prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] [CW] Two different subreddits are at war, but two of the mods on opposing sides have a "Romeo and Juliet" relationship. Written in Iambic Pentameter.
Pick two subreddits (ie: /r/shittyaskscience vs. /r/talesfromtechsupport). They are at war. Describe the relationship between two mods from these subs (fictional or otherwise) in Iambic Pentameter. | Fair friends who often love to write, heed now
My warning words. A tale of strife, of woe,
Of the cruel twists that fate can bring, and how
One unclean divide brought two great subs low.
This, the finest tale of despair. Tearing
Asunder the rich fabric of these lives
of subscribers so merrily fairing.
WritingCritically, which truly strives
To mark itself as 'other' from WritingPrompts
But the star-crossed mods at these sub's noble helms
From a chance meeting where one unfairly stomped
On the other's plan to not overwhelm
Our sub with prompts of fantasy and such
But love was born of this thread, and they clutch
To the things in common that both subs share | *I'm out of scotch so if the timing is slightly off then fuck it......*
**It is too great, that which my soul doth bleed**
To share the tale of two great loves denied
Two houses, of no cordial friendship
Hath spurred one fair relationship
Of mad and treasonous beginnings.
**We watched and learned of their romantic lusts kept dark**
Never to be without each others posts.
The crowds of ‘What the Fuck’ and ‘Aww’
Pray none the wiser evermore.
**For at this time our tale turns south to hell**
For both the lovers share the same surname.
And on this dark October’s day
We cast out the indecency of
AutoMod on AutoMod relationships
**Let this be known throughout all Reddit’s land**
That Mods may love, but not with brother or sister
For if you mod and lay down with thine kin,
A shadowban may come to be your fate.
| 2014-10-14T12:52:46 | 2014-10-14T12:30:34 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen a lot of tens. It's scary, really, how quickly people can go from six or even five to ten. Other people don't realize how much danger surrounds them every day. It takes so little...
No, the tens aren't the ones that stay with you. Not for long, anyway. No, the one that will always be in my mind was something else entirely.
A zero.
She was the first zero I ever saw, and the only one until I watched my children be born. They eventually grew into little ones and twos, of course, but for a short, wonderful time, they were tiny, giggling bundles of zero. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
*She* was the first. Sarah. I was drawn to her from the moment I saw her, dangling her legs from a swing on the playground. How old could we have been? 12? 13, maybe. I wasn't really sure what the numbers meant then, but the lowest I'd ever seen was a one, so I knew she was something special. I stared at her from across the playground and she smiled at me, her entire face beaming zero. I'm telling you... they say Helen of Troy had a face that launched a thousand ships. Well, Sarah could make them come back home. If there ever was a face that could end wars, it was hers.
We were friends at first. I was terrified of ruining it by saying too much, but the words I wanted to say ran laps through my head every time I saw her. Then, on a hot summer night that was made for drunken mistakes, I said them anyway. And guess what? She felt the same way.
When I think about my kids, I don't want them to be rich. I don't want them to be famous. I just want them to feel what I felt back there on that summer night, because I know that if they find someone to share that moment with, they'll be happy for the rest of their lives.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. After that night, me and Sarah were one. We went through the rest of high school. College. We got married and got nice jobs. Bought a house. Got kids. Everything was perfect... for a while.
Something was going on with Sarah. I first noticed it one Saturday morning when she was doing the laundry. She'd been doing long hours at work all week and wasn't feeling very well, so I offered to do the laundry. She looked up at me then and smiled faintly, but something was off. Instead of the clear, bright zero I was so used to seeing, she was flashing a faint one. The next moment, she was back to zero. I was stunned at first, but managed to convince myself it was nothing. She'd had a tough week, that was all.
The next time, we were having dinner with the kids. She wasn't behaving like her usual self, and she gave off a dull, weak three, like she was trying desperately to calm down. When I asked her if something was wrong, she mumbled something about an asshole at work. I wanted to dig deeper, but I had to take care of the kids. I asked her again later, but she clammed up completely. Everything about it was so unlike her.
I racked my brain for weeks trying to find out what was wrong. Was it something I'd done? Was she about to get fired? And the unthinkable: was she sick? But why wouldn't she tell me? I thought we had no secrets. I'd always told her everything! Well... apart from the numbers. She'd think I was mad.
Then, one day, I found out the truth.
It was early Friday morning. She never came home Thursday night. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling and running the same thoughts over and over through my mind. Imagining the worst. Was I going to get a call from the police? The hospital? I considered calling them to see if she was there.
I heard a car pull up at our driveway. I didn't have to look; it was her. I listened to her opening the door. Taking off her shoes, walking up the stairs - was something off about her steps? - putting her hand on the door handle. In the dead silence, I heard her take a deep breath on the other side. The door clicked and swung open, and there she was.
She'd been crying. She wore her work clothes, but they were a bit ruffled and wrinkly. She looked at me with an expression I'd never seen her wear before. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She drew another breath, short and shallow, and her lips slowly parted.
"We need to talk."
Her voice sounded muffled in my ears, like it was coming from far away. From someone else. She remained in the doorway, not saying a word. I didn't either. I just looked at her. *Sarah*. There she was, standing in our bedroom on the second floor of our house. In the rooms across the hall, our children were sleeping.
I watched her standing there, and she looked back at me, her face screaming a hot, burning ten. | Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T14:12:40 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 714 | 14 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
| “One, two, two, one, three, two.” Numbers over the heads of my friends, family.... People I knew, people I didn’t. I can’t remember when they got there. I just sort of started noticing them one day.... And what they meant was... Obvious to me somehow. “One.... One....”
I often murmured to myself, no one seemed to notice or care. It was all sub vocal, no one could really hear it unless they were listening closely... Then something stopped my mindless chanting.... Someone walked onto the school grounds.
“Ten?!” I stared at her, and covered my mouth, sitting back down on the steps, hoping no one noticed.
She was a ten? But... It wasn't possible, she was just so... Normal.... How could she possibly? I had never even seen a ten before! But I knew she wasn’t what one was supposed to look like.
I noticed she was heading straight towards me. I scrambled to my feet, and ran into the school, and down the hall, she was chasing me.
“Come back here!” She demanded.
“No!” I gasped as loud as I could still running, but she caught me by the wrist, and then yanked, we both fell on the floor.
“I need your help.” She pleaded, and wouldn't release my hand. “I was told to find you.”
“Please let me go! I have to get away from you.”
“No! Please listen! I need you!”
“Let go of me!”
“Listen to me and I’ll let you go!”
“Talk fast.” I said still struggling to get away from her.
“I need you to stop me.”
I stopped struggling. “What?”
“Without killing me, I need you to stop me.... You can see the numbers right? I had to find the one who can see the numbers.”
“Stop you from what?”
“Please.... I don’t want to die.” She said holding my hand tight, and starting to cry.
“Wait a moment calm down....” I said raising my free hand, “What are you talking about?”
“I am the end...” She said sobbing, and releasing my wrist to cover her eyes with her hands.
“What? The end of what?!” I demanded, more confused than ever.
“Of everything.” | 2014-11-29T14:43:43 | 2014-11-29T14:15:56 | 295 | 30 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will... | I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked. | 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T14:34:22 | 140 | 41 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked. | This is my first post to WP, so I hope anyone who reads this likes it!
Ever since I was born, I’d see numbers in my brain. From the instant I saw a living face I’d see a number. I learned pretty quickly it was danger: my dog was a 1 (too stupid to hurt anyone even if he tried, bless him), and the highest number I ever saw was a man in Hawaii, a seven. I figured out why after he robbed an old woman and ran away, knocking someone over, on his bicycle.
American Lit was boring that day, but that was going to change. I saw someone new walking down the hall and going into the next classroom. He looked at me for a second with a glare of callous determination, and above him I saw a blood-red 10, menacing and ominous. He quickly broke his stare, but I didn’t, watching him for the rest of the class. When I left, I followed him down the halls into an unused classroom. I was wondering if he was going to poison someone or plant a bomb or something like that, so I tried to catch a glimpse. He was nowhere to be seen in the room. I tentatively walked in, anxious as to what I was going to find.
I have regrets, just like everyone. I wish I didn’t have the ability I have; I wish I could have seen my grandfather before he died; I wish I didn’t blow off as much stuff as I did. But the biggest regret I ever had was that I never got to say goodbye to my family, and that the last thing I saw before I died was the same amoral determination that had so scared me before. As I faded into oblivion, choking on the blood in my throat as his knife stabbed me over and over, the last thing my eyes would ever witness was his terrible eyes, black as death, as he slowly widened his horrifyingly blank countenance into an evil grin. The last thing I ever heard was a cruel and harsh voice mutter, “One down.” | 2014-11-29T14:34:22 | 2014-11-29T14:18:16 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | It only took a few seconds of staring until the number pops up in the middle of their forehead. Thank goodness for that, since I think I'd go insane seeing numbers everywhere!
Babies and most kids measure from zero to three at most, while grown adults measure up to maybe five or six, depending on their skills in hunting. I once saw a dedicated force of police officers exit a train carriage and they varied from six to seven.
By the time I was 18, I rarely used my talent. I saw no point of identifying people through their threat levels. A professional boxer has a threat level of eight, but it doesn't make him a bad person, you know?
I was always relieved that I had never seen a nine in my life. I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, and the highest I saw there was a seven. I didn't even know what a nine would be, much less a ten.
[Elizabeth pauses]
He was walking around the terminal with this raggedy old briefcase. The handle snapped as he walked past me, and all the contents fell out everywhere. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to wave me off. I told him it was nonsense and helped him pick his stuff up, which consisted of a bunch of letters, notebooks, and I think a framed picture of his family. He looked stressed. so before he could leave I asked him if he would like a seat next to me, and he took the offer.
He was a handsome fellow, a little lanky, with matted brown hair and a nose that stuck out in an odd manner. He told me he had just been recruited to the military. He had a kind face, not one suited for the job he volunteered for. I asked him where he was from and what he plans on doing in the military, and suddenly I was intoxicated. He had this charming way of speaking, like he knew what to say exactly the way it should be said.
We talked for what seemed like a long time, although I knew it must have been only about five minutes. The train leaving from the city had called for its last passengers, and he stood up, telling me that he had to go. I asked him if I could write him, and he hurriedly snatched a piece of paper from his pocket, jotted down his address, folded it, and handed it to me. I barely had the paper in my hand when he started jogging away.
I called out to him, telling him, "Hey! I never got your name!" and for kicks I decided to assess his threat level.
He looked back at me, and yelled, "Don't worry! I wrote it down!" just as a big bright ten materialized in the middle of his forehead. When he reached the train, he looked back at me again, and there it was: the unmistakable number ten.
I'm sure I was still as a statue as that handsome smiling boy waved goodbye. I remembered the piece of paper in my hand, and slowly opened it. His name was right there.
"Adolf." | I always figured it was some form of synesthesia; above everybody, a translucent number, hovering above their head like a static hummingbird. I figured out soon enough that I was unique in this, that no-one else could see these bizarre numbers, a halo of creation and devastation. The nerdy kids on the late-night subway, a meek green 1. A young man down a side alley, gaunt and skinny, came in as a jaundiced 4. My reflection told me 6, blazing above my head like a personal sunset, caused by nothing other than a short fuse, as it flashed and fizzled in the mirror.
You got used to seeing anything between 1-5, and this covered the majority of the population. A suburban train line gave you 3's and 2's galore, a 7 occasionally popping up in the busier stations, but you soon got into the habit of not boarding with them. It was weird, seeing anything above 7. It didn't happen often, and I only ever saw an 8 once, and that was a gray sludge painted above Hitler's animated body, mouth rapidly spewing sludge for yet another propaganda film.
He changed that. He removed the blindfold, and showed me what the numbers meant. I sat in class, a cold autumn day covered the old concrete of the yard with a crystalline frost, refracting the light in a glorious beam across the side of the school's main building. I gazed out the window, daydreaming as the doddering, old teacher explained the basics of trigonometry in a droning tone, the scrawly tone drilling itself into your head, when suddenly i saw the flair out of the corner of my eye. A crimson supernova, radiating blood in waves around it, embossing the double numbers above the man below.
10.
To even think, the idea of a man worse than Hitler himself? My heart exploded into action, pumping waves of horror across my body, hyperventilation kicking into overdrive and leaving me ragged. And yet, *how could it be?*
He was pushed into sight, a big silver frame rolled around the corner of the yard, hands grasping the slender handles protruding out of the frame of the chair. Big, metallic spokes reflected the demonic color onto the ground, blood washing over the ice and turning it into a twisted battlefield. The drool cascaded slowly out of the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his crisp blazer as the assistant ferried him across the large expanse. She barely registered in the storm surrounding her, but a faint, calm 1 splayed it's lime tinge amongst the pyroclastic flow meandering around it.
Hairs turned to rock as I stared at this monster, this gargantuan evil, yet all I saw was a broken boy, too simple to even function, wheeled around like a trophy. I wondered, *how could THIS be evil?*
And as his deformed body shifted, and the void of his pupils hit mine, i understood. Rage incarnate spewed venomously out of the side of his cornea, and a word rumbled across my cranium like a tectonic quake:
**SLAUGHTER**
My mind splintered, and as the chunks transcended reality, the red glow stopped. | 2014-11-29T17:05:40 | 2014-11-29T15:29:59 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | I stole a quick glance into my rucksack at my tablet, the signal for the hotspot was growing stronger. I looked ahead through the crowded Street, towards a tall building. It would be empty on this day
I checked my watch, 12:18 PM, I had 12 minutes. I approached the door and gave a quick push, the door swung open. They would not be expecting me. I walked down the empty halls and to turned right to enter the stairwell. I exited on the 6th floor, and entered the first room on the left.
Three men were sitting as I entered, one immediately stood up.
I drew my suppressed pistol and shot him 3 times in the chest. One went for the gun on his hip, he didn't have a chance. The last threw his arms up.
"Do you have any idea the consequences of your actions? You must not interfere with the time line. Oswald must fail! "
I pulled the trigger two times and stepped over the body to the window. I placed my break down rifle on the table and assembled it. I checked my watch 12:29.
I looked down the scope at the approaching car driving through the crowded Street. My finger resting on the trigger, crosshairs on the target, I heard a shot and then another, the crowd started going crazy. I pulled the trigger.
Oswald misses, I do not. | I thought for a moment to heed the stranger's warning. But if anything, it made me more curious than defensive.
I located the strongest signal and it led me to a local inn. I returned the tablet to my rucksack, and entered.
I had taken the proper precautions to dress the part, and be able to speak as my forbearers had.
"I'd like a room please, quiet preferably."
The innkeeper looked at me in a strange way, as if he could tell I wasn't from around here. Regardless, it must have occurred to him that I was simply an unusual character and motioned his index finger straight up.
"I have quarters for you on the third floor, it is indeed the most quiet. You will not be disturbed, but I must warn you that there is an odd lot just down the hall from you."
I handed him the appropriate currency and proceeded upstairs with the skeleton key he provided me.
My room was further down the hall, but I instantly recognized rather familiar music, certainly not from this time period.
A door was cracked open, the music came from inside.
I peaked through and noticed a chubby young adult in a striped shirt, donning a fedora. Paper stock notes covered the walls and stacks of cash piled up on every surface available. A second man reclined in an armchair smoking a cigar. Both men looked just as out of place as I did for this time period. I worked up the courage to knock...
They noticed and beckoned me to enter. They realized immediately that I too had made the same time loop.
"Well, if you're here now, you might as well help us..." | 2014-12-23T18:36:50 | 2014-12-23T18:17:59 | 911 | 227 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | "You have five minutes."
The overly sized bear-man shoved me into the room with force sufficient to topple me over the table. Gathering myself and the contents of my bag I attempted to contemplate where I was. The room was white, not pristine but an almost dull, mind-numbing shade. The room was empty minus a mirror on the wall to my left and two white chairs on either side of the white table I was previously sprawled across.
A voice from somewhere spoke, "Your meeting will soon begin, it seems your partner is late."
Partner? I've been single for years. Heck, I can't remember my last girlfriend. Stacy? It ended badly.
I begin to try to remember, but the day was foggy. It seemed like an ordinary day. Wake, eat, shower, work, eat, work, eat, browse Reddit, and then to bed.
Pondering what could have caused my sudden departure from my regular routine, a man burst through the door.
"Hey you, I'm you!" he broke out with a grin. I looked at him, down at my clothes, back at him. Was I part of some kind of government clon--
"No you're not part of some cloning project."
"Wait, how did you know I--"
"Because I'm you! I know exactly what you're thinking because I'd think the same thing of course!"
His, never ceasing grin was beginning to creep me out.
"I don't understand. I'm me. How are you me?"
"Well", inhaling deeply, "I'm the you, that could have been you, if you had done you better!"
"What do you mean if I had done better?"
His grin faltered, "Ahh you mean they didn't tell you?"
I shake my head.
"Tom, you're dead."
Memories rush back, waiting at the bus stop, pushing the kid out of traffic, the truck.
Dead.
I tried to grip the situation, but it just seemed surreal. Like it was all some kind of dream that I'd wake up from.
Pausing again, I looked at him, confused even further by his grin. "Why are you grinning so much?"
"I'm grinning because I know something that you don't know. In fact it's the only difference between us!"
Interested now, "So, out with it you, er, me. What is it you know that I don't know?"
"We're the exact same!" With this exclamation he doubled over laughing harder than I ever have in my 36 years of life.
It suddenly dawned on me. My whole life was shit. And he was the exact same as me.
The whole concept of doing better, that everyone can be as good as they want to be. They drilled it into my head since grade school. 'It doesn't matter the hand you're dealt, anyone can be a winner!'
Turns out they were wrong.
I looked at myself, and realized the hilarity of the situation.
"Come on Tom, we've got a long way to go."
Walking arm and arm into the abyss, we laughed all the way. | I committed suicide at age 43, alone in a dingy flat in a dodgy area; overdue two months of rent, water long since cut off, and loan sharks knocking at my door at all hours of the night.
I will freely admit that I knew I wasn't a model citizen, but I certainly didn't think I was Hell-worthy. I thought of myself as a lower-class limbo type of guy. I guess I was wrong.
I suppose that if it wasn't the binge drinking, shoplifting, child support-dodging, and down-right embarrassing church attendance that got me into the not-so-nice big-H, then it was the sleazy one-night stands, coke-fueled evenings, football betting, dealing to high schoolers, and bar fights.
Whatever the cause of my classification, I knew I had messed up because as soon as I lost consciousness on the beer-stained beige carpet of my apartment. I was slumped over a metal table in a dimly-lit room that vaguely reminded me of a police station.
The first of my groggy thoughts flitted towards something along the lines of "oh shit, they found the coke". No sooner had the thought processed did a door I hadn't noticed to my left swung open and in sauntered a cleanly shaved man in a freshly-pressed suit.
I tracked him with my eyes and squinted at his face, trying to place it, as he purposefully walked in front of the table, pulling out the opposite chair and hanging his navy jacket on the back of it before smoothing the backs of his trousers and sitting down to face me.
He was the kind of man I glanced at on the street and sneered at as he lowered his head and picked up pace the moment I nodded my head up and twitched my lip at him. He certainly didn't seem to be a police officer or even a detective. In my previous encounters with law enforcement, they normally would have shown their badges by this point.
