boundary of its container.
"We ate the last one raw. That little Limbaugh fellow. Didn't you get enough hatred THEN? You *know* I don't like to see them suffer as they're digested alive." Bthglindalf's tone of half-disappointment belied her upbeat tendrils. Zgorptroprt knew that as the superior officer her decision was law - but the role of a proper leader is best fulfilled with a measure of understanding and compromise.
The commander embraced her shipmate reassuringly. "You're right, I chose last time. This one is yours." Bthglindalf shimmered vibrantly, unable to contain her excitement. "Thank you so much!" She turned and began to dig through the supplies looking for her special ingredient.
Zgorptroprt looked once again at the succulent human trapped in its enclosure. It had turned red and dropped to its knees, alive but breathing heavily from exhaustion. She tapped on the glass "We're going to cook you up and eat you Gordon! Yes we are!" Certainly the primate couldn't interpret the hums and whistles of her language, but it nevertheless seemed to inspire a savory angst once more as the creature rose to its feet and began another round of noise.
"I suppose we will have occasion to update our logs over dinner; these humans get so quiet after they're cooked." The commander looked over at Bthglindalf just as she pulled her prize from the box. "So, what's this stuff called? You know I like to know the Earth names of what I'm eating."
Bthglindalf playfully hid the label of the drum from her superior. Zgorptroprt responded with an equally playful display of her authority. "You dare to tease me on top of robbing me of this creature's undoubtedly delectable howls? I order you to tell me what you'll be cooking this noisy little human with!" Instinctively, Bthglindalf straightened. "M'am, I will be cooking him with R-E-L-I-S-H."
EDIT: Sorry OP, you *are* wrong about the alien's gender in the thread title. But with a caveat. The Gn'tral actually have seven genders and shift through them progressively as they age; when they arrived at Earth, Bthglindalf was indeed male... but she'd just transformed into her third Polyphase while picking up the condiments, which is why it took so long to return to the ship. | 2017-03-28T11:20:56 | 2017-03-28T10:50:06 | 151 | 19 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | "I couldn't ask for a better birthday," she said. "Beautiful weather, lush countryside and best of all, a picnic with the man I love."
"Here," he said, as he offered her a scotch egg.
"Wow - homemade?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Go on, try it."
She bit into the soft layer of breadcrumbs, through the meat and into the cavernous center.
"Oh my god, this is amazing!"
"Your father helped me with it," he said, taking out a knife and slicing the loaf of bread.
"It was *dad's* recipe? Oh my God, you're so sneaky! When did you go see him?"
"Yesterday. I... I wanted to ask him... God, this is tough. I wanted to ask him for his permission..."
"*To marry me?*" she whispered.
"Yes." He nodded towards the white, round centre of the scotch-egg.
"Is-" she began, her face ecstatic, "Is there a ring in the- oh, *oh God*," she said, as she picked up the egg in the center. She turned it around, until its pupil stared straight at her.
"Your father said no. But I think - *hope* - you might say, yes?"
| As I opened my eyes at the loud noise, it seemed as if time stopped. The earth stood still.
This tends to be a reoccurring event at night. I hate admitting I have PTSD, but some things are hard to erase. I go through counseling even though all it does is seemingly salt the wound. The love of my wife and best friend.. She deserves better than what I am now. So I go for her, hoping for the best.
As I lay in the dark, I stare at the ceiling. Not daring to move a finger. Waiting. Listening for more evidence of something more. As I strain, just knowing something is there this time, I hear it. Someone was in the hallway. Swiftly tossing the covers to the side, I see the tall dark hooded man at the door way. Knowing to deal with this situation better than my last, I leaped forward and tackled him to the ground. Surprisingly weak, he grasped for breath, pleading for mercy. I wasn't going to give it this time. I squeezed till my nails turned crimson red and his face a beautiful blue.
Screaming for my wife I receive no answer. Panicking. I attempt to call 911 as I scream her name. I search everywhere and pray to god she somehow ran out.
As the cops pull up I ran out trying to explain the intruder and what happened.
When they came back out of the house they handcuffed me and put me in the car. Assuming for casual questioning I did not argue. That is.. until I looked at my hands.
I never took my medication that morning. | 2017-05-31T06:46:24 | 2017-05-31T04:16:34 | 1,067 | 124 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | "I couldn't ask for a better birthday," she said. "Beautiful weather, lush countryside and best of all, a picnic with the man I love."
"Here," he said, as he offered her a scotch egg.
"Wow - homemade?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Go on, try it."
She bit into the soft layer of breadcrumbs, through the meat and into the cavernous center.
"Oh my god, this is amazing!"
"Your father helped me with it," he said, taking out a knife and slicing the loaf of bread.
"It was *dad's* recipe? Oh my God, you're so sneaky! When did you go see him?"
"Yesterday. I... I wanted to ask him... God, this is tough. I wanted to ask him for his permission..."
"*To marry me?*" she whispered.
"Yes." He nodded towards the white, round centre of the scotch-egg.
"Is-" she began, her face ecstatic, "Is there a ring in the- oh, *oh God*," she said, as she picked up the egg in the center. She turned it around, until its pupil stared straight at her.
"Your father said no. But I think - *hope* - you might say, yes?"
| He knelt down beside her on the cold grass of the graveyard. She had tripped and almost fallen straight onto a headstone, something that would most likely have given her a major injury.
"You didnt hurt yourself, did you?" He looked her over, checking for any scratches or cuts.
"I dont think so, but thank you, im ok. I'm just too clumsy for my own good." She smiled, and she smiled at him.
He helped her to her feet and they walked, her still recovering from the fall and him feeling the need to help her along.
"So why are you out here so late? Were you visiting someone?"
She shook her head, "Yes, but sometimes i just come out here to think." She put her head down, and went quiet.
He patted her on the back, "Me too, it really puts into perspective all the lives that were lived and lost. Each dying in some different way."
She smiled, looking up at him, "Death does have a creative way of making us go. Old age, sickness, accidents..." she trailed off, looking into the distance.
"I know what you mean, I..." he spoke, looking down at her face, smiling hoping she wouldn't notice. He continued to follow her, not watching his surroundings, and tripped, landing headfirst onto a headstone.
She turned back to look down at him her eyes dark, smiling, draping her long black shawl over her shoulders, "Or perhaps they were too clumsy for their own good."
(Not the best, i guess kind of cheesy, but i thought it sounded a little scary.) | 2017-05-31T06:46:24 | 2017-05-31T05:30:06 | 1,067 | 50 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | The cavern was *their* place - a haven to retire to when the world became too oppressive; a sanctuary where they could always find one another if life became too much to handle. It was a small chamber at the end of a long, narrow, and winding passage that twisted and contorted upon itself as if it were the remains of some great serpent that the two had stumbled upon during their childhood.
Darkness inside the cavern was never a real concern for them, for its crystalline walls easily reflected and scattered what light that happened to pour in from an opening up above. The entire chamber would take on brilliant hues of blues and greens in the afternoon sun, but the nights with a full moon were the real wonder - the entire room would appear to come alive, shimmering and glistening in the silvery light It was during such nights that they shared their first kiss, that they had their first argument, and that conceived their first born.
Everett wrapped his arms around Isabella, bringing her close to him and gently caressing her belly and the child within. The two lay there, bathing in the moonlight, content with the company of each other and the stars above. As the night wore on, the moon aligned itself in the direct center of the crevasse and flooded the chamber with its light, forming an imperfect "eye" just as it had done dozens of times before. For the first time however, it blinked, and the cave shuddered with a singular heartbeat.
----------
My first WP, y'all! I hope you enjoyed! | I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T08:04:13 | 2017-05-31T07:06:28 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | Of all the little joys in life, one that sticks out the most for me is being the little spoon for my husband, and feeling his warm breath on my neck. He knows I love the affection of snuggling, and continues to nestle in with me even though he frequently gasps on my long brown hair. The greatest stage of sleep for me is the twilight period, when you wake up initially and doze back off and try to jump back into a nice dream. At this moment, I am ready to start the coffee, but my man is still sawing away with the cutest snore. I can wait for the coffee, he deserves the extra minutes of bliss that is twilight sleep. I am so happy to be here right now, with this man, and feel the exchange of warmth we are so blessed to share. I knew he was the right one when he tucked my cold, exposed toes under the blanket while he thought I was sleeping. It's the little things. As I lay on my side with him at my back, I know he has my back in more ways that one. I reach over to caress the full grown man who is sleeping like a baby, and is as cute as one too. Coffee can wait, this is wonderful. In my twilight daze I smile sleepily while I run my fingers through his matted hair and his long, bushy beard...but even espresso could not wake me faster than realizing my husband has no beard. | I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T08:09:16 | 2017-05-31T07:06:28 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I was always jealous of my twin sister. She was the outgoing one, hanging out with friends, while I stayed home. And when we were home together, it seemed that no matter what I did it just seemed to be the same as her. Our parents paid more attention to her than me. Praised her grades, her friends, her laughter and smiles.
When we were younger, she paid more attention to me, we played for hours in puddles and the living room with the french doors. But as we grew, she began to make friends while I didn't and she began ignoring me in favor of her new, more interesting friends.
Tomorrow is prom. Her dress is my dress, her hair style is my hair style. If this is my one chance to outshine her, I will. I'll be the one to step out onto that dance floor, laugh and chat with my new interesting friends, talk about going to college, getting away from this town. She will pay for the years of ignoring me, her mirror twin. | It was a beautiful night for urban exploring. This part of the town was intensely silent. The warehouses used to bustle with tobacco, textiles, and workers and businessman. But times had changed, and the businesses had gone overseas. Now they were simply beautiful old shells, filled with old machines and boxes of never used materials. Sometimes Emily and I found the old machinery and tried to guess what it was. We might look it up later to find that it was actually part of an old loom, or a tobacco curing rack. In this building, we noticed a heavy metal door with some kind of wheel that still turned, opening a room that had likely not been opened in years. We both walked inside onto a metal scaffold. We found it to be an old silo of sorts. Our flashlights revealed an old set of stairs curving down around the outside of the room. The smell of old tobacco was musty, but pleasant. We got out our cameras and decided to film it a little bit. I walked cautiously down the old metal stairs to the very bottom. There was some kind of odd hourglass looking contraption. Curious, I tried to look it up by the serial number, but I couldn't get a signal on my phone inside the metal walls. Emily called down to me, "I can't get this door to open."
Edit: Clarity, spelling. | 2017-05-31T08:06:41 | 2017-05-31T07:25:11 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] Theorising that so-called "life-force" or "souls" is actually just the electricity coursing through the nerves of living things, you try to sacrifice a battery to a demon. | I had everything set up correctly, I think. A star within a pentagram within a circle, each point illuminated by a candle. I got as many of the called for herbs from the local farmers' market, but what couldn't be found there I got from the spice aisle in the supermarket. I figured fresh and organic was better, but I didn't know enough to know if there were things you could substitute. And I was only going to risk one substitution today.
I got out the piece of paper I had the Latin phrases typed, with their phonetic pronunciations penciled in over the top. All that mattered was the sounds coming out of my mouth, it didn't matter if I completely understood each part.
Here goes nothing.
I had a bowl of sage close by if I had to dispel the demon, but nothing was certain as I was switching out the main ingredient of the summoning: the soul. I began the chant smoothly, having practiced all the words and phrases for hours before starting. I felt the energy in the room building up, and I got a little nervous as well.
Palms beginning to sweat, I got to the last line. Now for the real test. The summoning ritual called for a bronze knife to be plunged into the sacrifice's chest. If I was right, this would satisfy the first half, and I would be left with the business of making a *very* carefully worded deal with a demon. If I was wrong, I would be electrocuted before it was even finished, and possibly release a partially summoned demon loose on Earth.
I swung the knife into the battery, closing my eyes at the last second. I felt a light jolt, then nothing. Opening my eyes and fearing the worst. Before me in the circle stood the demon, and the essence from the battery swirled as a bright blue light in the collection bowl at my feet. Wicked.
"Alright, let's get started-" I began.
"Deal!" interrupted the demon.
"Pardon?"
"Whatever you want kid, it's a deal. You could ask for my rotted mother's corpse to be reanimated and for her to be set as President of the United States and I'd say yes. Deal, deal, deal, deal, deal!"
"Holy shit," I said.
"An odd choice," the demon commented, "but it can be done. Nice doing business; with this much juice I can probably take on Hades." In a puff of a acrid sulfur cloud he was gone. | Two dozen candles flickered their light upon the damp stone walls. A warm breeze crept from the cracks in the uneven floor and brought the flames life. On the floor, painted in pig's blood, was a circle encompassing a star; a symbol I stood just on the outside of. And in the center of this hellish icon, I had placed a brand new car battery. I repeated the final words that were scrawled out on the parchment.
In one quick burst, the warm air grew hot and dry; the flames of the candles grew tall and fierce. It was as one massive flair, brightening the room enough to blind me for a moment. As it dulled and my vision returned to me, I observed a string of black smoke and embers spiraling from the center of the circle. It spun faster and faster, until it appeared as a vortex of hell itself; and then it dissipated in an instant, revealing the creature it had brought forth.
It stood as a human, though it's head nearly reached the ceiling--making it nearly nine feet tall. It wore a crown of bloody horns atop its black, charred skin. It's hands hung down to its knees, with burnt-yellow claws that extended to the floor. It's eyes were blacker than anything I knew to describe, and it sucked my breath from my lungs just to look into them. It let out a deep growl, exposing obsidian fangs that reflected the flickering of the candles. And then it approached me.
I fell to my knees, fear enveloping every corner of my mind. In truth, I never thought any of this would actually work; I had prepared for every outcome except for success. What was I to do now that this creature--this *demon*--was here before me? Was sacrificing a car battery really enough to grant me a minion of hell? I stared up at the beast as it loomed over me, it's breath hot as an oven. It turned slightly, and pointed at the car battery with its razor-sharp talon.
"Wha... what does that buy me?" I manage to ask, my voice cracking with fear.
The beast lowered its hand and slowly shook its head. It leaned down, its face next to my ear, and I heard a dozen evil voices whisper all at once.
"You offered a soul. That block of energy and matter is not your payment, nor shall you be awarded. You merely opened a door."
It shoved its claws into my shoulder, just above my collarbone. The smoke rose once more from the ground, and the beast pulled me towards it. I could feel the room heating up around me. My skin grew red as we approached the gateway. I begged and pleaded, but it was no use.
The demon collected on my sacrifice, and dragged me down to Hell. | 2017-07-01T19:06:27 | 2017-07-01T18:42:24 | 1,551 | 62 |
[WP] You run a successful hotel in the city. After receiving outstanding yelp reviews your boss comes to you. You are asked to scale back your popularity and public notoriety. It turns out it the hotel was started as a front for a criminal organization and you're drawing unwanted attention. | "Take a seat, Paul." Mr. Delvecchio grunted, and waved an open palm toward the chair opposite his across the desk.
The gentlemen behind me gave me a shove forward that sent me sprawling. I lurched and caught myself on the arm of the chair and looked back, perplexed, at the bald brute who pushed me. He snarled and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone with my boss.
I took a seat timidly and asked. "Is everything alright, Mr. Delvecchio?"
I studied the husky Italian's face for any indication of the nature of this meeting. His dark eyes bore into mine as he gently stroked his pencil mustache.
He pulled a whiskey glass from his desk, and a bottle of expensive scotch. He filled the glass nearly to the brim and considered me thoughtfully.
"You thirsty?" he asked.
"Y-yes, sir." I smiled at him thankfully. He returned my expression with a cold glare.
"Good." he said as he placed the bottle of scotch back in the drawer. "Here's the thing, Paul. Everything's not alright."
"B-but, our sales for this quarter have sk-skyrocketed. We even got a f-feature on Hotel Impossible, with a positive Yelp review from Anthony Melchiorri!" I sputtered.
"You think I care what that Charlie Runkle lookin' fuck thinks?" Mr. Delvecchio shouted, and then took a heavy gulp from his glass. Suddenly my mouth was very dry.
"I... I honestly don't know, sir. I didn't even know you watched Californication."
"Do you know why I hired you, Paul?"
"Be-because of my background in customer service? And because I'm dating your daughter?" I immediately regretted that last part, even as it left my mouth.
"Ah, yes. My beautiful Jenny." He paused as his eyes became filled with a nostalgic glaze. After a moment, they hardened and he said "No, Paul. I hired you because I always thought you were a fuckin' idiot."
"S-sir?" I waited for my boss to smile, or laugh, or something to indicate he was joking. Instead, he remained stone-faced.
"You had no management experience, no *hotel* experience, no meaningful prior job history besides waiting tables, and you can't focus on anything besides my daughter's tits for more than 5 minutes."
"I'm not following you." Confusion and fear simmered like a fine puttanesca sauce.
"You weren't supposed to be good at your job, Paul. You were supposed to fail, tremendously, or at the very least, barely keep us afloat. That's why I picked you to be the manager of my hotel - because I thought you were an ignorant piece of shit."
"Thank you, sir." I said miserably.
"You really shocked me. Shocked and disappointed me, like a baby that's shit itself on a public bus. You exceeded all my low expectations of you. You really turned the hotel around and made it a booming success. And now I need you to stop."
"What?"
"Last week, there was Travel Channel camera crews all around my hotel, filming and shit. This week damn near every room is booked. You really fucked me, Paul."
I stared at him blankly. Surely, this was some kind of weird Italian way of congratulating me for a job well done. After a moment, my boss continued.
"Do you know what's on the basement floor of this hotel, Paul?" And, without waiting for a reply, answered. "A factory full of undocumented immigrants and 3,000 pounds of China White. And now I can't even move the shit."
"China w-, like cocaine?"
"Chyeah." Mr. Delvecchio said, taking another gulp of scotch. "Coke, China White, the White pony. This hotel is a front for a distribution center. And now that you got all this attention, my boys can't even bring a working girl back for a game of hide the sausage."
I stared at him, ruefully, as an idea started to form. It was bold, and stupid, but that was apparently why he hired me.
"So I need you to shut it down. Go back to the old ways. Low business, low attention. Treat people like shit, over-charge them, be rude, whatever it takes to make 'em fuck off again."
"Fine." I said, meeting Mr. Delvecchio's glare with the same intensity for the first time. "But I want in."
"Excuse you?" he leaned forward and placed his hands palm-down on the desk.
"I want in." I said slowly. "I'll keep a low profile, no questions and low traffic. But I want respect where respect is due. I've done a good job, I want to be paid for it. Dating your daughter's not cheap, sir, and I'm barely making enough to accommodate her lifestyle and pay my bills."
Mr. Delvecchio considered me carefully. A vein throbbed in his neck. He was either going to fire me, or kill me, or worse. He reached into the drawer of his desk, and I held my breath waiting for a gun to appear.
Instead, he produced the bottle of scotch and another whiskey glass.
He sat the glass on the table, poured the scotch, and slid it across the desk to me.
"You're bold. And stupid... though perhaps not as stupid as I once supposed. And my Jenny says you're good to her. So I'll tell ya's what. Ten percent. I'll start ya's with ten percent of the profit from your site's distribution, as long as you kill the cameras and get rid of the hotel's customers."
"Deal!" I said and lifted my glass in a toast. Our glasses *clinked* together, and we both took a celebratory gulp.
"Now get lost, I got other fish to fry." Mr. Delvecchio said once we had finished our glasses.
I stood and approached the door, then paused. "Sir, there's one more thing."
"Yeah?" he said uninterested, already rustling through a stack of papers on his desk.
"I want to marry your daughter. I'd like your blessing."
He stopped thumbing through papers, and reached into his desk, and I heard the *click* of a handgun cocking. | Title: Is a Laundry Scheme Tommy, Is Good Scheme
“Business is *booming* right now, what do you mean we're getting too much attention Mr. Stevens?" said Tommy, with a little more emotion than he meant for there to be. "We’re beating the *dogshit* out of the motel 6 across the street, we *have* to stay open this weekend why did you kick everybody out?”
Tommy was starting to get emotionally invested in his business, and it had been years since he felt like he cared about anything. He tried running a bakery, running a niche repair shop for old VCRs and converting old VHS tapes to digital. But they didn’t turn a profit like his hotel did.
Mr. Vladimir Stevens rubbed his chin, and put on this expression like Tommy had a point as he put his arm gently over Tommy’s shoulder. They walked along the marble floor, shining under the chandelier lighting. Mr. Stevens looked at it all like he regretted making things so nice.
Mr. Stevens turned down a corner, and stood in front of a large, black and white portrait of a young boy who might have been a young Mr. Stevens smiling awkwardly at an old camera, with his hair combed to the side and his hands in his knee high trousers.
Mr. Stevens pressed a button at its side, and the portrait popped up just a bit to slide slowly away, revealing a re-enforced door that looked like it might be a safe.
“Tommy you good employee, very nice employee,” said Mr. Stevens, as he brought Tommy in a bit closer. He loosened up his tie, and licked his lips like he wanted to be a little honest with Tommy but not too honest. His breath smelled like five shots of vodka. “But this hotel, not supposed to be *too good* hotel, no? Supposed to be *decent* hotel, solid hotel. Supposed to be like Holiday Inn Express, not like Lotte Hotel Moscow great hotel in the world, no?”
“Wha-,” Tommy shivered like he just got drenched in Artic water, and tried to keep calm as he stared in terror at the endless bags lining the dimly lit ground, some of which had cash pouring out of them. They had so much they didn’t even try to arrange some of them. “What are you talking about Mr. Stevens?”
Mr. Stevens smiled really goofy, sort of like the “Tra lalalala” man, and pointed at the floor all around them as he walked up to clear bags.
“It’s a *laundry* scheme Tommy.”
“Sir?” said Tommy, as Mr. Stevens sort of hugged him a bit closer, and even pulled a cigar out of his pocket. He lit a match, half blew it out, and tossed it onto the ground. It almost took some cash up in flames, but it died before it became a fire. “Sir what are those?”
“Drugs, Tommy,” said Mr. Stevens, as he stood with better posture. He was pretty proud of it. “Lots of drugs. Meth, Heroin, Mary Jane, is good drugs, is nice drugs. Part of laundry scheme Tommy.”
“Sir,” said Tommy, as Mr. Stevens offered him a smoke of his cigar. Tommy was a bit of a germaphobe, and he never smoked a day in his life. But he took a puff to be polite. He coughed for a while as Mr. Stevens guided him around the sea of drugs, to some friends he had waiting out back by a van beside a garage door.
“So Tommy, hey? Tommy you hear me?” Mr. Stevens patted Tommy on the face a couple times, he couldn’t stop coughing. Mr. Stevens almost singed Tommy’s hair with the cigar. “Tommy, okay hear me friend? Put up thumbs up friend? Good, good thumbs up Tommy, okay. You *drug dealer* now okay Tommy? You good businessman, you good drug dealer too. Help laundry now Tommy, is good promotion. Is good pay.”
“Sir-*kof kof kof* sir I,” said Tommy. He looked around at the half smirking mobsters with AK-47’s slung over their shoulders, pointing at Tommy and then smiling like they kind of liked him. “Sir I, I *can’t*-”
“Can’t hear Tommy, what’s that? Can’t what?”
“I can’-*kof kof* I,” Tommy looked at them all around him, in a delirium. He wiped his nose with his shoulder, then shook his head. He paused a moment to catch his breath, as he looked at the drugs all around. Tommy put on a very serious expression. “I just, I..I can’t,” Tommy started to laugh, with tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe you keep saying *laundry scheme* I think you mean *laundering* sir. I’m all in, I’m down sir. I’m so down. *Count. Me. In.*”
Tommy laughed like he was having the time of his life, and tried to hug Mr. Stevens. Everybody else in the room looked at Tommy with wide eyes, and laughed along uneasily. Mr. Stevens eyes went wide a moment, as Tommy laughed. Then Mr. Stevens laughed along too, in a mock way. He clapped his hands together, and pointed at Tommy like it was a good one.
“*Joke*,” said Mr. Stevens, like he was just getting it. He nodded at one of his men across the way. That man walked over to him with a suitcase. “Good *joke* friend, so good. Hey!” Mr. Stevens clapped his hands together, and started really laughing his heart out. “*Grammar Nazi* eh? Nazi, I did *Nazi* that coming eh? You like that joke, common joke I make joke too Tommy.”
Mr. Stevens popped open the suitcase with his fist, and put on a pair of brass knuckles. Tommy’s laughs turned into awkward quick breaths, as he tried to back away. Men grabbed his arms and held him down.
“Sir?” said Tommy, as his company issued polo started to rip as he tried to get away from them. Their grips were strong. “*SIR WHAT’S WRONG*.”
Mr. Stevens spat out at the ground, and walked over to Tommy. He put his iron fist just an inch away from Tommy’s nose.
“In Mother Russia,” said Mr. Stevens, watching the glint of light off his brass knuckles. He could almost see his own distorted reflection, and started to smile. “we don’t like *Nazis* Tommy.”
| 2017-10-02T09:45:16 | 2017-10-02T09:44:22 | 83 | 26 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | Audrey was one of those people that whenever she walked into the room she turned heads. She was gorgeous and incredibly intelligent. That day in math class I spent the period thinking about her and how to approach. I thought "Maybe I should just go talk to her."
But the devil on my shoulder had a response, as he always does, "No that wouldn't work you're too low on the food chain for someone like that."
"But what could go wrong?" I asked myself that question before I did anything.
"Maybe you should just move on and accept that you'll be alone forever" The devil mad good points even if he was cynical about them.
"Maybe I could do something cool and like catch her book?"
"No"
"Answer the challenge question that no one ever understands?"
"Nerd, not gonna work"
"What can I do that doesn't include giving up?"
"You could always just communicate through your mind to impress her." Not only was my companion annoying but he had a good point, I couldn't do anything to get her attention.
"What is there to lose?"
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Audrey not only flinched but she jumped in her chair. She slammed into the bottom of her desk making the whole class stare at her awkwardly. With a quick glance of her perfect teeth and legendary grin the whole class felt bad about staring and went back to their work.
"Holy shit you devil, that actually worked. How did you know?"
My red friend didn't respond, he only sent me a picture of him and his, well i guess devilish, grin.Gabby, the girl in front of my and a member of Audrey's clique, handed me a note. She nodded briefly at Audrey and then pointed at the note.
I opened it and it had three words: Meet me, cafeteria.
If someone wants to keep going say something but otherwise tell me what you think. | I was always a paranoid kid ... I wondered for innumerable hours on the existence of mind readers at home and was determined to catch one of them in the act ... I could rule out any chances of catching one near home as they would be on high alert with all the thinking I was doing.
So I resolved to do it at school ... Over the years I presented a facade of dullness which was helped naturally by my depression which gave rise to a general consensus was that I was a foolish dud.