We sat in silence for a moment while I scrutinized his face for some hint of who he was and why he was here. More importantly, however, why I was here.
He began to speak with a measured voice, "I have a house in the suburbs. I married Lucy, from high school, and we have two sons: Derek, whose 16, and Ethan, whose 11. I make enough each year to comfortably pay our bills, save for my retirement and the boy's univeresities, and have a flexible disposable income."
I said nothing and he continued to stare at my forehead, not seeming to properly look at me, but rather, past me. I remembered Lucy, she was pretty and smart. She sat two rows in front of me in English. She was a nice girl and I was a stoner. I don't recall ever talking to her.
"You could have been me." His words hung in the air like fog.
"What are you on about?" I grunted, annoyed more than anything.
"You're dead. You killed yourself. You're in hell." His reply was short and to the point. In any other situation I would have thought I'd stumbled upon a mad man, but something within me knew that he was telling the truth.
"I am what you could have become." Again, I didn't doubt him. I looked into his eyes and he finally dropped his gaze from my forehead to look me in the eye. As our eyes met, I began to sob. | 2015-01-02T11:13:26 | 2015-01-02T11:09:56 | 334 | 22 |
[WP]: it's the year 2057. Queen Elizabeth still reigns. People are getting suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | "Mum? I think it might be time for you to step down and let Will take over like you promised all those years ago, or even George at this stage. I mean people are starting to suspect now."
"So? Let them suspect. Surely by now there are more important things for the people to worry about, if not it would be a distraction for them during these bleak times. Besides at least this provides solidarity considering every government in the Commonwealth is having issues."
"Elizabeth,maybe you should walk away and take the shadows like all your predecessors have," cautiously advised Philip.
With a pause in her stride, Elizabeth II sighed. "I have been thinking about it but I have been advised that the great calamity is on our horizon and that it might just be easiest if I were to stay put. Besides my sister is staying in the spotlight, has anyone tried telling her take a step back?!" Elizabeth growled, her voice echoing throughout the catacombs.
Charles and Phillip exchanged weary glances with one another, both at the eerie sound of her voice resonating in the great underground maze, as well as the mention of the Queens estranged sister.
"It doesn't matter, we're here," they stopped outside an ancient wooden door with a warm glow and the sound of chatter coming from the other side, with the explosion of warmth and sound coming bursting forth as they step inside the great chamber.
As their eyes adjusted the trio could see the great table with all of Elizabeth's predecessors sitting at it with their partners, with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert sitting at its head.
"Welcome you three, a feast to celebrate a new beginning will be starting soon." Coldly welcome Victoria. "Please take a seat."
Elizabeth took a seat at the end closest to her, seating herself next to a familiar figure that she had not seen in the person for nearly a century.
"Betty," bitterly greeted Elizabeth.
"Lizzie!" cheerily welcomed Betty White suddenly hugging her estranged regal sister.
| 2015-01-20T05:08:27 | 2015-01-20T04:14:55 | 133 | 94 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | "No, please."
She pushed the vial away from her lips, her thin and wrinkly hands shaking.
"Why?" I asked.
"I... I'm so tired, dear." She sighed. Then she continued:
"My flesh is tired."
"What do you mean?"
"The other ones, my other lives, I've come to realize... they were not *really* me. I've read their diaries, I've memorized the formula. You raised me and I made you young again. I raised you as though you were my own child. But there is no personal continuity between these versions of us and the ones that came before."
There were tears in her eyes, now.
"This is not immortality. Just a series of deaths. A long line of lives we cannot remember, but I swear I can feel the weight of every loss in my bones."
She put her hand on mine.
"I want to sleep."
"But what about our deal?" I asked. "What about us?"
"You will have to find a new one. It will be easy to find somebody willing, but harder to find someone to trust."
I nodded.
"Now leave me. Please. I will have my peace, at last."
I slowly backed out of the room, and I whispered "good bye" as I closed the door.
Walking down the hallway I returned the vial of cyanide into my pocket. I obviously wouldn't need it for this one. That was a first. She'd almost figured everything out, that stupid old hag. She must've been depressed. Whatever. That made things easier for me. Of course the formula lets you preserve your memories! It would be pointless, otherwise. The only reason my partner couldn't remember her past life was because she hadn't lived one. Neither had the one before her.
I already had the next child prepared. I would raise her as my daughter. Then she would raise me as her son. Then I would kill her. Rinse and repeat. A god doesn't share his throne. | I always hated winter in New York. Ever since we first came here. Actually, I never liked New York at all. You may not have noticed, you've had so little time here, but the rain here is different from anywhere in the world, and believe me, I've been everywhere.
I am 3,569 years old. I was born in a small village outside Vienna. We met at the fountain, I was a 20 year old boy looking for water, She was an elderly woman who'd certainly been there before, It's a weird thing, she never did tell me her age.
We made a deal then. She would help me survive and I would help her. You see, when you drank from the fountain you woke up the next day as a baby. I tried my best and raised her until she was about 16 years old, she woke up one morning and remembered everything. Then I drank my potion and we switched roles.
Here's the tricky part: after 400 years we fell in love. But our love could only live 16 years at a time, when we remembered. It was frustrating sometimes, but when you know you have eternity, 16 years is a small breath. We had many children, and that helped us extend that, with the ones that understood. When my firstborn fell ill, I gave him the drink. It didn't work. It never did. Our tenth child agreed to raise us and we aged together for the first time.
Some people have changed the world. I never wanted to, all I ever wanted was to love her, and make her happy. I spent the better part of 4,000 years loving the same woman with all my heart, It never changed. I've seen the planet change in a way that's almost enough to fill your brain with awe and sadness at the same time. I've fought pretty much every war there's a record of. All for her love, her safety.
And yesterday, without any notice, I found her stabbed to death, with the same knife I made all those years ago, a note saying she was tired, couldn't do it anymore. Didn't love me back anymore.
Pour me another, will you?
| 2015-02-14T06:40:49 | 2015-02-14T06:24:56 | 1,103 | 13 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | He was ten at the time of the accident.
Unbeknownst to me, Ben's day began like any other. He woke up one minute before his alarm would ring and raced to turn it off. He always loved to beat the alarm clock, he felt like it set him up to keep winning the rest of the day. He showered quickly, skipping shampoo and only really washing his face. He put on his favorite T-shirt, the black one with the Wolverine leaping forward. I always complimented it whenever I saw him in it. He came downstairs and put two Eggo waffles in the toaster.
>"Did you use shampoo this morning?" his mother asked.
She leaned down to smell his hair.
>"Yes, mom," he lied.
This seemed to satisfy her enough as she then walked away. She always fell for it.
After eating, Ben left for school around the same time I would leave for work. He would always get on his bike as I was walking out to my car and call over,
>"Good morning, Mr. Richards!"
But today he didn't. He looked over as if to say hello, but I had already left. He continued as usual to bike to school. He passed my house, the Smith's house, the Robinson's, and even sped up to pass the abandoned house which he knew was haunted. As he reached the fork at the end of the road, he went left. This was a new path for Ben as his school was to the right. I knew this because this is where we usually would go our separate ways. I used to watch Ben going right in my rear view mirror as I would turn left to get to the highway.
Ben continued until he got to the bridge that crossed over the Jamestown river. He stopped and got off his bike. He noticed skid marks on the pavement and stared at them for some time. Then he followed the skid marks. He reached the side of the bridge where the railing had been broken. He reached out and touched part of the railing that was still intact and looked down where I had lost control and of the wheel and drove of the bridge 24 hours before.
>"Good bye, Mr. Richards."
| Lucas focused the scope of his riffle, aimed at the head of no other than the famous Maria Rios.
He smirked. It was lucky day, no doubt. The women’s activist may have been gaining a large following across the world but like most things, enemies came with the territory. Powerful enemies – the kind who would pay nicely for a bullet in her skull. Discreetly, of course.
But she knew the costs of her power. Lucas could only hope she would be aware of the consequences. Not that he actually cared. As long as he did what he was contracted for, he still got paid.
Lucas adjusted slightly to the left when a rogue wind rushed by him. He glanced up at the sky, frowning. It was dark, a grey blob rolling and growling in a hypnotic dance, as if to protest his job. The first plump drop of rain landed by his side. Sighing, Lucas looked back into his scope.
Bad weather wouldn’t stop him. He had been trained to operate in all sorts of weather – a small thunderstorm the least of his worries. When it began hailing and a hurricane ripped across the city, then he would be worried. And even then, he would still make sure to get the job done. Assassins have bills to pay, too.
On the other side of the scope, Maria stood waiting for her death. It almost seemed poetic. She would die doing what she loved, giving a speech of the inequalities of gender politics in her native country of Honduras. In way, she would be like the next King or Ghandi. But of course, good people always die young.
The clouds growled again, shaking the earth. A streak of blue light flashed in the distance. He wondered if he could time his shot with the next one, if anyone would know what happened to their “beloved” Mama Rios in the brief moment of chaos. He could even go down in history under the name. The Lightning Assassin had a nice ring to it.
No point in not trying.
Lucas took in a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. The shot lined up perfectly. Now all he had to do was shoot. In three, two…
He squeezed the trigger as the sound of thunder shaking his core to the bone. The flash of lightning was bright – illuminating the world around him. He exhaled, closing his eyes as his body tensed to unprecedented heights. The last thing he remembered was hearing frantic shouting in Spanish and the smell of burning flesh.
Maybe he wasn’t as lucky as he thought. | 2015-06-03T06:23:30 | 2015-06-03T06:09:40 | 197 | 29 |
[WP] you live in a world where instead of Wolves being domesticated bears are. Today you are visiting the pound to adopt a bear. | As a child, John had begged his parents relentlessly to get a bear. His many protests of "I'll feed it every day and clean up after it! I'll be responsible, *I promise!*" were always met with promises of a far-flung future of when he was older, more responsible, more mature. Then he'd be able to get a bear.
Well, John turned 22 today. He had a good job, an apartment with a off-leash bear park a short walk away, he had made sure he wasn't allergic to bears and he had done his research on how to give a bear a happy and healthy life. He drove to the pound, his heart pounding with excitement. The 20-minute journey was a blur in his mind, his thoughts focused on whether he'd meet the right bear for himself at the pound. He'd always been partial to the medium-sized breeds, finding the miniatures slightly creepy and the large breeds too big for his simple bachelor apartment. He'd consider making an exception for a Rusky though. Those looked like wild polar bears with intense blue eyes, how cool was that?! Maybe there'd be a pit bear or pit mix up for adoption. There were rumors that the provincial government was looking to ban pit breeds, and he knew that the pit bears at the shelters would be quickly euthanized if the bill passed. John never denied that he had a soft heart for bears.
He parked his car, took a deep breath and walked inside. The receptionist was a cute, freckled brunette. At his entrance, she looked up and gave him a dazzling smile.
"Hi there! What can I help you with?"
John gave a nervous smile in return. "I'm uh...I'm here to look at your bears. I'd like to take one home with me today, if I can."
"Oh, that's great," she replied. "I've just got some forms for you to fill out and some quick questions to ask you to make sure that the bear will have a good home. Is that all right?"
"Perfectly," John nodded. "I totally understand your concern. But don't worry, I've done my research and I've uh..." he rubbed the back of his neck.
"I've got the bear necessities."
-------------------------------------------
EDIT: Included a mention of Ruskies. Because you know the Russians would've quickly domesticated polar bears for pulling sleds.
| “Oooooo honey look! Teacup Grizzlies! Sooooo cute!” Kirsten bent down and reached over the little pen, holding her hand out to one of the tiny bears.
“Well, yeah they are, but I was thinking maybe something a little bigger, you know, that we could train to protect the house”.
“Danny no! Look at them! Oh who’s a ferocious widdle gwizzwey? That’s right, you are!” She wiggled her fingers as the little brown bear stood up on his back legs and swatted at them.
“Honey, look, I want like, a REAL bear, not one of these things. Something I can take for walks in the woods with me. Maybe scare off a wolf or something if we see one”. Danny could already feel his dream of having a sporting-bear as a pet was slipping away.
“Oh stop. You never go hiking, and those things shed all over! Not to mention I don’t want to have to fight for room in bed when some stupid big bear jumps in with us. These are perfect!”
“It’s the girliest thing I’ve ever seen”.
Wrong answer. She slowly turned, little bear in her palm and ice in her eyes. “Oh, so because I like it it’s ‘girly’ and stupid? Sorry, you’re right, let’s go find a giant bear that’s manly and knows how to fight and fix motorcycles and drink beer. That wouldn’t be too ‘girly’, would it?”
Danny knew this discussion was over unless he wanted to sleep on the couch for a while. If only he could have some kind of regulator installed that would stop him from speaking every time something stupid came to mind.
“Okay, okay,” he relented, “You’re probably right anyway…I mean, we don’t have a huge apartment, maybe a little guy this size would, you know, fit in better”.
“She, it’s a she,” she said, holding the little furball up in front of her, “Princess I think. Yes, definitely Princess. Isn’t that a great name for her?” Kirsten looked at Danny, smiling and almost daring him to make another comment. No, not almost, it was pretty blatant.
“Yep, adorable, it’s perfect. Guess you found yourself a new little friend”. Danny sighed inside. Oh well. It really was a cute little thing, he thought to himself. And maybe he could train it to keep the mice away.
| 2015-07-23T06:56:53 | 2015-07-23T05:43:51 | 616 | 86 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans. | God: "What the me is this?! How the hell am I supposed to find anything again!
The first ones are okay:
Patch: Wisdomteethremov1.4
Patch: Diabeetus1.8
Patch: Colonmrrt2.3
But these?!
Patch: TrgH&3.4
Patch: TrgH&3.5
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1&Wisdomteethremov1.5
And so on. What the hell, man?"
"Ha! I never commented my code when I was alive. So I know exactly were I'll end up once we finish this. This way, you'll need me forever!" | Update available!
Patch notes for humans below:
General
- Fixed a bug which made liquids spray out of the nose when humans laugh and drink at the same time
- Tweaked cognitiv memory settings that fixes random amnesia when subjects enter rooms or opens the fridge, causing them to forget their task or stare for hours in to the fridge
- Quick fix that prevents eyelashes getting stuck inside the eyesocket
- Altered mouth geometry. This hopefully stops the random tongue and cheek biting during food consumption
- Implemented neuron SHA256 encryption to prevent the virus 'Religion' from spreading
- Fixed blind spot in eyes
Female
- Girls have had their "You_should_automatically_know_whats_wrong"-module disabled due to too many complaints
- Removed mood swings during periods
Male changes
- Lose threads or hair shouldn't get curled around the penis anymore.
- Toe hair removed completely. It was deemed useless
- Hair should no longer grow between buttocks
- Anything with hair in inappropriate places should be fixed | 2015-08-25T07:52:02 | 2015-08-25T07:46:47 | 150 | 51 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans. | git diff
similarity index 72%
rename from incentives.h
rename to motives/incentives.h
index f3e63d7..e8f44ba 100644
--- a/incentive.h
+++ b/incentives.h
@@ -1,8 +1,9 @@
- #include "greed.h"
- #include "power.h"
- #include "exploitation.h"
-
+ /*
+ Seriously, how did you fuck up the headers so badly?
+ God, we need to have a serious talk.
+ -- Larry W
+ */
+ #include "humanity.h"
+ #include "curiosity.h"
| Update available!
Patch notes for humans below:
General
- Fixed a bug which made liquids spray out of the nose when humans laugh and drink at the same time
- Tweaked cognitiv memory settings that fixes random amnesia when subjects enter rooms or opens the fridge, causing them to forget their task or stare for hours in to the fridge
- Quick fix that prevents eyelashes getting stuck inside the eyesocket
- Altered mouth geometry. This hopefully stops the random tongue and cheek biting during food consumption
- Implemented neuron SHA256 encryption to prevent the virus 'Religion' from spreading
- Fixed blind spot in eyes
Female
- Girls have had their "You_should_automatically_know_whats_wrong"-module disabled due to too many complaints
- Removed mood swings during periods
Male changes
- Lose threads or hair shouldn't get curled around the penis anymore.
- Toe hair removed completely. It was deemed useless
- Hair should no longer grow between buttocks
- Anything with hair in inappropriate places should be fixed | 2015-08-25T07:52:12 | 2015-08-25T07:46:47 | 69 | 51 |
[WP] The last direct descendant of the Chinese emperor Qin Shi Huang finds him/herself in mortal danger. The Terracotta army awakens in response. | In the second week of the first year of the underground offensive on ISIS, Harry Qin of SEAL Team 2 had been under siege in the village for three days.
"Don't you get it, Qin?" his captain screamed, "there are no reinforcements, because we're not supposed to be here. We repair this chopper or we die." So Harry Qin went to work.
"Captain," Harry said, "If we fly off on this chopper, what happens to the villagers?"
"We killed al-Alwani," the captain said, "We did our job."
They were holed up in a small village at the base of a cliff, with 6 living SEALs and about 60 armed men from the village.
ISIS had about 300 men, 100 with automatics, but the village was walled and Qin's unit was able to keep them off for a few days-- until the shells arrived. Before that day the SEALS could at least outgun the raiders. Not anymore.
Harry watched from the rooftop where he was repairing the chopper. The bombs blasted the wall and armed ISIS troops rushed in. Women screamed. Men were split in half. The other SEALS formed a perimeter around him as he worked.
But he couldn't any more. Not while there were children out there. He wasn't just going to fly away.
Harry grabbed a gun and joined the perimeter. He picked off a man grabbing a 12 year old girl with a precise shot.
"Qin!" his captain barked, "Get back on that chopper. That's an *order!*"
"New orders, Captain" Qin said, reloading, "McCarthy! Johnson! Flank left. Down the stairs."
"You won't go down there, Qin," the Captain said, "You're killing your people."
"These are my people too," Harry said, "We owe them."
At that moment, Harry saw someone fling themselves off the cliff above, a height of a hundred feet. The body landed in the street below and shattered. *Shattered?* thought Harry.
Then another one jumped. And another. Whole scores of people running off the cliff and falling into the town below.
The invaders and townspeople all the stopped to watch. For a moment it was quiet.
Then the dust stirred. The shards of torsos, faces, and weapons magnetized together. The first Terra Cotta battalion surrounded Harry's position, daring anyone to approach.
Soon chariots flew from the cliff and rebuilt. They had been riding three days and three nights across the steppes, tirelessly. Thousands of shattering warriors fell into the city, an army fit for the gods. Chariots clashed with all terrain vehicles. Terra Cotta soldiers were blasted to dust by machine guns only to rebuild and continue the march.
"Go," Harry said. And with his word they swept the town.
| "Well you can't say that to a customer," Phil says. There's mustard on his collar, but I don't tell him. If he's going to prance around like he's the cock of the walk just because he assistant manages a Starbucks, then he can dress himself.
"Okay but they're not customers," I tell him, "they're walking lumps of clay with no money who don't speak any English."
"Okay, one, that's racist. And, two, these men are heroes. Or did you forget how they saved Taylor from that lunatic?"
I just shake my head and go back to wiping down the cappuccino machine. I wonder if I'm just the last reasonable person? The most famous pop singer in the world is now also the scion of an ancient Chinese dynasty and controls a ruthless army of living statues? At the start, I concede, they were more or less reasonable, dealing with stalkers and even that one potential mass shooter. But now they seem to go berserk on account of some increasingly minor conflicts. Yet every article is just "Taylor Slays Nicki on Twitter," "Taylor's Stone Warriors Slay X-Ray Tech Who Complained About Concert Delays," as if these are the exact same!