Today was the day I scoped for mind readers in my class ... I almost laughed out loud at how absurd my thinking was ! It was foolish to think that there were actual mind readers in existence !
As usual , I came super early to class and positioned myself perfectly ... You see there was a very cute girl in my class , she was smart , beautiful and was very kind and I fell heads over heels for her almost a month ago , I sat there thinking about nothing but her till she came in ... The first thing you noticed about Susan was her smell , I wouldn't know how to describe it but she smelled like a cross between hot water and a primal scent I couldn't identify.
I was lost in thoughts of her till I felt a sharp rap on my head , the teacher Ms. Grundy had come and noticed me day dreaming ... I sheepishly looked down and opened a book ... Calculus ... Goddamn it , it was the most difficult thing I had ever seen.
Halfway through the period , I began my probing ... It was going to be intense and very transient as I had determined and calculus was the perfect backdrop as even the most alert mind was occupied while doing advanced integration problems.
The clock stuck 12 and i switched my mind from dull Jack and his calculus to a ridiculously high tuning noise , accompanied by a varied sets of unrelated thought trains , this was sure to elicit a reaction as we are usually pretty continuous in our thinking patterns and such a change would shock anyone ... My eyes caught movement and to my horror ... Susan flinched ... Pretty hard and looked straight at me.
Horror dominated both our faces as we came to a very uncomfortable conclusion. | 2017-11-13T17:24:42 | 2017-11-13T16:33:10 | 1,266 | 295 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). |
Every city I've been to would always kick me back out. Apparently you have to be religious to live in one of these cities. My friends got in just fine, but I never could.
Throughout my life, being a construction worker, having a family of 3, and living through numerous End Of The World dates, I've never believed in any particular god. I wasn't a diehard aethiest, my best coworkers were Christian, and I welcomed everyone regardless of religion. So why can't I get into any of these cities?
Wait a minute. I'm a construction worker. There's plenty of building materials around me. And there's other people just like me, lost and with no admission into any city.
If I can't join a city, what says I can't make my own city and religion? I could provide a safe home from whatever is out here, and I could be worshipped as a caretaker for aethiests, and anyone else who doesn't have a home. Wouldn't that be passed as a religion?
Well, better get started.
---
EDIT: Wow! People seem to like this. I'm on mobile and at school so I can't get back to this until I return home. Maybe I should make this into a full novel? Who knows.
EDIT 2: Lots of people like this, maybe I should make my own subreddit and post my later parts there... | You know believing in a god is not a hard thing to do, with enough faith any science can be simply explained as the will of the gods. Looking back at it, I only really refused to believe out of pride, in my mind I could not see that a being could exist that was greater than the sum of mankind. I had from a young age seen us only as the victors. I remember my death fondly, I lived a long life as short as others would lead me to believe it was.
When I arrived here, upon these many rolling hills doted with great fortresses of radiant light, I began to laugh at the ridicule of it, "Why in the world would you need walls that high in the afteworld?" Those thoughts left my head soon after when I noticed a figure walking towards me, it beckoned me to walk towards it as it stepped ever closer, and so I did, eager to question them upon this new stage of my existance. After I took three steps I noticed something odd about the figure, where human limbs supposed to be that long? After 6 steps I began questioning my past life as I gazed upon the figure. Were human hands supposed to have four fingers? After twelve steps I wondered as to where I was. Were humans supposed to have that many eye's? After 20 steps I knew nothing of the world, and as I stepped into the figure arms, I realised a simple truth, that though I knew not of myself, the figure knew, and if the figure knew than the figure must be myself. As the world faded around me, blinding cities of radiance and all I felt the many faces of the figure smile, and so I did as well. | 2017-11-21T07:01:58 | 2017-11-21T06:58:29 | 365 | 13 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | A large shadow swept across, dimming the already sparse light.
"What the fuck was that?"
I pushed the noob to the ground, swearing as we ducked into one of the thousands of muddy trenches that criss-crossed hell. I swept my cloak over the two of us, huddling against the wall, while golf ball sized hailstones strafed the plains, biting painfully into my shielding arm even through the armoured cloak. Finally the storm relented after a few minutes, the kids fast heartbeat hammering against my side as he curled up against me.
*If he's staring at my tits...*
"Alright, let's move." I haul him to his feet, pulling him out of the trench and sprinting across the muddy field towards the relative safety of the forest, my axe handle slapping my thigh with every step, backpack bouncing.
"What - gasp - was that?"
*Great, the kid's already out of breath. He's going to die. Again.*
"Thunderbird. We're near one of the North American forts."
I stop by a pulverized mass of goo. Quickly, I sort through it with my axe, freeing a pair of long, yellowed stingers. The new guy reaches me, catching his breath while I wrap my prize in a strip of hellhound hide to keep the tips safe.
I took a moment to examine my charge. Sure, he wasn't cut out for the physical effort, but honestly, he was handling it pretty well for a fresh corpse. He was Japanese, or East Asian at least by my guess, about 20. He had short black hair, and wore a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of now thoroughly muddied sneakers, a significant contrast from my carefully crafted leather. The diviner had sent me to his drop location. The irony of athiests relying on an oracle was not lost on me.
"What did you say your name was again?"
"Hiroji."
"Mia. Welcome to hell, Heroguy."
He laughed. It was a shock, given the circumstances.
"Shhh! Something will hear you!"
He wiped a tear from his eye. "Sorry. It's Hero - Gee. Not 'Heroguy'. That sounds like a Superman knockoff."
I smiled despite myself. What kind of person gets to Hell and worries about a syllable? I shook my head.
"C'mon. If we can avoid the spiders and the odd cat diety, home is just through that forest. You dropped on our front door, I think you'll make it out." | I rest atop the verdant knoll in Elysium, right by our border. Our people come up here sometimes when they need to feel again. A constant drunken orgasm can numb you and make the high seem low. You can make the highs even higher if you muster the courage to stand near the wall--peer into the mist. It reminds us of our mortal bravery, of our escape from Hades' clutches.
Today marks the anniversary of my arrival here, it's been 2300 years. Every year I still try to watch the crossing of souls, and each year there are less and less souls crossing into our land and more being shut out. I've climbed up the knoll today, hoping to reset my self to enjoy pleasures with renewed vigor. Sitting under the shade of a cedar pergola nestled at the top of the knoll, strung with grape vines, I pluck a plump purple globe from the tendrils strewn beside my couch. I pop the grape into my mouth and break the red skin; sweet, tart juice and flesh spilling onto my tongue. As I reach for another grape, I hear a soul-gnawing scream just over the wall, the sound of a voice shredding, of a skull breaking. Standing up, I tread carefully toward the border and glance over the golden wall's razor edge. As I gaze through the mist below me I see an atheos has lost their head, fallen on its stomach, naked and gray, leaking juices from its neck. A hungry hellhound circles the atheos. It notices me. The hellhound sits on its obsidian haunches and points its snarled gleaming snout toward me with a fanged smile, dripping with blood.
"You think this is real?"
The hellhound leaps over the wall and howls, it glides over the border and lands on me, pushing me down under its iridescent paws. I'm on my back, gold dripping from a gash in my head. The hellhound opens it's jaw, revealing an infinite darkness, and I see my reflection. In this dark reflection my face is blank, featureless, skin covers my eyes, nose and mouth.
"The atheos have arrived in their diamond ships, they arrived with the others like they normally would each year," the reflection is speaking into my mind, "they've found the gate through Hades, they have come with weapons of light and fire to take Elysium. There are other lands in this world, beyond the mist, and they are falling."
The hellhound closes it's mouth and I can't feel my body, my vision is sharper and I'm so hungry. I need to eat. I need to kill. I sit down on my obsidian haunches and howl. I am renewed.
| 2017-11-21T07:22:23 | 2017-11-21T07:14:56 | 87 | 21 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | My sweater scratched at my skin as I began to pull it back, I can't believe I'm doing this.
My mom told me I should be careful who I show my given names to, who I trust is telling the truth about theirs. But her- she was perfect, her smile when I would glance over, her hair that blew in the wind on a warm summer day, like this one. I was intoxicated by her, nothing could save me from this drug.
I stared into her her eyes and began searching her face, she was scared too, I could see it in her eyes. I closed mine and we began to count down from three. 3, 2- shit, I forgot if we agreed pull up our sleeves on 1 or 0.. -either way we both began to pull up our sleeves, slowly but surely.
I... I was on her arm, it was amazing, relief began to sweep over me, that is until I felt my love turn to lothing as she told me her real name.
Ember, not Amber.
Fuck. | I'd met Joann when I was a boy
I knew who she might be,
before we were too young to sin,
she bopped me on the knee.
I met Kristine at just passed 10
and knew she was a mother hen,
because she brought me food and pens,
and told me to follow my dreams.
It was not long before 16
when sudden golden birthday sprees
befell me and ripped my coats seams
I fell on accident down to my knees.
This foolish fault of poor Kristine,
who tried to tell me she ain't mean,
I ain't never fall for that shit again,
instead I found my sweet Joann.
Joann told me I was the best,
at 22 I'll never forget
the way she got so nice and wet
then twerked it made me lose my shit.
She held my hand and rubbed my back
she kept my goals and life on track
and when I wanted more than that
she told me to follow my dreams.
And then I stumbled fell and spat
while far out fishing off the track
I woke up sore and my legs in racks,
Joann failed to keep me clean.
It wasn't all poor Joann's fault,
I must admit my leg was caught,
I lost my balance when the line went taut,
I was in a quick call with Kristine. | 2018-03-11T07:35:29 | 2018-03-11T07:34:02 | 1,948 | 22 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | I did not know why my parents named me, "smudge," but when I was only 14, I discovered I was not adopted.
Both of my parents are white. But I am black. Tattoo ink black. At least, that is what it looks like from a distance. Freshman year in High School, I was bored and took a look at my hand under a disection microscope in Advanced Placement-Biology. That was the day my whole perspective changed.
You see, while all my friends had one, two, or even three or four names tattooed at birth, apparently I had millions of names microdotted all over my body, with only slight slivers of Caucasian between.
I was shocked as I read a group of names all starting with "I" on my left hand, and starting with "J" on my right... Alphabetical, as far as I can tell...
I begged my parents for an exam, and they eventually caved.
4.5 million different names.
4.5 million!
What the hell is that suppose to mean? | I'd met Joann when I was a boy
I knew who she might be,
before we were too young to sin,
she bopped me on the knee.
I met Kristine at just passed 10
and knew she was a mother hen,
because she brought me food and pens,
and told me to follow my dreams.
It was not long before 16
when sudden golden birthday sprees
befell me and ripped my coats seams
I fell on accident down to my knees.
This foolish fault of poor Kristine,
who tried to tell me she ain't mean,
I ain't never fall for that shit again,
instead I found my sweet Joann.
Joann told me I was the best,
at 22 I'll never forget
the way she got so nice and wet
then twerked it made me lose my shit.
She held my hand and rubbed my back
she kept my goals and life on track
and when I wanted more than that
she told me to follow my dreams.
And then I stumbled fell and spat
while far out fishing off the track
I woke up sore and my legs in racks,
Joann failed to keep me clean.
It wasn't all poor Joann's fault,
I must admit my leg was caught,
I lost my balance when the line went taut,
I was in a quick call with Kristine. | 2018-03-11T08:30:03 | 2018-03-11T07:34:02 | 636 | 22 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | We were fortunate that both of these names were on his back instead of a body part he could see. When we bathed him, we made sure he never saw them. When he was old enough to shower and change himself, however, we had to spill the beans. "You are not to look at these names," we told him. I'm proud of our son, he understood the ramifications of seeing the names, even at such a young age. Life has been pretty smooth from that point, friends matching the names have come and gone, but we seldom get worried about it anymore. He's in high school now, his life no different from his peers. He has a very sweet girlfriend, and he keeps saying she must be one of the names on his back. We say nothing, but smile back, reassured that he hasn't seen the tattoos yet.
Edit: Added a phrase to clear up that the parents are NOT supposed to be the names on the back. Also this story is in a universe where only he has the names. | I'd met Joann when I was a boy
I knew who she might be,
before we were too young to sin,
she bopped me on the knee.
I met Kristine at just passed 10
and knew she was a mother hen,
because she brought me food and pens,
and told me to follow my dreams.
It was not long before 16
when sudden golden birthday sprees
befell me and ripped my coats seams
I fell on accident down to my knees.
This foolish fault of poor Kristine,
who tried to tell me she ain't mean,
I ain't never fall for that shit again,
instead I found my sweet Joann.
Joann told me I was the best,
at 22 I'll never forget
the way she got so nice and wet
then twerked it made me lose my shit.
She held my hand and rubbed my back
she kept my goals and life on track
and when I wanted more than that
she told me to follow my dreams.
And then I stumbled fell and spat
while far out fishing off the track
I woke up sore and my legs in racks,
Joann failed to keep me clean.
It wasn't all poor Joann's fault,
I must admit my leg was caught,
I lost my balance when the line went taut,
I was in a quick call with Kristine. | 2018-03-11T07:37:56 | 2018-03-11T07:34:02 | 331 | 22 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | Elli was born without the names. Some people thought that she was blessed. She was not faced with knowing the name of the person who would kill her. Others believed it was a curse, some kind of disability. She had to admit that not having the names made her wonder if there *was* something wrong with her. Everyone has the names. So what does that mean about her? Will she never really be loved? Will she eventually become so lonely she'll just... kill *herself*?
That was what she believed until she met Brian. He was beautiful, smart, funny, and *he had her name*. He knew about her predicament, and didn't care. He loved her, even if it meant she'd never really be his.
Two years after dating, she accepted his marriage proposal. Their parents disagreed because of her "disfigurement", but it didn't matter. They were in absolute bliss. Through all the doubt, all the worry, she knew this was meant to be.
That was until two months before the wedding, when her mother burst into her home while Brian was away.
"You can't marry him!" Her mother yelled.
"We've talked about this, mom. He doesn't care that I don't have the names. We love each other!" Elli explained.
"I know he doesn't care, but you just can't marry him Elli! You can't! It's not meant to be!" She insisted.
"Then tell me why. Why can't you just let us be happy?"
Her mother sighed and sat down at their dining room table. It seemed as if she was struggling to find the words. "Your father and I... We were tortured by the names. We were happy that it allowed us to find each other but knowing the names of our killers... It tortured us, Elli. We wanted things to be different for you."
"What are you saying, mom?" She asked, panicked.
Her mother paused, looking at the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Elli demanded.
"We had them removed, Elli. People aren't supposed to know these things. We wanted life to be better for you."
Elli's mind went blank. She wasn't a freak. She wasn't disfigured. Her parents did this to her. Elli looked up, finally understanding what her mother was saying. "Did I have his name? Please tell me. Please tell me I had Brian's name." Elli begged.
Her mother stared at her for a long time before finally shaking her head. "I'm sorry honey."
Elli started crying, her mind racing. The one person she loved most in the world was not her soulmate. She'd already built a life with him, loved him, made promises, shared secrets, planned their perfect wedding and imagined their perfect home, they'd even picked out names for their future children.
Names...
That's when she realized. She didn't have his name... but he still had hers.
| Hannah tried to keep her mind from wandering, tried to focus on the sting of the freshly inked tattoo on her arm - nothing special, just a black bar. No need to make it different from the other tattoo she had covered. If they looked the same, they would lose their power over her. Or so she had hoped.
But still, the name rung in her head as she drove along, as it always did. Ezekiel. Ezekiel Ezekiel Ezekiel. She always found it a strange name, but it was the better out of the two. When she was a little girl, she was convinced that this would be the love of her life. She filled the margins of her notebooks with the name, bought one of those license plates with the name when she happened upon it as it wasn't a name she came across often.
“Ezekiel, Ezekiel, Ezekiel,” she told herself.
So much better than the other name. John. Who names a kid John? Every person in their life knows at least one John. It's the most common name she or anyone she knew had ever heard. “John?” her friend asked when she told her the names. “Great, so you have to constantly look over your shoulder?”
Things were simple to her - Ezekiel would be her future soulmate, John would be her killer. The names alone proved it - how many killers named Ezekiel were there?
That was until she came home one day to her parents arguing. Again.
Just a few days earlier, she had asked her mom why she stayed with dad. At thirteen years old, she expected a better answer than, “you're too young to understand. He's really sweet. He just gets upset sometimes. We're meant to be together.”
Hannah was excused to her room. She put in noise canceling headphones and tried to do her homework. After a while, she got hungry and went to the kitchen. Her father's name was obscured by the blood running down her mother's shoulder as she was bleeding to death on their floor. He shoved her backwards, her head hit the corner, and rather than call for help, her father ran like the coward he was.
Jeremy, her mother's good friend, was the first one there, holding Hannah tight as her mother was placed in a body bag. His name, printed on the nape of her mother's neck, still haunted Hannah to this day.
She asked her mother once, after helping her calm down from a bad fight, why she chose her father and not Jeremy? Why stay around Jeremy if she thought he could be her killer? Her mother got a cold look in her eyes - perhaps the only time she would admit to herself what she knew was true. “What if I was wrong?”
The memory left Hannah feeling nauseous. After her mother's funeral, she knew. Ezekiel or John, no matter who they were, she would never let either of them in. There were other people in the world with better names who weren't conspiring to kill her. And even if one was her soulmate, well…
She knew the truth. A soulmate could kill your soul off slowly if you chose wrong. | 2018-03-11T09:04:19 | 2018-03-11T08:30:48 | 270 | 28 |
[WP] You were an embryo frozen for over 200 years, until you were finally birthed. At this point, everyone else on Earth has been genetically modified to perfection. You are the last human with flaws. | The door swung open as Zoey rushed into the kitchen. Nothing but sobbing and screaming woke me up instantly. Imagining the worst, the adrenaline spike allowed me to maneuver downstairs instantly.
As I stood there looking at her, I couldn’t move. Her eyes were swelled, shoes muddy, and her right leg was bent with . . . *BLOOD??*
“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. What happened? Are...are you going to be ok? I don’t understand what...”
“I was...playing outside! I fell down in the mud. And my knee really hurts!!”
That was all Zoey could let out as she began to scream again from what I could only imagine was extreme pain. I rushed to the bathroom grasping at the medicine bag they had given me from the lab. All primitive supplies that I studied about but never had time to practice with. Increased perception allowed me to read the labels fast, but my mind was drawing a blank as to what exactly could be wrong. Or rather it was firing off too quickly.
“Should I call the lab? No! What would they say? How could I allow her to go outside unsupervised while I slept?? She slipped past me! It wasn’t my fault! She was suppose to sleep for 8 hours. How long does it take for a regular human to heal? What if she bleeds out?”
Hesitation began to take control and I could feel myself burning from embarrassment. I grabbed medical wrap, pain killers, and ointment and ran back down the stairs.
As I got to the bottom steps, I heard whimpers. No more wailing, no more bloody murder screams. Just sniffles. I approached the corner and noticed her sitting down on the kitchen table coloring away on a white piece of paper.
She turned to look at me, wide eyed with dry tears on her cheeks.
“I fixed it myself,” she said. With the proudest smile.
I looked down, and saw a small colorful strip over the damage she endured. A sigh of relief washed over me. Her leg wasn’t leaking of blood, her knee was rocking back and forth with no issues, and her whimpers turned into musical hums.
This is the last imperfect human on earth. And she’s perfect in every way.
> I changed the point of view, and my writing is sloppy. But I really enjoyed your prompt and instantly had this visual in my head for it! Thanks OP! | -You get used to it, really.
His face was quite surprised. I figured he had known there was something odd about me, but he didn't.
-But that doesn't happen in... Like...
Yes, 847 cases in the last two hundred years. Apparently criogenics' trend didn't last long. But here I am, the last reported case. He was terrible at hiding his surprise. I couldn't blame him, after all. It didn't ocurred to him that the most necessary and vital modifications humanity went through the last centuries could be absent from my apparently normal body.
-Does that mean your ears...?
He was as troubled for asking such a question, as he was curious.
My ears can only listen to sounds made by vibrations. In order to hear as much as the rest of the people I have this device, I explained, showing him the small speaker behind my ear. The same goes with my eyes. I must be one of the few people that use glasses for correcting the eyesight.
-Do you still have fingerprints?
His rounded eyes were amusing. Those were erased when I was young. It was the only way for me to be able to use computers, since their current sensibility is incompatible with the complicated patterns of fingerprints. I grinned at his disappointment, since fingerprints are a typical element in stories and fiction. The fact that humans used to have unique patterns in their hands, and that they could use them to open doors, access private data and leave traces of themselves, has for long marvelled storytellers in this era.
My fingerprints were surgically removed when I was ten years old. It was the only thing about me that couldn't be helped with the aid of a technological gadget. The rest of my shortcomings were easier to handle.
Oh, but my hair is real, this is the way it grows. Of course I let him feel it. This always i
mpresses people. The colour and amount can be replicated, but the feel isn't what you would call pleasant. That's why is more common to have it short and not all over your head. He confessed me that at first he had thought I was a kind of artist with my extravagant look. I used to keep it regular-looking, but I found that it was great for hiding my gadgets. Then I began to like the way it felt, and decided to wear it long.
He didn't ask more questions, but I could tell he wanted to. The rest of the evening went well, I could even say I we had a good time. But his shock lingered during the whole date. It was as if I had to prove constantly that I could act and function as a human being is expected to.
Yes, you get used to it, with time. You get used to prove that you can live in this society as any person does.
| 2018-03-16T10:28:59 | 2018-03-16T09:58:25 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] You united Mankind. You eradicate Religion as it is the bane of Man. You used technology to protect humanity from unimaginable powerful dark Gods. Ten thousand years later, you woke up from stasis, only to realize that you are worshiped as a God, and your Empire is and slowly decay. | "The text to speech device is implemented... it appears to be functioning properly, unlike your feeble flesh..." garbled the twisted abomination of metal and flesh. It would have been way to strike him to his knees and show him that my feeble flesh was most capable of performing my duties but I let his borderline heretical insult slide as this was an important day.
"Most excellent!" I replied, the hairs poking from out of the top of my golden helmet strangely unmoving as my head bobbed in speech. "Our glorious emperor will be capable of conversing with his subjects once more, and I shall be the first to speak with him..." I stated towards the ground as I imagined celebrating this occasion, possibly enjoying the same fun as my fellow custodes. "I could just take off my armo- NO! No. Calm down. I restrained myself for millennia. I will not let this legendary moment be ruined."
"Where are the toasters you promised us?" The mechanicus questioned through his garbled synthetic voice box and metal lips.
"Quiet you!" I replied as I entered the throne room of Him. The leader of all humanity sat behind colossal doors of gold built constructed by a son of the emperor himself. The emperor waited to speak with us again. The creaking of the door rumbled throughout the halls of the Golden Palace as I gazed upon the skeleton and muscles of our most holy God Emperor of Mankind. I begged to Him, "Well, my divine lord! We have managed to implement a text to speech device into your glorious golden throne. Please lord, SPEAK TO US!"
The ancient device started to come to life as it sent through random sounds repeated as the machine spirit arose from its slumber. Finally, the first words from the God Emperor of Mankind in ten millennia came through the device. "About fucking time."
"At last!" I praised, "Our glorious Lord can command us once again!"
"I have so many things to complain about."
^^^Credit ^^^to ^^^Alfabusa | Fury... anger... rage... The Imperium that he once sought to build was in shambles. His subjects, twisted by the horrors of the warp, played right into the dark gods schemes. He was forced to swallow his pride, as he watched, screaming in endless agony at his subjects that couldn't hear Him. Yes, he was angry, that the beacon of hope and progress that had been the Imperial Truth, had all but replaced by hate and ignorance of the Imperial Creed. Yet as angry as He was, He couldn't completely fault them for turning to their faith that He would watch, protect and fight for them, for it was their faith, that gave Him, and His soul, the strength to continue fighting off the horrors of the warp, even if it meant His eternal agony.
Faith, that is what humans turn to in the face of complete adversity. Faith in whatever god they believed would save them, and the warp would reward those whose faith cried out the loudest. It was this same faith that allowed Him to endure for so long. Faith that He would return to his corporeal form, whole again. It was this same faith that He gave to those of his most loyal of subjects, as much as it went against what He taught in ages past, for He had learned of a dire truth about humanity. Without faith, humanity was doomed. He learned a sad truth that His once ostracized son Lorgar had learned, humanity was a species that needed faith to survive, be it faith in science and progress, faith that the gods would provide them food, shelter and comfort, or both.
As His eyes finally flickered back to life, and his ears caught the muffled murmurings of his custodies, He was in the grip of determination, He would have to reforge his Imperium. He would forge a new truth, that while science and logic would be held paramount to everything in the world, faith in the Emperor would be held in the hearts of man. No more would He allow humanities faith to be twisted by the dark gods any longer. If humanity was going to hold a religious belief in anything, it will be in the Emperor of Mankind, for the Emperor is their only true salvation in this grim galaxy. For the Emperor protects.
| 2018-05-29T05:00:10 | 2018-05-29T03:42:56 | 107 | 32 |
[WP] You are cursed to forever tell the truth no matter what. Every powerful group in the land is hunting you down because, under moments of great pain, you reflexively speak truths beyond your own knowledge and faculties. | The whip cracked into my skin again. I screamed. Something about a celebrity drug habit.
The man in front of me held up his hand and a grunt from behind confirmed I would have at least a few minutes of peace.
"Do I look like a journalist, Mr. Davenport?" he asked, blowing cigar smoke into my face.
"No, you look like a fatter version of a bad propaganda poster." I grunted back.
His eyes widened in anger. I really needed to shut up more often.
He put his cigar out into my shoulder and I wrenched back against the chains holding my wrists aloft. He smiled at the action and flicked it away.
"We're getting tired of this, and my companion's arm is tiring. Where is the attack going to come?"
The whip cracked again, and I couldn't help but scream out. "Pas de Calais!"
The officer smiled. "Excellent. Just as we thought." He motioned the guards to return me to my cell.
I let myself cry as they dragged me back. Inside, I was ecstatic. A magical man who could only tell the truth? Garbo had really outdone himself on that one. | “I swear to fucking god if that cult tracks me down one more time I will sue the pants off you.” I slammed the phone down and rubbed my scarred hands over my scarred face, I had faced torture for ten years at that point and was suffering badly. Every time I was relocated by the NSA and FBI those bastards would happen to track me down and torture me for hours, days or weeks all to know if “Julie is cheating on me” or to know “does the one true God exist.” In my opinion, it’s all fucking useless seventy cult leaders have gone mad with my existential truths. The answer is always not what they want “yes, Julie is cheating on you” and “no, Azathoth does not even know you’re real.” It gets tiring after ten years and I’m on my wits end. Every day I pray to a human god that doesn’t exist. It’s sad really, I find the gun the FBI gave me more and more tempting even though I know the horrors that come with the after life. I hate it, I can only tell the truth which is a downside in of itself but I can also tell amazing answers to questions the human race have been asking for years but only when under extreme pain. I hate it but there’s nothing I can do to stop it, to stop those who wish to learn things that, in the long run, do not matter. | 2018-08-08T14:47:22 | 2018-08-08T13:57:22 | 418 | 38 |
[WP] You are the child of a superhero and a supervillain conceived during a one night stand. You don't care for heroism or villainy, you just want your parents to get together so that you can have a family. | Being the product of a night's folly between a superhero and a supervillain is isn't *totally* bad. Our street is one of the safest places in town, because no one, good or evil, wants to be the one to "accidentally" hurt the precious darling of both Mister Marvel and the Witch of Desires. They don't talk to each other, of course, but but I know they both hope that I'll use my own magic to eventually follow in their footsteps.
I don't really want to though.
"Darling, the point of the Spiked Whip is to cause *pain*. You aren't ready to use it yet, and *especially* not on your father."
"I was trying to copy the video where you were using it on him and -"
"THE POINT OF THE SPIKED WHIP IS TO CAUSE PAIN." she interrupted, and after a moment, "Wait, WHAT VIDEO?"
My mother's reaction made me feel as though I'd crossed some sort of line. I thought if I was able to recreate the only scene where I'd seen the both of them happy together, I would be able to bring them together again.
Even though that video was apparently filmed before I'd even been born.
About nine months before I'd been born, to be exact. | The fresh steel pressed against my forehead as I watched the battle continue, the earth shook as my father, a hero, created mountains beneath his feet and just as fast my mother, a villain, raced up that mountain to attack him.
Mortal enemies. That's what they were and always would be and I? I'm a mistake, the love child of them through a one night stand. You'd imagine that I may inherit incredible speed and strength like my mother, or the ability to manipulate the very elements like my father. And I did, making me easily one of the strongest heroes or villians, but in the end, it all meant nothing, cause both my parents loathed each other with a passion and neither truly loved me, only wanted me as a tool to continue their agenda.
So, in the end, a thought came to me, "was I better of dead?" And so that brings me here. With the smell of a cool winter midnight in my nose as a small breeze filled the air. Children danced as their parents watched dotingly front the sidelines and I just sat at the highest peak of the city by myself with no parent's love. I felt the cold steel pressed against my head as warm tears gushed down my face, my finger on the trigger and then I pulled.
The sound was deafening, the sound of the bullet piercing my head but the feeling was just of numbness and maybe a little joy that I had done something with my life. Maybe my parents would stop fighting, only for a moment, to just mourn. Maybe things would be different... | 2018-10-17T02:05:38 | 2018-10-16T23:33:01 | 66 | 12 |
[WP] You have realized that your best friend is your son/daughter from the future who wants to hang out and get to know you since you die before he/she was born
Not sure if this has already been made but just thought of it :)
Edit: WOW didn’t expect so much people to comment on this! Thanks everybody! | Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I took a step back and looked at the shed Thomas and I had built.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?"
He gave a barking laugh. "Sturdy, though. I bet with proper paint and care, it'll easily last for half a century at least."
I couldn't quite keep the corners of my mouth from tugging upwards, until I noticed his face had grown suddenly thoughtful. "What is it?"
He shuffled his feet, a gesture I had come to know meant he had something to say but didn't want to or didn't know how to tell. Clearing his throat, he said, "Don't go."
"What do you mean," I asked.
He looked at me for a few moments, then looked up into the sky. "I know you've been looking forward to this trip with your old school buddies..."
"...but something's going to happen on that trip", I finished his sentence for him. "Is that it?"
With an utter look of confusion on his face, he asked, "how....how'd you know?"
It was my turn to bark out a laugh. I grabbed his shoulders, facing him."How could I not know my own son? I may not have known right away, but I realized after you came by a few times. So it's time travel for you, eh? Nice one."
"But you never said anything!"
"No, I didn't. Think about it. What reason could there be for you to visit me, time and time again, every Saturday, three pm sharp without fail? Something had to have happened to me. Or had to happen to me in the future, if you will. You were so curious about me. I can't travel through time, but I can *see* time."
In between the tears and smiles that we couldn't help by then, and completely shaken from this day's revelations, he simply shook his head. "Alright", he rasped, "don't go, okay? I'll see you next Saturday."
I simply smiled at him, clapped him on his back, and gently pushed him away from me. He gave me a nod, then vanished.
I sat down on one of the small stools we'd used while building the little garden shed we'd just finished. The shed that he'd told me his kids were so fond of climbing up on.
With a deep, heavy sigh, I spoke into the air, "No son, you won't. Because whatever future I saw, one way or another I would leave, fail, or disappoint you, and you would grow into a resentful, bitter man who despised his father. I've gotten to know quite a few versions of you over the years, each one visiting me on a different day of the week. Out of all of them, only you were happy. Only you managed to make a life you enjoy, with a loving husband, and marvelous kids. And the more I got to know this you, the prouder I became to call you my son. I cherished every single one of your visits, and would not want to trade them for anything. There is only one thing left to do. One choice to ensure you have a chance at that future."
I had my bags packed in my car. There was no real point to showering and putting on clean clothes, so I just got in and started on the trip just as I had planned. About halfway there, the road wound its way up the side of a ravine. At a sharp right turn, I pulled the steering wheel firmly to the left. There were two mild bumps as the wheels shot out over the side of the road into empty air. |
“It’s just a prop gun. You can’t really shoot anyone with it,” I said, looking confused.
Samantha frowned again, turning it over in her hand before setting it down like it might bite her. “Didn’t some actor get killed by one of these before? I know I heard it has happened at least once.”
“Well, yes, but.. “ I paused and mulled it over, “There are different ways to achieve special effects and if you aren’t careful, someone can get hurt and some people have died, but this one is different. See, it isn’t built to accept real bullets. You can’t even put the squibs in there. They just won’t fit. Only accepts these special charges.” I take one out of the box, the cap looks hardly anything like a bullet, no one could mistake the two. I hand it to Samatha and she turns it over in her hands.
“Okay, but, lets say something else got stuck in the barrel?”
I sigh, clearly this was eating at her. Picking up the gun, I show her the barrel and says, “Okay sure, if someone put something in the barrel then someone could get hurt, but see here?” I show her the end of the prop with a little black screen. “They designed them so you can’t put anything large in there. The whole thing is designed for safety. Maybe if you had little pebbles or glass it could come out and hurt someone, but these things really are designed to be safe.”
For a moment it seems like I’m getting through to her, but just a moment. Another frown. She takes the prop from me again and turns it over in her hands and keeps muttering to herself something. Finally she puts it down again and says, “But I’m sure this is it, it has to be.”
“Has to be what?” I asked, bemused but perplexed.
“The gun!” she exclaims and this time I frown. “Listen, lets say hypothetically you wanted to kill yourself with one of these, could you do it? I mean if you had to?”
Now I was alarmed, “Woah, hang on there.” I pick up the prop, this time intending to put it away. “First this isn’t a topic I’m very comfortable with, if you’re thinking of hurting yourself you have to tell me right now. Second, this thing isn’t a real weapon, I mean, to cause that kind of injury you’d have to really try and even then it’s maybe the worst way to go. It isn’t powerful enough to do you quickly, this thing would probably be agonizingly painful. The gases could probably kill you if you held it like right up to your eye or temple, but God, Sam, it’d be a bad way to go.”
Samantha finally starts to look more satisfied. “Good,” she says and smiles. She looks happier now and turns to start walking away, telling me over her shoulder. “I have a great story for you, one about a time traveler who meets her dad who committed suicide before she was born. In it she goes back and convinces him not to do it. Really saves his life. She can’t wait to see what her life will be like now that-“
And she’s gone. Like she was never there to begin with. I gape, staring at the spot where Samantha had been a moment ago. Her words echo in my mind, too impossible to be real but also somehow a part of me believes. When we’d met she always seemed like a long lost relative and despite being the same age, I found myself drawn to her not romantically but something else. Like she was a long lost sister. Maybe I was going crazy, this couldn’t be real, but at the same time my eyes were drawn to the prop gun. If that was the only way to save her. | 2018-10-30T10:49:46 | 2018-10-30T10:17:03 | 600 | 164 |
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit. | (Another take on the prompt)
Flashing lights. I was seeing flashing gods damned lights. Is that even possible? I glanced at my instruments and confirmed that yes, we were traveling at well over three times the speed of light. It should not be possible to see lights.
Still, this was anomalous enough to pause the experiment. I reached forward and dialed back our acceleration and fired forward thrusters, gradually we came to a (relative) stop.
A bright yellow and red spacecraft pulled up parallel to our craft. We were being hailed. Is this first contact? Did we just stumble apon the first other sapient life in the universe? With solemnity I answered the hail, "This is Commander John Andrew from the ISC Mercury speaking. On the behalf of Humanity I extend a hand of-" I was interrupted.
A voice which sounded surprisingly like my own cut in with "Do you have any idea how fast you were going sir?" I sat, surprised. I re-engaged the comm system and responded, "We were testing our new drive and were travelling at roughly 3 times the speed of light."
The comm buzzed with activity, "I've run you through the system and see this is your species first speed infraction. Please be aware that in this Universe the speed limit is the speed of light. If you need a tow, we would be more than willing to return you to your home system. If not, please try to keep your speed under c."
________________________________________________
/r/SirLemoncakes | The day had arrived.
On a space station high above the earth, thousands stood silent, while millions watched at home as humanity's first Faster Than Light capable spacecraft was about to depart on its maiden voyage.
The technology was perfected over decades, with countless scientists working long hours for minimum pay for a passion that they may or may not regret later in life.
The spacecraft, dubbed Speedy McSpeedFace, was perched on a high platform, with the audience below protected by a powerful force field. The ship was unmanned, it being only an experimental vessel, but filled to the brim with technology that Star Wars could only dream of.
The announcer waited for the signal to begin the countdown.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for! The world's first Faster Than Light ship is about to launch! I have been given permission to begin the countdown! In five, four, three, two, one!"
The ship started its engines, at first slowly, then at maximum throttle.
The ensuing explosion ripped the space station, the force field, and the earth apart, disintegrating it into pure plasma that collided with the other planets at speeds faster than light. The other planets were completely vaporized, turning into swirling vortexes of pure annihilation that caused everything they touched to cease to exist.
As the ship traveled through the universe, everything it touched was completely destroyed, leaving behind nothing but an infinitely hot space that cause disruptions in space and time. Stars that had been born in the dawn of time found themselves going supernova in the blink of an eye, black holes were torn apart by their own gravity, nebulae exploding with the force of the Big Bang.
The observable universe was left a desolate wasteland.
The ship left the boundaries of the known universe and headed into the unknown, where a race of aliens known as ponies found it and were subsequently destroyed. | 2018-11-04T05:58:54 | 2018-11-04T05:34:15 | 1,132 | 19 |
[WP] You’re just an ordinary man trying to live a normal life, the problem is that you’re the chosen one of at least a half dozen prophesies. | Daily Schedule:
**8:00 AM:** Wake Up, Record Last Night's Cryptic Dream
**MY DREAM LAST NIGHT WAS:**
*Falcon the Horrific was standing over my bruised and broken body, gloating over his great victory. Then Tryptic the World-Devourer showed up, holding my mother by the throat and threatening her life. Falcon and Tryptic began arguing over whose night it was to threaten me through nightmares, which gave me enough time to get about forty-five minutes of sleep.*
**8:30 AM:** Get ready for work. Brush teeth, brush hair, brush cherry blossoms off of bedside table after Denara pops up to tempt me once again to join her and the rest of the succubi. Note to self: look for cleaner who specializes in cherry blossoms.
**9:00 AM:** Make toast. Convince toaster that I cannot talk to/control machines. Hope it doesn't notice the contradiction.
**9:15 AM:** Drive to work. Drive. Not fly. Not run through time. Not call upon Pegasus to take me. Better not give him any false hope.
**10:00 AM:** Clock in. Say hi to Glen. Pretend I haven't noticed that Glen has been replaced by a demon in an effort to gain my trust and murder me when I let my guard down. I think Denara believes I like Glen more than I really did. I fucking hate Glen. So, like... whatever.
**11:30 AM:** Staff meeting. Ignore projector typing out WELCOME FLESH SAVIOR. Coffee break before Glen poisons it.
**2:00 PM:** Lunch. Weekly training with Minerva, she's trying to get me to learn how to shoot fireballs. I only just mastered ice, what's going to be enough for her?
**3:45 PM:** Second coffee break. Glen poisoned it. I forgot. Whoops.
**4:15 PM:** Change clothes after daily meet-cute with another woman fated to be my lover. She was blonde today, and we spilled coffee on each other. When our hands touched I had a flashback to a past life in which she was a fallen angel and I was a demon. Neat.
**7:00 PM:** Clock out. Try to ignore Glen's head spinning on its axis as he screams SURPRISE MORTAL, etc.
**7:45 PM:** Pick up Taco Bell and brown hair dye on my way home. Blue hair was cool when I was 19. When is it going to stop growing in blue?
**8:30 PM:** Catch up on Great British Bake Off. Ignore television attempting to communicate. Ignore Pegasus sitting sadly outside my dog door.
​
**8:45 PM:** I caved, and let Pegasus in. I'm still not going to ride him... but he likes ear scritches. | *Knock Knock*
Damn it. Those accursed people could not leave you alone! This has been the 5th time this week and it's starting to get annoying. They just would not leave me alone in peace. A clap of thunder rings throughout the house, and the knocking grows ever the more fiercer. I debated over opening the door, but decided to humor the man outside.
I walk over and open the damn creaky old door, and pray for this to end quickly.
I'm greeted by a masked man cloaked in black surrounded in a cloud of rain. He suddenly rushes in the house and shuts the door behind him quickly.
"W-what do are you doing in my house!" I say as my voice crack.
"Have you not read any of the prophecies?" says the man looking surprised.
"I-I may have dismissed the prophecies as false..." I responded.
"I apologize for barging in like that then," said the cloaked man."I had thought you would have known about it now."
The man spoke again, "Let me run through what you have missed because of your ignorance."
The man motioned for me to sit down near the table by the fireplace. Then, as the hours went by, he told me tales upon tales and how these prophecies came to be. Apparently, these prophecies are very recent and have just been spoken by an Oracle 15 nights ago. Then, as the sun starts to rise, the man seems to zone out for a few seconds and is listening to an unknown force.
"I made a mistake." The man said as he suddenly stands.
"What did you do wrong?" I say quickly.
"I haven't told you what the prophecies say for details," Says the man, "So I will tell you now. The specification was Blue eyes, blond hair, and olive skin. This applies to nearly all of the prophecies. The Oracle narrowed it down to you, but it seems she, and everyone else who knocked on your door, has made a mistake."
"So I'm not the foretold person in the prophecies?" I exclaimed.
"Correct, but you have heard things people would kill for, and pay good money for. I'm sorry, but you have to be *Silenced."* The man says quietly.
I try to reason with the man, but when that failed, I fled. I could hear my heartbeat as my fear rose to even higher heights. I ran outside the house, in hopes that someone will help me. However, it is too early in the morning for anyone to be up. The sun has just risen, and even the rooster hasn't crowed. I attempt to hide, but the cloaked man finds me in seconds. My eyes widen in fear, as the cloth was shoved in my mouth. I start to black out, but the last thing I see was the cloaked man, the accursed, *cloaked, man.*
(Sorry if this sounded bad. First time doing dialogue and second time ever posting on this subreddit I think. Please tell me any grammar mistakes or anything I should change that doesn't flow right.)
| 2018-11-14T20:19:16 | 2018-11-14T19:16:14 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] All of your life you’ve seen numbers above everyone’s heads, displaying not the days they’ve lived, or days they have left- but the number of miles they have traveled. One day while walking you see an old man smiling at a café, and his number is a 1. You sit down and ask him his story. | The man smiles and flags down the sole waitress in the near empty cafe. She comes up to the booth we're seated at and says, "What can I do for you and your friend today?"
"Let's make that coffee for two Barbara."
Barbara shortly returns with a pot of coffee two mugs, a small bowl of sugar cubes, and a small container of cream. She pours out two cups, dropping two sugars and a half second of cream into the one in front of the man.
I motion that I'm good to make my own and she leaves with a smile. The man takes a sip and sits back.
"Now where shall we start?
You see, for the past 87 years of my existence I've never left this town. Burrendough is all I've ever known - maybe all I ever will know. But I'm getting ahead of myself now, how can I talk about the future when you don't know the past?
I was born on November 25th, in 1931 to Jonathan Wilkin and Margaret Hillcrest. Burrendough was just as it is today. Hank's General Store, on the corner of Fourth and Main. The tiny post office tucked away near Seventh and Juniper. This very cafe, Third and Main.
My father and mother cared for me like any other parent would. They loved me when I needed love and punished me as needed. My parents never planned to send me to school, it was too difficult and far to do so.
Due to not attending school and being an only child I often felt lonely, but when I did I would just go fishing at Oak Lake. It would be difficult for me to get there, especially on my own, but it wasn't too far.
I never went out onto the lake, no, that was far too dangerous to do on my own. I didn't have to move at all, I just sat on the pier and whittled away the hours.
For how many months I did that, I couldn't tell you. All I know is one day Jane came.
'You don't go to school?'
'No,' I replied. The other kids in Burrendough would make fun of me, but Jane just accepted it as if it was as normal as the sun rising or rain falling.
From that day on, I went to the pier everyday. Jane would visit me every other day. Sometimes she would teach me whatever she learned at school that day. Other days she would talk about how her dad came back home drunk again. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. I could spend a whole day telling you about those days, but the magic is usually lost on those who experience it second-hand, so I'll save you the time.
Time passed, though I would have been content to spend the rest of my life on that lake with Jane, and on one warm summer evening she tells me, 'I'm leaving tomorrow.'
I remember feeling devastated. I had known for the past two years that she had always planned to go to high school in 'the big city' but it didn't soften the pain at all. I cried. I was frustrated that I couldn't go with her. But most of all I was angry that the first and only girl I loved was leaving.
She hugged me and said, 'I'll miss you. But I promise I'll come back and then we'll both leave. I'll come save you, one day. I'll become a famous scientist, just wait for me.'
After Jane left, the world went on, and after a few weeks I got up and joined it as well. And well, the rest is history."
I sat there and it was as if I was leaning on a wall and it just disappeared and I fell over.
"Wait, that's it?"
The man smiles gently and nods.
"She didn't come back?"
"Oh not yet, but I'm sure she will, one day."
I stood up, "But you didn't even tell her you loved her. She didn't write? Not since?"
He just sits there and gives a helpless smile, "I wouldn't know - I've never checked."
Barbara comes by and says, "What's happening here Joe? Going out for a walk with your guest? I can fetch the chair."
"Chair?" I ask. Why would he need a chair? We're sitting in a booth. Then it dawns on me. I bend over and look under the dark booth table, and then everything made sense. The single mile - the reason he had never left this town wasn't because he didn't want to, it was because he couldn't.
I couldn't stand it. There was no way Jane never wrote back. I say, "Wait right here, I know she has to have sent you something," and run to find wherever Seventh and Juniper is.
 
The door chimes sing as the door slowly returns to its regular state after being hastily swung open.
"Young ones today," Barbara says with happy resignation. She tops off Joe's cup and says, "You know what to do if you need anything," before retreating to the kitchen.
Joe leans back and closes his eyes. It had been a while since he had talked about Jane, and he felt a deep loneliness resurface.
The door chimes sing again. "Fast one isn't he?" Barbara jokes from the kitchen. The door makes a gentle thump as it shuts, returning the cafe to its stillness.
A woman's voice breaks the silence.
"Hi, I'm looking for a Joe Wilkin."
 
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Hey all, I'm pretty new to WritingPrompts and writing creatively in general, so any feedback or critique is extremely useful! There are definitely elements that I think I missed out on or butchered the execution of, but I hope it wasn't too bad. Thank you for reading! | I went down to one of my favorite diners, Mitchel's, to grab some lunch. Mitchel's was an old 60's style diner with a long bar where the patrons would gather to drink coffee, eat pie or shoot the shit. It was one of those few magic places left sprinkled around dried up highways. Where that past you find on coffee cans and baseball cards still pretends to exist. A comfy lie filled with Mom and Pop, apple pie and the American Dream^(TM). Not the dirty, ugly past we have. It brings out that mollifying zeitgeist. Letting yourself believe those lies and getting lost in a world that never existed, that's the magic it has.
The doors opened easy and I walked in and said hello to the familiar faces. Old timers wearing long faces, mileages going up every time I saw em. Others went up real slow, just creeping along. On rare occasions we get kid's in for dates, to share a milkshake, to join in the illusion. Little numbers you knew were about to skyrocket. The waitress was always nice enough. Wore one of those old time waitress uniforms, yknow, the long blue shirt that buttons down the middle, apron wrapped around her waist. She settled here a few years ago. Said she and her beau just got shacked and were on the road to find their fortune. Her meter goes up slowest of all. But still she's on time and smiling every day. Even draws on a little Marilyn Monroe beauty mark over her lip. Living the dream.
So I got a coffee and a cheap sandwich and went to find a place to eat. It was early, and I usually like to eat watching the sun poke over the hills. It's a nice way to start a day if you can get up early enough. I digress. I'm halfway to find a seat and I notice this real nervous guy sitting in the corner booth, back to the wall with hands shaking like maracas. The Disease is alive and well in this town, so we get out share of tweekers and freakers. Usually it's heroin, meth, or lately fentanyl. I just assume he's trying to come down off a hard night, but then I see his ticker. Big old 1.
Now that's just not how the system works. You get miles for how far you go. I mean that. Unless this man literally grew up in that diner booth and moved once a year, there is no physical way he could have a 1. So I'm intrigued. I sit down opposite him to hear him out.
His eyes dart to me when I sit, but there's no real threat in them. Just fear and paranoia. I guess he decides I'm okay, because he hunches back over and keeps looking around the restaurant. I eat my lunch in peace and he's still fidgeting and jumping around. Hasn't even said a word to me. By this time I've ascertained he's not a junkie of any stature. His demeanor and mannerisms did not have the desperate self loathing that is usually present. He did, however, appear not to have slept for a few days. His hair was matted, his clothes dirty, and his stench abysmal. I pitied him tremendously.
I asked his name and he mumbled it back. I asked him if he was okay. He said yes, then no, then dejectedly hung his head and said he didn't know. He was in a very sorry state indeed. I began to calm him down and attempted to coax out of him the cause of these base state of affairs. He told me a story.
He had met a girl and fallen in love. They never left each other's side, believed in each other and supported the other. They had both gotten through college and got good jobs. Then the wife got depressed. It's a depressing word today. Maybe it always has been. But it is today. So the wife tried to get happy again, and this gentlemen tried to help her. He would be her shoulder to cry on, her emotional support, her best friend when needed. He drove her from one expensive therapy to the next. Some people have a hard time being happy. Suppose you can blame it on a lot of things but to me it mostly just seems to be dumb luck. After so long the doctors gave her pills that she wasn't supposed to take with alcohol. But then she did. Then she said they wouldn't work without the alcohol. The man tried to talk with her, but he couldn't reason with her. Couldn't recognize her. But when she needed something, or when he got close to leaving, he'd see the old her. Begging for help. Sobbing for his help. Claiming he was the only thing that could help her. That she'd kill herself if he didn't. So he tried harder. And the bills got more expensive, the appointments more frequent. The prescription refills, near constant. And she didn't get better. And he didn't know what to do.
And that led him here. To our small American town in a dingy mirage of a diner. After walking for so long and taking so many buses, he finally decided after four days that this was the greasy spoon to rest at. Figures. He said he didn't know what to do. Said he felt abused, but that he also felt like a coward. He told me he had nowhere to go, and nothing to go on. He said he left her everything. All the money they had left, their cars, the house. He said he just up and went. I asked him if he thought he was making the right choice. He said he didn't know. I sat there for a while in silence and looked at the one hovering above his head. I told him I doubt anyone would know what to do in every situation. He nodded to that so I like to think he took it to heart. He looked at me and said something about wanting to find his American Dream.
I laughed.
I gave him a roll of bills and told him to head the opposite direction of wherever he just came from. He smiled and left. I don't know whatever happened to him. | 2018-11-22T20:08:20 | 2018-11-22T20:07:01 | 165 | 21 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've had 4 coins that you are able to teleport to. You lost one a while ago and have been to scared to ever go to it. One day you teleport to the one you keep in your bedroom and you find yourself in an interrogation room, with 2 strange looking soliders walking towards you. | The concept of coins is interesting, really.
It's a small disk of metal used as currency, which in turn can be used to get anything else a person needs. That small piece of metal would usually be useless, but we assign it a value. It's only important because we say so.
Well, that's not the case for me. My four coins have a bit more to it than that.
I never really understood how it worked, but I'm able to appear where these bits of metal are located whenever I want. With a power like this, people would usually go insane. For me? It makes things a lot easier when shopping, going to school, and travelling. Sure, I did lose one a while back. But the three that I have work just fine. Honestly would say it's the most convenient part of my life.
Except today. As I attempted to teleport to the home coin as usual, I was met with a cold room, three people, and two guns pointed towards my face. The room was oblong, and was empty save for the table, chairs, and a single window.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," snarled the man in the middle.
Of course, most people would like to imagine themselves as badasses that would Kung Fu their ways out of such situations. Not me.
So I panicked. I tried teleporting to my school coin, only to be met by the same people except in a different chair. The man in the middle gave me a coy smile while the other two guards had their barrels still pointed straight at my forehead.
Well then.
"Wh-what do you want from me?" I stuttered. Looking around the room, I could see the third coin in a chair across from me, while the first one was directly to my left. There was no escape - except...
"Listen" the man stated. "I'll give you two options, plain and simple. Your ability is useful, but also a threat. You have one second to join us, or die."
I closed my eyes and tried to teleport to the fourth coin - the only chance I had.
And when I opened them again, I was right back where I started, in the middle of the meeting room.
"Open fire."
And I panicked again. In fact, I felt like I was warping around the room as the bullets streaked past me - and then I realized.
The guards couldn't hit me - I was teleporting around too fast.
After the next teleportation, the magazines of the enemy clicked empty. I ducked under the table, grabbing the nearest coin with me. With nowhere to turn, I chucked the coin out the window.
As the magazines of the guns clicked shut again, I turned to see the barrels point under the table.
I appeared in the middle of a snowy wood, lying on the ground. I felt my arms and legs. No blood. I was still whole.