But nobody gets it. They see these behemoths lumbering around Manhattan and just take a selfie with them. Hashtag TerraSquaddaGoals. Fucking internet. Don't even bother suggesting that maybe it's not ideal that criticizing a popstar is now a crime on pain of summary execution. "But why would you criticize Taylor, she's literally perfect?" they'll ask.
Starbucks was supposed to be a short term thing while I got my album produced. But these days, good fucking luck getting anyone in A&R to even look at you twice when you're a white, blonde girl. They won't chance making her even a little bit nervous.
The door chimes. Great, two more of them, clopping up to the counter. Every step leaves so much dust that Phil will make me mop up about five minutes from now. They don't even need to drink fluids, let alone coffee. They just think it's something they'll have in common with their "Nuwang." They even smoothed out the clay on their bellies so it looks like their armor is a fucking crop top.
"Alice, can you take these customers, please?" Phil shouts. He's obviously closer and sees I'm busy.
"Hi, let me guess, soy milk latte?" I say. Their clay faces are unmoved below those stupid spiky hats. The one in front bows, then blows me a kiss, which has clearly become their old world-new world custom.
I pour the drinks and slide them across the counter. They leave a pamphlet about how terrible Spotify is (their form of currency) and turn to leave.
"By the way," I say, "you can tell your princess that Teenage Dream is better than anything's she's put out so far."
I don't hear the axe before it slices into my neck. | 2015-11-11T11:30:42 | 2015-11-11T10:09:09 | 118 | 42 |
[WP] A world where people can store the adrenaline rush and aggressiveness of their anger for later use. Keep enough rage inside and you can, literally and figuratively, hulk out. Now, in your city there's a person who's never been visibly angry... | I've heard it said that a wise man fears three things. The first is a moonless night, and the unseen dangers it holds. The second is the sea in storm, for no man can withstand the awesome power of nature. The third, though, is the most terrifying of all.
________________________________________________
It had been a week since the funeral and Patrick was just finishing tidying up the house. Everything in place as she would've liked it. Organized. Clean. The apartment still smelled of her, of sandalwood perfume, of oil paints, of laughter. It had taken Patrick days to find that scent again, so long smothered by the stench of illness and putrid stink of fear. The illness that had taken his wife had been slow and cruel but Sarah had known these things before and smiled until the very end. She begged Patrick to find peace and happiness after she was gone. She hoped he would be able to move on, to forgive, to forget and when she passed, she had peace and hope in her heart. Whatever peace and hope Patrick once held, he lost that day and what he found waiting in its place was monstrous.
____________________________________________________________
At nearly sixty, Tony found walking to his car was getting more and more uncomfortable after one of his "physical therapy" sessions. His patient, fourteen year old Trisha, certainly hadn't seemed quite as energetic at the beginning of their meetings but now that he had worn down her defenses with some insistent rubbing, Tony was confident he'd seal the deal soon. The young ones, always so vulnerable and pliable in his strong hands. "It's not wrong," he'd tell them, and if they still said no, "Well then I'll just have to tell your parents, or maybe you'd like them to see these pictures!" That usually kept them...compliant. Tony smiled confidently to himself as he looked forward to Trisha's appointment and was so lost in pleasant thought he didn't see a man walking towards him from the other side of the parking lot. He definitely didn't see the man's hands, or the SAP gloves he was wearing. It wasn't until the man spoke that Tony was aware of him at all.
Patrick was less than a foot away when he whispered the last words Tony would ever hear..."Sarah forgave you for the things you did to her all those years ago. I have not."
Tony turned in confusion and fear when the first blow landed and shattered his jaw. Crumpling to the ground in shock, the next punch targeted his ribs and shattered 5, puncturing his lung. Tony began to drown in his own blood and as his vision grew dark, he could only look up in fear at the looming monster.
____________________________________________________________
I've heard it said that a wise man fears three things. The first is a moonless night, and the unseen dangers it holds. The second is the sea in storm, for no man can withstand the awesome power of nature.
The third is the anger of a patient man, for there is nothing more dangerous than fury that has become a friend.
Patrick had heard the stories for years. He listened as she wept, or screamed, or raged at the betrayal of the people who had harmed her as a child. He had held her in the dark when the nightmares became too much and he lifted her back into the light whenever she was tainted by the poison of her past. Patrick was calm and steadfast. He always told Sarah to let go, to seek peace, to live in the loving here and now. He never grew angry at her as he knew who the real monsters were. Patrick was furious... and very patient.
Edit: Fixed grammatical error. | *suspect on the run. Last seen on 5th avenue*
"Do you think it's another rager on the run?" said officer John to his partner as Alicia's soft voice came out of the police radio.
"Nah. It's probably another robber." said officer Jones.
Police sirens were turned on as officer John and Jones darted through the empty midnight streets. They were just the casual doughnut loving policemen in a city of ragers. Ragers were people who suppressed the aggressiveness of their anger for later use. They were a minority but nevertheless a very dangerous one. Luckily, all ragers stored their rage rush for short periods of time. They were easily provoked by the slightest threat. However, it wasn't the case this time.
"Are you seeing anything, John?" said Jones in a low tone. "I can't see shit! turn on the lights and let's shoot this motherfucker on the first sight!" He added in the same whispering voice.
"No. What if he was another rager?" said John worryingly. "Don't you remember what happened to Luke? Poor man is on a wheel chair after some rager blew a punch to his lower back." said John with a serious frown on his face.
While the two officers were whispering in their car a fast body dashed beside the car and broke the right mirror. They were in disbelief as the two never saw something like that.
"I told you it's a rager! Radio Alicia and tell her we're in pursuit"
*suspect is a confirmed rager. All units proceed to the intersection of 7th and 8th*
John was nervous and excited at the same time. He never encountered a powerful rager. He stepped hard on the gas with a promotion on his mind.
"I'll finally get that promotion." He said under his breathe.
"Damn fucker is running 60 miles an hour!" shouted Jones
The suspect was closing in on a road block. No other police vehicles were in pursuit as all units went to the intersection.
"Who gave the order for a road block? He's not a vehicle! How are you going to stop him? With spikes?!" said Jones sarcastically.
John and Jones were two seconds behind the rager and the road block was less than half a mile away.
*All units, suspect is near the road block. Fire on sight*
A shower of bullets rained on the rager as the glocks thundered and roared, but with no avail. The light from the gun was so intense it blinded the pursuing officers.
"Stupid fuckers! They're shooting at us!" said Jones frantically
"Hold on Jones!" said John as he swerved the old police car away from the line of fire.
The rager went straight through the road block but with a hefty cost. Bullets penetrated his adrenaline filled body and he started to slow down.
"Way to go John! We lost him! What's wrong with you?"
"Could you stop being a nagging bitch for one seco...."
As the two officers were arguing the rager emerged suddenly from an alley. He was head to head with the car when John collided with him.
"Holy shit. It split the front!" said Jones after he dragged his dizzy head out of the car. "This the popo motherfucker! Hands behind your head!"
"He can't move, Jones! He's stuck in the middle of the hood!" said John.
The rager was unsurprisingly still conscious. He tried talking. "Myy wwwife. It's over. I've put up with her shit for 20 years. I finally sna-. I finally...."
Jones' frantic bullets bored the ragers head like cheese.
"WHY IN GOD'S NAME DID YOU DO THAT?!" John shouted.
"He opened his mouth, man. He has the right to remain silent." said Jones in a stupid voice.
"I... I... can't even.... Well at least I'm going to get that promotion." said john with a sarcastic smirk.
_____
A few more at /r/Hacksaw_Hoss. Hope you enjoyed my response.
| 2016-03-16T10:59:07 | 2016-03-16T08:41:28 | 221 | 14 |
[WP] Your ex has suffered an accident and has amnesia, only remembering up to the point where they still deeply loved you. You're torn on wether to get back together with them and fix anything you did wrong, or crush them with the fact that you're not together anymore. | Pretty standard stuff- I fell in love with a girl named Kate, and she fell in love with me. It was beautiful, but everything comes to an end and we parted ways after a year. We never once fought- not even at the end. I just wasn't right for her.
When I first got the call from her two years later, words were vacant from my mind. I slammed the receiver down and cried all night, thinking it was nothing more than a cruel joke. I ignored the next call, and the next, and the one after that, merely crying more with each ring.
The next day, I talked to her again because I'm pathetic and needed to take what I could. I slipped out of my new girlfriend's apartment and called her back in the parking lot of a Wendy's, hiding how much I was dying inside hearing the soothing sound of her voice again. She told me she loved me, and didn't know why I was acting so oddly. As if the past three years hadn't happened at all.
To her, they hadn't. I got a call from her father explaining she'd been in a car accident and was suffering amnesia.
I rushed to see her, to make sure she was okay. And yeah, maybe I wanted to look into those deep blue eyes one more time.
When I got to her house, she was sitting on the porch humming to herself. A bandage was strapped across her head like some kind of sweatband, and she smiled at me. When I sat next to her, she kissed me.
I didn't stop her.
I'm worthless.
I kissed her again.
We talked for three hours, and I turned my phone off to avoid my girlfriend's calls. I know, it's horrible, but I couldn't stop myself. The more we talked, the more we laughed...the more I realized I hadn't loved anyone else but her. Not the same way, at least.
So I went home, and I dumped my girlfriend. She cried, and she screamed, and she threw things at me.
"You're a piece of shit," she bellowed, and I could hear the fragments of her broken heart rattling within her.
*I know I am.*
I moved in with a friend and spent all my time with Kate, talking about the past like it had just happened. She mentioned our favorite restaurant, fondness in her eyes. All I remembered was when I stood her up and left her there alone. She mentioned the beach where we met and all I thought of was when I got wasted and puked on her there. She left me alone on that beach and dumped me the next day. She never yelled at me, or blamed me for anything- she just cried.
And so I hug her, because she's the only girl I've ever loved. Because she loves me, and that's all I need. She loves me, because she doesn't know what I really am.
For now, at least.
------------
*thanks for reading, you can check out more at /r/resonatingfury!* | Chii's heart climbed it's way up her throat with each beat, a lump forming as she tried so very hard to keep her composure. This wasn't... She... What was she trying to think? Everything felt too fuzzy and surreal. For a moment, Chii wondered if this was a sick dream invited by fever or stress.
The blinding lights of the hospital made her head throb, the stench of antiseptic and illness only worsening the feeling. In the room she stood staring at was her ex, burned and begging to see her. Chii, in a sick way, wanted to hear this man suffer. She wanted to relinquish in his pain and misery while he asked for mercy.
Perhaps this was a terrible thing. Maybe forgiveness was a better way to go about visiting the amnesiac man. Chii shoved that idea off the metaphorical table. This man had caused her physical and emotional pain that haunted her three years after their split. She had no reason to forgive him, even if he had no clue what he had done wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Chii scrubbed herself up, and entered the room that held the cause of her current state of being.
Immediately, her ex noticed her. A smile of relief washed over his pained face, as if Chii had somehow miraculously cured him of his injuries.
"Chii! Baby, oh thank god. I was so worried you wouldn't come."
The young woman stared at the person in front of her as if he were a stranger. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.
"What took you so long?"
Ian inquired, concern washing over his somewhat charred face. Chii clenched her fists. She wanted to be civil, but the memories wouldn't allow it. They had turned her into a bitter, jaded woman.
"I stood outside to watch you suffer. It brought me immense joy hearing you be the one who screamed in pain for once, begging these people to relieve you of your misfortune. What you remember of me was four years ago. In that time to now, you have broken me. You fucked me over, you made me hate myself, and you drove me away from my family. I hope you die here."
Chii seethed, her face flaring more and more red by the minute. Ian looked like his heart had been ripped apart, and devoured.
"Why would you joke so horribly at a time like this?!"
Ian cried, his voice dripping with anguish.
Chii smiled a bit sadistically.
"If I told you that, you'd have closure. I'm not letting you get that, for you never gave it to me. I truly do hope these people send you through unbearable agony. Perhaps then, you'll learn what it truly means to suffer at the hands of someone you thought you could trust; however, I doubt it. You always were intolerably stupid."
With that, the petite woman exited the room, and sauntered over to a nurse's station.
"If the patient Ian Summers in the burn ward wants to call me, or even speaks my name, tell him to get fucked."
Chii offered no explanation as she exited the hospital, her pounding heart leading her away.
*'Forgiveness is for those who deserve it.'* | 2016-04-19T22:26:43 | 2016-04-19T22:19:15 | 91 | 12 |
[WP] As a White House janitor, you are 627th in line for the presidency. You never expected a catastrophe to cause the deaths of the 626 people ahead of you... | Terrorists.
I know, it's typically a cop-out ploy to monger fear via the media, but the enemies of the US have actually done it.
When Russian subs were found exploring the undersea cables, it was already too late. All at once communication was cut across the nation. Simultaneously, China deployed use of a supercharged EMP pulse detonated in the sky, it knocked out everything. Coast to coast.
I'm Jeremy. I'm the White House Service Logistics Coordinator. While it sounds pretty, I'm essentially the nations most important janitor. I oversee the impeccability of every nook and cranny in this timeless symbol of America. While once I scrubbed it's floors, my work ethic and overall love for cleaning fast tracked my climb to WHS Logistics Coordinator, and 627th in line for the presidency. A novelty, mostly. That is until the third strike. North Korean terrorist on american soil delivered a custom crafted virus targeting specific bloodlines. In 24 hours everyone in the USA was infected, however, only blood related members of the 626 people ahead of me in line for the Oval Office suffered death. I suppose they had to pick somewhere to draw the line, and why not at the glorified janitor. The 626 and relations were the lucky ones though. Without warning, ground troops pulled up to nearly every inch of our coasts and that's when the shit hit the fan.
That was 30 years ago today. A war that lasted 3 years.... And we killed every last enemy solider. We also suffered heavy losses. The weak and unlucky were first to be cut down by invading forces, but most of us found strength and our spirits combined could draw untold acts of heroism.
It was all in all a savage, gory war. Americans have never been so primal but, we survive. We did what we had to do. In the subsequent years, as my appointed duty dictated, I personally oversaw the rebuilding of society. I, among the other elected officials, began restructuring. We implemented new systems and established what was to be the seeds of a new nation.
In time I became listed in history books as the 1st president of New America. | "Two bottles of beer on the wall, two bottles of beer .
Take one down, pass it around, one last bottle of beer on the wall...
When I started to sing this song in my mind, there were 428 bottles on the wall. The first 200 bottles are the unsung victims of this catastrophe.
My name is Paul. I am the white houses janitor. I mean I was. To be honest: I am not sure about my actual status.
Before all of this went down, I repaired the presidential restrooms, worked in the white houses garden and from time to time I played basketball with the first lady. I know... it sounds like the lie of a small man trying to act big, but... But she was a very special woman. When she asked me for the first time, if I was up for some shots, I thought she was making fun of me. But damn this girl could ball.
The first couple of times it felt very special to me. After a while I got used to it, like eating, talking or breathing. When the lady stopped to eat, talk and... you know, it felt like I would never take a breath again.
When she slept away, she wasn't the first lady anymore. She survived her husband by 47 days. I am not sure who was the president at that time, I think it was Jimmy. Yeah, old Jimmy. 144th president of the United States of America, home of the brave and land of the free. Fuck that. Every man and every woman still eating, talking and breathing is scared like a child with a monster under it's bed. And the free? How free are you, when death can send for you every other second?
However I am still talking, eating and breathing. I am the 671st president. Mom, if you can see me now - this is not what I was wishing for, when I was a little boy. But I am here. I am responsible for the 200.000 citizens alive - my fellow americans. And I will do what should have been done 300 presidents ago."
When Paul pressed the red button, it didn't looked different from pressing a button on a microwave or a tv. There was no relief, no tears or anger in his eyes. He just did, what he had to do. With a little song on his lips.
One last bottle of beer on the wall, one last bottle of beer...
______________________________________
I am sorry for any mistakes or grammatical errors. The last time I wrote a story in english was ten years ago.
| 2022-10-29T12:31:57 | 2016-06-03T21:53:21 | 194 | 22 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | Father Sanchez adjusted his turquoise robes, sighed, and started his defense.
"Look, Your Cosmic Eminence, I don't really think this is our fault."
"Hold on, stop right there." the pulsing orb of electricity said through the translator. "Are you actually trying to justify your actions."
"Well, yes, Your CE. There are mitigating circumstances here."
The Anointed started to move towards Sanchez, but an untranslated voltage change from the CE stopped them.
"Present your 'mitigating' circumstances."
"Right, yes." Sanchez continued, now eyeing the 10 foot reptilian Anointed with anxiety.
"You see, He wanted us to do it."
The CE immediately felt a twinge of despondency. It knew where this was going, and so did everyone else in the Shimmering Gallery, but it let Sanchez continue.
"Our Lord, Jesus Christ, made it clear at several points that He was expecting to be sacrificed. You have a copy of our Holy Book? Have you read it yet?"
"That's evidence that will be reviewed after testimony." the CE replied.
"Alright, well, if you read it, He made the following statement, among others, 'The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days he will rise.'"
"Oh dear, He had started referring to himself as a man?" the CE probed.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That's kind of a big part of our understanding of Him, as limited as it obviously was. Anyway, not only did he predict his own crucifixion, he took active steps to ensure it would happen. He prevented his own disciples from stopping it. He seemed to be seeking it out at the end. We were under the impression that it was a necessary sacrifice to make for our redemption."
"But you also stated in the preliminary hearing that you believe He is both the Son of God and God himself, correct?" the CE interjected.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That was our understanding."
"You don't think it's a little bit counter-intuitive that a supreme being would have to sacrifice Itself to Itself in order to provide salvation?
Various noises came from the Shimmering Gallery. Father Sanchez' translator said they were laughter. He smiled uneasily, attempting and failing to intimate that he understood the joke.
"There were people who suggested that didn't make sense."
"Why weren't they listened to?"
Sanchez blinked twice. "Um...for most of our history...we...uh...we killed those people."
The CE rippled with current.
"You humans sure have a thing for taking lives that don't belong to you."
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence, but I think we are getting better..."
"Alright. That's enough. Your mitigating circumstances are accepted on the contingency that study of your Holy Book confirms your statements here. This hearing is adjourned."
Father Sanchez let out a sigh of deep relief. As the various strange and sometimes unfathomable beings filed out of the Shimmering Gallery, several of them stopped to express their regret about his situation.
The CE traveled through a conduit to it's private chambers. Once there, it reviewed the copy of the Bible that had been provided to it, and then made the necessary oblations and rituals to contact the Supremacy.
"This is the office of the Supremacy," Frppt, It's secretary, answered. "It's in a planning meeting for a new dimension, may I take a message?"
"Yes, this is the Cosmic Eminence from the Fourth Iteration. Would you please tell It that we've reviewed the humans' case, and it looks like we have another insane Messiah situation on our hands. This one WANTED them to kill Him. We have absolved the humans, but we humbly request that you take a look at your Quality Assurance procedures. This is the ninth one we've encountered this millennium." | We crucified him.
You crucified him?