I grabbed the coin on the ground next to me, feeling the cool metal in my hand.
Somebody was after me, and wanted me dead. People were after me and wanted me dead. But if they wanted me dead, I wasn't just going to sit there and die.
There was no time to freak out. I turned around to see the building doors behind me open, revealing the two guards and their menacing weaponry.
I flipped the coin in my hand again.
Come get some.
| I look down and see the designated bedroom coin in my hand, my other hand on the other 2 in my pocket. Damn it.
"Holy shit, we got him!" One of the soldiers says as he pulls out handcuffs. I only have one option now, I don't want to do it, but I can't lose these coins. Where could it be? I got drunk on the beach with only that coin, and woke up in my bed without it. It might be in the ocean! Hopefully someone picked it up and put it on there table or something. I'll just pop in and jump out a window like the time someone managed to steal one of these. Well, luckily that time they didn't know that it's a beacon for a teleporting outlaw.
"Well, almost." I say as I take a deep breath. As I stumble forward onto the soldier to inconspicuously slide a coin his uniform, I fade into the air.
I find myself in a meeting room at a table surrounded by suits. Damn it, it was in someones pocket!
"Oh, hi, wrong room! I'll find my way out!" I nervously mumble as I get up to start my escape. Then I notice it. None of them are suprised, and my coin isn't in my hand where it should be. Why it it glued to the chair?
"Sit back down, we've been waiting for you." The big one at the head of the table says. The really big one. Holy shit, this guy is literally 10 feet tall!
"What? Who are you guys?" I say as my head darts around the room looking for a window to throw a coin out of.
"We are the Council who you have been evading."
"Evading? I don't recognize any of you! Ive just been living my life, I havent been escaping anyone but the police!"
"Well, we arent able to find you within an urban area, It is very difficult to go there undetected."
"Ok? Why dont you just call or find me somewhere else?"
"3 years ago, you left the city and went to the coast, a coincidentally perfect place to meet you."
Thats when I lost my coin! How did they know what it's for?
"So what happened?"
"Well we approached you out of the ocean to talk to you, and you mumbled something about 'sea monsters' as you tossed that coin over our heads and vanished into the air."
"Oh! I remember now! You guys are the sea monsters that walked out of the ocean! How can you guys do that with no equipment?" I scan the room and realize that there are only a few other humans.
"Some of us don't need equipment. Why did you throw that precious coin at a group of strangers?"
"I was going to try to kill you guys with the exploding head attack." A look of, what I think is, horror sweeps the room.
"The what??" A small elf-looking thing with four small vials in front of him shouts. Then I realize everybody has four of the same object in front of them, with the same colors as my coins.
"Ive only had to do it once before, but basically I throw the coin into your mouth and teleport to it and-"
"STOP! We've heard enough! This is why you need the council!" A lanky old man with four books in front of him, one of them open, yells to me.
"Close that before you hurt someone, Zarron!"
Zarron... I've heard that name before somewhere.. who is he? The big one looks back to me.
"Well anyways, we have a job, and we need your ability."
Part 2 to come. | 2019-03-10T21:22:20 | 2019-03-10T20:10:37 | 1,454 | 45 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've had 4 coins that you are able to teleport to. You lost one a while ago and have been to scared to ever go to it. One day you teleport to the one you keep in your bedroom and you find yourself in an interrogation room, with 2 strange looking soliders walking towards you. | Teleporting to an unexpected location is a little like reaching for a cool glass of water on your nightstand after a heavy night of drinking, only to spray tequila across your bed. This was not my bedroom. My bedroom didn't have glass walls.
The pair walking towards me did not look friendly. Reflexively, I raised my arms as they entered the room. The taller one pointed to a plastic chair.
I sat. The shorter one got straight to the point.
"Where is your fourth coin, Miss Conway?" She dropped her meaty hands on the table in front of me.
"...Lawyer?" I hazarded. The tall one smirked.
"I'm afraid that isn't possible. You have not been arrested, and we are not members of the constabulary. I am Mr Jones. This is my colleague, Miss Smith. You are here because we hope that you can assist us in an ongoing investigation of a... private nature.
Miss Smith rolled her eyes.
"We don't have time for this shit! Start talking girlie; where'd you put it?"
I sat back and thought for a second. They had three of them. Which ones? It was logical to assume they'd found the one I kept in my villa in the Caymans, and the one in my apartment in Prague. The third one would be much, much harder to get hold of.
My concentration was broken by a fist smacking into the table. Shortstack was getting impatient.
"Which ones have you found?" I asked. To my surprise, Mr Jones took a slick-looking tablet out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons. Taking a slim wristband from his other pocket, he held it towards me.
"Please put this on." I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "It's a teleport blocker. We can't have you teleporting out the minute you figure out *which* locations are already full of guards."
"Guards trained to kill on sight!" Miss Smith interjected.
I held out my wrist. If they were willing to shoot me on sight, it was probably a good idea to stay put and play along. He snapped the bracelet on and tapped his tablet. A red light started to blink. I wasn't going anywhere.
"Every time you teleport you leave a signature; a pheromone trail, if you will. Did you know that, Miss Conway?"
I didn't. These things didn't come with particularly detailed instructions. Smith gave me a leering smile.
"Locating you was a doddle. From our readings, we surmised that you've been using them for years." This was also true. When I found out what they did I figured I'd save myself some airfares.
"We found your place in Prague," said Mr Jones; "That was easy. Your little nest in the Caymans was harder to track down; the sea interferes with the signal somewhat, and it appears you visit less frequently. Your home, of course, stood out like a beacon. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been? Those coins you're using so frivolously are incredibly rare and ridiculously powerful, and when they fall into the wrong hands..."
"That's when we show up." They both stared me down.
"The fourth coin, Miss Conway. Where is it?"
I think it was the note of tiredness in his voice that made me open up to them. They looked like the cops in one of those buddy movies; the ones where they're trying to stop some nutcase from blowing up the city and they've been awake for a couple of days. There were shadows under their eyes, and, on second inspection, the wrinkles on their clothes stood out.
"I lost it, ok? Poker game, couple years back." Their jaws dropped. Jones looked at me like I'd just fallen off the back of the short bus.
"You gambled a teleport coin?" Smith was ready to burst.
"I didn't know what they were back then! I'd only just... fuck. I'd only just stolen them, okay? I left a couple in my apartment back in Los Angeles and one of them was sitting in my hotel room upstairs - I knew they were worth something I just hadn't had a chance to get them valued yet. I have a guy in Vegas, he gives me good prices. But I got invited to this game...." I trailed off.
"Who did you lose it to?"
"Ever heard of King Lonnie? Vegas fixer. Runs a lot of games; the kind you want to be invited to but don't want to see him at, if you know what I mean. I didn't know it was his game until I sat down; I should have left right then and there, but you don't want to be rude to these guys. I figured I was going to lose my money already - I knew the minute I sat down at the table that I was the sucker. But, I didn't do so badly. Couple hours later it was just me and the King. He had most of the pot by then; I was hanging on by a couple of thousand. Then this sweet, sweet hand comes up. I'm sitting on kings over aces. He nails me with the aces.
"But the coin? How did you lose it?"
"Well, I was out. But Lonnie, he wasn't done with me. Offered me a loan. I didn't want to take it, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of pissing him off either. Then I reach into my pocket and my hand closes around the coin. The minute he sees it, his eyes light up. He tells me he'll stake me a 20K buy in to a big ticket game the next week. It was too good an offer to turn down. There's no way I'd have gotten that from my guy; when I took him the other coin he said it was worth maybe a couple hundred bucks.
"And then what?"
I went to the game, I won big. Few hundred Gs, set me up pretty good. I had a run of luck after that. Never saw the King play again.
A wrinkle crossed the brow of Mr Jones.
"So how did you learn of the coins' powers?
"Day after the big game I finally got one of the other coins valued. I decided to hang onto it, and as I was walking back towards the strip I started thinking. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the King wanted it so bad. I was trying to remember where I'd stashed the other two, and then I just kind of pictured them sitting on my bookshelf. A second later I was stumbling into my own den, which gave me a hell of a shock. I realized I'd left my luggage in Vegas, along with the other coin. The moment I thought of it I was back in my hotel. After scaring the life out of the housekeeper I grabbed my stuff and pictured the coins on the shelf again, teleported home and spent the next few days trying to figure out what the hell they were."
"And where is King Lonnie now?" asked Mr Jones.
"He's dead," I told them, enjoying the surprise on their faces. "How!" they shouted in unison.
"I killed him last year." I dropped the teleport blocker on the floor. My story had lasted long enough to find it's weak point and wiggle the catch loose. Easy if you know what you're doing. Snatching the tablet from Mr Jones' hands, I thought of my final coin, which was hidden in a dingy flat near Heathrow. As a precaution, I'd used it only once per location, stashing it near a major airport every time I traveled. Within an hour I was checking in for my next flight.
The tablet would prove to be a most interesting source of information.
(Edit: feedback appreciated, especially grammar critique of dialogue. I might continue this, it's a fun theme).
Edit with update: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheFrontDesk/comments/b9q09g/hey_storytellers_of_tftfd_may_i_please_run_a/
This isn't a thing or a book I just thought of a scene for Jones and Smith. They're persistent buggers demanding to be written. | The golden sun beat down on the African veldt. Waves of heat that glistened through amber straws of grass. A soft breeze carried the thick odor of hot sand and burnt oil, an oppressive scent that worked its way through the senses, tickling the throat with a metallic tingle. Sweat beat down heavy brows and lingered like a glistening sheen that caught the amber dirt, the sharp, bitter and biting sign of a hard day’s work.
Six men gathered around the drill like lions to a carcass, dark skin in stark contrast with their lightly wrapped crimson Shúkà, sipping turbid water from sun-bleached milk cartons. They sat and watched the rhythmic whirr and reciprocating motion of the drill. Up and down, spin and turn—repeat.
One man stood not in admiration or curiosity, but in sheer terror. The engineer Thomas, his life’s work hanging in the balance, laced his fingers behind his head. He wore khaki shorts and an off-grey, low cut shirt, now stained magenta from sweat-soaked sand. He tapped his boots nervous against the dirt.
“Ahh—kizee—you worry too much,” said Kipkirui, Thomas’s guide and translator. He grinned, nodding towards the plastic pipe slowly descending into the earth. “Have some faith.”
Thomas paced in a curious circle around the drill, but a small smile formed at the corners of his chapped lips. “I wish I had half as much faith in the well as you have in me.”
“Bah! You’re too hard. Lighten up, kizee, we did clever work today. Come, sit down, relax.”
Kipkirui tossed his head back, looking up into the deep blue sky. He lay back against a padded mound of dirt, running coarse stalks of grass through his calloused hands. The course bite of sand, the scorch of the sun, the deep emptiness of the sky–this was all he had ever known. And it had been enough.
Then Thomas arrived with gifts of science like magic, the water wizard who promised a simpler life through mechanical complexity. A strange, mysterious fellow who walked softly and spoke even softer. There was an air of mystery behind his eyes, some shadow of doubt that Kipkirui couldn’t recognize.
Thomas sat beside him, spreading his legs with a quick shuffle.
Kipkirui chuckled. “Go without your ngodha underneath those shorts for one day. Let some air in.”
“Let some bugs in too, I imagine,” Thomas said.
“Bugs, air, dirt, sweat—all the same.”
Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow. “We’re pushing the drill too hard.”
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Kipkirui said.
Thomas frowned. “It’s making that whine again. We’re not cooling the oil enough.”
“That’s bad?”
The drill hummed along in tireless labor. Its pumps sucked and belched coolant onto the forged drill bit, hot oil greasing the internal machinery like brown ichor. The apparatus shivered and shook in the hot afternoon.
“We’ve had three failures already, I don’t want this to be a fourth,” Thomas said. “We should call it for today, pick back up tomorrow.”
“As you say, kizee,” Kipkirui said in disappointment.
Kipkirui stood and dusted off his palms. The other four tribesmen rose like agitated lions, quarreling in their native tongue on why the work was stopping. Kipkirui gave the best explanation he could, and the men seemed satiated for the time.
Thomas switched off the drill. Two more days of work and the village would have a replenishable, fully renewable supply of clean water. Two more days of hot sweltering heat and crimson sand.
Then—onto the next village. Again, and again, until Thomas could sleep soundly at night.
The men walked back towards the village with Thomas and Kipkirui behind them. They carried long spears and walked with a heightened sense of their surroundings, always watchful. One could never be too careful of the dangers that prowled the veldtlands.
Kipkirui lowered his voice so that only Thomas could hear. “Will you be back to your island tonight?”
Thomas nodded. “It’s been a few days, I should pop in for a bit.”
“One day—take me with you, yeah?”
“I wish I could”—he gazed forlorn at the trees dotting the horizon—“I really do.”
This was his life, but this was his curse. The marvelous ability to travel instantaneously and without effort, but alone, always alone.
It wasn’t always like this. Thomas once led a simple life. He woke at the rising sun, worked his diligence for the corporate machine, and paid his takes like anyone else. He had a supportive girlfriend who approved of his aquarium hobby and took a genuine interest in his pet mandarin goby named Franklin.
Thomas’s family was another story. His grandfather, Marrion, worked research for the government back in the 60’s. Top secret engineering and physics; the kind of job that didn’t exist. Thomas always received the strangest of presents from his grandfather, mostly handmade electronics and quirky gadgets. They sparked and popped and buzzed with wonder. How curious and how marvelous, how captivating for young Thomas!
But the strangest gift of all came in a sealed manilla envelope four day’s after Marrion’s funeral: A handwritten note that simply said, ‘*Life’s a great adventure, go and find yours’*
The note also held a handwritten set of GPS coordinates and a three-digit combination, *13-23-11.* This opened a combination lock to a storage box disguised as a birdhouse; within the box, Thomas discovered four antique coins that changed his life forever.
Years later, and thousands of miles away from home, Thomas found himself at the edge of an African village, shaking hands with Kipkirui at the door to his trailer.
“I’ll see you when the sun rises, kizee,” Kipkirui said.
“Till tomorrow, then,” Thomas said.
Thomas opened and shut the door, walking inside. The cramped trailer was nothing more than a bedroom on wheels. A great queen bed dominated the space; he took a great whiff of sweaty, stale sheets. Newspapers littered the floral pattered carpet. Empty, crinkled bags of tortilla chips overfilled the small rubbish bin stuffed in the corner. The trailer lacked electricity, storage, a bathroom, a refrigerator, any other creature comforts rendered superfluous by Thomas’s teleportation. The only notable feature of the trailer was a welded, locked safe.
Its contents: one antique coin, the waypoint Thomas used to return to Africa.
He grabbed the sheets in a bundle. Then he concentrated, reaching out with his mind until he barely touched the waypoint of his beach home in the Bahamas. With a thought and a snap of his fingers, he vanished.
Instant, searing pain coursed through his veins like fire. He screamed. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed in his vision like a bubble around him. He gritted his teeth as something pulled and ripped him through the bubble, crashing through and flinging him against a whitewashed wall like a freight train.
His head smacked against the concrete. Dazed and confused, he watched helplessly as two uniforms in white suits grabbed him forcibly. They wore black glasses and black latex gloves that gave no secrets. A funny, pulsing disk was emblazoned on the lapel of their sterile lab-coats, and while they acted in a serious, coordinated manner, their faces bore the same expression of surprise as Thomas.
One of the men spoke with authority. “It worked. By god, it actually worked. We got him.”
The other addressed Thomas directly. “Don’t bother trying to blink out of here.”
Thomas cursed as he slowly regained his motor functions. He started to struggle, adrenaline filling his veins. “Gerroffme,’ he mumbled.
The second man shuffled, holding up a picture. Thomas recognized the scene—his parent’s home.
“We took this picture today. Such a delightful home, with such charming people living inside. It would be a shame for something unfortunate to happen to them, yes?” The man said.
Thomas coughed, spitting up a wet globule of blood. “Who are you, what do you want from me?”
The first man smiled and removed a clear baggie from within the pockets of his lab coat. Inside, covered in barnacles, was an old, long-lost golden coin.
“We can be a lot of things, depending on your cooperation. For now, you can call us ‘Spectre,’ and we want *everything* from you.”
​
***
This ran away from me. Hope you liked it regardless. r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2019-03-11T02:50:55 | 2019-03-10T22:53:43 | 996 | 88 |
[WP] Every 10,000 years, dragons return to drive the most advanced race to extinction. First the dwarves, then the elves, most recently the fairies, and now they’ve come for us. It turns out we’re the first race since the dwarves to even discover gunpowder, and the first that has a fighting chance. | **“In the Belly of the Beast”**
Anti-aircraft fire lit up the sky. The men of 23rd Company hunkered down in their coastal fortress. Colossal fires raged all around them. A dragon whirled overhead, dive-bombing until it was just a few hundred feet over the base. Men scrambled, ducking for cover, but one man charged out into the open, his pistol held high. His nametag read: Sgt. Wiltshire. His mustache read: *Try me.*
Wiltshire craned his neck and fired, recklessly, into the sky. He grabbed the neck of a soldier manning an anti-aircraft gun and turned him up at the dragon. “Hit the belly, for god's sake! Bring that thing down!”
The dragon hurled a screaming fireball into the base, sending it flying just a few feet over Wiltshire’s head, but his orders were followed. Explosive rounds ripped into its belly. The East Barracks went up like a tinderbox, but crimson blood splattered against the barrels of the anti-aircraft cannons. The dragon managed to stay airborne a few moments longer, but as Wiltshire watched, the beast suddenly crashed onto the beach nearby. A plume of sand shot into the night sky.
“Stay alert,” Wiltshire called out to those manning the Gatling guns. “More will be coming. They never leave their dead.” He holstered his pistol and grabbed a satchel of explosive charges. “Hanson, J.J., you’re with me. Let's go stick it to these lizards.”
*It was 2021.* The war against the dragons was entering its second year. South America had fallen in December, giving the dragons their first secure foothold on land – and just in time for mating season. It wasn’t long before they tucked away thousands of nests into the slopes of the Andes mountain range. Now those eggs were hatching. Hundreds every day. Cataclysmic assaults were being carried out across Central America and the southern United States. In Asia, the situation was more stable, but it was only a matter of time before a full-on assault crippled them as it had in the Western Hemisphere.
Wiltshire and the men of 23rd Company were isolated off the Pacific coast of Mexico, in a forward attack base constructed along with hundreds of others during the brief respite of winter. Unbeknownst to them, more than 75% of the line had been breached that night, in what would come to be known as the “Central American Firestorm.” Alone on their little peninsula, they fought on against all the odds.
Wiltshire threw himself down, forearms first, against the crest of a sand dune. His men crouched behind him. On the beach ahead lay the dragon, stiff but still radiating heat. As waves lapped against its talons, the water began to simmer, like it was on a stovetop. Even from a few hundred feet away, Wiltshire felt like his face was hovering near an open oven.
“More will be here soon," Wiltshire said, "we’ve got to get these charges set up before they do. Once they land to collect the body, we’ll detonate.”
“Sarge, if you put the charges that close, the heat will melt them. They’ll blow up in your hands.”
Wiltshire looked back with a grin, “Not if I get them inside.”
His men looked at him. *Huh?*
“Their scales radiate heat externally, to raise the temperature of the air around them. That’s how they moderate their temperature and generate their flames. Internally, they’re no warmer than you or me.” Wiltshire hoisted up his satchel of explosives.
“We’re putting this baby inside the belly of the beast. Let's go.”
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*The story continues…. if you want it to! Let me know! :)*
EDIT: Part II and Part III are in replies below! | "Seismic activity was detected in long-thought dormant volcano Vesuvius, and scientists are currently..."
Jenna jabbed a finger at the old TV set she'd hooked up in the barn, wishing her hand would stop trembling. "It's started. Just like you said it would."
The colossal mountain of purple scales rumbled. Every movement sent a cascade of flickering lights flying over the barn's rotting interior like a colony of fireflies. A single large eye blinked, examining the rust-colored blood flakes starting to peel off her side.
"**You didn't believe me**."
That voice, even trying to whisper, resonated deep in Jenna's bones. She tried not to let her butt lose circulation on the wooden stool as one foot bounced up and down nervously. "Come on. You were talking about dwarves, elves, and fairies. How was I supposed to trust that?"
"**My mere existence should've been enough. Have you ever seen a lizard as big as I? What's so fantastical about a dwarf, given that I'm real?**"
Fair point. "More dragons like you are coming soon?"
Altaria nestled her four eggs. They were such fragile things, and so small that Jenna could hardly fathom the day they'd hatch and grow up to be as large as the creature before her very eyes. Feeding Altaria was a strain on her budget. Feeding four more...? "**It won't be long now. They will rain death on your cities.**"
"We have weapons, and nukes," Jenna protested. "It will be a bloodbath, but-"
"**The dwarves had explosives, too, and nigh unshakable fortifications. The elves had fey magic and a civilization that puts yours to shame. The fairies wielded sorceries and enchantments beyond your wildest imaginations.**"
*Well, when you put it that way...*
"**Nothing stops a Weyr of Dragons. Let alone our Elite.**"
"There's got to be something," she said. Pacing around the scattered hay, she racked her brains. This was so unfair - how was a high schooler supposed to deal with the weight of the world? "Can't you talk to them? Can't we stop your Elite from waking up?"
Altaria blew out of a puff of smoke that Jenna guessed was a snort of derision. "**If it weren't for treachery of an early-waker, you wouldn't even see me until I was dive-bombing Manhattan, or whatever you call that ugly blight of steel that Gaia abhors. No, I can't talk to them, especially not if an Elite was responsible, and no, you can't even find them; humans have barely penetrated crust. We hibernate in the molten layer of the mantle.**"
"What, then?" Jenna asked, slumping against a pile of golden straw. The bristles tickled her nose. "We should just give up as a species? We're doomed?"
"**If you go down now, I will never live to see the next mating period,**" Altaria said. She winced as a slight stretch twisted the gash in her scales. "**Neither me nor my whelps. And that is unacceptable.**"
"So what can we do?" Jenna asked.
"**We train my whelps and warn your people. Only a dragon can match an Elite, and we must pray that it will be enough.**"
The orphan farm girl thrust her arms towards one of the holes in the roof of the barn, beseeching the blue August sky. "Your whelps would make pretty decent omelettes, not fighters! We don't have time, right?"
*Crk. Crack.*
Altaria extended her snout, flicking a forked tongue over the fragmenting shell. With all its strength, a tiny dragon head burst through. It made a mewling sound with eyes still closed and reached for its mother.
"**See? This child is already heeding the call of duty.**" The dragon mother looked at Jenna with a massive, unblinking amethyst pupil. "**What about you?**"
---
Thanks for reading! Hope you had fun\~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/)! We'd love to see you there :D | 2019-11-11T17:05:45 | 2019-11-11T16:20:05 | 200 | 38 |
[WP] You never miss a pill ever since you were a kid and diagnosed with a deadly illness. One night while out, you’re kidnapped by human traffickers. You plea to be let go because you’ll die without your pills. Turns out, the pills were keeping your telekinesis at bay. It’s starting to come back. | My mother always insisted that the staff had promised her they wouldn’t record or tape our visiting hours. There was a nice park on the grounds, with a basketball court and a set of swings we sometimes sit in. But I don’t like to see the huge fences around, so we just stay in my room, talking and playing games.
*“Where did you go last month?” I would ask.*
*She was a flight attendant, and had my sisters to take care of, but she always made time to see me.*
*“I went to Rio de Janeiro. Do you know where that is?”*
*“It’s…in Mexico?”*
*She laughed. “It’s in Brazil. There’s a great big mountain, with a huge statue on top.”*
*“A statue of who?”*
*“Just some guy. But that’s not even the best part. They have this huge beach…”*
*My mom took me to the beach once, when I was four. Before the men in uniforms took me to the facility. So I don’t remember much, only that the water was tough, like it was alive and scratchy.*
*I would tell my mother this.*
*“Sometimes, mom, I swear…it’s like the ocean is alive. But that’s not possible, right? It’s just water.”*
*“Well, anything is possible, sweetie.”*
And then I would ask if she thought me coming back home was possible, and she would shake her head, and take out a tissue, and mess up her makeup.
She hasn’t come in a year. The staff says this time is crucial for my recovery, and they want to limit all confounding factors.
Whatever that means.
\-
The raid was very late at night, to the point where it’s actually early. Sometimes, I get up at this time, and I have to go to the bathroom, and it’s annoying, because I have to get a guard.
But I heard noises, upstairs. My room is so deathly quiet, I’ve come to hear almost everything. I heard a bang, like something falling off a table.
Then, silence. I lay there for what seemed like an eternity, wondering if it was safe to fall asleep.
Finally, the door opened, and I heard footsteps. I dared not look. I didn’t see who had come until he was standing over me.
His face was long, especially from my angle. The man had a rough face. One of his eyes was not like the other, and he had several long cuts his stubble failed to hide. But still, he looked sad, like looking at me hurt.
“He’s so young,” he said, his voice soft. “It will be so easy for them.”
“To do what?” another voice asked.
“To make him into what they want.”
And then he reached into the pocket of his pants, and stuck a needle into my arm.
(to be continued below) | I can't believe it ends like this. I get to die tied to a chair in some god forsaken... actually I don't know where I am exactly. I see large crates like shipping containers for boats. Dock maybe?
I just know that this is where I die because the powers at be saw it fit to give some super rare disease that will give me a brain aneurysm if I don't take some stupid pills. I tried to explain, begged, bartered, appealed to whatever shred of humanity these people had left but no freedom for me. Turns out even a corpse can have uses according to my captors. God I hope its just my organs they want.
At least it will be quick. I hope. My head is already feeling kinda funny. Get these awful headaches if I miss a dose.
"I could really use my pills. Please let me go" I try to say while feeling like head is on fire.
"Oh I got your pills." Said one of three captors and punches me right in the eye. Punch number five. Was it six? I don't know anymore.
I fall over, and get to add concussion to list of issues. Yay, I'm a real achievement hunter when it comes to head issues.
The three just laugh. Oh real funny stuff. Beating a soon to be dead man tied to a chair. The pinnacle of comedy.
I look at them and see they are between two containers. I just imagine them being smashed in like something out a cartoon. Yea that would be funny. Them flat as pancakes. I close my eyes and I can see it clearly. In my little own head cartoon I go through all the motions of how it would go. The two containers moving quickly and loudly. The look of shock on the three as they realize they are done. I lose myself in it. Next thing I know I hear actual loud noises and a crash.
I open my eyes and notice the containers are closer together. Like right next to each other close and a pool of blood.
"OH SHIT" I scream. I don't hear anyone moving or machine.
"Who is out there?" I yell out into the empty warehouse.
"Please help" I say.
Nothing, I appear to be alone or my hero is deaf or an asshole anti-hero type.
I lay there thinking about how the very thing I imagined just happened in real life. I try something else. I try to imagine the rope holding me snaps. I close my eyes and try to picture it as clearly as possible.
Next thing I know I don't feel the rope anymore. I open my eyes and its on the ground and not holding me.
I am free, but how? Do I have superpowers? Is my hero invisible and can communicate via thoughts?
At this point I don't care. I rush to the door. Locked, of course. I close my eyes and imagine it flying off the hinges away from me. It worked.
I HAVE A SUPERPOWER. Oh wait my inevitable death. Wait, I am not dead yet. Maybe there is time. Time to get home, but first I need to figure out where I am.
This is gonna be quite a night. | 2019-11-13T22:35:17 | 2019-11-13T22:10:46 | 95 | 19 |
[WP] "So yea, I'm kind of a chicken magnet." "Don't you mean chick magnet?" *Distant Bawking Intensifies* "We've gotta go, NOW!" | **Day 5:** These past few days have been the strangest. I don't know if I'm losing my mind or this is actually happening, but it would appear that everywhere I go, it's following me, bobbing its head up and down, as it walks in my shadow.
**Day 18:** Today, while I was talking to a villager in Paddenvale I saw his chickens gather to the fence, all staring at me, like they were listening to my words.
**Day 24:** The fucker has friends. Everywhere I go I hear their stupid little feet quickly tapping away behind me. They all seem to vanish when I turn around to face them.
**Day 55:** They're everywhere. Every single interaction in my day includes a chicken. I'm unable to catch them or scare them away.
**Day 57:** I tried to cross the lake swimming but they were waiting for me on the other side.
**Day 61:** Today, as I was opening a bag to show a villager my produce, a freaking chicken flew out of it and spilled everything.
**Day 77:** Chickens EVERYWHERE! Today, as I was squatting down, doing my business, I was ambushed by a dozen of them. I quickly covered my shame with my hands and ran like a madman through the woods.
**Day 91:** They're in the bushes. Everywhere I look, I see their beady yellow eyes piercing the darkness, staring back at me. I'm trying to fall asleep, but as I start drifting away, I feel pressure on my chest. Something's pushing me down. I try to open my eyes, but I only see darkness. I'm hearing muffled rustling all around my tent. A low growling noise starts getting louder.
# BWAAAAAAAAAK | Darren: Bro what the fuck we just got here!
*The distant bawking gets louder*
Jared: Dude shut the hell up I know what I'm doing. Fuck, hide!
*Jared pulls Darren into an alley way that is much too tight for two dudebros to be in legally as its definitely not at least 5 feet between them*
Darren: Jared what the fuck-
Jared: Shh!
Darren: Every fucking wednesday with you I swear.
Jared: Dude fucking SHHHH!
Darren: No Jared I'm seriously done, dude. I was fine when you accidentally dinged my car and when you ate my icecream. And I let it slide when you somehow managed to turn yourself inside out at my cousin's bar mitsvah but, thi is-
*Darren is cut off by the sight of hundreds of chickens the size of a small child, probably named Timmothy or Nathan and really like pokemon or something like really really likes pokemon. Like to an unhealthy degree. Oh and they're carrying pitchforks or whatever stupid shit I decided last minute during this tangent.*
Darren: What the fuck did you do this time Jared?
Jared: I already told you chicken magnet.
Darren: That- That doesn't... Where did you even get a chicken magnet?
Jared: Chicken Mage.
Darren: A chicken mage?
Jared: Yeah. Are You deaf?
Darren: I'm not even going to ask how.
Jared: You sure it's a crazy story.
Darren: Yeah, no. I'm good.
Jared: You sure? It's really good!
Darren: Jared, I don't have time for this. I'm going home.
Jared: Wait what about me? Those things'll eat me alive!
*Darren leaves the scene and went home without Jared. Which I guess is a dick move but, to be fair. He did this to himself. After all, everyone knows not to trust chicken mages. Especially not in this economy. Holy fuck this is too long, why did I even do this holy fuck.* | 2020-01-10T00:30:01 | 2020-01-10T00:27:37 | 156 | 75 |
[WP] While most races in the galaxy use the infinite energy of primal magic there is one known world devoid of it . There the inhabitants practice dark magic, using the corpses of long dead organisms, dangerous eldritch energies from strange rocks and various other means to enslave lightning | *Don't you respect the dead at all?*
The alien politician was furious. To their people, respecting the dead was a big deal, far bigger than it is to humans. And when they understood just what exactly "fossil fuel" meant, they called for an immediate ban for it on a galactic scale. The human ambassador remained calm, the debate was as heated as he imagined it would be and he couldn't let himself be carried away.
"We simply value the living over the dead, that's it."
Another alien grunted, shifted its weight on his chair and rose to speak.
"You do know there's a cleaner, more respectful alternative, right? Simply use magic, the council is willing to help your kind with setting the system up."
The ambassador replied;
"Our kind doesn't have mages, and in any case, we consider magic to be highly unethical."
The ambassador's words irritated the aliens. Many of them started to speak out of turn, shout even. The human challenged their tradition, called it unethical, while using the bodies of the dead to power its mechanisms. The arrogance, the audacity of this human was insulting, infuriating. Among the furious, shouting crowd there was one who remained calm. He rose to speak, and asked the human one simple question;
"Why do your people think our magic is unethical?"
The ambassador rose to answer;
"I'm sure your kind, an interstellar people, know of the law of conservation of energy. Energy, as it is, cannot be created nor destroyed, it can only be transformed."
He paused for effect.
"Prior to our meeting with your kind, we thought this was the absolute truth. You can imagine our surprise when we were informed that the infinite energy magic was an exception to what we thought to be a law of the universe.
But ours is a curious people, we wanted to know how your magic works. We observed it, analyzed it, studied it. Although we still can't perform magic ourselves, we now have a very clear understanding of how it works.
The first thing we found when we studied magic was the proof of existence for "souls". Our studies on magic confirm all living beings possess an innate supply of energy, the type of which was undetectable without the use of magic. The amount of this energy is directly proportional to the creature's level of consciousness.
The second thing we found out was that if you were to somehow lessen the energy of a soul, the creature will fall unconscious, and in the event of depletion, it will die.
The third and the final finding was that 'magic' is just a way to transform this soul energy into other types of energy. We assume this is the reason why most mages fail to live up to your kind's life expectancy.
You can now hopefully see why my kind absolutely refuses to use magic, to tap into one's living force if you will. If we have to use the bodies of thousands dead to save one that's alive, we will. As I said before,
*We simply value the living over the dead.*" | The Endeavor glided silently through space-time, its powerful fusion engines propelling it forwards at an unimaginable speed.
Captain Magellan stood in his usual position on the bridge, concentrating on the vast virtual array of data points that the ship's sensors continually updated as they scanned a hundred light years in every direction.
The Endeavor's sentient A.I spoke from everywhere at once, cutting into the companionable silence of the command staff arrayed on the bridge. "Captain, I'm picking up an anomalous reading in sections 37.74 through 38.56."
Magellan grunted his assent, then motioned almost lazily in the air as if he was ordering an espresso from the ship's canteen. The display responded immediately, all superfluous information falling away until the sections in question appeared in minute detail, showing a solar system with seventeen planets. The Captain flicked his eyes towards the system's central star and the display immediately zoomed in.
The entire command staff stepped back in surprise. The ship had failed to categorize the star. It was unrecognizable.
"Most interesting...," the A.I said, echoing the thoughts of its human charges. "Stand by for cross reference with our explorer fleet data bank." Magellan exchanged a furtive glance with his first officer. There was no precedent for this. The ship's A.I completed its task almost immediately. "In one million, four hundred thousand, three hundred and twenty eight years of humanity's exploration of the universe, we have never found something like this. This star defies comprehension."
Magellan recovered quickly, clasping his arms firmly behind his lower back in that universal stance of captains everywhere, hiding the incredulity he felt and that even now was playing across the faces of all the humans in the room. He cleared his throat to buy a little time, then addressed the nearest console. "Set a course for an anchor point three light years out from the anomaly. Concentrate all sensors on the system. We will understand it completely before we arrive."
The magnificent Adventurer Class ship adjusted course, its fusion drives reorienting, and suddenly the seven thousand staff on board, the brightest and best minds of human civilization, were all united behind a single effort for the first time in many years. They had discovered an anomaly, out in the stars.
As the days passed and the ship sped closer, the impossible seemed to happen. It became apparent that the basic underpinnings of physics, of energy consumption, held no sway inside the million mile long vortex in which the solar system sat. The light that the central star emitted was a sickly pale color, like the subdued sterile light of those ancient fluorescent light bulbs humans once used to banish the dark.
On the sixth day, the A.I emerged from the longest period of analysis anyone had ever seen it take. "Captain Magellan," it said, privately addressing him through the chip implanted behind his left ear. "I have run through all possible explanations, and I have begun to parse through the impossible ones."
The ship paused, as if trying to figure out what to say next. Magellan had never, ever seen a sentient A.I pause.
Finally, it spoke.
"The star in the center of that solar system is a living entity. It is the physical vessel of a divine being. We go to witness the slow death of a god." | 2020-01-17T07:15:13 | 2020-01-17T07:03:01 | 503 | 96 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | When I first met the human, I thought he was going to attack me. He stuck his manipulator out and my first thought was that he was going to punch me. He instead took my hand firmly but with some lenience, and shook it lightly. He then spoke his name. It still goes through my mind on how strange it was, and how many variations of human names there are. We are like them, but so much different at the same time. "Hello, I'm Andrei Kuibyshevsky," he was from what was known in human space as Novorossiya. He was from a hundred generations of hardened warriors with iron resolve and specialised in living in depressingly cold habitats. Of course, cold to him was nearly Absolute Zero to us, so we stayed out of his way.
We brought him in because he was advertised as being able to do just about anything with a little training and guidance. He fixed the Telemetry computer in twenty standard minutes. It took one of our computer technicians over an hour. I still remember the first time he invited me to exercise with him on the Ship's high grav room. Of course, I wore a suit specifically designed to exercise in and still allow me to move and survive in the high gravity, while he didn't even cover his lower legs and arms, not to mention his head. He started off running, which I was able to keep up easily with him in the holo-sim track. Of course, I was forty-percent taller than him, and probably lighter to boot. He then asked me;
"Do you want to lift?" At first, I thought *'lift what'* but then I saw that he had loaded up a high strength titanium bar and put metal disks on it. '*An impossible weight, what is he doing?'* and I watched in awe as he lifted it and set it down five times in a row. He did other exercise with the bar, and each time I grew more shocked. Still I completed my exercise and just stared while he kept going, dangerous, as he was showing tiredness in his mannerisms and breathing patterns. My face must have given away my feelings as he gave me what I can only describe as confusion and then said something even more flabbergasting. "What, it's only a hundred kilograms." I knew he was strong, from when we were loading boxes of equipment, and he had a friendly contest with Nurva on who could load more boxes, and only narrowly lost. Nurva was more than double his size and weight, so to see him compete the whole time was surprising.
When he was done, he went into his neighboring quarters and brought out a tank of O2, pure oxygen. I recoiled in fear, thinking that he tired me out just so he could kill me easier. He gave me a reassuring look and said "it's only for me, don't worry." He got out a mask and connected it, and took in several deep breaths. I had just witnessed a suicide. To my surprise, he not only didn't die, He was relieved and then got out a bottle filled with liquid. He opened the cap and drank it, each time his throat convulsing. He spilled a bit, and when it hit the deck, it sizzled and bore a small hole. If I was speechless before, I may as well not have vocal chords anymore.
I learned to respect humans after that. | I had mixed feelings about John Smith. He looked different. He acted differently. But Sargent Cyborg said he was one of us. I don't think I saw what Sargent did though; he called him a human and said he was safe. I thought he was odd. It was my job to train him, so I did what was asked of me, much to my disagreement. I didn't like him.
We were settling down for the evening after a slightly unusual dinner; it was curry, according to John Smith. It was hot and spicy and it wasn't what I was used to. I much preferred the safe foods that didn't burn my delicate palette. Nevertheless, I ate it anyway, mainly to keep Sargent happy; he didn't want me to offend the human. Plus, he scared me when he was angry.
As I did so, I noticed some of the curry had splashed on the wall of the spacecraft. John Smith was next to me and the cleaning station was next to him.
"Make yourself useful John Smith, pass me that bottle on the shelf marked 'Toxic - For Stubborn Stains Only', will you?"
"Sure. What's the magic inside of it?" The inquisitive John Smith asked.
"Water."
"Water? Ha! Why's it labelled toxic then?"
"It's the galaxy's strongest known poison. As soon as that enters your system, you're done for."
"Nonsense."
"If you could just -" I was going to ask him to give it to me but he had already unscrewed the safety cap on the large glass bottle holding 500ml of pure poison. It was good for cleaning, removing those stubborn marks and stains.
John Smith smelt the bottle.
"No, don't" I advised him, "if that enters your nose -".
It was too late. He downed it all in one.
I pressed the panic button and the sirens echoed throughout the spacecraft. Lights flashed. Sargent came floating over.
"What is it? What's happened?"
"It's John Smith, Sargent. The silly human has only gone and drank the water."
Sargent looked at John Smith, worried about his limited time left; he knew he would have to flush it out of John Smith soon enough or he would be dealing with a fatality.
John Smith looked around, bottle still in hand. He shrugged, wondering what the fuss was about.
"What's the problem? I needed a drink of water!"
We all looked at him in shock and horror.
"What?" He asked again.
Sargent looked at me as if to say I had failed in training up the new recruit. I looked at Sargent; there was nothing I could have done.
"Got any more?" John Smith queried.
"Well, yes, actually… just behind -" I stopped myself, I was being sarcastic but then I realised I shouldn't let the human drink poison, despite my dislike for him.
But before I knew it, John Smith had picked up the last bottle of water onboard and drank it, though a little slower than the first.
"This is the purest water I've ever tasted", he exclaimed savouring the taste, "it's delicious".
I was annoyed at him more than usual. I turned off the flashing lights and sirens.
John Smith remained unaffected by the poison he had just downed.
I looked at the curry I saw before the fiasco began, turned back to John Smith and asked: "what are we going to clean that with now?"
He shrugged and turned a flush red. I was not sure what the colour change meant; I could only presume it was embarrassment.
---
r/paulwrites | 2020-05-18T10:54:46 | 2020-05-18T08:35:49 | 808 | 576 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | I had mixed feelings about John Smith. He looked different. He acted differently. But Sargent Cyborg said he was one of us. I don't think I saw what Sargent did though; he called him a human and said he was safe. I thought he was odd. It was my job to train him, so I did what was asked of me, much to my disagreement. I didn't like him.
We were settling down for the evening after a slightly unusual dinner; it was curry, according to John Smith. It was hot and spicy and it wasn't what I was used to. I much preferred the safe foods that didn't burn my delicate palette. Nevertheless, I ate it anyway, mainly to keep Sargent happy; he didn't want me to offend the human. Plus, he scared me when he was angry.
As I did so, I noticed some of the curry had splashed on the wall of the spacecraft. John Smith was next to me and the cleaning station was next to him.
"Make yourself useful John Smith, pass me that bottle on the shelf marked 'Toxic - For Stubborn Stains Only', will you?"
"Sure. What's the magic inside of it?" The inquisitive John Smith asked.
"Water."
"Water? Ha! Why's it labelled toxic then?"
"It's the galaxy's strongest known poison. As soon as that enters your system, you're done for."
"Nonsense."
"If you could just -" I was going to ask him to give it to me but he had already unscrewed the safety cap on the large glass bottle holding 500ml of pure poison. It was good for cleaning, removing those stubborn marks and stains.
John Smith smelt the bottle.
"No, don't" I advised him, "if that enters your nose -".
It was too late. He downed it all in one.
I pressed the panic button and the sirens echoed throughout the spacecraft. Lights flashed. Sargent came floating over.
"What is it? What's happened?"
"It's John Smith, Sargent. The silly human has only gone and drank the water."
Sargent looked at John Smith, worried about his limited time left; he knew he would have to flush it out of John Smith soon enough or he would be dealing with a fatality.
John Smith looked around, bottle still in hand. He shrugged, wondering what the fuss was about.
"What's the problem? I needed a drink of water!"
We all looked at him in shock and horror.
"What?" He asked again.
Sargent looked at me as if to say I had failed in training up the new recruit. I looked at Sargent; there was nothing I could have done.
"Got any more?" John Smith queried.
"Well, yes, actually… just behind -" I stopped myself, I was being sarcastic but then I realised I shouldn't let the human drink poison, despite my dislike for him.
But before I knew it, John Smith had picked up the last bottle of water onboard and drank it, though a little slower than the first.
"This is the purest water I've ever tasted", he exclaimed savouring the taste, "it's delicious".
I was annoyed at him more than usual. I turned off the flashing lights and sirens.
John Smith remained unaffected by the poison he had just downed.
I looked at the curry I saw before the fiasco began, turned back to John Smith and asked: "what are we going to clean that with now?"
He shrugged and turned a flush red. I was not sure what the colour change meant; I could only presume it was embarrassment.
---
r/paulwrites | We all shun them, these ugly creatures from the planet R453, also known in their language as Earth. They are a plague to their environments and feed by extracting resources from their surroundings. They are viruses surviving on the hardships of other creatures around them, creatures they call lesser than them.
The stuff they are made of, water, is one of the most potent poisons available in the Universe. It is a virus whose only goal is to spread further and further and it does so through its vessels, called living creatures. These creatures, of which the ultimate one is the human, feed on each other, creating a terrifying hierarchy and thereby justifying their actions. Dog eat dog, as they would say. Their society preys on the weak and praises the strong. One of their most influential teachers on the planet even remarked how those that are poor will be left with nothing and those that are rich will enjoy even greater opulence. You know what they did to that guy? Terminated him by nailing him on a cross, proceeding to worship him. Complete enigma, these humans. They even invented different languages, only to separate themselves from each other. In my reports, it has come to my attention that the number of different languages existing on planet Earth passes over one million, if you include the utterings of every living being on it. They use language to recognize one another and separate friend from foe...
Water undulates, spreading over any surface it touches, completely covering it, rendering it useless and disfunctional. One drop of water has the ability to disable the works of a thousand scientists, if it is dropped in the right place at the right time. Most machines malfunction at the merest touch with this terrible substance and not even the toughest warriors of our galaxy survive a scuffle with this liquid menace. One drop renders your body useless, two drops induces coma, the third drop? You don't live to tell the tale.
The reason why we have such a dangerous creature with us is to conquer a planet gone rogue, that is full of another toxic liquid made from the glands of a very specific breathing creature called 'cow'. It's the planet N793, also called the Milk planet. Humans have a very peculiar connection to milk, as they extract it from living cows, making a drink out of it and other products they proceed to consume. Milk is very dangerous to our species and it even affects some humans in unprecedented ways, but it does not kill them, those pesky resilient aliens.
The Milk planet is actually an arms factory (you cannot use water in war, according to the Universal Galactic War Codex, as it destroys everything in its presence), but the cows, having gained sentience, put up a valiant fight. They walk on their hind legs, shooting milk out of their udders, thereby killing their captors.
We have to bring back peace on this planet, so that we may continue fighting the good fight for our glorious galaxy. You see, the galaxy is in constant war with other galaxies and almost every creature is aware of the ongoing carnage, except for a few special cases, like humans.
But now, everything changed. There are no holds barred when it comes to arms production.
We are using the humans as a sentient shield, but its mere presence sends a shiver to my spine. The Milk planet will be in our vicinity in less than ten quarks of time, enough for me to extricate this report out of my neural pathways. As I was minding my notes into my MindPad, the human approached me and belched: ''Yo, where the fuck can one here get a sandwich or whatever?!''
I vomited in my own mouth, thinking about the terrifying things one has to do to acquire such a delicate meal. Maybe this all was a mistake, maybe the real enemy is not the cow - Maybe, it is standing right next to me. | 2020-05-18T08:35:49 | 2020-05-18T08:18:21 | 576 | 384 |
[WP] You can see how much each person loves you on a scale of 1-10. Your mom has a 9.2, your S.O. has a 9.5, your neighbor has a 5.7. Suddenly a person you've never met before confronts you. They're the first person with a negative number. | Senator Gerald Smithy stared at the woman in the crowd in the lacy black dress and sensible shoes. Around her the golden numbers above the people at his reelection rally glowed like gentle neon lights ( mainly 5s and 6s but he could usually get them up to 7s by the end of his speech) But her number, a bright and malefic red showed -5943.5 and was slowly ticking lower. Like the numbers on a gas pump. "We must stand together in these... Trying times." He stuttered as the lump in his throat got bigger, his hands gripped the sides of the podium and his eyes flitted to the exit off the stage. He caught the eyes of his aid francsis (9.1 he never hired below an 7.3) who looked concerned and mouthed "are you okay". He turned back, cleared his throat and went pale. The woman was closer now, her number accelerating downwards glowing brighter as she moved through the crowd. His chest seized, and he felt pain shoot through his very being, collapsing he felt the world around him dim and time became unhinged. He heard the gasp of the crowd, a thud as he fell into the stage, and someone, Francis, dear dependable Francis, asking the crowd for a doctor. "I'm a doctor." A sachrine voice came from the crowd, looking past the ankles of the gawkers he saw the woman, bathed in the satanic light of her number emerge. Her face restrained a smile, a mask of faux professionalism covered her, but her eyes. He saw in them a covetous longing, a reverence and jealousy, and a manic obsession. "We don't have time for an ambulance." She said holding his immobile cheek with her imperceptibly trembling hands. "We'll have to take him in my car, it's right outside." He stared at her number, blurring as it spun, trying to quantify her toxic obsession. | The person before David was a short man who was angry and David was confused to say the least. Most people who didn’t know him would have 5 on the scale, for someone who hates the world and humanity maybe a two or three but never was there a negative number.
David remained calm and started simple “Hey who are you and have I done something to upset you somehow?” “Who am I? WHO AM I?!? I’M the one who ends up suffering from you all the time!”
David was a reasonable man and he didn’t see how he could be that unbearable to this man when they never even interacted. “Look I don’t know where this is coming from but-“ “ARE YOU KIDDING ME YOU’VE BEEN PUTTING ME THROUGH THIS SINCE WE WERE KIDS” “Come again?” “You’re the one who has been ruining my life from the sidelines, starting in high school when you stole my girlfriend!”
Now David as previously stated is reasonable and thus wouldn’t do a thing like that. “What are you talking about?” “I’M TALKING ABOUT JENNY SMITH” “Jenny Smith wasn’t in a relationship when we dated, plus that was years ago” “She was in a relationship with me until you asked her out and she broke up with me. And that was only the beginning, I have been suffering under you for years but the last straw was yesterday when you voted against my promotion.
David note knew who this was, Adam from the department below his. They still hasn’t decided on who to give the promotion to but when he saw Adams file he didn’t think he had the qualifications. His file didn’t have an image of him though so he didn’t know who he was.
“Adam let’s talk this out” “Talk this out? I have worked over time, and hours for that position. Plus man I have a family to provide for.”
David talked with Adam about how they could help him out and after a while they came to an agreement. Adam told David “This doesn’t mean I like you” and the scale held true to that but that was okay. “See ya around”. | 2020-07-30T17:41:43 | 2020-07-30T16:37:33 | 205 | 23 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form. | "So..." I began, licking my lips. "I think we should talk."
Amaya only nodded, brushing long blonde hair and staring out at the window. The evening sun gently fell into out room, illuminating us in a soft glow. I couldn't help but smile, seeing her now. Stunning. Beautiful. Just-
Focus, Jamie. *Focus.*
After a moment, she turned to me and smiled, resting her chin in her hands. "And what did you want to talk about, gemlight?"
My heart melts at those words, for the thousandth time, but I clear my throat and begin. "So, a few days ago, I was doing some yard work right? And I noticed the roses didn't exactly look super healthy. So I watered them and went inside. Then I thought *wait that's not enough* so I went and I looked for some rose care tips but then I got sucked into this rabbit hole of magic *fertilizer and I didn't even know mages made that so I kinda just-"*
"Jamie."
I stop, and fail to catch my breath as I see her eyes yet again. Gold, more brilliant than any treasure
*Treasure. Dragon! I...need to keep focus...*
"Just take your time," she continued, picking up her brush again. "Remember what we talked about. You don't have to rush what you want to say, I'm always going to listen to you-"
"IknowyouradragonIsawyourhoard."
The room is quiet for a moment, and I have to resist the urge to slam my hands over my mouth. Amaya peers at me for a moment, and for that moment it feels as if the room is on fire. The crackling of burning fire in my mind becomes a reminder, constant, that dragons are *dangerous*, that they can't be *trusted. That maybe she's been using me-*
"So what?"
Silence. Then, tumbling from my mouth.
"Uwah?"
Amaya giggles, gently taking me into her arms. "I knew you'd figure it out...soonish. I didn't try as hard to keep it a secret from you, I suppose. I trust you darling. So...what's the big deal?"
She turns to the window, staring out at the sunlight with a smile. I nod, slowly, then I begin to shake my head. "But..."
"But I'm just...some girl from the sticks. I mean...I-It's, you shouldn't trust me. People are scared of dragons, and...what if I freak out? what If I tell someone? I-"
"Would you tell someone about me?"
The very thought seems horrific to me, and in that moment it's the most natural thing to shake my head. "No! I wouldn't-"
"Then I have not a thing to worry about. You love me. I love you. Is there anything more simple in the world than that?"
I don't have an answer for her as my brain begins to swirl, leaving my breathing uneven and heavy. But what if I can't keep this secret? I'm not brave, or daring, or *anything. Amaya. She-*
Looking to Amaya, in that moment, steals my breath away again.
As the sunlight lights her in a glow, I choke back a laugh. Relief washes over me.
Oh. It's that easy, isn't it?
...Huh.
"Ah," she begins, turning to me. "Don't forget about Charlie's birthday tonight. He wanted us to come. Could you pick me up from work?"
I nod, a smile beginning to blossom across my face. "I'll...get the car ready."
Amaya smiles. Then she leans over to kiss me on the cheek, and my body is on fire.
"You're the best," she whispers. I only nod with what I can only assume is the goofiest smile on my face.
...It's that easy. | "But, seriously, Nina? The crown of England!?"
Nina eyes me from across the room and gives me her little eye tease-corner look.
I tilt my head until I am lying down and I stare up at the our bedroom ceiling.
"What," Nina protests, giving a little pout. "It was pretty..."
"Nina... " I say. "Nina, yes... so are you."