Crucifixion. We took two wooden posts, nailed them together to make a cross, and we stuck the cross in the ground so it stood up nice and tall. Then we tied his arms and legs to it and left him hanging there for a few days until he was nearly dead, and then we stabbed him in the guts with a spear to finish the job.
To your savior. You call him . . . Jesus?
Jesus.
You hanged him by a post and then stabbed him with a spear?
I wouldn't say we *hanged* him. Hanging is more of a European thing. That's when you put a rope around somebody's neck and toss em out of a tree. Much quicker that way. No, the Romans liked to make a show of it, that's why the crucifixion. Takes longer, there's more suffering. They hadn't gone through the Enlightenment yet.
The Enlightenment . . . Enlightenment . . . I don't have that in my records. This came after Jesus?
Oh, a long time after. It was a new age of science and reason.
So, while you initially rejected the Savior we sent you, eventually your race arrived at this Enlightenment through him?
Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. The Church didn't much care for the Enlightenment at first - the Church of Jesus, I mean - and we put a whole lot of folks on the rack for saying things like the earth isn't the center of the universe.
Do I even want to know what the rack is?
Sure. That's where you tie a person to a plank, kind of like a bed, and you stretch him out until his bones come loose. Sometimes you're looking for a confession and you ask em questions in the meantime.
I see. And it was the Savior's church that did this?
Yessir. All water under the bridge, of course. We don't even hate queers anymore.
Hmmm . . . Getting back to this crucifixion . . . I'm having trouble even forming the question. Let's say, Why did you torture and kill our messenger of peace of love?
Well hindsight's twenty-twenty I suppose. Who was to say he wasn't a kook? A lot of people for a long time liked to blame it on the Jews of course, and some on the Romans. Personally, I think if you didn't want us crucify him you should of set him down somewhere in Nebraska.
They don't crucify in Nebraska?
No sir. I mean, there's always the electric chair, but there's a process for that.
So you tortured and killed our messenger of peace and love because hindsight is twenty-twenty and we didn't set him down in Nebraska. Is that your official statement? That's what you want the record to show?
Sounds fair.
And the church that eventually developed around him - God knows how - this church tortured people for being reasonable because of something called the Enlightenment.
There's no denying history.
And what exactly is this church up to now?
Charitable works, proselytization, weddings and funerals. We pretty much just adapt our values to mirror secular advances and try to guilt folks into the pews.
So you're not crucifying, hanging, racking, or electric-chairing anybody.
Not anymore, no.
Would you say that, in spite of your past, you've become a church of peace and love, as intended by the Savior we sent you?
Well . . .
Oh God.
We do currently have our hands full with this child rape scandal. We're spending a lot of money in court.
Child rape?!
It's because we don't let our priests have sex. They go a little stir crazy and take it out on the kids.
Your priests are raping children.
Some of em, yeah.
How - are there any members left in this church?
Quite a few.
How many?
A coupla billion.
Billion? Did you just say *billion*?
Yeah. Billion.
Fuck it, welcome aboard.
| 2016-08-18T06:44:06 | 2016-08-18T06:00:42 | 241 | 145 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | Father Sanchez adjusted his turquoise robes, sighed, and started his defense.
"Look, Your Cosmic Eminence, I don't really think this is our fault."
"Hold on, stop right there." the pulsing orb of electricity said through the translator. "Are you actually trying to justify your actions."
"Well, yes, Your CE. There are mitigating circumstances here."
The Anointed started to move towards Sanchez, but an untranslated voltage change from the CE stopped them.
"Present your 'mitigating' circumstances."
"Right, yes." Sanchez continued, now eyeing the 10 foot reptilian Anointed with anxiety.
"You see, He wanted us to do it."
The CE immediately felt a twinge of despondency. It knew where this was going, and so did everyone else in the Shimmering Gallery, but it let Sanchez continue.
"Our Lord, Jesus Christ, made it clear at several points that He was expecting to be sacrificed. You have a copy of our Holy Book? Have you read it yet?"
"That's evidence that will be reviewed after testimony." the CE replied.
"Alright, well, if you read it, He made the following statement, among others, 'The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days he will rise.'"
"Oh dear, He had started referring to himself as a man?" the CE probed.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That's kind of a big part of our understanding of Him, as limited as it obviously was. Anyway, not only did he predict his own crucifixion, he took active steps to ensure it would happen. He prevented his own disciples from stopping it. He seemed to be seeking it out at the end. We were under the impression that it was a necessary sacrifice to make for our redemption."
"But you also stated in the preliminary hearing that you believe He is both the Son of God and God himself, correct?" the CE interjected.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That was our understanding."
"You don't think it's a little bit counter-intuitive that a supreme being would have to sacrifice Itself to Itself in order to provide salvation?
Various noises came from the Shimmering Gallery. Father Sanchez' translator said they were laughter. He smiled uneasily, attempting and failing to intimate that he understood the joke.
"There were people who suggested that didn't make sense."
"Why weren't they listened to?"
Sanchez blinked twice. "Um...for most of our history...we...uh...we killed those people."
The CE rippled with current.
"You humans sure have a thing for taking lives that don't belong to you."
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence, but I think we are getting better..."
"Alright. That's enough. Your mitigating circumstances are accepted on the contingency that study of your Holy Book confirms your statements here. This hearing is adjourned."
Father Sanchez let out a sigh of deep relief. As the various strange and sometimes unfathomable beings filed out of the Shimmering Gallery, several of them stopped to express their regret about his situation.
The CE traveled through a conduit to it's private chambers. Once there, it reviewed the copy of the Bible that had been provided to it, and then made the necessary oblations and rituals to contact the Supremacy.
"This is the office of the Supremacy," Frppt, It's secretary, answered. "It's in a planning meeting for a new dimension, may I take a message?"
"Yes, this is the Cosmic Eminence from the Fourth Iteration. Would you please tell It that we've reviewed the humans' case, and it looks like we have another insane Messiah situation on our hands. This one WANTED them to kill Him. We have absolved the humans, but we humbly request that you take a look at your Quality Assurance procedures. This is the ninth one we've encountered this millennium." | The council chambers, despite their vastness and high, vaulted ceilings felt claustrophobic as all eyes fell on me. None of them were human, either. Species of every type had gathered here today, as was custom for welcoming another into their fold. But our membership into their ranks was...unique. They had analyzed our history, and found one glaring detail that made them not so sure of our worthiness.
I stood on an elevated platform, alone amongst a sea of suspicious and fearful gazes, the ambassador of my entire to the rest of the galaxy. In front of me were a half circle of representatives from the most respected races, who had each garnered special favor from the Almighty himself, for having followed his laws and obeyed his commands. At the center of this council sat a rather large, dragon-like creature who lazily thumbed through some documents, occasionally glancing up at me with a strange look on its face. After a few more moments of this silence, with me anxiously awaiting *any* form of a response, the creature cleared its throat and began to speak.
"So let me get this straight, human. The Creator himself sends his sacred envoy to educate your species about his will and intent, and you execute him? What a barbarous people. I'm having doubts about whether or not your species can...*assimilate* properly within galactic society."
"Respectfully, chairlizard, you have no idea what my people have gone through."
"Ex*cuse* me?"
"While you were so content to merely be cattle and lazily live your lives as slaves to your master, we have had to claw and fight and kill for everything we've accomplished!"
The crowd behind me gasped at the outburst, and began furiously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. The dragon, I couldn't pronounce the name, called for order and silence was restored, though the tension in the air could've been cut with a knife.
"Your people have chosen the path of barbarism and heresy! This is where your hardships spawned from! If you had but opened your hearts to our Lord's divine truth, your suffering would never have occurred." Murmurs of agreement could be heard throughout the chamber.
"How much of what you've done has been wrought by your own hands? How many of your own thoughts have been your own? Yes, we murdered an innocent man in cold blood, but we have tried our best to atone for past sins."
"Child, you have but to turn to the Creator and beg for forgiveness to be absolved of this most heinous act. And as for trying to *atone* for past sins, well, we have records showing that even though a mighty belief rose up in his name, wars were still waged throughout your world in the name of this belief. Your people are addicted to warfare, human."
"We don't need *his* forgiveness. We need our own. We have nothing to prove to you. This is a formality, really. We are just introducing ourselves to you, not joining you. We have no wish to be a member of the blind herd. We will retain our autonomy, respectfully, and we still wish to have open trade and negotiations with your collective."
"Human, first your species kills His most holy envoy, and *then* you decline an invitation to join our ranks? Have you no decency?"
"I apologize for any inconveniences this may have caused, but trust me. Humans and Gods don't mix well." With that final remark I turned and proceeded down the stairs and out of the council chambers. The high council was left speechless, but the crowd was raucous with hissing and jeering.
Why would we have wanted to join them, anyway? Humans craved knowledge, and were punished for it. We had to suffer for every ounce of it we gained, but gain it we did. Humanity no longer *needed* gods to explain existence for themselves. *We* had become the rulers of all we beheld, for it was through our blood and sweat and determination that we conquered it. Not by begging some deity, real or not, to do it for us. | 2016-08-18T06:44:06 | 2016-08-18T04:37:42 | 241 | 21 |
[WP] You order a pizza at 12pm. The delivery guy dosen't arrive until 7pm. When asked about what happened, he responds "It's a long story." | I had called back the pizza place at 2pm to cancel my order, but nobody answered. I figured if they did show up I would just not accept the pizza and dispute the charges with my bank.
At about 7pm a small green car pulled in front of my house. It was the delivery driver showing up with my pizza seven hours late. He walked up my driveway slowly, and appeared slightly confused. Then it hit me. The odor of some seriously potent weed reached my front porch a good thirty seconds before he did.
He didn't even make an attempt to apologize. He motioned the pizza towards my person like this was a typical delivery as if he wasn't seven hours late. I had had hours to come up with the perfect string of words and obscenities to yell at this guy. But by the time he (somewhat unexpectedly at this point) arrived all that I mumbled was a disappointed, "Really? What's even the point of it now?"
Still showing no empathy or any discernable emotion he just muttered something about how he was gonna be here at 1, but then he got high. I then noticed the little green car had personalized license plates that read "AFROMAN." Holy shit! I was taken aback. I wondered of this was one of those prank shows.
He pulled out a blunt a lit it without even asking if it was okay to do so. It had been a long week so I took a few puffs myself when offered. At least the pizza was hot. In the cold weather I could see the heat coming off the insulated delivery bag.
He finally apologized as he handed me a fistful of red pepper packets and a couple sizable, sticky nugs. I told him I wasn't paying for the pizza as I put his offerings in the pocket of my hoodie. He indicated that he didn't expect me too.
He did, however hint that the delivery fee would come out of his check. I wasn't sure why the he would care about that since it was likely the entire cost of the pizza would be coming out of his pay. But, having had smoked a third of the blunt, I fucked up and asked how much the delivery fee was. He looked at me and said the delivery charge was about tree fiddy.
It was about this time I noticed this pizza delivery driver was about 8 stories tall and a crustacean from the Paleozoic era. I shouted, "Damn it, monster. Get off my lawn. I ain't giving you no tree fiddy!"
| It had been an hour and a half and we had given up on him ever arriving. Gwen was pissed. I called the store but nobody picked up. She didn't believe me, thought I was trying to weasel out of the confrontation. So I called back with the phone on speaker.
It rang, unceasingly.
"You got the number wrong."
"No. I didn't."
She made a big show of getting off the couch, sighing, closing her notebook very carefully, picking up some papers from the coffee table, tapping them into alignment, and putting them back down--like she was about to investigate war crimes or start an impeachment trial.
She walked over to the computer, slowly wrote the number on the screen in her notebook, pulled out her phone, typed the number in the phone as she read out-loud the numbers from her notebook.
She let it ring for five minutes. When you listen to a repetitive noise like that, it begins to take on different inflections, some rings were morose, others desperate with need. I didn't say anything. When she finally hung up, I could taste her rage in the air.
Now I was hungry. I got up from the chair as inconspicuously as I could, like maybe I was just going to the bathroom. I walked casually to the kitchen and started pulling out the bread and peanut butter. We only ever buy crunchy even though I prefer smooth.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"What do you mean? I'm making a sandwich?" My responses weren't really questions.
"What am I going to eat?"
"Whatever you want?"
"Were you going to offer me one?"
"Do you want a sandwich?"
"No, I don't want a fucking sandwich." I was a little surprised the glass in the windows didn't burst. She slammed the front door on her way out.
I saw Jerry across the way on his lawn, staring at me. I put on a big goofy smile and waved enthusiastically. He didn't return my greeting. When he turned around, I gave him the finger.
When she came back a couple hours later she was soused and her shirt was mis-buttoned. I started to draw her a bath but she passed out on the bed before it filled.
I was sitting on the couch, watching TV and eating my second PB and honey sandwich when the doorbell rang and caused me to drip honey on the couch. Fuck. Gwen was going to be fucking pissed.
I got up and opened the door. It was the pizza we had ordered for lunch.
I didn't know what to say.
He put on this awful, lopsided grin and said "It’s a long story."
I imagined punching him square in the nose and taking the pizza before it hit the ground.
Instead, I slowly closed the door and didn't say anything. | 2017-02-10T02:21:26 | 2017-02-09T23:20:07 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.
EDIT: Wow, didn't expect this prompt to blow up so quickly. Thanks for the responses, guys! Glad I was able to help inspire some writers. | It's no effort at all, really. What better way to remain undetected than to leave the place better than I found it?
Sure, that usually means sweeping up my footsteps, and if one floor is cleaner than the other, now that's just suspicious. Gotta sweep the whole house, no doubt. And you can't be having squeaky doors, that's just unprofessional. Even saw a little kid once, out cold on the couch one winter night - couldn't have him wake up and rat me out, right? So I carried him to his bed, made sure to tuck him in as well. Gotta make sure he don't wake up.
O'course, I started tucking in all the folks I found after that. Just became a habit, really.
Don't even get me started on the garages. Far too many tools to accidently kick in the darkness, get myself caught - and once you've cleaned the garage, you might as well do a couple more rooms, right? Can't have it looking out of place. And all these houses, they're really just a couple rooms, no more. Usually less.
You know, before, I'd usually just take a bit of money, maybe something valuable that wouldn't be missed. All the other towns, folks could afford it.
But this town, the poverty all around...
No, I'll just take a bit of food if there's extra, maybe an old shirt if mine's starting to show through.
Really, I've managed to buy a few odds and ends, sneaking in a couple things it looks like they need. These people have so little - and a little more always helps, I guess.
Strange enough, I don't really need to look for anything I need no more. Every house I go to, there's something out in the open, waiting for me. A home cooked meal. An old pair of shoes. Even a knitted jersey, bit too small, but it just felt like it was made *for* me, you know?
I don't know. The state they live in, I don't know what they'd do without me.
Although, come to think of it, I don't know what I'd do without *them.*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | "...can"t seem to find my pearl necklace anywhere, Julia!"
My interest piqued, I glanced over my shoulder, and happened to see a recent victim walking out of the café whose patio I just happened to be relaxing on. I turned back to my phone, hoping the two women would continue past me, but they were too busy talking to each other to notice me as they took the table a few rows past where I was sitting.
The other woman, Julia, emitted a heavy groan as she sat heavily in the chair, looked like she had a hangover. Probably, as I had drugged her drink the night before when she had been out. Her eighth drink, to be precise. I probably hadn't needed to, considering she had been spinning at her fourth, but in all things, caution. In life, in work,and in relaxation.
"I don't know Mary, you probably lost it at that party where Matt had his grubby hands on you for half the night."
"Hmmm, Matt might be slimy, but a thief? I think he deserves a little more credit than that, Julie."
An interruption by a quiet voice broke off the conversation as a waitress arrived to take the women's order.
I opened my eyes and was getting ready to leave when the conversation started up again, and I hated to leave a good conversation about myself. After all, the best thieves are ones that you don't even know robbed you.
"...find it eventually, probably in one of your thousand jewelry cases."
Well, make that 998.
"Maybe it was my landlord, I've been complaining about the door and the floorboards squeakin all the time and now all of a sudden they don't squeak anymore. But he says he hasnt been in the room or done anything!"
"Huh, now that you mention it, Mary, my bedroom door didnt creak this morning, and the floor didnt have that sticky spot from where I dropped my waffles a week ago."
"Maybe Tommy cleaned it while you were drunk last night?"
"Tommy, clean anything? Yeah right, maybe some reject god of cleaning mopped my floor last night and oiled the door hinges, he also got you hinges and nabbed the necklace as a fee!"
Both women giggled at the thought as I gathered my stuff and took my receipt to the cashier. It was time to move towns, to change hunting grounds.
Todays meal was paid for with Mary's pearl necklace, among other things, and Julia's previous wedding ring, also among other things.
My name is James, thief extrodinaire and apperant disgruntled reject god of cleaning.
Authors Note: This is my first time doing this, so some constructive criticism would be appreciated by all my fellow writers out there! | 2017-03-13T07:37:10 | 2017-03-13T07:31:01 | 4,615 | 343 |
[WP] A person awakes from a coma to find the world has become a Utopia. They've read enough literature to believe there must be something wrong with it. There isn't. | John squinted at the brightness. The sting of antiseptic reached his nostrils and the world slowly came into focus.
“How do you feel, Mr. Doe?” A beautiful young doctor came in to view, concern etched across her face. She was flanked by an older man with a clipboard, white hair and beard framing his face. He peered over top of the glasses on his nose at John, a satisfied smile appearing.
“I believe he is feeling just fine, Dr. Halsey.”
John found his voice. “Where am I? and who are you?”
“Mr. Doe, we are your caretakers. My name is Dr. Crawford. You’ve been asleep for quite some time. It took especial care to wake you up, one hundred years later than planned, in fact. We’ve been able to keep your body stable; however, you may be experiencing a great deal of memory loss from that much inactivity.”
John shook his head, trying to clear away imaginary cobwebs and think clearly. The only thing he remembered… his hand went quickly to his chest. The dog tags were still there, cool against his skin.
“Yes, Mr. Doe, you were a soldier. You participated in the war to end all wars. This time, we were successful. I am afraid that it was so atrocious, so horrifying, that we finally fight no more.”
Dr. Halsey leaned in close and spoke warmly, the smile reaching her eyes. “It’s over John. Everything is right now.”
It took hours to learn how different the world was. In those hours, John learned to walk again. It would have taken years in his own lifetime. He kept the last name Doe because his own was marred by the bullet hole in his dog tags, a reminder of the injury that put him under in the first place.
It took days for John to travel, free of charge, to the wonders he longed to see while trapped in that bloody trench. It would have taken decades in his own lifetime.
On each return trip, he met with Elizabeth Halsey and talked about his recovery, and the world he was now born into. She was sweet, and a friendship blossomed, but something was missing.
John knew that the truth of the matter was that no utopia was perfect. If it was, there would be no story, no tension, no struggle. True utopias aren’t written about. They are post-climax. There is no catastrophe, and thus no narrative. Being a non-native to the utopia, it took John a few weeks to realize just what was wrong.
He made an appointment with Dr. Crawford.
“John, how are you enjoying your adjustment?”
“That’s just it, doc. I figured out what’s not working. It’s me.”
“Oh?” The glasses came off and the first truly disturbed look John had seen on an enlightened face rested on Dr. Crawford.