Nina smiles. I notice the jaggedness of her teeth all the more.
"Nina, even a pretty dragon can't fight off an entire country," I say.
It's clear that the enormity of the situation has yet to hit her.
I get up and sit across from her on the floor.
"Nina," I say. I cringe.
Nina's eyes begin to well.
"Aw, Nina, c'mere."
Before I know it, my dear girl it wetting my sleeve.
"Nina, look," I say. I try to find something to say.
"I- I'll give it back," Nina says.
My eyes widen. Nina is a sweety, makes great banana bread, and does not know how to sing. If there is one thing I've never seen Nina do... not since I met her and not these past two months since I've know her secret...
"Give it back?"
Now I'm worried.
"Nina, are you ok?" I ask.
Nina quiets, looking me in the eye. She tries to push me to the ground. She is strong, abnormally so, even in human form, but I resist.
Nina goes to the mirror.
I swear softly.
"Nina," I say, going after her. She lets me put my arm around her waist. "Nina, I wouldn't mind that," I say.
Nina pulls away and examines her lashes. Ever self-conscious Nina, ever beautiful...
"Ok," says Nina softly. I've clearly scared her with the mention of an army...
"But..." i add.
Nina looks back at me.
"But that's not Gonna help..."
I am very pained.
"Why," say Nina.
I cringe.
"Tell me again how you took it..."
Nina's eyes well again.
"With allot of noise...?" Nina says softly.
I nod.
Nina understands. The word "Experiments" flies through my mind. I can feel it on Nina's mind, too.
"There are more like you, right?" I say hesitantly. "Those... that are... um..." I stop. I was about to say: "Those that are left"
Nina nods. Something in her eye gives it a twitch.
I sigh.
"At least we have some money," I say. "You know, the stuff in the basement..."
Nina nods.
"Let's hide it somewhere," I say. "Anything we can't carry."
Nina nods, then freezes.
"Carry?" Nina says, alarmed.
I give her a questioning look.
"Why are we carrying?" Nina asks.
I look Nina in the eye.
"You don't think I'm going to leave you, do I?" I say.
Nina's eyes well again.
"Really?" she says. I sigh, thinking about my sleeve again.
"No," I say.
"Where are we gonna go?" Nina says.
I shrug.
"Mexico?"
Nina gives me an uncertain look.
"Australia?"
Nina does my cringe expression.
"China?"
Nina's face lights up.
"Yes!" Nina says.
I laugh.
Then I sigh. I kinda liked this house. The creaky musky look form the peeling wallpapered walls has seen better days, but it's got a certain smell.
"Ok," I say.
Nina hugs my arm.
"It'll be exciting," Nina says. Her eyes flash happily.
"Yeah, I know," I say with a sigh.
Nina pecks me on the cheek.
"Nina?" I say as an afterthought.
"Hm?"
"Um..."
I glance at Nina's happy though slightly worried expression as she distractedly fiddles with my moist sleeve.
"After you give it back... um, please don't do this in china," I say.
Nina nods, chastised.
I give her a hug.
"I'll start packing," I say. Nina nods gratefully. | 2020-08-03T10:27:03 | 2020-08-03T09:52:01 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] The town council died in a freak plane accident. An audit by the interim council revealed 20% of the town’s power is siphoned off to a structure with priority over even hospitals. The send you to investigate the building in the middle of nowhere. | This a sad crunch of gravel, my old trusty sedan stops at the guard gate. There's two fences, typical military man trap from 50 years ago, with a rough gravel line 3 meters between them. It rounds the whole building grounds- some 7 linear miles of fencing- with this one entrance.
​
The one entrance I'm currently parked at, engine idling, looking at this old man reading his paper. A fat AC unit and a fan hang out the window, and rust stained water drops down the otherwise immaculate white siding.
​
Putting the car in park and turning the engine off, I slowly open the door (no sudden moves here!) and a wave of heat blasts over me- it feels like it's 130F, but in reality it's difference between what little AC my poor car can make and the burning heat of the sun.
​
The car window must have glinted across the man's face, as he suddenly looks up- jumps up, smashing down the paper. I can't tell if he's scowling or frowning, but he opens the door- waddles actually- and comes over and across to the steel barrier between my car door and his concrete perch.
​
A little bit on the portly side, his uniform immaculate, and a clip board in his hands, he looks me up and down while squinting in the harsh sun.
​
"Are you lost, son?", he asks with your typical Southern drawl. No hostility, just some curiosity. It's obvious the heat and the sun disagree with him... the sweat is already starting to form on his arched brow.
​
"No Sir, I'm from the city council and we've been trying to get in contact with the owners of the facility here. As you know there was that terrible accident and, during an audit for transition, we found some agreements but they lacked the requisite signatures. But we can't find anyone that knows about them nor any way to contact anyone here- just this address."
​
The guard's expression becomes far more guarded, and his voice... drops down just a bit. With a gentle shake of his head he just says "Sorry, I can't help you with that. I'm just the gate guard here" and gestures around. I follow his arms and notice for the first time that everything is really, really clean- no leaves- no dirt- no sand, no gravel out of place. Turning my head to follow more of his pointing, the glass in the shack is in perfect condition- and the door, when opened, didn't even squeak.
​
More importantly, I don't see a single CCTV camera, anywhere. Now I know from my internet searches that doesn't mean anything- but it is ... odd. Cameras can be any size or shape and they're always good to be 'seen' as deterrent. But- nothing. And the aerial photos we borrowed from Google were curiously of lower resolution. So were the NAIP images we bought from USDA- the whole area wasn't imaged, again curiously. "No Farmland, no trees" they said.
​
So perhaps a different tactic: "Is there someone you can call from this post? I've got to close this..." and with just a shake of his head, he says that not only is there no phone, he's never actually met with anyone here. All of the instructions were given to him by his predecessor, and anything that's needed comes out of the printer in the office. There's a walkie talkie strapped to his waist- he taps it- and mentions that nothing has ever come out of this, either.
By now the heat is getting to us both and it's obvious nothing is going to change. Since I've already flown a quad copter around the perimeter and seen no other entrances... there's not anything to do but wait.
​
I offer him my business card- "City Council, Auditor", and ask him to pass it along if he has the opportunity to do so. His smile is surely accommodating, but I know he's not going to.
​
He sidles back in, I get in my car and start it up. Into reverse, light gas. The guard has already raised the paper, covering his face- he's not going to even watch me back up and leave.
​
\-----
​
10 miles back down the straight road, un-ending sand and cactus, I come to the post I set up with my crew. All four of them are standing there looking at me with a combination of disbelief and relief... and I've barely gotten out of the vehicle before they start chattering away like a bunch of squirrels in a nut house.
"Did you see his paper?"
"What did you get?"
"Was there anything on the clip board?"
"Did you actually see any water drop?"
"What did he look like?"
The questions will go on and on, as this is the first human interaction we've done with this location since the... audit... exposed some questionable activity.
​
We've been sitting here for 3 weeks, training some of the largest portable scopes and a couple of high resolution cameras on that entrance way, continuously, for two weeks. The geeks explained it to me once, but it was mumbo-jumbo- diffraction, air-lensing, super resolution, who knows- but they can see beyond line of sight, which let us set this post up far enough way that they can't see us.
​
And in those 3 weeks we've never seen a car go down that road. Never seen a car come up the road.
​
And every day or night, we've never seen the guard put down his paper. | "I'm supposed to go in *here?*" Jason raised his voice as he spoke on the phone. The building was dark and crumbling apart at the corners. "Why would they even divert power to this place?" He turned to the building, staring at its cracked walls and the name 'T. E. Hennig' placed in rusted iron over the doors. "There are no lights on inside. The building is vacant!" With caution, he moved toward the building. It felt unsafe to him, though he did not know why.
"Look, Jason," the person spoke on the other line. "We have to know why they are diverting so much power to the building." The reception faltered for a moment, making the interim councilman's voice echo from a faraway distance. "I'm sorry Eric bailed on you, but you still have to go in an see what it's being used for."
Jason shuddered in the cold spring breeze. "How do we know someone isn't in there right now?" The doors were rusted shut. Earlier that morning a crew came by and had to force them open. "Someone could be inside, waiting to--." He stopped himself with a sigh. He didn't know what was causing him so much worry. On the other end of the line, the councilman waited for him to finish. "Nevermind, I'll look around and see what's up." Jason moved the phone away from his face. "I'll see you later," he said as he hung up.
He walked up to the door. It was hanging open, the hinges flaking with rust shifted loose by the morning crew. The interior of the building was black. He turned on the flashlight on his phone as he wandered through the building. The breeze penetrated through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The white tiled floors crackled under his feet. The wallpaper was covered in pale yellow flower-print that peeled at the edges. Not a sound could be heard that didn't come from the outside.
He wandered through the empty rooms feeling more at ease as he cleared each one. Just an hour later and he was left only with the basement, which he dreaded more than any other part of the building on account of the poor lighting and structural issues.
He made his way downstairs with caution, hand gripping the rail so he didn't slip on the wet wooden steps. He heard an siren go off in the distance and at once his phone started to chatter in his pocket. In a split second, out of habit, he reached for his phone to answer what he assumed to be a phone call. Releasing the handrail, he lost his footing. For a moment, he hung suspended in the air as his head flew back. It seemed to take an eternity. At last, the hard wood struck his head. In a flash of white light, he was out.
He opened his eyes in a flutter at the bottom of the stairs. His vision was scattered with tiny blue lights that left him dazzled for a moment before they faded. The back of his head was swollen and sore, pulsing with the beating of his heart. The basement was dark, lit only by the flashlight of his dying phone. He picked it up, only 8 percent battery left. He swore to himself.
Looking around the basement, he saw nothing worth noting. It spanned the entire breadth of the building. He wandered at a steady pace through the rooms, opening doors and shining his flashlight through.
He reached a door marked with red paint. Only 3 more to go. He opened this one, noted it was an old broom closet and moved onto the next one. The next door was stuck. He struggled for a moment before it snapped open. Hooks faced him at eye-level. A handful of rusted wire hangers stuck to the corner of the coatroom. The next door, the handle turned with ease. The hinges turned without protest. He peered through to the other side.
Inside was another staircase, lit from above with indirect sunlight. He heard footsteps coming down and labored breathing. He paused for a moment to see who it was.
Legs appeared, then a torso and finally the face of a man Jason was quite familiar with -- himself. He watched himself make his way slowly down the same stairs in the darkness. Five steps from the bottom he slipped and fell back, landing on his head. Jason felt his own head twitch with pain as a reminder. His unconscious body slid down the stairs to the ground where he lay silent.
Jason could not move from his spot. The moment was frightening. He stared at his own unconscious body resting in an empty basement. He heard a door open, the door to the broom closet creaked as a shadowed figured stepped out and moved towards Jason's body. Jason watched in horror as he produced a knife yet, still, he did not move from his spot, not believing that anything he was witnessing was real.
The cloaked figure walked to Jason's body with the knife, glinting faintly in the faint sunlight. There came a hollow croak from their throat. The knelt over Jason's body caressed his face with the tenderness of a loving parent. Jason watched himself twitch and gasp in a daze. The figured lifted the knife and plunged it in Jason's chest with practiced ease. Jason's unconscious body didn't so much as shudder as the life left his body. From behind the door, Jason clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from yelling out. Too late. The figure lifted their head and saw him.
They sprinted towards him, knife in hand. Jason gasped and slammed the metal door closed. He turned to run, except he was no longer in the same basement. The bulbs above shone brightly in the newly finished basement. Strange people wandered about, exclaiming about the wonders of electricity and the new building built at the center of town. No one seemed to notice Jason, though he felt he must've stood out in his modern garb. Only he looked down to realize he wasn't wearing the same clothes at all! His phone was missing as well.
He felt the room grow hot as confusion washed over him. In the distance, he saw a councilman -- one of the *old* councilmen. The man was laughing as he spoke to another man. He turned his head at Jason's approach and turned pale in acknowledgement. At once, the man turned and ran. | 2020-09-26T09:24:11 | 2020-09-26T08:56:56 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You’re in a time loop but it’s not permanent. You repeat a day 3 times then time moves onto the next day. Rinse, repeat...Deja Vu was never more applicable. | The most useless feeling is the feeling of having control, only to have it ripped from you at the end of it all.
Years ago, I awoke on the second day of a Sunday, and unknowingly went out to go to my classes. I thought it was a Monday: why wouldn’t I? I had gone to work the previous day, and it was time to put my nose to the grindstone. However, when I arrived at the usual lecture hall, there was nobody there: no professor, no peers... so I checked the calendar on my phone: Sunday.
I started freaking out, thinking I had lost my mind, went home and called off of work. They didn’t need me, not now. Then it happened for the third time, and I *knew* I hadn’t gone insane. That was ages ago, and if it weren’t for this amazing ability, then I would have never graduated from college with a fantastic record, I wouldn’t have begun into the career of my dreams, and so on.
But I also wouldn’t be lying here, for the third time today, for a month. This ability has been my source of torment ever since I became sick with the new strain of the Black Death a month ago real time, but I had experienced it three times *every single day.*
All I want now is to let time pass as fast as possible, but on the day that I died of this plague... only then, did the day loop for the fourth time. | 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. A rather simple count, isn't it? Even a three-year-old could do it.
It gets harder to keep track of over 72 hours, however. 24. Sorry. 24. Or was it 72?
One day was three days. Or is it three days becoming one day?
It doesn't really matter, I guess. It's hard to keep track of time. What's the date today? Was it the second or third time?
Did I go to work? Do I need to? Was it the day when everything counted?
God damn it. It's impossible to keep track. Yesterday and tomorrow was today. When will tomorrow actually come?
I hated it. God, I hated it. Three days or one, the stream of time slipped away by itself, sand through the grasp of my fingers.
So I clenched them tight. I held them till my nails left finger marks in my palms.
No more. No more.
It didn't matter how many days I had left. It didn't matter how many more days I get to experience, whether they were the same or not.
I couldn't control time. It moved by itself, repeated by itself, whether I wanted to or not. The days bled together and stayed the same, but I had to be different.
I had to do something. I had to do something right.
The first step. The first step to a great day was breakfast. That's the key. Start from there. Everything else will fall in place.
Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Eh, some lettuce. For health.
It was good. It tasted good.
Hmm. Maybe the bacon will still be there tomorrow morning when I open the refrigerator door.
You know what? Maybe this could work out after all.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-10-09T06:30:17 | 2020-10-09T06:18:50 | 106 | 19 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | My eyes glazed over as I browsed my feed.
All my friends, recently in their thirties, forties, or fifties, and now suddenly eighteen again, were posting about all of the things they were doing now that they had been given a new life.
I was thinking about what I'd lost.
Sandra and Brian Gomez, an older couple whose marriage had been a long and happy one, were now overjoyed that they could go on all those clubs and activities together that they did when they were younger.
I was thinking about how long it had taken to get what I'd needed.
Maggie Whittaker was out jogging, taking full advantage of the fact that, in this new and bizarre world, she had her leg back, as if the accident never happened.
I was thinking about if I could afford to get what I'd needed a second time.
Devon George was posting a lot of selfies. I guess he didn't have social media when he was twenty years younger and fifty pounds lighter.
Well, maybe it'd be easier this time. The world had changed, after all. My phone rang.
Jodie Smith was excitedly auditioning for all those roles that she would have now been too old for, and with years of acting experience and training under her belt, she now had a much greater chance for all the "gentle princess" and "badass warrior" roles she had always wanted, when for so long she'd only gotten the "kind mother" and "hardened mentor" roles.
"Hey, Katie! How's it going? Are you used to the being-young-again thing yet? What're you gonna do first?"
Gregory Brown was mostly just posting vertical phone videos of him picking up heavy boxes and putting them back down again. In the description of the most recent one he'd written a 200-word manifesto about how he was going to take better care of his back this time.
"Hey, Steve."
Eleanor Beecher posted a really, really long wall of text about how she was never drinking alcohol again, about an hour and a half before she posted multiple consecutive videos of doing "whiskey challenges" she'd found online.
"Oh, sorry, is Katie there? Who is this?"
Paige Darcy had posted eight different videos of her going into stores, buying alcohol, and zooming in on the cashier's face when they asked her for her ID.
*click*
Emma and McKenzie Bennett were apparently going around the mall asking strangers if they could tell which one was the mother and which one was the daughter, and keeping a running score. Most people could tell at a glance, and Emma was going crazy trying to figure out how.
I wondered about the reactions of my friends -- practically none of whom had known me when I was younger. I wondered about how my less open-minded friends would treat me. I wondered about if any of the people from my old life, having cut me out, would talk to me again, and I wondered if I wanted them to do so. I wondered if any of my clothes would fit. I wondered if Emma would eventually remember to change out of the "PROUD MOTHER OF TWO" t-shirt.
Bradley Booker was posting a lot of pictures of him doing funny stuff with his hair, now that he had it again.
There was a knock at the door. I sighed and went to open it.
William Ashton and his family were crying with joy about the fact that he hadn't had cancer at eighteen.
"Katie, I-- oh, I'm sorry, sir, I'm looking for Katie."
Alexis Reagan was posting a lot of cheesy jokes about having the secret to losing weight and regrowing your hair, with all of them sharing the punchline of "it's easy! just magically turn eighteen again".
"Yeah, Tammy, hi."
I'd wanted to tell her before, of course. It just hadn't seemed like the right time, and of course, I was afraid of how she might react.
"I need to tell you something."
____
*So many people were posting about their new bodies, and their chances to unmake all of their old mistakes, or make better choices, or maybe even save their lives.*
*Meanwhile, at 422 Oak Street, with a hollow feeling in her stomach, staring into the face of her best friend of six years, 38-year-old Katie Gates wonders how she's going to explain to Tammy and all of her other friends why, at the age of eighteen, before coming out, she'd had broad shoulders, a deeper voice, and the beginnings of a full beard.* | Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast.
I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly.
There are so many anecdotes and events about this town throughout this book, but I would like to start with one of the most silly and stupid ones that made me fall in love with the cute little people of Dandy Town.
Back in the 2010s when I was in a famous TV series, the town of Dandy had a little series of incidents of its own.
The people of all ages woke up one day. To their surprise they now had bodies of 18 year olds. With their memories intact!!
“I basically lived my prepubescent years twice, once when I was 18 and then when I turned 18 on my 54th birthday!” said Abe McPherson, the current mayor of the Town, happily relinquishing the event in his memories.
“I was kinda like a playboy when I was 18, so when I turned 18 once again, I wasn’t really able to stop my horses,” said Sheriff Willie, who had a special incident in this particular event.
**The Author, referred above as I, has now compiled a few dramatised recollections of the citizen’s here in Dandy Town regarding the event. The names have been changes but the prior permission of the subjects had been taken before**
*******************
I woke up on Sunday morning as the rooster made its usual noise. I burped and got up from the bed. My wife was asleep on the bed, sweating after last night.
We had moved the bed from the outside of the room to inside it finally. We were two 80 year olds who had moved into this house just the week before. It had taken us five days to push the bed in slowly, and on each day it took, we had to sleep outside the bedroom. Only the first day was a problem though when we had to sleep outside the house, where the bed was, since we hadn’t been able to push it in.
We don’t hire people for this work as we are self dependent people.
But the only thing that wasn’t self reliant for me was my ding dong, or my manhood. It had refused to stand up in 35 years except for the one time when it rose up slightly because of the urine infection.
When I woke up that day, my whole body felt like it had a new sort of vigour and energy. And when I saw below, for the first time in 35 years I had a morning standing ovation by my ding dong.
But it gave me a lot of problems, like when I went into the washroom for peeing that morning, My God the speed with which it came out almost blew me away like it was a jet pack. And I made a great big mess.
****************
I woke up and checked myself in the mirror. Oh Holy God! I looked so pretty and beautiful. Just like when I was 18!!
I decided to skip church that day. I was a Sister at the Dandy Town Church for Women. But this new body and energy had given me, a 60 year old retired woman who had given up on life and lived on the hopes of Christ, a big helping hand in confidence.
I roamed about the Town. I smoked hookah with the boys that day. God would have been angry but I knew that he gave me that body for some reason. Why else would he give me such a hot body that was Bikini waxed?
Many guys flirted with me, but this one young man seemed to have caught the attention of my eyes.
“Lookie here. What can I do to be with a girl like you, miss?” Said the boy.
“ You could take me out for dinner,” I flaunted.
“ Well I would, but the police would arrest me for carrying fireworks, ma’am”
I had laughed hard, when suddenly he pulled me close. At that time, I turned around.
Suddenly I felt a slight unzip of my dress at the back. I turned around to see that horny 18 year old using the magnet in his watch trying to be God Knows What!
“Sheer magnetism, baby”
*****************
Yeah I was 14 at the time we all became 18 and had just watched Live and Let Die, so I tried to become Bond. Big deal! I am a
the proud sheriff of this town now and I have forgotten things of the past.
*****************
I have more planned if you’d like!!! | 2020-11-02T10:00:05 | 2020-11-02T09:45:20 | 310 | 15 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I haven't looked yet.
It's been three days now, and I have avoided every single reflective surface in this house.
The only person who has seen me so far was my wife. I haven't gone to work yet, as it seems like the whole world has stuttered trying to figure out what was happening. I was 49. My wife was 46. We're 18 again, only our memories being the same.
She woke up first that morning, three days ago. I woke up because I felt her hand on my face, and I felt the resistance of... stubble. I opened my eyes slowly, still under the effects of sleep. I had seen this woman before, but only in my wife's old photos. Her highschool pictures, her prom pictures, her graduation pictures... My wife was young again, and so was I.
I didn't look in the mirror, but I felt all the changes. Panicked, I had launched myself out of bed, hitting the wall much too hard because I had overestimated my weight. I was 50 pounds lighter. I remember shutting my eyes, and I know I was crying heavily. I remember hearing my wife attempt to console me, telling me that I can start all over again- that it would be easier this time.
Now, three days later, I bring my gaze up from my bowl of cereal to look at my wife. She gives me a soft smile, and reaches across to bring my knuckles to her lips. I try to smile back. I fail. She frowns, not because she is unhappy, but because I am. I look away. I shut my eyes.
"Amelia... Amy, baby..." June coos at me, and I feel her move to my side, and tug on the sweater I had borrowed from her- as my usual clothes no longer fit my flat chest. I look at her, briefly. God, she's so beautiful. Her brown eyes were the same, they still had that loving warmth that I've known for 17 years now. I bet I look tired.
June holds my face, which was now shaved and smooth. She lands a soft kiss upon my lips, which were thinner than she had known them before. She kisses my eyebrows, which were bushier and more unruly than before. When she looks at me now, does she just paste over the face she knew before? Does she see the woman she knew before? Or the teenage boy in front of her, right now?
I know I'm crying again, but I feel a million miles away. I am briefly brought back with each kiss, and with each minute that passes as she cradles me in her delicate arms, I feel the truth of her words.
She loves me. She married me, knowing that I spent years and years becoming who I am today. She loved me then, and she loves me now. We have money, I can get the help I need. I'm not alone. I have her. In another life, I had begun my journey at 27, when I still struggled with how I felt on the inside. Now, I can start sooner. I know who I am now. I have more time.
June is right, as per usual. I tell her this. She smiles.
My journey begins again, but with the love of my life at my side this time. | I have always imagined what the world would be like if everyone was a kid, running on a sugar rush with no worries or troubles to think about.
Now if the world was full of hormone-galore 18 year old kids, that would be a much more different scenario.
And that is exactly what had happened.
It started about two months ago. I woke up and swung my legs over my bed. Obviously I kept my eyes closed just in case I somehow magically changed Monday into Saturday, then I wouldn’t have to go to work.
My brain picked up something unusual, but I ignored it and ran a sloppy hand down my face as I neared my dresser to change for work. Yesterday’s hangover was still in effect, so I had popped in a pain killer or two.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t see shit. That still doesn’t explain why I looked so short in the mirror over the sink. I was sure my hair length was past my shoulders. Why was my face red and bumpy?
I scooped water into my palms and splashed it on my face, then stared into the mirror.
I was a teenager again.
What age? Well, I later found out by scientists, who looked like a bunch of scrawny high school nerds in lab coats, had conducted research on 100 people and had easily determined their age: 18.
Other studies across the globe had also drawn out the same results. This information was spread on the news along with other surprising info: if you were under 18, you were also 18. If you were 18, you’re staying 18. Every human living on this planet was 18. The source and cause of this? Still unknown.
That was why my feet didn’t touch the ground when I sat over the edge on my bed, that is why I lost a few inches, that is why my hair was much much shorter.
We’ve all reversed- or have gone forward, into our 18 year old bodies and minds- thankfully with our memories still intact.
There wasn’t any harm done to society in general, and so during those two months as humanity had gotten their things in order, the leaders of the world had insisted that we must keep going. And so, all the adults had gone back to work, the kids had gone back to school.
How weird it was for me to look at my boss as an 18 year old kid in a baggy suit and not buff and big as he usually was, his voice cracking every so often as he spoke to the office. It was hard for my co workers and I to *not* laugh at this. When his voice betrayed him and squeaked when he yelled at us, the entire workplace burst into laughter.
It was unfortunate that we didn’t get any work done as we made paper airplanes and gamed at our desks for the entire shift.
As I was heading home, I noticed someone prancing around happily with a few friends, laughing about something that had to do with their limbs.
I had asked them why they seemed so happy at the moment, and they said they were former war soldiers drafted at 18 years old. Now they are happy that they get the chance to live out their youth.
That was one of the many, many quirks that humanity had gained from this thrilling experience. Everyone, young and youthful with the mind of teenagers. Will we stay at 18 forever? Will we age? Who knows.
But now we can finally restart and live the life that we’ve always dreamt of.
Humanity, at 18. | 2020-11-02T10:44:18 | 2020-11-02T09:55:51 | 174 | 29 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago." | I woke up. It was any other day. But I had a certain pep in my step. Something that couldn’t quite be described. I went over to my closet to get ready for work.
They were back
I tried to convince myself that all of this. It was just a dream. A twist on that nightmare I had so many times before. I swiftly ran out of my room Into my bathroom downstairs. Pure panic overtook me but it all subsided when I finally got to the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away but my eyes were dead locked on this person in the mirror staring back at me. This person is not who I am. This thing in the mirror is not me. I tried to make sense of it all but I couldn’t. I grabbed my phone of if the kitchen counter that I forgot the night before. Still half dressed I skimmed my text messages.
At that moment I realized that this wasn’t a nightmare. I put it my phone down and the same word kept repeating in my head
“She” | 2020-11-02T10:49:46 | 2020-11-02T10:14:02 | 105 | 30 |
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it | The pond was nice for a while. Quiet, peaceful. It made the voices stop pestering me. I hadn't thought of leaving the bottom of the pond for decades.