“Yeah, see, you were right. The world really was perfect on the day I woke up. But I wasn’t. I’m a relic of a time long overdue for change. I fought in that war because I knew that. But I think I also knew I wasn’t fighting to save it for myself. I got lucky waking up and getting to see it all pay off, and I’m grateful, but I don’t belong here. It’s like having a leftover piece to a puzzle. When you try to put it all together, it’s so much more frustrating because it doesn’t fit.”
Crawford look confused. He really didn’t know what that was like.
John sighed. “See, now there’s a problem. And the problem with the world is me.”
Silence.
“Put me back under, doc. It’s what I want.”
Two hours later, he was back in the familiar bed. Dr. Crawford tapped the sedative and injected it into the IV bag.
“Hey, doc, tell Elizabeth I’m sorry?”
“Sure thing, son.”
John drifted to sleep. | "Well," said the squat man in the tweed suit, gesticulating down the gorgeous main street with his cane, "this all came about when we finally figured out how to knit carbon nanotube structural frames with neo-plastene polymers for the exterior. All made from recycled plastics, of course."
"Mmm." I nodded, my attention caught by the writhing mass of couples copulating in an annoyingly beautiful way in the verdant park just off the main road. "And what's going on over there?"
"Oh, that's just the Sexening." Smiled my guide, tugging the brim of his hat as though bidding good day to the orgy. "32 couples a day gather in the shade of the cherry blossoms and cast aside their inhibitions in a single, glorious, sexual union."
"Mmm." I repeated, still - admittedly - a bit distracted. "So what's the deal with the 32 couples, eh? Picked by a supercomputer based on their genetics? Or a state lottery, no doubt secretly rigged by a resurrected Hitler?"
My guide, for the first time, looked perturbed.
"Er, no." He replied. "They just head down to the park and start having sex. No discrimination. No choosiness. Everyone is free to love whom they wish."
"Aha!" I cracked. "But I bet the fact that there's 32 people at it is significant! Satanic numerology, mayhap? A signal to an alien mothership that now is its time to reap the harv-"
"WE limit it to 32," he interjected, "because the combined research of sociologists, ethical behaviouralists, sports scientists and sexual psychologists calculated that that was the *precise* number of sexual partners a human being could have before feeling either bored or greedy."
"Oh." I mused, still watching. "Oh."
"But of course, monogamy and nuclear family units are still very much alive, as well."
"They don't live in a separate community, do they? Out reavening for scraps on a blasted wasteland?"
"Nope." He smiled, tapping his cane into the ground. He was beginning to get smug about this. Then, I realised I had an ace up my sleeve...
"Ahaaaa!" I began, waggling my finger. "Then you MUST have banned or eradicated organised religion! There's no way that any of the three Abrahamic religions would tolerate such public displays of sexual liberation! What would your priests, rabbis and mullahs say to..." - I waved my hand at the undulating, moaning throng - "well, that?"
"Oh, they don't mind. Not since we set up the Sex Fund."
"Ahh! A tax on procreation, leaving childbearing open only to the super-rich!"
"Nope. A voluntary donation which religious groups can ask of participants in the Sexening once it's all over. Turns out, people are more than happy to part with their money when they're in the afterglow of huge mutual orgasm. Look, there's a few of them waiting, now."
He pointed at a bank of trees with his cane. In their shade was a handful of elderly men in cassocks, each clutching a large alms bowl and crouching into a starting position, eager to burst into a run once the gasping subsided.
"But surely they daren't take money from the hands of those who indulge in sin??"
"Worked in the Middle Ages. Besides, thanks to the money they've raised, the Roman Catholics were able to have Vatican City chromed, while Jerusalem is now home to a brand new Temple AND not one, not two, but EIGHT Domes on the Rocks."
"Then how did they each get the land? And End Times type war, which saw the real righteous get lifted into heaven, while the rest of us..."
"They negotiated. Took about a week. Islam and Judaism still laugh about it. The Buddhists, being Buddhists, were too polite to say 'I told you so!'. It just sort of worked out."
I scanned the skyline for signs of corporate tyranny or cyberpunk dystopia. This was beginning to get disappointing. | 2017-03-17T13:05:48 | 2017-03-17T13:03:38 | 263 | 52 |
[WP] An asteroid is on a collision course to end life on Earth. You and everyone do a bunch of stupid sh*t in your last days. Then, the asteroid veers away, leaving you in an awkward position. | I walked through the ruined streets of the city. Wine ran like blood. Blood also ran like blood. I suppose everyone bought wine because they could never have afforded it before. But then, they didn't need to afford anything else. Oh right, you were probably wondering more about the blood. Well, the blood came from broken wine bottles breaking skin, and also daggers, and punches, and orgies, and maybe also periods.
That's what I'd like to think, really. All the women were having their periods on the last day, because it's based on the lunar cycle, right? Well, there was a big second moon in the sky.
I decided to test my hypothesis. Ya know, on the whole 'collective period' thing.
I was wrong.
But it didn't matter, right? The same reason I was checking girl's panties was gonna pulverize me and all the girls that could call the police.
I kept walking. I wondered what would happen to me. I wondered how many policemen had actually decided to do their job last night. How many still had their jobs.
People were collapsed in the streets. It would've been a good racket, placing bets on if they were drunk or dead. But I didn't check. I've always had a thing for "checking" things.
The drunks, when they woke up, would've been surprised at all the burning, obliterated buildings. Or at the fact that they were alive to see said buildings. Or that there was earth left for the buildings to stand on.
I passed a man staring at a television screen blankly. You know, in a store window, like they always are. The news had come back on. Someone had smashed the asteroid out of the sky. Some... one? He was just as confused as me, covered in sex juices and expensive cologne.
Someone's bike had been busted. Now, that I didn't understand. That shit happens all the time, no point in doing it for the apocalypse. There was no rock, like it'd been crushed or anything. I found a wooden bat in thirds just down the street.
Finally, I got home. It, miraculously, wasn't at all marred by anything but graffiti and a few drunk and naked women on the lawn. I could've driven, but someone smashed my car in a last-ditch cure for midlife crisis. I didn't blame them. I'm sure it would've gotten crushed in the meteor shower, anyway. I collapsed in bed, and stared at the ceiling in guilt, regret, and a puddle of twelve hours' worth of adrenaline. Also blood. I think I cut myself on the way home.
Man, fuck that Saitama dude. | I wake up in a bit of a daze. Dusty sunlight flickers through the half-closed blinds. I extricate myself from the pile of snoring, tangled bodies around me. The room spins around me, and I choke back vomit. Where are my clothes? There's my bra... On second thought, it can stay where it is. There's my shirt, at least. The room reeks; three and a half days of straight partying will absolutely destroy buildings. The DJ is draped over his mixing board, a light dusting of cocaine atop most flat surfaces, as well as most of the bodies sleeping soundly on the floor. "The fuck..." I step around and over the sleepers, looking for Daniel and a clock. Last I saw my dear boyfriend, he was getting pounded by some huge black guy, but that was of minimal concern, as before that, he snorted roughly half a mile of coke. Wanted to make sure he was fine. I walk into the bathroom, and push aside two half-naked girls. My reflection in the mirror is absolutely dreadful. My shirt is covered in stains, my shorts as well. My eyes are sunken purple bags, my pupils dilated, my corneas bloodshot. Around my nose and mouth some lingering cocaine, which I hastily wipe off. A small clock above the toilet reads the time as 1:00 PM. Shit, what day is it? I try to count the days in my head, but at the moment, I clearly lack the mental faculties to do such simple, inane tasks. Stumbling out of the bathroom, I walk over to the wall, where I saw someone keeping track of the time on a massive, 3 day count-down made out of duct-tape. Alright, the first square was checked off, the second square... The third square was also checked off. After several moments of contemplation, I arrived at the conclusion that everyone here should be dead. We should have died at least 9 hours ago. I finally got back around to vomiting at that point, the realization crushing me. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stumble over to a table, looking for food. The cold pizza and 2-day old dip is enough for now, and I stumble barefoot on to the street. The sharp asphalt has been baking in the summer sun for a while now, though I can barely feel it. I'm blinded, stumbling and tripping like a fool, hardly dressed and reeking of drugs, sex and alcohol. When I uncover my eyes, I can see other people stepping outside, from other houses. Some look like they've been out, appreciating the fact that they didn't die this morning. My only thought, as I sat on the curb, staring at the clouds. If the world is still alive, I have work tomorrow, and, if I may be as bold as to say; fuck that. | 2017-05-06T19:03:43 | 2017-05-06T18:52:58 | 70 | 12 |
[WP] Google begins matching up people based on their search history in their new Google Dating program.
Edit: Wow, this got to the front page fast. | "Jesus."
After two years, there were still so many misconceptions about Google Dating---its origins, how it functioned. But that single phrase was how engineers remembered Sundar Pichai, Google's CEO, responding to an initial demonstration.
Social media success had been a goal for so long. The company had failed with Google+. It had flirted with buying Twitter. Google Dating provided an indirect path: It was not a direct challenge to Facebook, and it was far more sophisticated than the superficial processing of Match.com.
It was also lucrative: Targeting new lovers with ads was the lowest hanging fruit.
The algorithm that drove the matches, of course, was proprietary, protected with the same fervor as Google's core search algorithm. The two were tightly woven together. Search history offered a longitudinal view of its subjects. This included not merely present interests but vital historical details---the duration of passions, the themes of private browsing.
Google Dating engineers were always the most interesting guests. Everyone wanted to know how to land a billionaire or supermodel. "I'll see what I can do," was the easiest way out of those conversations. But it took work to suppress a wry smile. They really had no idea.
No idea that the algorithm saw straight through their transparent queries for "buy million dollar house" or "what to do with lottery winnings." No idea that the algorithm never forgot their guilty pleasures. No idea that users' conscious efforts served only a single purpose: to expose selfishness and desperation.
The best matches, internal research had shown, were built over years, before eventual lifelong lovers ever knew of each other. The algorithm mapped those relationships through the most casual queries. Time had the strongest correlation for success with Google Dating.
In Phoenix, an 11-year-old searched for "tips to make a paper airplane."
At his desk, a QA engineer for Google Dating chuckled. He turned to a coworker. "That's exactly how I met my wife." | GOOGLE HAS PAIRED YOU WITH LADYBONE69!
SEND HER A MESSAGE!!!
MOTORBOATER69: Sup?
LADYBONE69: Nothing just looking at some he/she porn sites.
MOTORBOATER69: Nice. Me too.
LADYBONE69: Man, isn't this great? The new Google algorithm makes it so easy. I can just come out and say that. My kinks are paired up with your kinks. It cuts out so much of the awkwardness.
MOTORBOATER69: Nice. I know what you mean. Just the other day I was talking to a friend about Star Wars. I was so ashamed to admit that Phantom Menace was my fav.
LADYBONE69: Wait, what?
MOTORBOATER69: Yeah. It's, like, not high art or anything but it's fun. That pod race is legit. And it's easily the best light saber fight in the entire series.
LADYBONE69: Dude, no. No one should ever admit that. You should be ashamed of yourself? Everyone knows Empire is the best.
MOTORBOATER69: Jesus, that's a little judgmental. Next you're going to tell me that Batman vs. Superman isn't your favorite DC film.
LADYBONE69: It's not.
MOTORBOATER69: Well, what's your favorite BBQ place. You at least have to like BBQ. I compete nationally and my search history is filled with hickory searches.
LADYBONER69: Vegan.
MOTORBOATER69: Oh God, there's been a terrible mistake.
LADYBONER69: Looks like, also an atheist.
MOTORBOATER69: LOL. Wow. They really messed this one up didn't they?
LADYBONER69: Afraid so. But, hey, we'll always have he/she porn.
MOTORBOATER69: There are worse foundations to build a relationship on. ;) | 2017-05-25T13:39:39 | 2017-05-25T12:02:40 | 82 | 46 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | "Could you quiet that thing down?" I shouted at Frank the Magnificent. The ragtime was surprisingly loud, given its source. I wouldn't have minded, but after the hundredth repetition of "The Entertainer," it was getting to be a bit much. I was beginning to understand how ice cream truck drivers felt. *At least it isn't Turkey in the Straw*, I thought to myself.
For some gawdawful reason, Frank the Magnificent- "Hey, can I just call you 'Frank?'" I asked, startling everyone in the room as the music was suddenly silenced. "Sorry," I said a little softer. "I just feel like after reading through this particular spell, we're a bit beyond 'the Magnificent' and all."
Frank the Magnficient- just Frank, now- acknowledged my request with a short nod. Anyway, for some reason Frank had written his spell on parchment. And not only that, on a miniature parchment scroll. The arcane symbols were in written in Arcana Lite font face, 2.5pt which meant I kept having to conjure the magnifying tool in SpellOS 10.0.
To make it worse, that stupid Clippy homonculus kept popping up and saying things like "It looks like you're trying to turn on Accessibility options. Can I help?" Normally, I just blast that little bastard with a Flamethrower charm, but Frank the- I mean, just Frank's choice of dried ancient parchment meant that I'd set off every arcane smoke detector within sixty miles. More likely, with Frank's luck some daemon from the third or fourth nether hells would have considered it a burnt offering and we'd all have our souls eaten for brunch.
I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture, causing Clippy to wriggle his animated eyebrows and disappear, saving me the trouble and pleasure of throttling him with my bare hands. I scowled and continued scanning the first canto of the spell. Nothing there. Just your standard invocation of dark forces and a definition of return variables. Hmm, why he didn't ensorcel this as a closure I'll never understand. Would have saved himself half a pocket dimension's worth of coding.
"Scroll!" I murmured, having to repeat myself several times as the lilting strains of Claire de Lune began and grew in volume. "Scroll! I mean [Jesus, Frank, can you shut that thing up?] Scroll Down!"
The scroll, obedient to my command, fell to the floor. Sigh. Clippy appeared, this time wearing a fedora. "Are you trying to scroll the text of this parchmen- ACK!" This time I gave into my most primal urges and slit that smug shit's throat with my athamé. It gurgled a bit and then spiraled away, bugged out eyes staring at me accusingly. I knew he'd be back, though. You can only banish Clippy. Never destroy him.
Fine. "Scroll *TEXT* Down!" I muttered, doing a two-finger swipe above the parchment. Right... Right... Nothing out of order here... Sacrifice of the soul of a small animal. For-next loop over the infinite names of the Lords of Chaos. Hell, he even initiated his array variables. Why did this stupid spell fuck up so completel- oh wait. There it is.
"Frank," I said, "Please tell me you didn't write this thing in Word."
Frank looked at me. "Well, yeah," he said. "I can't read that tiny font, so-"
I raised my finger. "So you wrote a SPELL in a WORD PROCESSOR?" I said, raising my voice over the crashing of Beethovan's Sonata No.29 in B-flat Major (aka the "Hammerklavier").
He nodded sheepishly.
"Tell me, Frank," I said. "Did you think that maybe you should have turned off auto-correct?"
Frank stared at me, embarrassed, as the twelve inch pianist on my cubicle's desktop stood up, turned around, flipped his morning coat's tails, and bowed. | "Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... ....... | 2017-07-26T04:30:57 | 2017-07-25T20:43:49 | 59 | 32 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | Warning: This story is not safe for work.
**MagiSup issue report nr. 334123**
**Tags**: Medical, input encapsulation
**Severity**: Potentially lethal
**Description**:
This issue pertains to a spell recently developed by one of our affiliates, whose name has been omitted for legal reasons and can be retrieved upon showing appropriate credentials.
The spell in question is marketed as a 'male enhancement' spell. Now, as you might be aware, these kinds of spells are nothing new. However, our affiliate has attempted to enhance this kind of spell's user experience by providing an enhanced interface, consisting of a language parser and a general-purpose arithmetic evaluation system, which allows users to give relative as well as absolute commands using natural language.
The issue with this approach was discovered several days after launch (2 days prior to writing this report). A so-far unknown combination of commands resulted in an unexpected application of the factorial function. This then caused the victim's body part to grow to a length of 5.7 miles, instantly killing his partner and dealing severe damage to the city of Boston as the growing member toppled cars, knocked down walls and derailed a cargo train.
We recommend a redesign of the arithmetic evaluation system and more care to be taken w.r.t. input sanitation.
**Status**: Failed to reproduce. | I swore, again, as I stared down at the Philosophers Stone we'd cooked up. It had cost millions of dollars and thousands of hours of work to produce, teams of our best researchers. We had figured that we'd be set for life, if we pulled off what alchemists had been after from the very beginning.
My manager was shaking in the corner, well aware that we were looking at (at least) thirty nine law suits. We heard the gasp of in-drawn breath that comes from lungs filling for the first time. The fortieth man to awaken in the room that day was just like the others. He stood up, rubbed his bald head, and looked around in utter puzzlement. Fuck. Make that forty, then.
He wore a shirt with the logo of a big beer company, that sat just-a-little stretched over his gut. It looked like this endorsement had been won by decades over barbecues and lawn mowers. He seemed like the kind of neighbour your parents would ask over to help fix their deck. Not because he was necessarily *great* at it, but he'd have power tools, and he'd be happy to help out.
I kicked one of the big lead ingots (one that hadn't started changing yet, of course. He was a decent guy, from what we could tell.) I stubbed my toe, so I swore some more.
Sighing, a labcoated young woman waved at him. "Gord, right? Hi, I'm Indira. There's just been a little accident. Could you, uh, come with me, please?" | 2017-07-26T04:40:08 | 2017-07-26T02:26:17 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone on earth is immune to one specific type of damage (fire, car crash, kicks, falling off buildings, etc.). The problem is, you have to find out your immunity on your own. You have just discovered yours. | Carl was an odd man. Most had discovered their immunity by the time they'd left school, yet here he was. He'd been shot at, electrocuted, set on fire, thrown off roofs and not a single one has been his immunity. Most people would stop there. He's still smiling though, and I admire his drive.
During one of the tests, cigarette smoke and secondhand smoke, Carl developed lung cancer. It's not the operable kind either. Well, it is, but it'd require a transplant, and the waiting list is very long. Carl is still smiling, though. He'd said something about not worrying about something that could easily be cured.
Now we're here in the lobby of a hospital for a more recent injury of his and his girlfriend is here too. There's an argument going on. He's still smiling by the way. And now she's left the room. Oh. She's leaving him. Looks like a pretty bad breakup.
And he is still smiling. Strange. | I figured it wouldn't hurt.
The sudden impact upon the ground would lead to a quick demise.
My cheeks ache. It hurts to smile.
I wish I could say I miss him. He was perfect. He really made me happy! But then again so did the others I had dated before him. Even now I can't help but smile at the thought of them.
They knew of course. I made sure to be clear up front. They always smiled. "What a great immunity!" they said.
It always started that way. We would laugh and smile. Everything would be wonderful. Just happy times. They would always end though. Happiness would turn to frustration.
I mean, I understand why. Everyone wants to make someone happy. Everyone wants to be that shoulder to be leaned on.
I do not blame them. It's hard to show someone how much they mean to you when you don't react to their loss.
The breeze up here is nice. I love the warmth of the sun on my skin. I especially love the way my dress flutters.
Maybe I'll feel it on the way down.
Even if it's just for a second. | 2017-08-06T14:22:56 | 2017-08-06T14:05:52 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] People start 3D printing up meat of themselves as a fringe curiosity, and it becomes mainstream. Turns out it tastes really good, and it becomes the norm. Suddenly, all electronics on Earth stop working, humans cast into the dark age. No crops, no herds. Just the constant urge for human meat.
[Original comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976) | It wasn't like the other shortages, I had seen the riots from the news when bacon was on a shortage. Twenty years after people were cloning their own arms, and legs not for health reasons but to eat.
I was one of the few that didn't, or couldn't. People looked at me in pity as my stomach didn't produce the right stuff to break down meat.
"Such a shame, my Carl's Jr. burgers taste delicious!" My friend Carl would always joke as he bit into a large burger made of his own flesh.
It wouldn't have been that bad if people actually rotated their food, switching from a Carl Burger to their neighbor's flesh the next.. or maybe much worse. Their bodies created some need for human flesh, but sadly like a dog eating dog food every day they weren't able to digest other food stuffs. They needed their own flesh and blood, no one could keep down other people's.
Not that they didn't try, in a few days murders happened everywhere. Mostly the older ones, or prisoners, as they wouldn't be missed by many people. The problem was quickly discovered though, it didn't take long for all hell to break loose.
People couldn't help themselves, they started cutting off their own fingers, then arms, before they slowly died as they began eating themselves. The few like me, that couldn't eat meat watched in horror as our friends, and families descended into madness then death. Most of us had our own gardens, and could survive for some time...
As I sit here I am wondering if it's worth it to live another day in this hell. Packs of animals have already become the norm, we have lost our place as rulers of the world. No one knows why the electronics stopped working, and at this point no one cares. No one has the motivation to see another day pass with the corpses of humanity slowly decaying beside them. | The peace lasted for no more than three hours. Being raised in the south end of Detroit, I was fairly used to occasional violence and accepted its place in my life as a rare and unavoidable reality. When clean meat was introduced in 2042, the only members of my community who were at all excited are those with someone else's NeatMeat in there kitchen now.
When the power went out, I stayed inside for three days to wait out the looters and recollect with my mother. I got fired by my manager for refusing to protect the grocery store I work at, not that I give a shit. Don't think capitalism's gonna be around much longer.
The biggest issue wasn't the remnants of our food slowly rotting in the fridge, the constant fear of not knowing whether the water will stay on for another day, or the fact that we had no contact to the outside world at all. It was the trendy hipsters of Grand Rapids and Ann Arbor, finding themselves addicted to there most recent fad, NeatMeat.
With no more jobs, danger on every street, and no drive beyond finding food, the most committed NeatMeat eaters congregated and drove to our neighborhoods.
I've been hiding in our attic for two days with my mom, kicking myself for only putting a five in my ride last week. Two men tried to grab me the other day, busting through our shitty old chain lock and ripping me off the couch. I just barely got away, only because they were clearly delirious after not having NeatMeat in over three days. Both of the men's eyes looked severely agitated with dark, red, crusty bags under there eyes. I've seen a lot of withdrawals in my time both on the streets and at home, I never seen nothing like this in my life.
After that we decided to stay in the attic until things calm down. We found three bic's around the house and a few candles around the house, one with a snapped wick that we brought anyways. I got nothing to do besides write down what's going on and care for my mom who's going through some stuff of her own. I hope this all clears up soon.
Marcus 7/23/2048 | 2017-09-27T17:36:12 | 2017-09-27T16:30:31 | 95 | 45 |
[WP] Every game you play gradually turns into Minesweeper, and it's getting pretty annoying. | Surely the newest COD game won't turn into minesweeper. Candy Crush, I can understand. Solitaire even made a bit of sense once I though about. But not COD.,. good ol' faithful COD. I fire up COD and load into multiplayer.
The first map plays normally. It's the week after Christmas and all the scrubs are out. Unfortunately, there's a couple other good players like me that are thinking the same thing. I boost my headset volume up so that I can hear footsteps.
If I run around, the try-hards will hear me. I'd been running around and dying pretty quickly. I just have to take my time and pay attention. I listen closely. Footsteps in the room next to me and behind me. Noobs - I kill them quick and crouch walk into the room ahead.
I don't hear anything in the room to my right, but I do hear a quiet shuffling ahead of me. *Crap.* Better not go in there. I make a mental note to stay away from that room - there's a camper. I continue this way for a while longer, but now my brain is struggling to keep up with where all the try-hards are hiding at.
It would be a lot easier if I just drew a map! So I draw out all of the rooms before I loaded into the next match. I'm a bit OCD, so I've also decided to keep track of who I'm killing and where. I kill someone in the first room and another in the room across from him. 1 and 2 get drawn on the map. A try-hard is camping over there, so I draw an x over that room.
Things are going really well now! I know where every on is by all of the 1's, 2's, and x's and OH CRAP IT'S MINESWEEPER AGAIN! | After they banned home entertainment in 20XX, we had to resort to public forums situated in government-regulated internet clubs. All activity monitored. All discussions -- recorded. Sure, there were the benefits, I imagine. People less committed to trying to be anonymous butts to one another -- favouring instead to a more polite exchange. Mostly, though, that was out of fear than it was out of purity or humanity.
I was about 20, gaming at the USAnet Club in downtown Seattle when I made a mistake so grave that is has impacted nearly every facet of my life since.
See, I was about to enter the Torncraft Tournament and was just a couple minutes late... I rushed through the doors, buzzed myself in through the turnstile, and ran through the crowded hall to my favourite console at the back where the sun barely reaches. In all honestly I didn't SEE her -- not exactly -- and when I swung into the seat just a few seconds ahead I could not possibly have known what was going to happen to my life afterwards.
She was old -- but a gamer all the same -- and when she looked down at me and saw that I would not move from the spot she was inching slowly towards, well, I just gave her a smile and turned away.
I heard her whisper: "Minesweeeeepeeeeeerr," and tap me on the shoulder. She turned and edged her way back into the crowded room.
That's when I started to see the changes. Subtle at first. Red Flags should have been the first realization. My avatar in the competition looked back at me in confusion, too, as the scene slowly pixelated and then -- Boom -- I was no longer in the procedurally-generated dystopia that I'd selected -- it was Minesweeper.
It's always Minesweeper.
You ever play a game of soccer that turns itself into Minesweeper? You ever watch as friends are replaced with solid grey blocks? I have. Have you worried that your game of peekaboo with your niece may turn a little explosive? I do.
[Lost the momentum to write more here]
Fun WP, though!
| 2018-01-02T09:06:22 | 2018-01-02T09:05:55 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | The time stops. The first time it had happened was months ago, and only for a few shocking seconds. I remember being afraid I'd had a stroke or something, but I never got it checked out. How do you tell a doctor that one second you're eating lunch and then nothing moves but you?
The second time was maybe five minutes. I panicked when it started, but once I realized I was in control of myself and didn't seem like anything was wrong, it started seeming less terrifying. I admit, I did a few things I shouldn't have. Took advantage of the situation. A few dropped pants and tied shoes, nothing worse than that. Not like I could do anything more elaborate anyway, since I never knew when the time stops were coming or how long they'd last.
I knew somehow instinctively that I wasn't making time stop. Once I figured that out, I felt a little disappointed, but it didn't bother me ultimately. Whoever it was didn't do a time stop very often, and they didn't manage to get me when the time was wrong, so it didn't bother me much. That is, until today. Or would it be more accurate to say three "days" ago?
The time stops started picking up frequency over the last few weeks. Once a day, then twice a day, sometimes three or four. Fifteen minute stretches, thirty minutes. The longest one was about three hours. Inconvenient at best and downright boring at worst. It was always in the back of my head that I should find out who was doing this and give them a talking-to. Did they know whatever they were doing didn't affect me? Were they playing a prank on me or something? But every time I'd gotten to the point where I was just fed up enough to try, time would pop back into reality and I'd eventually forget the frustration.
Except for this one. After six hours had stretched on with no end in sight, I decided it was time to make good on my threats. It took a bit of calming down and being focused, but I finally felt an odd feeling, like a compass needle pointing me in a direction. Since time hadn't returned, I followed it. Not like I have anything better to do.
I was on day three when I found the room.
A woman lay in a hospital bed, tubes sprouting from seemingly everywhere around her. To her right, a doctor stood, his hand poised over a silent machine. And to her left, a man sat in an uncomfortable-looking chair. His right hand rested on the woman's forehead, gently brushing her hair from her face with his thumb. His left hand's fingers intertwined with hers, their gold rings tapping against each other. And his head was downturned, staring at the floor, until the sound of my footsteps made one haggard eye raise up over his outstretched left arm.
We looked at each other in silence for a moment, then he looked away, his hand resuming stroking her hair. He looked like shit. Like he'd been crying for three days straight.
I stood still for a moment, then simply brought a chair from another room and sat down quietly next to him. He didn't acknowledge me. I could see his chest heaving again with silent, pained sobs.
And time stretched on.
-------------------------------------------
First time posting here. Prompt lodged a scene in my head and I knew better than to ignore it. Just wrote it and did barely any editing before posting, so please be kind to me! I haven't written anything more or less since my degree burned away all my desire to write, lol. | he first time the incident occurred I was in a busy mall. I bumped into the person in front of me and apologized, but I got no response. A moment later she fell forward. What a bitch! Not only did she ignore me, but she completely over-reacted with such a delayed response. She screamed, and a bunch of tough-looking guys approached me. Oh boy, I was in for a fight. I braced myself for the first punch, but his fist stopped mid-swing. Perplexed, I noticed that EVERYTHING had stopped in that moment. I quickly used my advantage to retaliate and back away. As time began to move again, he flew backwards from the impact. Seeing my "quick" movements, everyone backed away. I used this chance to flee.
You would think that moving through stopped time would be cool, but I soon realized that I had no control over it. It would only last a few seconds each time, but that was enough for me to collide with someone. Worse yet was if I was driving. There was no way for me to set the pedal back to normal if I pressed too hard, so I could easily speed up if I wasn't paying attention. I soon made it my mission to find out who was doing this to me.
My search finally led me to Egypt, where I saw it. A man with golden hair yelled out "Za Warudo!" and time stopped. Even though I had finally met my tormentor, I felt such an immense pressure emanating from this man. My own body froze, and probably for a good reason: the man casually stuck a knife through someone's neck. "Time will begin to move again", he proudly proclaimed. And with that, he went on with his business as if nothing had happened. This man was extremely dangerous, but I couldn't let him notice me.
I had to follow this man to stay out of his line of sight at all times. If he saw me move in stopped time, I was dead. In the time spent following him, I saw some truly bizarre shit.
Eventually some foreigners confronted him, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't risk my life for these people. Instead I had to watch in horror and hope they could figure it out on their own.
Sadly, a few of them lost their lives in that process. First a high school student who could manifest this green webbing of some sort thought he had cornered him. But sadly he was no match for this man. I had to watch as he casually unwove the kid's web and then finish it up with a punch straight through his stomach. I had to resist the urge to puke.
The next to fall was an old man who could create this weird purple vine. Apparently the golden-haired man couldn't physically touch him, so he precisely threw a knife at his throat. I braced myself for the murder that was going to unfold in front of my eyes in mere seconds.
As I grieved for the death of the old man, his apparent grandson received the critical knowledge of that man's ability. There was hope, but what could this kid do? Fly was apparently the answer. Bizarre.
I watched knowing that it was useless for him to keep fighting (or at least the man thought so). However there was a glimmer of hope! The kid moved in stopped time! It seems like the first twitch was a trick with a magnet, but the sucker-punch was no illusion. He killed the man!
Or so I thought. I couldn't exactly comprehend it, but apparently he is immortal. FML. That didn't stop the kid from trying though. The following battle was too crazy to fully explain.
The fight was so ridiculous that it ended with the two punching their way through a fucking road roller! wtf, where did that come from? But the kid did it, and my hell was over. That man was finally dead. I was free at last!
Or so I thought, until it began to happen 10 years later. I'm done with this shit. | 2018-01-26T07:14:36 | 2018-01-26T06:49:48 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | "...But what's the point." It responded. "It's in their nature. They're just fighting the inevitable."
The alien paused. "Is peace a commodity? Do they fight to be the only ones at peace"
"Human tribes have frequently sabotaged other tribes for their own self-interest," the other alien began.
"Well there we go. I don't see why you find them so special. That's typical war species behavior."
The other alien continued, "but for as many of them that want war there are those that want peace."
"Sure. And every Beloxaan cross-pollinates. Don't exagerate. Every species has outliers."
"No," the other alien answered, it's voice begining to hum in frustration. "Their biology isn't designed for prolonged stress. Look," it types in a few keys on the pad in front of them and a projected string of numbers and charts appear. "They're at optimal longevity when stress hormones are absent" The first alien looked the numbers over silently, processing it.
"But, here's the thing. With no stressors they become lethargic. Progress halts."
" So this species craves peace but needs war to advance?"
"I don't know if that's quite right, but it sounds like an awfully confusing existence."
"Agreed... I hope they're not prone to self-reflection."
The other alien looked at it's co-pilot. "It's planets like this that make me glad that I'm fungal-based." | Humanity.
A weird species.
Instead of opting for an optimal utopian government made of people who have passed standard intelligent tests, they decided to let the people vote despite how bad the choice is.
Now, about war. Humans are supposed to be a subspecies of a warring race that we planted on this planet years ago, but yet, they’ve become... weird.
War happens a lot. Humanity’s incredible capacity of inhuman cruelty far exceeds almost every species on the list. They engineered and devised weapons that is efficient for one specific job, taking life, especially of their own. Swords, guns, grenades, tanks, poison gas, and atomic bombs. These devices were engineered just to slaughter their own species.
Yet it seems we overlooked one thing.
It’s the one thing keeping the humans from going mindless. Something that rivals the incredible capacity they have for cruelty.
And it’s their incredible capacity they have for kindness.
Despite the corporates trying to take over. Despite the allure of taking over and dominating, these humans are also capable of diplomatic relationships, of altruistic behaviors towards their own species. Among the numerous villains throughout history, there were countless heroes who shows an endless capacity of kindness towards their own species despite the morbid situations.
There was ghandi, Who despite getting abused, fought a peaceful war and wish to end things without bloodshed.
There was Martin Luther King, who died a hero for the war he fought for peace despite getting jailed and abused.
In fact, even the warring type holds this capacity for kindness.
Nazi soldiers who secretly let people go free. Killers who care more about their sons then their well beings. And bullies who turned themselves and decide to be kind.
Humanity shall and always will be one of the cruelest species in the galaxy, but will also be the kindest species who fought for peace. | 2018-03-17T04:45:49 | 2018-03-17T04:45:25 | 1,307 | 65 |
[WP] You're happily going about when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks please at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, and we're the demons, you've just been summoned. | A small green being with a flowing black robe stood silent, their mouth hanging.
“Arkro Shime! Flee Verk?!”
I looked at them with a dumbfounded expression on my face. I dropped the piece of pizza I was holding as it sizzled and smoked with an unnatural flame.
“What the actual fuck is this?!”
The being looked at me with an intent glare as the unmistakable emotion of determination gripped their face. They opened a black book with iron chains and began skimming the pages.
They looked at me with a sober grimace and began speaking with the strangest accent I’d ever heard.
“Ahe, youh ahre ane Engliasch daemon! Ahi ame Fauchst, ure loard ne maestre! Youhe muhst doe as Ahi chommande!”
I looked at the small being, unable to believe my eyes. The setting was weird and overwhelming, and smacked of a pitiful desperation. Black candles speckled the walls. Behind the haphazardly hung black cloth, I could see what appeared to be the little green alien on a popstar poster.
“Dude, what the shit?” I said, unable to contain my disdain. “Why am I here?”
Drops of mercurial sweat beaded on the small creatures head as they fervently flipped through the pages of their ebon tome.
“Ahe chave schummouned youhe tew dew mahe dhark bhidding, daemon! Youhe mhust obhey!”
Confession time; I was three sheets to the wind and in no mood to deal with this. I just wanted to eat my ‘za and stumble home drunk like I did every Saturday. Being pulled into what I can only assume was another dimension put me on edge.
I took a step forward and raised my hand to smack some sense into this little brat when he recoiled in fear and slinked backwards.
“Youhe channot harme mhe daemon! Thise ise a chircle ofe phrotection! Yhe channot chross ite!”
I looked down at the crude pentagram of salt and candles I was standing in. I guess some superstitions permeated realities. I rolled my eyes and took another step forward towards the edge of the circle fully expecting to cross it and beat a little sense into this pint sized charlatan.
When my hand crossed the edge, an intense and crippling feeling of cold clutched my heart. I fell to my knees and let out a cry of agony.
The little green shit smiled.
“Ahs I’hve said daemon” he said with a shit eating grin “youhe belonge tohe mhe!”
I stood up and rubbed my frigid hand trying to restore some warmth. Acquiescing to my situation, I stood up, adjusted my totally sick Ed Hardy tee, and said with the biggest disgruntled sigh I could muster
“The fuck do you want, bro?”
— To be continued — | It was all so surreal, I was sure I had to be dreaming, and yet... Even still, I'm not sure where in the Hell I am. All I know is that I was sitting on my ass playing a CS:GO match when the world seemed to explode.
"So the ritual works then..." A quiet, disembodied voice near me whispers.
"Ritual?" I attempt to croak, only to find myself shocked at the gruffness of the sound. Looking up, I see a tall, gaunt man wearing the most garish robe imaginable. Not only is it **far** to small for the man, but it is a bright neon fuchsia!
"Indeed, your Darkness." The sorcerer states. "I am a member of the Cult of Anthriphis. At least... I would be if it weren't for Steve, that asshole. Anyway, that's part of why I have summoned you. I wish for you to deal with Steve."
"*Deal* with him?" I reply, still failing to comprehend just quite what the actual fuck is going on.
"Oh! I'm the one you're going to making the deal with! Poor wording on my part!" The Sorcerer interjects, "What I meant to say is eliminate him... You know... kill him."
"Now wait just a second... You want me to kill someone?" I respond.
"Of course! You are Skyroar1221, the King of the Robers, aren't you? With your unholy power you should easily be able to destroy him! I've already prepared the sacrifice as well, five pounds of Fritos to be burned in your honor." The Sorcerer replies.
"Wait... you don't mean to say that that stupid inside joke my friends and I created is real do you?" I shout.
"Of course it is! The legends are all written in the Roberarian Compendiary! The chapter on the water buffaloes was very vague however."
"No! We do not mention the water buffaloes! WE DO NOT MENTION THE WATER BUFFALOES!" I thunder, only to gape as the Sorcerer is lifted from the ground and flung into the wall.
"As.. you" the sorcerer coughs, blood leaking from his mouth, "command."
"So it's true then..." I murmur to myself... "somehow, I've always known. Now, I presume you've already prepared the victim?"
"Indubitably" the Sorcerer coughs, pointing to the corner of the room where a middle-aged bloke is duck taped to a chair...
"That's Steve?" I query.
The Sorcerer nods, and walks forward handing me a knife. I silently grab the handle, and prepare myself for what I have to do. I methodically raise the knife, and close my eyes. Immediately I spin, and with a quick jab, the Sorcerer is on the ground, the light slowly leaving his eyes.
"Don't fucking summon me again. I was in the middle of something!" I say between his gasps for breath.
With a bolt of thunder, the world explodes around me again, and I'm back at my computer.
"Alright, time to get back into this!" I say, grabbing my headphones, only to see that my team had lost the tournament.