Until those idiots showed up.
When I'd first walked into the pond, the land had been privately owned by the grandson of a man I'd saved in a war. I can't even remember which war it was anymore, it'd been so long and there'd been so many wars. At that point, I was already falling apart and barely able to hide the fact that I wasn't exactly human anymore. The man, I think his name was Harold maybe, he offered me a place of respite after the war was over. It was to the dismay of his wife, I think she thought I was a mistress or something, but he wanted to keep the reality of my... "Condition" from her, so I don't know what he ever told her. I came and left the property for a number of years, known to their children and grandchildren as Aunty Red until I lost the last bit of flesh and hair I had and decided the pond was the best place for me.
Again, that was until the idiots showed up. I gathered from the change in landscape that ownership had passed on to someone else at some point. There were more houses than trees and it made me uneasy. The voices were especially dismayed by this literal development.
I sat in the shallows, watching them with only the top of my skull and eyes above water. The reeds were still thick in this spot, so I wasn't worried about them gleaming a look at my grayed, waterlogged bones.
The men had hardhats and equipment I hadn't seen before. Luckily, I still remembered how to read and their van had obnoxiously large print on it. "Dan's Landscape Specialists: Lawn Care, Gardenening and Pondscaping", what a stupid idea.
*Blood* The voices hissed. *Fresh meat*
*Shut up. I'm thinking,* I didn't necessarily want to go back to killing. I had my fill of blood and death during all the wars I'd gravitated to when I still had blood to bleed.
*Like pond. They destroy what we like, we destroy them!* The voices screamed in disjointed cacophony.
*. . . Fair enough.*
I snuck out of the pond to the old tree that shaded it. Reaching my phalanges into a hole in the trunk, I was tickled to feel the handle of my favorite knife. No one had removed it.
And then there was a number of screams. I screamed, because an angry chipmunk bit one of my fingers before running into my ribcage. This triggered the men nearby to look over and scream, because a skeleton with an angry chipmunk in its ribcage was approaching them. The last screams were as I plunged my knife into one after the other, still screaming because having a chipmunk rattling around in your ribcage is a painful and strange sensation that I didn't have words for. | *Though the contract had been forgotten long ago, the signature remained.*
Yes. This is good. Just this. Just this...
It's almost... like sleeping... yes...
I wanted this, didn't I? Why would I want this? The years... the torture... I can't do this. I must do this. I've already done this. It's fine. I'm fine. I must. I MUST DIE. OH GOD, I MUST DI-
No. No, I must not worry. I must remain calm. I know this loop. I can... shorten the loop. Breath in, breath out, but... BUT I CAN'T BREATH WITHOUT LUNGS.
Shhhh... Shhhh... You're just crazy, darling, you're just crazy. This is natural. Just keep the INSANE FUCKING SKELETON CALM. JUST LOOK AT YOU, YOU'RE A FREAK OF NATURE.
Yes. Yes, okay, I am a freak of nature. But I'm here. I'm here, and I can only hope but to relax. I'm here to lie down. Keep from moving. Keep the pain at bay. My soul... It hurts so much. But how? How... How can... No, no, no, no... HOW CAN A SOUL EVEN HURT, Oh GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Wait.
Wait.
What is that? That sound? It's so loud. It's OH GOD IT'S PEOPLE. NOW I HAVE TO- Hmph. Mhm. We're okay. It's just another quick trip to the top to scare away some... PEOPLE. It's gonna HURT SO- Hmph. It's gonna hurt. But I must do this. For PEACE AND... and harmon-... harmony. Oh no. Oh no. Please, I don't want to, I really don't want to. You know, maybe they'll pass by. Won't even notice me. But... THEY'RE SO LOUD. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.
MY LEGS. MY ARMS. MY BACK, MY NECK, MY SPLEEN, MY BRAIN, MY LUNGS, THEY HURT SO MUCH. BUT HOW? HOW CAN I FEEL? HOW IS THIS? WHO DID THIS? WAS IT ME? WHY? WHY WOULD I WANT THIS. JUST A LITTLE MORE. A LITTLE MORE. FUCK. FUUUUUCK. I... I THINK I...
I... I've breached... good... Ah okay. Good, just children. Nobody will believe them. Hehe, look at them, scream. I haven't seen people scream like that in a long, long time. But... Oh, will you look at this! One of them's stopped. Frozen. Yes. This happens sometimes. It's silly, how they... look... so alive. He's so alive. He's crying. He's sweating. His heart, It's beating so hard and so fast. It's so loud! It's SO LOUD. OH GOD, IT'S SO LOUD. WHY MUST YOU BE SO PERFECT YET BE GIFTED WITH ENDING YOUR STORY?
Oooh. There's he goes. That's what happens when I... when I freak out. That's what happens. Every... Every time... Every single time... They run... They run...
I guess... I'll go back. To... peace... and tranquility...
Oh GOD, MY SOUL, IT BURNS, I WANT TO STOP, I WANT TO STOP MOVING, I WANT TO STOP. | 2020-11-20T13:22:46 | 2020-11-20T13:08:56 | 219 | 66 |
[WP] “Aha! You’re here about the Fifth Horseman job, aren’t you?” says War, in a loud and jolly voice, “well I must tell you, Pestilence and I thought we’d never get an application! We’ve really been swept off our feet these past couple of years... Say, what colour do you want your horse?” | War was looking over paperwork when it entered. For a being of pure conflict, he was surprisingly good at paperwork management. Blinding light flooded the room as It entered.
"Angelic Work is down the hallway-. Oh" he distractedly called, before he took a glance.
"Sorry about that. Thought you were someone else."
It stared at him.
"Uh. We've looked over your record. Very impressive, especially for your past as part of the Big G's plans."
Still that gaze. Like a thousand eyes scrutinizing him. There were, he guessed.
"You know, I never expected to get a new member. But you really showed your power this year. Your work with Pesty really took the cake. "
The gaze remained. It had only been a few seconds, but he wanted to draw his sword and attack, run away, anything to get that gaze off. Only Death had ever made him feel like this, but nothing this intense.
"What color do you want your horse?" he smiled awkwardly.
*Gold, so they may see my passing. Gold, the color they use to cover up evil. Gold, so I may show them.*
"Fitting."
*Yes.*
"Just sign your name here, and... Welcome to the team, Truth." | "Horse? I prefer to ride a bull if you dont mind, fits better with the motif." Bullshit replied.
War gave a sideways glance across the Starbucks table towards Pestilence, Famine, and Death.
Famine spoke up, "Well thats nice, but we already have a theme going ourselves. Its the Four.."
Death coughed and the masked customers nearby gave a sharp look. Embarrassed for a moment, Death shot a glance at Pestilance. "This is all your fault."
Famine interjected, continuing his point, "...sorry Five *horsemen* of the apocalypse. Not the four horsemen and one bullman. It just doesnt have the same alliteration."
"I have a large soy latte no whip, for Allen!" Yelled the Barista.
"Alliteration? I thought this job was about laying waste to civilization? Tearing down the old world in order to build the kindom of heaven on earth. There was nothing in the craigslist post which mentioned I had to ride a *horse*." Bullshit countered.
"I told you we should have used Indeed." Pestilence muttered.
Famine made an unpleasent face beneath his mask, but it was missed by everyone due to the 6 ft distance they were keeping.
War pulled up the paper in front of him and pushed forward with the interview.
"How about we table that question gor a moment and move on to your resume. It says here you spent the last 20 years at Fox news..." | 2021-01-02T16:56:37 | 2021-01-02T16:39:02 | 52 | 21 |
[WP] “Aha! You’re here about the Fifth Horseman job, aren’t you?” says War, in a loud and jolly voice, “well I must tell you, Pestilence and I thought we’d never get an application! We’ve really been swept off our feet these past couple of years... Say, what colour do you want your horse?” | "Horse? I prefer to ride a bull if you dont mind, fits better with the motif." Bullshit replied.
War gave a sideways glance across the Starbucks table towards Pestilence, Famine, and Death.
Famine spoke up, "Well thats nice, but we already have a theme going ourselves. Its the Four.."
Death coughed and the masked customers nearby gave a sharp look. Embarrassed for a moment, Death shot a glance at Pestilance. "This is all your fault."
Famine interjected, continuing his point, "...sorry Five *horsemen* of the apocalypse. Not the four horsemen and one bullman. It just doesnt have the same alliteration."
"I have a large soy latte no whip, for Allen!" Yelled the Barista.
"Alliteration? I thought this job was about laying waste to civilization? Tearing down the old world in order to build the kindom of heaven on earth. There was nothing in the craigslist post which mentioned I had to ride a *horse*." Bullshit countered.
"I told you we should have used Indeed." Pestilence muttered.
Famine made an unpleasent face beneath his mask, but it was missed by everyone due to the 6 ft distance they were keeping.
War pulled up the paper in front of him and pushed forward with the interview.
"How about we table that question gor a moment and move on to your resume. It says here you spent the last 20 years at Fox news..." | "Grey coat with a slight blue tinge, mane and tail of a blinding white." I say, glaring at him. "The sooner you get me my horse, the better."
"Okay, and what will be your dreaded name?" War asks, edging a little closer. Not being the kind of person who communicates normally, I punch him in the mouth. He yells, falls back and hits his head onto the hard stone floor.
"Hey, what was that for?"
"I'm Pain." I chuckle. "I'm concerned the french will call me Bread but I suppose I could, uh, inflict the most unbearable torture on them if they do. It's kinda my job and I guess I will done mine better than yours. Look at the wars you made! Ha! It's pathetic! You are so lousy at your job that even an ant could start a bigger and deadlier war than you can!"
Tears fall down War's cheeks. It is evidently clear that I hurt him deep inside.
"Y-you are hereby the Fifth Horseman, P-pain." He whispers.
A while later...
I look upon those lousy humans- who were all either crying hysterically, maniacally killing others and eating them or lying on the ground and screaming in pure agony as they slowly died a terrible death. It fills my heart with great pleasure seeing them suffer.
"Look at them!" I laugh from atop my horse. Death pats me on the back.
"You forgot one country." Death says, pointing at France.
"Looks like they are in need of starvation." Famine chuckles.
"THE FRENCH! I WILL TEACH THEM NOT TO CALL ME BREAD! I HAVE THE BEST BAGUETTES RESERVED FOR THEM!" I roared, spurring my horse into movement... | 2021-01-02T16:39:02 | 2021-01-02T15:43:44 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You're a B-list villain. In all your years you've never indulged in excess violence; that is, until the new villain in town sends your best friend to the hospital. | I saw him. Laying there a mass of tubes, metal rods, and plaster casting. The EKG beeping softly in rhythm with his heartbeat the only proof my best friend, my brother of 20 years was alive. A kind nurse is explaining the long list of injuries he sustained in the rampage of the latest villain:
Shattered legs below the knees, massive blood loss, a collapsed lung, four ribs snapped, right arm hanging by tendons, and one hell of a concussion. I'm remembering every one of them, for reference, but forget the villains name. I don't need it. I turn to the nurse and interrupt her explanation by ordering her to spare no expense in his treatment, and that I will be back shortly with the proper funding. I leave the hospital, check my phone and give a quiet thanks for the idiocy of this villain in announcing her recent conquest would be the new home for her and her henchmen. Ft. Knox here I come.
It takes me forty minutes to drive there with traffic (I'm a villain not an animal, of course I obey traffic laws)and by the time I arrive at what's left of the front gate news teams and curious passersby are thronging, and already a couple minor heroes are engaged with her henchmen. I pay them no mind as I park behind the crowd, don my body armor, coat, hearing protection and mask, and begin to walk. I'm a soft spoken man by nature you see, with my power to manipulate soundwaves it gets a bit dangerous when I raise my voice. But I was able to get by as a villain by imitating peoples voices over calls. Pretty easy to weasel info when people think they're talking to someone they trust after all. Not today. Today I breathed deeply and let out a short, sharp yell. No words, just sound, and with my power I turned it into the sound of sustained gunfire. The crowd in front of me flees in every direction, but most importantly out of my way. The heroes and henchmen pause to look at me, united for once in their shared confusion; I give them no chance to speak as I take another deep breath, lean forward, and *scream* for the first time in decades. My power takes my outpouring of rage and sound and turns it into something all too visceral. Armor and shields made no difference as the sound powdered what was left of the concrete guard shack along with their bones. Organs were shaken to pieces inside of their bodies and their brains turned to little more than jelly to leak out of their ruptured eyes and eardrums. My hearing is fine of course, thanks to the unique hearing protection gifted to me by my best friend many years ago now, he had a matching pair. I wondered if he would be able to wear them again as I walked over the pathetic remains, moving deeper into the fort. My presence well and truly announced, more and stronger henchmen moved to block my passage only to meet the same fate as those at the gate, the ones smart enough to have ear-pro of their own lasting only slightly longer. One group thought to make use of a tank, but to no avail as I cracked the glass in their periscopes, cameras and range-finders with a single, amplified "fuck". This forced them to open their hatches to see, where they quickly met a messy end.
After what feels like forever, the henchmen stop coming. I drain a water bottle and pop a throat lozenge in an effort to soothe my raw voice as she finally makes her appearance. She's beautiful to be sure, midnight hair framing blue eyes currently filled with a mixture of hate, confusion, and bloodlust, set into pale skin that appeared almost translucent in the afternoon sun. She looks delicate with her slight figure, and standing no taller than 5'5 she barely makes it up to my chin. Difficult to believe that such a woman has such a brutally simplistic power: super strength. But given her sadistic tendencies it seems to fit her well enough.
Drunk on my earlier success, I begin to tell her how I'm here to take revenge upon her for what she did to my best friend, when she closes the roughly 20ft gap between us in one power-infused lunge and with a sickening *crack* sends me flying.
'Fuck, bitch caught me monologuing' I think to myself as I clamber to my feet, dizzy with the impact. It takes me a couple seconds to realize why she didn't press her advantage: my jaw is broken. If I use my power now I'd literally powder my own sturdier-than-normal bones. I turn and look at her. smiling smugly and walking calmly towards me, she describes how she's going to break me while figuring out where such a powerful villain has been hiding this entire time, and I sigh in relief. I reach my power out this time, and take her words. Her sounds, and amplify them. Her confused "What the-" shatters her legs below the knees, and she collapses with an involuntary scream, which I take and use like an invisible knife to nearly sever her right arm. More screams, more sounds for me to take revenge with. Her own pleading snaps four of her ribs, simultaneously puncturing at least one lung, while her last gasp I use to shake her brain in her skull to give her that finishing concussion.
Letting out a low groan from the pain in my jaw and the effort of using my power so freely, I lean against a partially collapsed wall and catch my breath, looking down at her twitching, slowly dying form. I don't know how I feel at this point. I do know I need the gold she had stolen from here to pay for the treatment my friend needs, so after taking one last glance at my handiwork, I set off to grab what I came for before making my escape. | It was a good thing that he chooses high collars and hoods as attire, otherwise the biting storm would have freezed his face off hours ago. Dreadshot was taking his sweet time.
Jack was waiting for his newest target up on an old cargo crane. His form was obscured by piping, scaffolding and the lightless sky of a new moon. Only the lamps on the warehouses shone yellow through the mix of sea-fog and snow. Before him stood a tool he never believed he would have to use. It was a fully-grown 50 BMG anti-material rifle, loaded with armor penetrating rounds. Dreadshot was know for his science-defying armor. Any calibre used by the police usually didn't faze him, but there was a video on Liveleak showing him recoiling from a direct hit by a fifty. If you could thread the needle when the time was right; find the hole in his scalemail, vengeance would be upon the man who had burned Jack's partner and best friend. He took a look at his wrist-computer. All surveillance was active. He wanted vengeance to be international news.
He really wanted to get out his phone and write a quick message to, Foxtrot. He was probably awake, trying to find some position to rest that made the burns hurt less. However, the shine of a phone display would give him away. He couldn't know who was watching.
Well, he knew of one person who was, and a smile crept up his masked face as he saw the shining beacon of morality and pretentiousness, Strikeman, take position right on top of the warehouse. You could always trust the guy's AI to find him half the answer to a question. Jack knew that he would ask his servers where Dreadshot was. Mr.Perfect never asks if maybe someone wants him to know.
The super-human leaned back behind the roof as a convoy of cars arrived. They parked in a circle, like a old-timey wagon-fortress. Jack sat down on a railing, and began to scan the guys through his scope. First came the cronies. Most of them were armed. Flashlights fastened to rifles lit up the frontyard of the warehouse, scanning for any other living soul. Jack twisted slightly to see the edge of the entry, where a black clad rifleman beat up some bum who sought shelter there. Strikeman was, of course, not prompted to action. Had to be at least lower middle-class for him to give a shit.
"So now, show yourself." Jack whispered under his breath. Even though his view was obscured by thick snow-flakes, and the colors dimmed and morphed by the fog and light, he saw the hulking form of Dreadshot. As always the man was clad in his outrageous red and black costume, with a skull mask like a centerpiece on all the plating. Right after him some of his men carried a large box. It probably was some or another city-, nation-, world-ending device, Jack was sure. The triple A folks only played big stakes.
It was as predictable as the plot of a young-adult novel. Strikeman jumped down, doing his great display of power by punching two mortal men into a wheelchair. Dreadshot, unfazed, came at him with the usual boasting and "its too late, Strikeman!". Jack had to try hard not to roll his eyes. Instead he focused on Dreadshot's neck. It was hard to make out, but there it was. The scales on his neck opened just slightly when he leaned his head forward. Just enough to Hail Mary a bullet in there, breaking the weaker inner plating and then having the bullet wreak havoc ricocheting in what essentially became a bullettrap instead of armor.
Following script, the hero and villain began to punch each other.
"Animals," Jack whispered. His aim held tight on Dreadshot's neck. Eventually he found an opportunity. Strikeman's straight punches got Dreadshot to curl in, and the sheer force of the fists against the plating worked like car crashes, throwing Dreadshot's head forward with inertia. While the cronies scattered, most bringing the device to safety, some just running for their lifes, the two superhumans upped the ante. Dreadshot threw a car at Strikeman, who just punched through it with ease. Every hit sounded like thunder crashing down from the heavens. Their grunts and shouts sounding like a choir of violence in the howling wind.
Then two hooks, left, right. One uppercut, followed by what jack had been waiting for. With triumph on his face, Strikeman delivered a straight blow that made the snowflakes in the air shiver in the shockwave. Through all this, the roar of a fifty and the crack of a bullet was just noise drowned out by the chaos.
Never had a bullet flown so long in Jack's life. It was as if he could see the trajectory of it; the wind catching it and carrying it to its destination, gravity pulling it down in a curve. His lungs stopped, his heart didn't beat. Dreadshot flew against a car behind him, lifeless, like a sack of potatoes. The snow around the man ran red with his blood seeping from every opening.
"What..." he heard Strikeman shout. That was Jack's queue. He jumped up, shouldered the rifle and slipped down the rope he had prepared. One quick pull and the rope came loose. Three steps more and with one silent jump he had entered into the maintenance tunnels below the old cargo port. Jack took another look at his watch and pressed "Save to Cloud". He watched the small progress bar as he ran back to his parked car, on the far side of the compound and a smile crept up his cheeks. Vengeance.
_________________________
The next day Jack held his coffee tight as he scrolled through the various newsfeeds. He refreshed the pages again and again, until suddenly, all of them had breaking news. His grip softened as the first headline came on screen. "Strikeman gone rogue. Dreadshot brutally murdered."
His phone rang. "Hey Fox, how are you?" Jack answered.
"A lot better." | 2021-01-18T03:56:19 | 2021-01-18T03:18:16 | 53 | 22 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End. | Calvin Hearst hurried into the deep core of his main lair pulling off his shirt even as one of his Furies brought him his trench coat and mask.
"I want answers. What happened?"
Fleur turns back from a monitor. "A high school freshman posted video of a dust-up last night. We had some men gathering gear Hephaestus wanted. Flame Ray showed up and got into a scuffle with Conundrum. Everyone got away and we got partial loot. But the girl put out that Dana was Flame Ray."
Settling his mask in place the Leaguer glanced at the feeds across the city. "She posted that Dana was Flame Ray? Idiot, so where are the Sin Eaters?"
"That's the bad news. They hit her school a minute after we warned her about the leak. Sir she costumed up in public and is now the only thing between them and the school populous. Police and the Guardians are responding. . ."
"Conundrum lives outside the usual patrol range for ESwat. Flame Ray is the only Guardian to get there fast enough and she is too new to know not to go after Conundrum instead of teaming with her. Get me a line to Snow Fox."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Rushing to the costume changer the older man traded his business suit for the white and blue costume of the Snow Fox. Three minutes since news came that a school was under attack and the only one in range to slow the mass murderers was a C class villain. Rounding the corner as he raced to the Shield cruiser his comms pinged.
"Good day governor, I would love to chat but there is an emergency."
"We both agree there Fox. But I am not the governor and don't have time to explain getting into your network. I need you to set the computer controls to level blue on your carrier."
"Leaguer? Why should I do that, one of yours is there and the computer is too slow."
"Hephaestus is launching boosters for your craft but we need the computer synch to get you there on time. Snow Fox, you know me, you know my organization. We steal, we pose. We do not kill. You are the only one with enough experience to control the Sin Eaters that they can be stopped without a huge death toll and. . ."
"And? Out with it Leaguer. What is it that has you so afraid?"
"Conundrum. She is young and has never had to take a life. If you don't get there in time. She may have to in order to save others. . ."
Reaching the flyer and dropping to the command seat the hero looks to the controls before hitting the computer guidance. "Level Blue set. But after this you will explain how you have compatible boosters to our gear."
"Thank you old friend. And I can answer now. Who do you think got you the tech for your whole operation?" | 2021-05-20T10:47:04 | 2021-05-20T09:07:51 | 97 | 35 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | He thought He could just waltz in and take over my territory. I am the supervillain here, the only supervillain. He thought it would be easy.
Easy.
Easy?
He thought He could kill *my* heroes.
How dare He?
How could He?
The heroes I have nurtured for so long, the heroes I'd painstakingly trained without their knowledge. They can defend themselves fairly well against other villains now.
But I know they're not ready.
Not ready for Him.
I must-
I must stop Him.
He wishes to kill them.
No.
NO.
NOO!
All think I am a weak villain.
Do they not-
Do they not wonder why I am supervillain of so much?
Do they not think other villains have tried?
Not only have I nurtured the heroes, but the land I claim flourishes.
It grows.
All have food.
Shelter.
Abuse is not tolerated.
And-
And they are happy.
Safe.
They do not know-
The do not know it is me that fights off the monsters of the night.
The nightmares.
The true villains.
Now He has come, and He will be dealt with.
I will kidnap the heroes and place them in a dungeon.
They will-
They will be safe.
From Him.
And I will wait in my lab, full of useless inventions and silly machines.
Or so it seems.
I, with my ray gun.
I, with my wormhole bazooka.
I, with my seventeen giant laserbeams.
I, with my mind control helmet.
The heroes will suspect nothing.
The villages will suspect nothing.
And this time...
The villain will *not* get away.
Not in my story.
Not today.
_______
I don't respond to too many prompts but this was fun to write | My heros. I dont know what happened, if i let them be. They wouldve probably turned into villains. Good, that i was there.
I lead them to great success, i was the one who made them famous, i was the one, that let the people believe in them. My plan was perfect, until this certain guy showed up. 'Nightscream'. An arrogant, aggressive and bloodhungry murderer. I always kept my heros away from him. He was a number too big for them.
This is the 3rd time he showed up. This time at a conference. "I give you heros one chance to give up. One last chance. Then nobody here gets hurt", he looked provocating around. I was there, too. Just to be sure. Damn, i have a good timing. My fist were ready to punch, and i slowly stood up from my place. The heros, infront of everyone at a podest, were alarmed. "Tell us, what you want, villain. And we dont hurt *you*", the leader Seraph said calm.
Nightscream laughed quietly. Gently, he said "You dont know, who youre talking to, do you?" "I talk to a murderer, who killed too many humans. You are the scum of society." Time to show up. He will kill them, if nothing happens.
"Nightscream. What are you doing in my town?" I went slowly the whole way to the podest, very dramatic and cool. "Ahh, hello, Nox. Do you join me?" "You know what i think of you. Now leave, or i will kick you personally out of this town. Understand me?" "Oh, you made your point clear. Now its my turn. Join me, or get killed with this heros. Your decision." He really wanted to challange me.
"Come here, fool. Lets see, who is doomed, you rookie", i went faster and stared directly in his eyes. "This town only has space for one villain, and thats me." And for this moment, everyone was stunned, looking at a fight, no one ever saw before. A fight, between 2 villains. | 2021-05-20T07:32:54 | 2021-05-20T07:28:17 | 88 | 51 |
[WP] You inherit the house of your grandmother Baba Yaga. Several witches and other supernaturals come to you offering to buy it. You go home to exam the offers. You get a call saying that the house is missing. You look outside and see the house has followed you home. | I groan. This ridiculous, poultry-legged coop followed me home, and now it's making goo-goo eyes at my hot tub. "Hey!! You stop that!!" I shouted, not entirely sure if the house can even hear me. So imagine my surprise when the thing turned and locked... Windows? Yeah, windows, with my eyes, and sat down like a dog expecting treats.
"Buk?" The house clucked. Goddess, if I hadn't experienced this, I'd call it a nervous breakdown, but this ridiculous domicile clucked at me!!
"Uhh... Good... Chicken... House?" At this point, I wasn't even sure I was going to ever sell the thing, and it clucked again, happily sitting there. So I pulled my phone out and went to Ping, the sorcerous search engine. "Appropriate treats for chicken-house", and I groaned in frustration. The only articles were for raising basilisks or regular chickens.
Apparently it was listening because it started hacking and retching before disgorging a tome dripping with... Chicken-house slobber? Yeah, let's go with that. So, I remembered a ditty Gram-Gram always sang while she made cookies, and sang it. The book opened. "Dear shvili, I see you are perplexed by my house, but don't worry, it's not a house--" My neighbor shouted over the fence.
"THAT'S NO HOUSE, IT'S JUST A GIANT CHICKEN!!" He shouted, and I giggled.
"There is no way--" And apparently having looked away for a split-second, then back revealed the truth, and I heard the song.
"You wear a disguise to look like human housing
But you're not a home, you're a Chicken Boo
He's residential-zoned and he's landline-phoned,
But he's not a house, he's Chicken Boo." | Hefting a sigh, Irina pushed back from her table and went to the window, forcing it open and sticking her head and shoulders out, "I didn't say you could follow me!"