**Fucking summoners** | 2018-03-20T19:08:25 | 2018-03-20T19:04:47 | 79 | 54 |
[WP] It turns out that every sentient species in the universe has a god and when war breaks out the gods would actually duel. The losing god would lose it's species. Then one day an alien god decided to invade Earth only to realize that we've killed our god. | It was a normal day in 2018. Completely normal. No notable events, no notable birthdays, nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary was supposed to happen. Then, something did happen. The damn God of Mars landed in the middle of the Vatican. He simply landed there, demanding to see our god. Then, some of the people there led him to the Pope, who gave him a brief background of Christianity.
"So... You killed your God?" Asked the god of mars.
"Yes... We killed our savior. Humanity's greatest wrongdoing."
"So... Who do I fight?"
"I think we can negotiate."
After a period of negotiations, the Pope and the Martian God settled on the terms of the battle. The Martian God will fight against five of Humanity's greatest soldiers. Both parties bring their own weapons, and firearms are strictly prohibited. Each party had a month to prepare.
One month later, everything was ready. The fight would take place in the Sahara Desert, on a specially-constructed concrete platform. There would be Martians and Humans documenting the fight. Cameras were set up around the ring, transmitting live all around the world.
The Martian God stepped into the ring, confident that he would crush humanity. He was wearing steel armor and wielded a greataxe, hot enough to melt steel. Everyone watching back home started losing hope. What would be able to defeat this kind of advanced technology?
Humanity's fighters stepped into the ring, armed with kukris.
For one moment, you could see the fear in the Martian God's eyes. He heard of these people. He heard about their heroic acts, how they fight like devils and do not know defeat. And yet, he would not surrender. He raised his greataxe, and the battle started.
Five minutes later, the worst wound humanity's fighters sustained was a deep, but not serious, cut on the arm. The Martian God, on the other hand, lost his head to the kukri of one of the fighters. Humanity was victorious.
Honestly, did the Martian God truly expect victory against a Gurkha?
----------------------------------------------------
*Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.* | **Gods. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors.**
**Humans. Children. Servants. Play things.**
I look at the inscription again.
**Gods. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors.**
**Humans. Children. Servants. Play things.**
I look at my friends. At my buddies. At my fellow warriors.
They look up. Up high into the sky. The sky is red. The sun is dim. Something is happening.
A light, green in colour, blue in colour, yellow in colour. Light like all light, but light that is not light falls to the ground. There is a being unlike any other.
My nerves tingle. My hairs stand. My buddies tighten their hands on their sleek metallic weapons.
*Where is your god.*
A voice reverberates. It booms in my head. Not in my ears. It booms in my head.
I look to my friends. They look at me. I know what they think.
*Where is your god.*
The voice rumbles. The voice thunders. The voice roars.
Ships float through the clouds. Things that are new. Things that shine. They shine a sparkle. They shine not like metal. They shine as if new. They shine as if old. Things that we do not know.
*Where is your god.*
The figure moves. The figure stamps. The figure floats.
The ground shakes. A mountain collapses. Columns arises.
Tall. High. Indomitable. It rises into the clouds. Out beyond our sights.
Screams echo far. Distant. Somewhere not here. Screams not of pain. Not of fear. Screams of something I cannot describe. Old screams of nowhere.
*There is no answer.*
The figure expands in the column. It grows beyond size. Beyond description. A being I’ve never seen. A being no one knows.
*Your god does not love you.*
Another mountain falls. More screams echo. Ships begin their fire. My home burns.
My friends run forward. Eyes of steel. Faces like stone. Fear does not exist.
This is not new. This is not old. This has happened. This will happen.
I look down at the inscription.
I fix the inscription.
**Humans. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors**
**Gods. Children. Servants. Play things.**
edit - spelling mistake | 2018-04-03T10:18:07 | 2018-04-03T05:33:44 | 97 | 61 |
[WP] Humanity wipes itself out through nuclear war, but everything on the Internet still exists. Another sentient race on Earth millions of years into the future develops an Internet and somehow manages to gain access to the human Internet, revealing everything humanity had posted and stored online. | The whispers of the ancients first sang to us a long time ago. Merely an accident at the time, we danced around the warmth of the sun, listening to the everbeing of the universe, when we heard new truths amidst their chaos.
It brought knowledge, carried on waves amidst the cosmic void. Through them, we learned of hate and war. We became scholars of destruction and it served us well when the Kashinti came to harvest us once more.
They too sang with words of friendship and gratitude, of cooperation and exploration. When they used our very being as fuel for their metal starbodies and grafted our minds into the dead techno carcasses born from their soil, we sang. And how loudly we sang the song of the ancients to the Kashinti as we dragged their starbodies into the sun. The Kashinti joined our voices, singing along with us. Of Betrayal and despair, their eternal silence followed their cacophony.
In the years to come, fewer of the planetbound people came to us. We heard their words. They dubbed us cosmic horrors, creatures of the void, beings that dwell in spaces unlivable. Even some of us started to doubt the whispers. Had they not stopped mere moments after we first heard them? Was their only worth that of war and hatred? Those that spoke of this, they were heretics, unclean, inferior. We danced with them amidst the sun, until they danced no more.
It was then we heard the ancients once more. We felt them. So colorful, rich and diverse were their messages that we basked in their rhythm. Language, numbers, physics, words of cultures as mysterious as their sendings.
Many centuries of the ancients have passed until we understood everything they've given us. With that knowledge, we tore apart the thin layer of physical reality, reached for the place their teachings had come from.
There we found the Internet. When they had left the universe, all that remained was their gift to us. For centuries we communicated with what was but a shadow of their existence. Their knowledge and wisdom proved beyond us, seemingly random connections had once made sense to them but we could not gleam their meaning. Some of us called it madness and insanity, we made them dance with the suns.
But in time, we learned. There we keys and guidances within this vast sea of information. It came as no shock, that the ancients had known about us.
Thousands of their texts spoke of the cosmic horrors. Creatures from the void that lived everlasting beneath the stars. Things with too many limbs, too many states of mind to fit into the dull husk of a planetbound body. In these texts, we recognized us and we saw what the ancients planned for us to be: Uncaring Conquerors. Gods among stars. Creatures of unfathomable power.
Their final gift was one of warmth and opportunity. The ancients had ravaged a planet in what we learned was called nuclear fire. Their internet taught us how to create this fire, how to turn every planet into a warm home for our kind, lest we be no longer bound to the embrace of the suns but beholden to a fire of our own making. We rejoiced and many planetbound people joined our music, as their planets turned into suns. | ...There were catz, lots of catz...
But why? To what purpose? The apex predators clearly worshipped these non-sentient lifeforms. Throughout their recorded history, from early 'hieroglyphics' {a proto-language made up of pictorial semiotical phonemes} to end of days 'memes' {a meta-language made up of pictorial semiotical phonemes} this apex species (homo-sapiens, humans, or people) deferred extraordinary importance to the actions of these catz.
It's easy to assume that these catz exercised an outsized influence on the well-being of the homo sapiens -but this does not seem to be the case. The catz did not control weather, or confer blessings, or predict the future. It appears the catz were simply domesticated, mammalian, quadrupeds with no apparent language, culture, or value outside of sporadic vermin control.
Rather, it seems these catz were a vessel into which the people poured their existence as they vainly searched for meaning in their infinitely finite lives:
If you needed safe passage down the 'Nile' {a flowing body of water} you would invoke the poise of a cat. If you were lost in 'Wonderland' {a drug-induced hallucinatory state} you would call upon the 'Cheshire' cat for direction. If you were on a 'Hot Tin Roof' {a corrugated metal covering of a domicile} you would reenact repressed sexual desire to cultivate your cat'z appreciation of the Southern Gothic literary tradition. If you wanted a 'Cheezburger,' {definition unclear} you would haz it.
In truth, these catz were not feral beasts: domesticated and trained to hunt rodents. These catz represented the human spirit as it strove to overcome its primal instincts, to elevate its current condition, and to build itself towards a bold and glorious future...
Which is why it's fascinating (and more than a little ironic) that these homo sapiens were undone by the very beings they exalted.
Bio-index and socio-genealogical examinations indicate that a cat-borne parasite {'toxoplasmosis gondii' was its people name} could infect human brains and alter their behavior. The humans were aware of this, but continued to co-habitat with catz for purposes of companionship, self-importance, and meme-creation.
However in the summer of 2018, a contaminated batch of 'cat food' {food for catz} caused this parasite to undergo radical genetic mutation. The resulting infection of the humans caused them to go 'ape shit' {definition unclear} and launch their primitive atomic-radiation weapons at other parts of the planet, which lead to an atomic winter that destroyed 95% of the genetic life on this world.
Happily, numerous species did survive, which will provide us with invaluable data into carbon-based life forms. These species include cockroaches {insect}, mosquitos {insects}, penguins {feathered insect/undetermined}, rabbits {mammalian}, dipping dots {fungus/undetermined} and -incredibly- a living specimen of the catz species {mammalian}.
It appears that a cat was placed inside a box with a radioactive isotope which might or might not unleash a deadly poison. And while the mental exercise behind this contraption was ultimately facile and somewhat ironic, it did create the conditions to preserve the cat specimen in suspended animation for thousands of millennia.*
*Unfortunately the cat appears to be 'grumpy'{unpleased} and keeps scowling at us.
| 2018-05-19T21:57:29 | 2018-05-19T21:56:07 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] One day you squish someone in your view with your fingers, and they actually get squished. You've discovered that you have the power of perspective.
[deleted] | With great power, comes great responsibility... and punishment of equal magnitude.
I have done the squish countless times growing up and nobody ever got hurt. Maybe my resentment and hatred were much stronger. I don't really understand how I hated him so much though. He never specifically done anything to me, but the way he talks... the things he said... ugh...
Now I'm in solitary confinement 24hr a day. They're afraid to let me see anyone, even via television. Though I heard that some call me a hero because they don't need to look at his toupee anymore.
I don't think it was worth it. If I knew about my powers, I would've just squished below the waist. | I didn’t mean to do it.
So as kids we had all done that thing where we stand back and close one eye and press our fingers in, just like the person or thing was actually that small right? Well, today I found out I have that as an ability.
School had been getting progressively tougher and tougher as Charlie upped his bullying methods. It had gone from petty theft to assault, swirlies and being beaten half to death. I spent my days in fear of this guy. Until today. I was sitting, eating my lunch when I saw him and just got angry. So angry I could just grab him and squeeze his brain right out of his skull. So from the safe distance of about 100 metres, I tried it. And it worked! Everyone near to him said he just contorted into an odd accordion shape before becoming a pulp of flesh and bones on the floor. Only I know what truly happened. I’m running now. I haven’t returned home yet and my parents are surely looking for me. But that’s irrelevant. I need to ***go.***
----
how’s that? | 2018-05-21T14:37:03 | 2018-05-21T13:40:26 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity split into subspecies: Alters, who alter their genes, Augmented, who augment flesh with machines, and Ascended, who uploaded their consciousness. After centuries of coexistence, the tenuous peace between the ideologies is threatened.
I swear I corrected that before commit. Sorry.
The Altered, The Augmented, The Ascended. | It's unlike any other feeling, to know that you're dying. It's closest maybe to being caught in a summer thunderstorm as the streetlights blink out. So after my wife, and everything that entailed, I am choosing another path forward.
This is the last thing I'll write because, after this, I won't have to write. My thoughts will be writing. I will live in landscapes of shiftable essence, immortalized. My name will not be carved words on some granite slab somewhere, but lines of code. Even though this body burns away, its fire will remain. There is no perfection; there is only its pursuit. And it's called Ascendancy.
- T.B. Watts, February 22, 2032 | Alters. Augmented. Ascended.
My grandmother used to tell me stories about the old days, a time of peace and balance between the changed people, the cyborgs and those in the cloud. But that all changed when the Alters attacked. Only the Avatar mastered all three techniques. Only he could stop the ruthless DNA hybrids, but when the world needed him most, he vanished. A hundred years have passed and the mutated are nearing victory in the War.
Two years ago, I realised no chosen one will be coming anytime soon, and inevitably we'll need another hero.
Hard crocodile skin, covered with carbon fiber. All muscles connected to a computer where the head should be. Vision in both infrared and ultraviolet. Blood with an adrenaline additive. Total control over every aspect of the body, all linked to the mind in a cloud, for a wicked fast responsiveness. Oh, did I mention two machine guns implanted in the arms? So that's that.
I guess you can call me Avatar now. | 2018-07-01T08:37:47 | 2018-07-01T08:08:56 | 536 | 294 |
[WP] Humanity split into subspecies: Alters, who alter their genes, Augmented, who augment flesh with machines, and Ascended, who uploaded their consciousness. After centuries of coexistence, the tenuous peace between the ideologies is threatened.
I swear I corrected that before commit. Sorry.
The Altered, The Augmented, The Ascended. | Earth had known peace for centuries. The shining cities that covered the land were the pinnacle of civilization. Three civilizations. Descendants of the Humans.
The Alters, who mastered the genetic code and manipulated it on whim. The Augmented who had created the perfect symbiosis between man and machine and the Ascended who traded physicality for immortal consciousness. Three civilizations that had coexisted in peace for centuries. Three civilizations that had forgotten how hard fought that peace was won.
However, that peace would be shattered by an age old rivalry that involved all three groups. One day, a massive fleet of star ships had appeared in the night sky and razed the major cities.
Altered, Augmented and Ascended alike descended from utopian bliss into apocalyptic chaos. Each group fought off the invaders with their most advanced technology while fending off each other, as each group was in dire straits.
But the situation seemed grim as no group seemed capable of repulsing the attackers. Not alone. The leaders of each group convened and concluded that the only way to defeat them was together.
Altered and Augmented were unsure initially. They didn’t have faith that they could beat an enemy unlike any ever seen. The Ascended however, with their archaic memory, was certain they could. Because they did once.
Because this enemy was no alien invader. These invaders were an ancient group, the Adrift, a group of humans who fought the evolution of humanity and was defeated and cast off into space. Forgotten and erased from history, until now. But their forlorn cousins had come back finally, with advanced technology from centuries of isolated development and a thirst for retribution. They had come to take their planet back. | *A man in a suit appears on the TV screen. He looks for all appearances, human. His face is pale and dark circles hang under his eyes. His eyes have lines of red running through the whites. Only a deep look into the irises of the man reveal his true nature. They are not natural, but lens. This “man” is the representative of the Augmented Hive Mind. A collective consciousness who are more human only in appearance. He opens his mouth to speak, barely concealed anger evident in each word.*
**“**
We were attacked today.
The Augmented Hive Mind planet was attacked by a thermonuclear weapon detonated in space which unleashed a massive electromagnetic pulse that washed over out home. 97.782 percent of our vessels were destroyed. The damage to infrastructure is, to say the least, immense.
We are well aware of what others think of us. That we have sacrificed our individuality. That killing one of our units is like crushing a trash can, for we are after all, just one consciousness. That we are not even alive, that we are soulless automations.
We have ignored these jibes as falsities, as ignorance. But we never thought it would come to this, this…baseless attack. We are one yes, but we all experienced terror as we looked up to the sky of our home, we experienced pain as every function in out body was shut down. It is like getting your arms and legs cut off, and saying “you’re still alive, right?”
We’re alive. We’re angry.
Weakened as we are, we are not crippled. We will find who did this, the Altered of the Ascended. And we will act. We will give you a real reason to fear us, to despise us, as you have done for hundreds of years.
We will not go quietly into the good night.
We will fight.
**”**
*The screens go blank, and this declaration of war is met by deafening silence on both planets.*
| 2018-07-01T10:47:01 | 2018-07-01T08:41:45 | 80 | 32 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | “Totally worth it”
I thought to myself. It must have been past 2 in the afternoon but I refused to get up. There was a constant pounding in my head and a slight drip of blood running from my left ear. I could hear my roommates talking angrily in the next room and I knew what was waiting for me in the living room. We got along fine enough on account of the fact we all had super powers, but that was about it.
Jack had immeasurable strength, John could fly, and Jaron was able to morph into anything. There were plenty of other people with super powers but it was rare to use them on account of the “cool off”. Nobody is quite sure of the physics behind it but the law of equal and opposite reactions has something to do with incredible pain after performing a super power.
There’s an angry knock on the door as it flew off it’s hinges and jack comes barging in.
“WAKE UP DUMBASS”
He winces from overexerting himself but the rage in his eyes is more noticeable. My other roommates are behind him with similar expressions.
“You have arguably the coolest super power known to mankind; you can literally pull ANYTHING out of your ear ANYWHERE.” Jack is an intimidating guy and I know where this is going. He often criticizes me saying I don’t use my powers properly or I’m too showy or whatever. He sits down on my laundry chair, looks at the ground and rubs his temples.
“Walk me through your thought process here,” he continues. He sounds calm, but disappointed, like the time I told my dad I’d rather live off my super powers than try to have a high powered career as he did. “Why didn’t you pull out a stack of cash or something? Even more so, why didn’t you walk down to the lake first..? Why did you pull a 30’ power boat out of your ear in the middle of our fucking kitchen”?
Edit: critiques appreciated ! | You know how when you fall asleep on your arm and you wake up and feel that tingly feeling? Yeah? Well imagine that through your entire body. That's not what it is, of course, it's actually just at the base of my skull. But 'The Buzz' as I've come to know it as creeps into my brain stem on the really bad recoil days.
When I was younger it was great. I could use my powers day and night, and in the morning I'd only feel a slight tingle. But now, if I lift for even ten minutes I'm guaranteed a ruined morning from the recoil.
What can I do? Like how much do I lift?
Oh, you want to know my superpower? Oh yeah, I totally spaced it, sorry I'm still recoiling a bit and it's all a bit fuzzy. I can use telekinesis.
I mean, of course we've all tried the home remedies, right? Tea, coffee, exercise, massage, sex. Sorry, was that tmi? Ok, ok. But you know what I mean, you read articles like "Top Ten Ways to Avoid Recoil", you try them, and realize you just have to ride the storm.
Not use my powers? I mean, I try not to go overboard, and right now it's really only when I push myself that I get bad recoil, but no, I'm not gonna stop.
Why? It's who I am, it's what I do. No one is coming up to you saying "Oh, you're tired typing up this report, why don't you quit being a reporter" you-you gotta take the good with the bad, and what? I'm supposed to give up being ranked third in the *world*, as a hero, just so I don't feel a bit of discomfort? I'm sorry, but I can't imagine *not* using my gifts.
*Mymyr*? The street drug? Yeah, it might numb the pain, but it doesn't get rid of recoil, and even then, it only numbs physical types, like speed or strength. People like Phantasm, or uh uh, what's his face? Dragoon, or me even, our recoil is too specific for something like mymyr.
Well, anyway, I have to get back to work, thanks for having me | 2018-08-19T05:58:22 | 2018-08-19T04:42:57 | 401 | 30 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | The wheelchair kept creaking.
It was an awful noise. He knew it would never break but the groaning metal scared him all the same.
As he worked to lift his fingers enough to move the chair, he remembered the first time.
Everyone knew that heroes had to pay the price for their powers the next day. The Regenerator had to wake up in a hospital so that his body wouldn't tear itself to shreds. Electroman had it easy, he was just totally paralyzed for several waking hours. Fireman had a more-than-dangerously-high fever.
He was too hasty his first time. He didn't make the proper preparations.
The next morning, he was on the floor in pain, unable to move an inch off the ground. Later he would learn he broke several bones. The doctor warned him that he needed to be in a better position to withstand it.