The house just seems to titter a bit, before settling in place a bit on the strip of lawn that makes up the apartment's 'yard'. "How do you expect me to explain this to my landlord! I can't have you here, go on, don't you have a better place to be?"
The house just vacantly gaped back at Irina, unmoving.
"Damn it." She pulled herself back into the apartment and snapped the window shut a bit harder than she meant, wincing at the sharp sound of the metal clicking into place. Never mind the landlord-- Irina didn't know how she'd explain this to literally anyone else at the apartment.
The best part, thought Irina, was that her grandmother wasn't dead. Baba was simply on one of her little ventures. They had admittedly been getting longer recently. She'd finally begun to venture outside of Siberia, anyway. Why it was that she was presumed dead was outside of Irina's grasp.
The front door of the apartment lacked shut and Irina reached the kitchen at the same time as her roommate. "Why the hell is the bird hut outside? Don't tell me *she's* here," Lusya groused, the blonde's cheeks red from the cold from her walk home.
"Well, nice to see you, too," Irina frowned, but shook her head, "The letter-- she's apparently left me the house. Got plenty of interest buyers, but I really don't understand what's going on. She isn't here-- last I heard, she was enjoying Portugal."
Lusya frowned, "I'm sorry, left you the house? Doesn't that imply that she--"
"She's immortal, Lusya, I don't believe for a second that she's dead. I think she's just looking to more officially 'retire'... I should probably call my mother..."
"Irina, how was that not your *first phone call?!*"
"I don't *know*, I don't know what to do with *any* of this!" | 2021-12-19T00:11:46 | 2021-12-18T18:30:26 | 47 | 35 |
[WP] On a long dead planet, an alien archeologist finds a sealed vault. Inside is a precious cargo and a message: "If Earth shall ever fall, use these 10,000 embryos to continue the Human Race." | David sat in his lab chewing on a stick of carrot. They said it was supposed to help you to quit smoking, but now he wanted a cigarette more than ever to clear out the taste of raw carrot. He heard a knock at the door but, before he could invite his guests to come in, the door had opened and he found himself looking at a pair of short, stocky fellows. They were dressed entirely in grey with haircuts that were at least 30 years out of fashion. One held a long metal stick.
"Gentlemen!" Exclaimed David, "I haven't seen you around here, are you in one of my classes?"
Ignoring the question completely, the larger of the two monotonically mumbled
"You are David Munting, specialist in early human language structures? I need you to come with us. I'll explain on the way."
They spoke with a vaguely Australian accent, a rarity in this part of the world.
"Sorry gents, where do you want to take me and why? I have a lecture to give in an hour, I can't just go galivanting off with strangers!"
"Come with us or we'll be forced to thromble you."
The one holding the stick suddenly pointed it at David threateningly. It began to hum slightly, a musical tone if it hadn't been so ominous. David wasn't sure what 'thrombling' was, but he was equally sure that he didn't want to find out.
"Ok ok guys, let me just find a replacement for this lecture, I'm sure Melina will be happy to cover me"
After a quick phone call, David walked out of the building and was greeted by a large silver car.
"I'm starting to think you guys are from Mars, with your futuristic kit and weird car!" David quipped. The men did not laugh. Instead, they pushed David into the car and sat on either side of him. Instead of accelerating hard like David had expected, the car simply vibrated lightly for a few seconds, then stopped. When the shorter fellow opened the door it became obvious that, whatever had just happened, they were no longer in South Kensington. On the wall, 100m from where David now stood, was an inscription.
"Where are we?" David enquired, fearing the worst.
"We are currently 700m below the surface of planet ZB677, it has been uninhabited since before the Galactic Exploration Committee was formed."
David's brain was not capable of questioning the reality he had just been told about, so he accepted it, in much the same way as he would accept being told that sausages cooked better if they weren't pricked in advance.
"Why have you brought me here?" David continued. Instead of an answer, he was ushered towards the inscription on the far wall. He now saw that the smaller of the two had an unfortunate mole beneath his chin. It irritated him for some reason, though he couldn't be sure why.
"If Earth shall ever fall, use these 10,000 embryos to continue the Human Race." That is what the inscription said. It baffled David even more than the reality of aliens existing.
"How old is this?"
"We estimate the inscription is between 2 and 2.5 teraquadlons old - that's about 100-125 million years on Earth."
"But that's not possible" David stammered, "Humans have only been on Earth for around 6 million years, how could anyone have written this before humans even evolved?"
"We wondered the same thing, David. Until we dug deeper and found that there are no embryos here."
"Bit crap as a backup plan then isn't it..."
"Clearly it wasn't such a terrible backup plan. Ask yourself David, is your Earth the first planet to be called that name?" | It took the translator a considerable amount of time to decipher the ancient text, but M'althan didn't mind. It wasn't often any of the Vrux had leisure time, given the incessant demands of the brood mother and all. So he found himself alone, far within the vault they'd discovered on this barren rock, and without communication back to the main fleet.
It was bliss. If they discovered nothing else of value on this worthless stone, the time by himself was worth every galactic coin he owned. The web of debris around the planet had been difficult to navigate through, yes – but that self-same web now gave him this ultimate gift, one he was not about to waste.
As the translator continued its work, M'althan busied himself with making designs in the layers of dust that coated every surface he could see. The dust was impressively thick, and he was enjoying making quite the intricate pattern by varying the depth of his designs when the translator finally chirped.
He sighed. Playtime was over. Carefully, he moved his chitinous body over to the translator and read over the results. "Human?" He blinked. What in the cosmos was a human?
"Correct." The translator sounded bored, as usual. The AI continued, "The exact translation of the text cannot be determined. What can be translated reads, approximately, 'If Earth shall ever fall, use these UNTRANSLATED em-bry-os to continue the Human Race.' Rate of text conversion 70%."
"What's an em-bry-os?"
"Undetermined. Text conversion from Human language inconclusive."
"Huh." M'althan turned his attention back to the ancient text that still hung in the air before him. "I'm assuming 'Earth' is the name of their home?"
"Incorrect. The name of their home planet."
"Ah. So this desolate rock was their home." He tapped on the metal door nearby. "So something in here is supposed to 'continue' their species?"
"If the translation is correct, yes."
"Hmm." M'althan thought back to his mission briefing. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't the preliminary scans of this place show signs of warfare?"
"That is correct." There was a small hum as the computer shifted its screens. "Initial scans of Planetary Orb 74.x.189s showed signs of prior habitation. Trace residual amounts of various chemicals remain, including hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and other life-supporting gases, increasing the likelihood of prior life. The initial scans also showed signs of damage done on a planetary scale."
"Trace chemicals. Hmm." M'althan considered what he could remember from things he learned while he was still a hatchling. Being alone might be a blessing, but he could do with some of the brood mother's wisdom right about now. "Ah, I remember. Those chemicals indicate there should have been an atmosphere here at some point in the past, correct?"
"That is correct."
"What happened to the atmosphere?"
"Undetermined. Estimation of potential atmosphere deterioration due to planetary weaponry usage is around 74%."
"Uh-huh. And that means…?"
The translation computer sounded exasperated. "That means the estimation details are: the atmosphere deterioration was likely caused by side effects of the weaponry used here."
"The weapons that Humans used. Against themselves."
"Correct."
"And they want whoever reads this message of theirs to continue their species?"
"That would be an accurate interpretation of the translation, yes."
"Hmm." M'althan turned back to the metal door, nodding after a moment more had passed. "Well, I imagine if I were to do something that idiotic, I'd be fed to the brood mother in short fashion. Let's head back up to the surface, and we'll inform the Swarm that there is nothing of value on this rock."
"That seems to be the best course of action, yes."
"Alright then. Let's go." | 2022-03-15T07:54:08 | 2022-03-15T05:53:20 | 287 | 199 |
[WP] For years, the hero and villain's rivalry continues with seemingly no end in sight. You are the hero's sidekick and are frustrated with them and often rant about it to this nice girl you've gotten to know at th cafe, who unbeknownst to you is the villain's minion, who feels the same way. | "I missed my father's funeral," Isaac said, looking grimly into his latté. "'You have to be there', LeRoux said. 'Vital mission', he said. You know what it resulted in?" he said and looked at his companion. She knew the question was mostly rhetorical so she only waited, eyes set on him.
"A knife in the gut and three weeks in ICU," he said, clutching his side. The scar still hurt sometimes. "The best part? Overlord still got away. Like he *always does*. So what was the bloody point?"
"You have no idea. You know what he did from the money he got from it?" Elizabeth asked, tone as annoyed as Isaac's. He looked at her expectantly.
"He built a robot. 3 meters tall, laser eyes, chainsaw hands, the dumbest thing you've seen. LeRoux destroyed it on their next clash in, like, four minutes. The damn thing didn't even scratch him. It was like 4 *million* credits! Imagine what you could do with that sort of money! The lives you could improve!" she cried out, hand gesturing wildly.
"Wait, that was *that* robot?" Isaac asked incredulously. Elizabeth nodded without a word, her lips pressed together in anger.
"The generator system I designed for it could have powered a small town for 3 years with no harm to the environment," Elizabeth continued. "Instead, he slapped it in the robot. LeRoux ripped it apart and posed like a hero. It was the only prototype and... the blueprints were in the building when it blew up." Her voice was full of distress and scarcely repressed anger.
Isaac leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was always like this. Overlord robs a place or something like that. LeRoux arrives and fights him. Isaac has to be there and try to get as many people out of harm's way as he can.
Except he often can't. Not all of them. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees them. *Every* time he closes them.
As he sat there, considering the topic, a thought slowly crept up in his mind, growing larger by the second, invading every corner of his attention until the grand realization struck him like lightning.
"Wait..." he said slowly. "Did you say the generator *you designed*?"
"7 years of electromechanical research I poured into it and when I finally get the funding..." she waved her hand towards the air.
"You work for Overlord?" Isaac asked nervously and leaned away from Elizabeth.
"...I thought you knew?" Elizabeth fired back, eyes wide, now as nervous as Isaac. Their gazes met in a moment of utmost tension before each looked around the café for escape routes, enemy agents, weapons, anything that could be a threat or an asset.
"*Why*?" Isaac asked quietly. Elizabeth's countenance softened.
"He... wasn't always like this. He had... ideals, *good* ones, trying to fight the system that's more than broken. I just... he can do *so much good*, you know? If only he tried a bit more but this..." she clutched her fist, "infinite *fucking* squabble between LeRoux and him just..." she tried to finish her thought but only let out a defeated sigh. She had the awkward delivery of someone who is not at all used to cursing.
"I thought you knew. And that you understood," she added sadly.
Isaac looked at her. Elizabeth. A friend he's grown to hold dearly over the years, one who's always supported him and in return, he supported her; one who always offered a smile and a piece of advice. And she worked for that bastard.
"Huh," he finally let out.
"Yeah."
But he knew her. Better than to judge too rashly.
"Did you ever design something that hurt people?" he asked.
"No!" she snapped. "Of course not! That's not why-"
"I'm sorry. I had to ask."
Silence once again gripped them.
"So..." Isaac started carefully as if each word could blow up, "electromechanics, huh? I had no idea. How did you get into that?"
Elizabeth smiled. She knew he'd understand. Perhaps one day, they'll see this conflict end. Or perhaps one day, they'll leave it behind them. Together.
She raised her hand to order two more coffees; the waiter nodded, already knowing what drinks they wanted without them needing to say it.
They were regulars here, after all. | # Soulmage
**"And you know the worst part?"** I slugged back the cup of grainy black coffee that was the only drink they served at the Hero's Journey. I wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that we'd been fighting the Order of Valhalla for so long that people had started setting up cafes near the battlefields, or the fact that I'd been starved of a good coffee for so long that I'd settle for this swill.
"What?" Vivia asked, leaning in.
I slammed down my mug. "I looked at the history books. This isn't even the first time the Order and the Academy have clashed. Twenty years back, there were speeches and rallies about how this would be the *last time* we'd ever have to charge into this nest of villainy and scum—and they had to specify the *last* time, because a decade before *that*, the Order and the Academy were yapping at each other's heels again. Sending their finest graduates to live as heroes or die as villains on the same fucking battlefield over and over and over again."
"Hey, I feel you. I was *there* for the Silent Crusade." She was? Huh. I thought she was a new recruit—any veterans of the Silent Crusade were too highly-ranked to talk to a mere *sidekick* like me. "You see this?" She pointed out the window of the simple wooden cafe, towards the sparkling shores of Feardust Lake.
I nodded. "Yeah. The Witch of Warp and Weft is going to fly out there tomorrow and probably kick some demonic butt."
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Vivia said. "Feardust Lake used to be an ordinary section of plains, before the clash between the Order of Valhalla and the Silent Peaks turned it into Feardust Crater."
I whistled under my breath. "Rifts. There's not going to be anything *left* in a century, if they keep trying to kill each other at this rate."
"Yeah," Vivia said, then frowned. "They? You're... you're with the Silent Peaks, aren't you?"
I grimaced. "Yeah. You're right. If *we* don't keep trying to kill each other."
Vivia's eyes met mine, and I saw something solemn and hopeful in her gaze. "Well... *we* don't have to keep fighting."
I raised my eyebrows. "What?"
"I mean... look. Let's say, hypothetically speaking, you had two combatants in a battle, one from either side. Both of them, mostly helpless. Both of them, sick of fighting. And if they fought each other anyway, the only thing they'd accomplish would be getting each other killed. It... even if they cared about their side of the fight, it wouldn't hurt either side if both of them just... mutually agreed to walk away. They achieve the same thing they would have if they'd died on the battlefield, but... they get to live another day."
I laughed nervously. "I mean, yeah. I... I could live with that. But... you know. I'd have to *find* an enemy soldier first, you know? And get to know her. Talk to her for long enough that I'd trust her to stay away from the battlefield, too."
"Or you could go with her," Vivia idly said, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. "And we could be free of this stupid conflict, forever."
"I mean—but you're not—" I started to chuckle.
Then something occurred to me.
Vivia said she'd been present at the last Silent Crusade.
She hadn't said on which *side*.
She was an agent of the enemy. My instincts blared at me to sound the alarm—
But I took a deep breath. She was also *Vivia*. And... she had made me an offer. One that didn't even end up feeling like a betrayal of my mentor.
"Oh," I said.
"Oh," Vivia repeated.
"...Meet you at sundown? Shore of the lake?" I asked.
Vivia's eyes twinkled. "I'll see you there."
I grinned and stood, and—for what was hopefully the last time—jogged towards my tent, to pack my things and leave this eternal conflict behind.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. 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-four other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-16T11:24:31 | 2022-06-16T10:16:20 | 829 | 196 |
[WP] You’ve been in the white room for a month, and the guards expected your mind to break long ago. Unbeknownst to them, you are an immortal who was once stuck in a cave for a decade, this is nothing to you. | It takes around 3-5 weeks for solitary confinement to break a man's mind. I believe that is what my captors wanted to accomplish by putting me in this room a month ago. Unfortunately for them, I am not a man I am an Immortal. The mind of an Immortal, from the perspective of a mortal, is fractured and distorted. They will not break my mind, for I lost it long ago, when I first gained immorality. I could leave if I really wanted to, but I choose to stay. Several centuries ago I sat in a cave for a little over a decade contemplating the nature of reality. This perfectly square white room will be a nice place to contemplate a different topic for the next decade. Although, I suspect my captors may become impatient and release me before then. It will likely have to be a short meditation. So now I ponder what I shall spend this time pondering. | So they come to release you.
Suddenly someone walks in who looks young but feels so old.
“I can see we did not break you”,
Something cold goes through your body only a feeling.
“It seems as though you will take longer than others so we shall leave you here until you are broken surely you will die first but otherwise you shall remain in this room alone except for when we desire to torture your being to try and get our answers Someday. “
All of a sudden a look from his eyes to yours at first laughing and then very cold and then seeming to resonate with the glow of a color…
We understand people are only human and shall die eventually and so you shall die here unless we get the answers we need. Until the moment you betray all that you believed in.
The door closes and they walk away hear the footsteps and oh you can see from the window as they leave you hear a strong laughter any of their movements or precise,
No wavering or head movement and as they move further away your mind becomes more and more dark
A new prompt, how does this person leverage it they know they will live forever what can they do to escape is there a way to escape or has this apparently immortal soul best of them | 2022-10-02T20:44:18 | 2022-10-02T15:53:13 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords. | “How was the trip?” Keldurnab asked when her parents had finally seated themselves around the carcass. She had been dreading her parents coming back as they always had some weird trinkets from their travels. But once you retire, she thought, you kinda want to see what else is out there. Hopefully whatever they brought back wouldn’t smell or blow up the nutrient processor.
“It was….different” her mother replied.
“How so? I mean we conquered that place 4 cycles ago so it shouldn’t be that different from the other resorts you’ve been to.”
Guledbkd toyed with his food before answering. “They’re so….nice. To US! All of us. All the time. It’s freaky. They smile at you and just come up and do this touching thing….”
Her mother burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. The assistant scanned her for a moment then played the thought that was apparently so funny.
Keldunab saw her parents walking and then some of the natural inhabitants coming up to them. Suddenly they tried to swarm her father, all of them at once.
“They tried to MATE with you?!?” She asked dumbfounded.
“No. Apparently that is a gesture of friendship and love, whatever those are. They don’t even do it to their own very much unless they are extremely bonded. The guide warned us but we didn’t think he was serious. And even the young ones were doing it! Some had to be physically restricted”
Keldunab couldn’t even speak. No one treated Gelfours like that. They were one of the most oppressive species. Literally found new worlds and forced the inhabitants to work for them! They had been condemned throughout 4 galaxies for their actions. Mother finally managed to speak.
“Apparently things were pretty bad there, our standard investment protocols were a massive improvement for most. Like in one of the best spots they HAD medical care and food but most couldn’t get it.”
“You’re kidding me….”
“No! But the best part was they kept giving us stuff! I didn’t even have to go shopping this time.” Her mom reached into a bag and pulled a item out. It kinda looked like the inhabitants she had seen on the memory.
“Apparently this is one of the pinnacles of their art. They call it the David. Everywhere we went there was either some ceremony to give us something or even just a random inhabitant giving us stuff. I can’t tell you how many tissues we got.” Mother started giggling.
“That’s creepy.” Kel was intrigued but also a little disturbed. She often was criticized for her opinions conquest but her parents belonged to the Flelop generation.
Her dad simply grinned while looking at the trinket. “It’s probably gonna be the go to vacation spot for us.” | “EINCNIxiapwkmfPakmf IsjdnIdjfjKddkF42069 sjdjfj ajsjejjePWLDNFNF!”
The new alien overlords screeched on their speakers from their spacecrafts.
A teleprompter like device soon displayed the following: “And there is a minimum of two wives required with a full two days of breeding, one for each, no labor on these days. ”
The men in the massive gathered crowd began cheering.
The aliens looked at each other for a moment.
“riricjCCHHHHHH!”
The teleprompter noted: “You DO know this is mandatory, right?”
“FUCK YEAHHHH!”, the males in the crowd yelled.
The aliens shuddered at the thought that these creatures enjoyed forced procreation. The most painfully cruel act for their species.
There was but few rules left. They had to fear us with these next few, they thought. There is no power without fear and fear is bought with pain.
“wiWskxkdk~*,£<#SSSSNIPERWOLF{}}#”
The teleprompter churned out: “All humans will now be FORCED to live in a 1 bedroom 3,000 square foot house.” The whole west and east coast of every civilized nation erupted with joy. Cheers and cries of laugher.
The aliens were still confused but were slightly pleased at the mixed screams and tears streaming from some of the humans’ eyes.
They continued:
“widiiciaoLC /$;&&?&(- owockvlpApssOooofocoAOOSKXCNFNFK *click click click* Deez nutz”
The final decree. This must elicit fear or else their whole backbone of ruling with fear and cruelty would fall apart.
The crowd’s cheers and yelling died down. The words slowly flowed onto the screen. They read as follows: “And only 3 months of vacation time allowed each solar year. With mandatory flight simulations to the hottest places on earth. Near the equator. A place known as ‘Hawaii’”
The crowds of humans each gathered around their center of cities and towns roared with enthusiasm. They began chanting: “WELCOME TO EARTH!”
Frustratingly the aliens watched as their soon to be conquered planet seems to revel in their new decrees. They knew this reign would not last. That impudence and horror awaited them. The last thing they uttered “Ye3zY” was translated and placed on screen: “We’ll be taking our leave now. Sorry to have bothered you. Please forget this ever happened.” Their spacecraft darted into the ever expanding black æther. Into the nothingness. Everyone paused. The silence. Broken only by the people’s cries: “What did we do wrong? Please, please come back to us! We’ll change we promise!” And they never came back. The status quo came back. And everyone was miserable. | 2022-11-03T02:46:28 | 2022-11-02T23:51:10 | 90 | 38 |
[WP] The villain succeeds - and though utterly amoral, his plans result in a genuinely happier, better world.
And please, no "Reality TV stars executed". I know we all want it but that's too easy a way out. | The newspapers reported the death of Ultra Man in the papers the following morning. Funerals were held and broadcasted on TV. Reporters flocked to interview anyone and every about their thoughts of his death. TV specials ran for months about the impact his death would have upon the world. When The Cackler was finally put on trial, it literally was "the trial of the century". He was found guilty, he was tried quickly, and then executed a few years later. After that, the world's hero faded to memory.
You see, that's how it was back then. People relied on the heroes to take them out of the sticky situations. A mugger was running away, and people relied on the superheroes to save their possessions. Beat cops were looked upon like second class citizens. There was a war, instead the heroes handled it. We could never solve our own problems. Everything was left to the heroes to take care of.
You see, that's what was wrong back then. We lacked free will. We lacked the ability to handle and take care of our own problems. The Cackler, yeah, he may have killed the greatest hero we had ever known. But, you know what he did? He liberated us. He made us the masters of our own destiny. We could be our own gods, our own masters, our own heroes. We didn't need some guy in a cape swooping down to save the day.
You see son, I was there the day the Cackler killed Ultra Man. I was in that bus of hostages he used as bait. But, I also saw in his eyes what he was doing. We think that evil deeds are always evil, and good deeds are always good, sometimes, the evilest deeds are done in the name of good. Ultra Man did that everyday when he took away our free will. | I think I might have deviated a little from the prompt and honestly my piece feels a little pretentious but whatever I had fun:
The last moment was of blinding light and blistering heat. In the wake of the last moment, the sound of silence rang through the emptiness of the world. From the grandest of courtyards to the most grimy of alleys, not a sound echoed; not a thing moved. Everything was dead. No creature was left to lament their loss. Their loss was devastating by no exaggeration, every being burnt to ashes in the moment following the final achievement of the one who ordained the end. The last moment of all was of agony, not only the sheer panic and helplessness of knowing that all those you loved were to die with no hope of escape, but also the heart wrenching realization that even those you loved most dearly would perish in the same paralysing agony that engulfed your body in its last moment.
The bringer of the end knew what was coming for all; the destructive nature of the end was planned to the last detail, to make sure that not a soul was left. It mattered nothing that the pain of the last moment would be so overwhelming as to overflow from the distinctions of physical and mental to drive all consciousness to insanity. Only the most potent of devouring fire would suit the needs of the one whom so hated the world.
Even the land held its breath in the wake of the inferno that eliminated all life. The silence was absolute just as planned. Not a soul was left to feel anything; no pain, no happiness, no emotion at all. Though no one was left to revel in the bliss of an empty world, it was there to relish in its own existence. No longer would the darkness of life be ever present to devour all that it desired. No longer would life be present to manifest the darkest of emotions in pointless ambitions. No longer would a lion hunt down a gazelle, luxuriating in its domination, and no longer would a person betray a friend for gain. The world was empty, the world was in harmony
| 2013-12-14T08:02:45 | 2013-12-14T06:32:44 | 167 | 27 |
[WP] You've been granted god-like powers under the condition that you must do as much evil as you do good. | "You can bring her back, can't you?"
The sobbing young man begged me to help as he held the limp body of his wife.
"Yes, but there are...conditions, as you know." Balance had to be kept. One love's life for another.
"Anything, please! I can't go on living without her."
"Can you live with this decision?" I asked, hopeful he would make the right choice.
"Yes"
I nodded and closed my eyes, focusing my powers. Moments passed and soon the woman's eyes opened. The man's tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy, but balance had to be kept. Somewhere in the world somebody else was weeping over the dead body of their lover. I would find them and give the living the same choice: their lover's life for a stranger's. Everyone always chooses their own, and so the cycle continues. Maybe one day someone will be selfless; maybe one day I will be able to see her again.
| Evil is a difficult thing to define at it's core. More so when you are a God.
I look out on the now perfect world and smile. Telepathy had fixed most violent crime, and some adjustments to our drives and desires had solved the rest. Free will was maintained, but happiness remained... a balance so fragile only a God could maintain it. The world was full of hope, driven to progress together, and at peace.
And to top it all off, I had plenty of good left to do as it was needed for the single evil I had committed.
With one of the few sad looks you could find on earth, I looked up at the stars and my eyes were drawn as always to the one missing star. The civilization which would have evolved under that sun would never exist, and their every moment was stolen as fuel for this world. Snuffed out before it could even exist.
In the mind of a God every choice is as vivid as the reality we live in. Everything that can be and has been laid out clearly and able to be experienced at will. Except for that one blank spot in an infinite sky, which was cut off and void of possibility. | 2014-05-29T17:20:37 | 2014-05-29T16:17:38 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] You're a psychopath giving a speech apologizing for accidentally killing thousands of people. | I thought I had only killed one. They weren't ones to me. They were one. They weren't allowed to kill me for that. It was just one person. I read a book once. It said they couldn't kill me for killing one person. I read that in a book once. They're killing me which isn't what I read in that book which isn't fair. I didn't kill two thousand, three hundred and three, I killed one. One people. That's not alright but that's not something I'm allowed to die because. The book. I'm sure whoever killed all those people is sorry. I'm sorry for her. Or them.
And I'm sure he's sorry too. | "Good evening my friends"
I crow into the sea
Of people here gathered
To hear little old me
"It's been a good while
Since I got to address
A crowd such as this one
My hair is a mess"
"But you didn't come
To sit through my jokes
You came to find answers
To hear who killed Roanoake"
"The answer's quite simple
As it's plain to see
There's no one who'd do
Such a thing here but me."
"Now hold your applause
There was reason for such
If they hadn't died
No one knows quite how much"
"Cash would have been lost
In fines fees and suits
A pox on Obama
For that man is the root"
"Of all things that ail you
And all things that will
And with your support
I'll propose a bill"
"To subsidize power
We'll strengthen our role
So join in my chant
Long live clean coal!" | 2014-08-10T06:35:04 | 2014-08-10T05:59:43 | 79 | 57 |
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