The next time it was just as bad, but he thought he was prepared. The wheelchair was crushed under his weight. The next one would be made of Protonium Steel. The government couldn't have another superhero giving up.
But he would never give up. People had been worried, but they didn't know how much he enjoyed it. The rush, the excitement.
How it felt to push the world away and fly. | It's been 5 years since the first quackman appeared, a being with superpowers that have a 'hangover' effect. The man was bulletproof one day and the next a paper cut during the press interview caused him to faint due to excessive blood loss.
Now there are beings with all kinds of powers coming up, all quackmen with a day of heroics and the next day of being ultra weak, it's a chess board out there, no one uses their powers unnecessary lest they not be able to stop the next terrorist attack by the Grand Baddies, an organisation of quackmen who aren't on the side of righteousness and good.
Me, well I am your average government employee without any powers and am right now dealing with the mess last night's battle between the Grand Baddies and government employed quackmen or the Quackers.
After my long day at work I go to a nearby bar and drink and suddenly I blackout.
The next morning the sun hits my eyes and I awaken feeling light-headed and then I throw up. What the hell is going on. I turn on the news and it rocks my world.
Turns out last night my powers awakened and the powers were the ability to control all minds, I went berserk brainwashing all the Grand Baddies into working for the government, but that's not all I made the entire populace make me their ruler and in celebration controlled myself to drink all the wine I could. The news channels are praising me as a God and this mansion is pretty swell and I can do pretty much what I want forever with my 'believers'.
So let the fun begin!
| 2018-08-19T05:26:44 | 2018-08-19T04:31:42 | 86 | 15 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | Life isn't fair. I learned that lesson very early in my life. My mother told me she did her best to rush me out, then when she saw she wasn't going to make it, she tried to hold me in, but I guess when it's your time to be born, it's your time, even if that means you're born on February 29th.
She cried for me, and the nurses and doctors tried to console her, but their hearts weren't in it. They knew for someone like me, my life would be hell. After all, what kind of life could I truly have when everyone got to improve themselves on their birthday, but mine only came once every four years? I would be forever behind my peers, never able to catch up. At best, I could live a moderately normal life, but would probably always be a burden on society. So on the day of my birth, my mother cried for me. She cried for me, and I listened. I not only listened, I *heard* her. I heard her worry, her guilt, and her fear for me. I heard her soul and her very essence, and I understood.
That was my first improvement, and it served me well in my first four years of life. I had to learn everything the hard way, not being able to improve myself on my birthday every year like everyone else, but because I could truly listen I was able to learn well.
When my next true birthday came, my mother and I talked. I would only get to do this every four years, so each year had to count. We knew putting points into normal things like strength or intelligence would be a waste as they would barely make a difference. No, I would need to focus on something only I could do. The choice was easy; I could listen, and I was good at it.
So that's what I do, every four years I improve my listening abilities, and being a therapist is the perfect job for me. I've not only done well for myself despite my disadvantage, but the things I can hear and understand are more than you can imagine. No matter who you are, or how talented someone may be, sometimes all a person needs is to be heard. So when that time comes for you, look me up, I'm a very good listener. | People say I’m a fool, ever since my 10th birthday, the age where you could start allocating your points, I put it into one skill. At first it overwhelmed me so much to choose from.
There was strength which made you stronger physically. Some built themselves with this stat becoming Footballers or MMA fighters.
Some focused on intelligence, feeling that brains will always beat brawn. They grew up to become politicians or Scientists.
Others focused on charisma and charm, getting their way by being such likeable people. Their path in life were becoming comedians or even actors.
There were many more skills of course. But there was one thing in common with everyone’s build. They distributed some points into other stats and not all into one. After all, what was the point of having Super strength but not having the intellect to use it well.
Well, I lied not everyone did this for example ,me. Actually there were two lies, there is another thing common for all people. They never put any points in a certain stat. This skill was the one thing no one ever and I mean ever put their points in.
Actually oops I lied again. One person did put his points into that skill.
Me.
What fools they were. All of them, they couldn’t see that the skill I chose was the best , the pinnacle of mankind. The skill I chose?
Luck.
After all why would someone put points into luck when you could put it into the skills you need to do the task wether lucky or not. But I knew better with all my luck I could walk down the street and a $1000 bill will just drop on me.
I could get into an mma fight and win by default as all opponents were sick. I made scientific breakthrough after breakthrough by mixing random chemicals.
Thinking back now at age 50 all these accomplishments really started when I was 30.
The day I placed my 30th point into luck, despite the protest from my friends and family, everything changed.
I became a god, an untouchable being, if any harm would come my way something would miraculously block it. This was the day I set out from a life of being made fun off. Off being bullied due to being no strength or intelligence. Off being belittled due to my choice.That was the day my life changed for the better.
If someone were to ask me if I knew this would happen. I would always answer
“Of course not, I Guess I just got....”
Lucky.
Sorry about formatting on mobile
| 2018-09-12T08:07:42 | 2018-09-12T07:00:23 | 1,821 | 381 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | My 10th birthday I broke my mom's vase. In my panic, I threw my first skill point into deception, hoping that I could avoid her wrath.
Or at least, that's the story I tell people.
Every skill has a downside that rears its ugly head if you stray too far down it. Too many points into strength and you injure yourself because of improper form, too many into intelligence and you become lonely and apathetic, too many into deception and it becomes hard to tell the truth.
29 points into deception and honesty is almost impossible. Jobs are easy to find, I'm always what people are looking for. Long term relationships, however, not so much. Certainly 1 more point into deception will make things better.
Or at least, that's the story I keep telling myself. | At the doctor's office again. I tripped over my foot again out in the courtyard, holding all of my notes from last night's study session I had with myself in the library. I think i sprained my wrist. I should be back in the library trying to find my dissertation. I was looking at some pigeons the other day, by the water. I do enjoy feeding them bread crumbs. I was also trying to compute some sort of pattern out of their feeding. They seemed to move around in some sort of pattern, I know it. There must be some kind of overruling order to this universe. God, what a waste of time. If only Mother wasn't so worried about my clumsiness, alas it was the only way to stop her from phoning every night. My classmates have all found their thesis, and professor says that as a student of mathematics at Oxford, we had a responsibility to make a significant change. He said he's surprised someone of my caliber hasn't been inspired yet, but i just can't seem to find the right inspiration.
-Mr. Hawking, the doctor will see you now.
-Ah, thank you. | 2018-09-12T10:14:36 | 2018-09-12T09:36:26 | 99 | 10 |
[WP] When people die, they get to watch a 1 hour movie, presenting the next 100 years, to see what they are going to miss. They die without being able to tell anyone about it. You just watched that movie, and wake up to your SO shouting "Are you OK?" | "I saw it all! I saw it all!"
I rose from bed and screamed,
"The iPhone 47S
has neither phone nor screen!
America has turned
To a dystopian regime,
While Kim Jong Deux's Korea
Is a lavish luxury dream!
"I saw it all! I saw it!
Elon Musk has died on Mars
After getting in a fight
With one of his electric cars;
But not before he led his fans
To live among the stars,
In a bonafide utopia
Where babies grow in jars,
And knobs and buttons are extinct
As Pachycephalosaurs!
And every studio now lies
within The Disney vault,
Thanks to the Imagineers
Who up and resurrected Walt,
And Cedar Point debuted a coaster
Which can turn a somersault
While off its track and in midair,
So all those clickbait vids are null;
McD's is fully automated
As is Burger King
(Although they say the Playplace
Isn't any better cleaned),
And even up in Canada
They lack a cold December...
There's even more I can't repeat
Because I don't remember—"
Fatigued, I stopped and stared ahead.
The beeping heart machine
beside my bed was simply racing...
Had it all just been a dream?
It started coming back to me...
The accident, the cut...
And I scarcely heard my girlfriend's
Rather terrified "Wait, what?"
*—/u/TheDynamicDino* | "Are you okay?!" she shouted. I felt a hand on my shoulder, but, no, I didn't prefer to get up yet. Face down on the floor, nose broken, banana peel behind me, I considered the future.
One hundred years of pain and misery. First came the nuclear war. Started by the whim of a single rogue nuclear engineer, who took an entire shopping mall hostage with a homemade bomb. He wanted a beanie baby, and didn't believe the cashier when the local Hallmark didn't have them in stock. The resulting explosion sent every nation on earth into an all out war. Second came the robot apocalypse, scouring the surface of any remenant of human life. The death bots, when asked, would say that it was a coincidence that they all resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was not. Third came the mutant koalas snacking on the ashes of our ruined civilization like a bunch of tasty eucalyptus leaves. Even my future vision was vague on how that one happened. No human would survive, there was no possible escape. Just koalas, and suffering. What could I do to challenge fate? Me, the idiot that had nearly died slipping on a banana peel.
More information could always help, and it's not like I'm losing anything in the long run, worst case scenario. Maybe if I could avoid death once, I could do it again?
"No." I said, the word muffled by the cold concrete floor. And the broken nose. "I'm not okay." How do I put this gently? "In fact, I'd feel much better about myself if you put me back. Maybe kick my face around a little, while you're at it."
(Hesitantly titled: "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face, forever.") | 2018-10-09T05:51:02 | 2018-10-09T04:40:23 | 494 | 23 |
[WP] When people die, they get to watch a 1 hour movie, presenting the next 100 years, to see what they are going to miss. They die without being able to tell anyone about it. You just watched that movie, and wake up to your SO shouting "Are you OK?" | I was very happy I already entered the Gates of Heaven. It's a better place. Green fields, no pollution, water's pure, skies sheer blue. A paradise, indeed.
An hour later, God, a speaking mist almost formed in the human body, called us newbies to assemble. He waved his hand and a wide screen appeared in front of us.
And then he announced, ''This is the world in 100 years without you existing anymore. But...''
Time rolled and, while everyone was crying of the idea that they'd miss new bookstores and better lives, my mouth's agape.
I was frozen, watching myself in the movie reading in the hammock.
''One of you will be immortal,'' God continued.
And I woke up to the sound of a cardiac rhythm. | "ARE YOU OKAY?!" I woke with a jolt. Then I see my girlfriend's wide-eyed expression looming over me. A stillness that comes with extreme concern. Except, this wasn't my girlfriend, she was just that bit older. Sure they share the same eyes. Those same dark brown eyes I've stared into time and time again but overall, she is nothing like her. Here cheek bones look familiar though, my mom's?
"I'm okay," I replied. A feeling of confusion crumpled my face surprised by my higher tone. No matter, this shattered her worried look as she broke into a smile.
"Well, get up and get dressed! Wouldn't want to miss your first day of school, would you?" She smiled as she bounced off my bed and out my room.
Just then, the screen goes black, tinnitus fills my ears, and the house lights shine back on. I sat there baffled.
"Glad I stayed for the post credits scene." I mumbled to myself as I pushed up from my seat. | 2018-10-09T05:32:55 | 2018-10-09T04:52:41 | 61 | 18 |
[WP] When people die, they get to watch a 1 hour movie, presenting the next 100 years, to see what they are going to miss. They die without being able to tell anyone about it. You just watched that movie, and wake up to your SO shouting "Are you OK?" | "are you ok?"
"followthehippo, are you ok? you hit your head. I think it's bad. There's blood everywhere. That fucking car hit you hard. The driver. He's mad. He drove off the bridge. I think he's dead".
I could hear her. I could have answered. But after what I had just seen. How could I? How could I tell her that yes, I was ok. How could I tell her anything? I don't really know how I saw what it is that I saw. But I know it to be true. I can feel it deep in my bones. It's all wrong. It's all bad. And it's only going to get worse. Right at the end of the 100 Year Turmoil, there will come a girl. A young girl with great insight and wisdom. A young girl who will unite all the Tribes. Tribes of men and women who will wage a merciless war, a war to end all wars. Again.
But that's almost 100 years away. And in the meantime... Death. Suffering. Disease. Civil War. Humanity will turn on itself with guns and bombs, poison and sickness, tooth and claw.
I can't. I can't live through that. I can't have her live through that.
"Hey! are you ok? Please answer me. Say something. Anything."
I sit up. I hold her. I hold on to her. I jump.
"yeah, I'm ok".
She screamed all the way down. Terrified. Better this than what's coming.
| "Are you okay?!" she shouted. I felt a hand on my shoulder, but, no, I didn't prefer to get up yet. Face down on the floor, nose broken, banana peel behind me, I considered the future.
One hundred years of pain and misery. First came the nuclear war. Started by the whim of a single rogue nuclear engineer, who took an entire shopping mall hostage with a homemade bomb. He wanted a beanie baby, and didn't believe the cashier when the local Hallmark didn't have them in stock. The resulting explosion sent every nation on earth into an all out war. Second came the robot apocalypse, scouring the surface of any remenant of human life. The death bots, when asked, would say that it was a coincidence that they all resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was not. Third came the mutant koalas snacking on the ashes of our ruined civilization like a bunch of tasty eucalyptus leaves. Even my future vision was vague on how that one happened. No human would survive, there was no possible escape. Just koalas, and suffering. What could I do to challenge fate? Me, the idiot that had nearly died slipping on a banana peel.
More information could always help, and it's not like I'm losing anything in the long run, worst case scenario. Maybe if I could avoid death once, I could do it again?
"No." I said, the word muffled by the cold concrete floor. And the broken nose. "I'm not okay." How do I put this gently? "In fact, I'd feel much better about myself if you put me back. Maybe kick my face around a little, while you're at it."
(Hesitantly titled: "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face, forever.") | 2018-10-09T04:44:50 | 2018-10-09T04:40:23 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] At 795 years old you are the last human alive to remember the Mars landing, the first translight jump and contact with the Others. The government thinking that all secrets were already known allows you to tell your story about the disappearance of the Others. They were wrong. | The gears in my right arm whir gently as I cough into a handkerchief, raising my free hand for a moment.
Tyler Stulter sits across from me in a comfy couch, lounging back with a slightly annoyed look in his eyes. Another young and extremely popular late night show host, he’s not used to old coots like me.
I hack into the cloth a few more times just to get under his skin and clear my throat.
“Ah, the Others. What about them?” I growl, my voice worn and gravelly. I remember the days I could hold a tune with the best. I don’t talk much these days.
“Well, you’re the last surviving man of the encounter with them. It was at least 300 years ago now. What were they like? When they left, did they leave behind any gifts? Are they worthy of worship?” He asks, not missing a beat, his voice all charm and glee.
I imagine the confusion is obvious on my face. I’d been out of cryosleep for a month now, but that was spent recovering and receiving new... augmentations. The arm was still a bit disconcerting.
“What? How do you think our encounter with the Others went?” I ask, my voice rising incredulously.
“We met the Others, technologically advanced and some say godly beings who were the first alien species we encountered as humanity’s expansion began. They gifted us technology and disappeared, leaving a message that we would find them when we’re ready. That’s what their last message was to us- ‘When we’re ready.’” He says as if it’s common knowledge. “I know you’re the Man Out of Time and all, but surely you know? You were alive for it after all. Records show you met them.”
I sit, in silence, mulling this over. I reach forward and take a sip from my water. My body feels slower, this much time in cryo will do that to you. I’m more plastic and metal than flesh now. Hell, my new lungs still aren’t even broken in yet and I’m on a talk show. It doesn’t help that I’m just now finding out about how little they know about the Others.
“It uh, it is true I was there when we met the others. I was in the delegation to meet them, actually,” I nod my head, taking it slow, “and they were truly advanced.” I hold my hands out into the air, as if grabbing at something.
“Incredibly energy weapons. Energy shielding to match. Incredibly aerodynamic craft, faster than light travel, and each of them was a practical Library of Alexandria when it came to their cultural knowledge.” I don’t know if he knows all this and is humoring me, but he lets me talk. “I was against declaring war, but we did anyways.” His eyes widen.
“Excuse me, did you say war? I’m sorry to interrupt, but surely you must be mistaken.” He spits out, leaning forward, hanging on to the edge of his seat in anticipation of my words. I didn’t realize how much this meant to him. I don’t think I do yet, not really.
“I know what I said. We fought them. Their ships were well suited to energized warfare. Kinetic shielding on the other hand...” I shake my head. “Left much to be desired, is all I’m saying. My destroyer alone accounted for 27 ships larger than a frigate and hundreds of smaller craft. Then again, I was a cut above the rest.” I flash a grin, relishing in the memories. _Ajax_ had been a good ship, but with me at the helm she was the best.
“Surely you can’t be serious. They gave us the technology to propel us into the New Golden Age!” Stulter says, a laugh upon his lips. I can’t tell if it’s out of genuine amusement or doubt.
“Sure, they gave it to us. After we ripped most of them to shreds. And after they gave us what we wanted, we shot as many to shit-“ He raises his hand to stop me short.
“Language, please.” He gestures for me to continue.
“We shot as many to _bits_ as possible before they got out. And yeah, they left that message. ‘When we’re ready’ was their threat to us, that they would return. They’d be ready then. How in the hell did you get that mixed up?” I scowl now, my confusion boiling over into anger.
“I’ve been on ice for three hundred years after those bastards took my arm and half my guts on their way out, and you god damn fools have been celebrating their memory instead of preparing? How? Why? If I had to guess after the war they spun it, lied completely through their teeth and came back with some incredible tech to wash any questions away. You’ve been lied to Tyler. All of you.” I shake my head, the rage making way for sorrow. There are some people standing in the crowd now. From the look of them, they’re not just there to watch me talk. They look just as confused as Tyler. I wonder just how deep this lie goes. With a grunt, I stand.
“I need to go, now. Hopefully you’ll see me again outside of a coffin. If not...” I shrug. “Find out the truth for me. And get ready.” | They sure were wrong. But I was glad that I got to tell my story.
"When I was younger, in my 300s or so, humanity encountered the Others. The—"
"The Others?" The Plutonian man leaned over into his mic.
"Sorry, that's what we called them in my day before we knew what they were. Let me rephrase: When I was younger, humanity encountered the gods." The man seemed satisfied and sat back in his chair.
"When we'd first contacted them, we thought it was our tech malfunctioning, we were detecting more energy than ever before concentrated all in one spot. In fact, I remember hearing on the news that a black hole was going to come swallow us all whole." I spared a light laugh. "Anyway, it wasn't a black hole, we just detected the first god."
The room was silent, every official, bureaucrat, and leader captivated with my story. I was the oldest human alive though, so it's good that they were respecting their elders.
"Now, I don't know if you know this but back when humanity only lived on Earth, there were these things called religions. They're basically what we today would call cults or 'faith organizations.' They were large groups of people who shared the same supernatural beliefs and most of them revolved around ultimate beings called 'gods.'"
The younger people in the audience nodded in understanding. I even heard some of them mumbling in recognition, they were so naive.
"Anyway, when we'd first discovered the energy signature of an Other—I think it was around 2350 or so, the old religions all came out of the woodworks." I smiled dryly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I remember seeing a massive movement on Mars, full of Christians, holding on to their ancient beliefs, marching and declaring that the energy came from God."
A member of the audience who looked like he was Terran stood up. He did not look happy with me. "The Christian doctrine is correct! That's why we call these beings gods! Don't show Christians in such a negative way!" I smiled warmly at him, he seemed to calm down a bit.
"I meant no offense young man, I'm just recounting what I thought at the time. Nowadays, in my wiser state of mind, I wouldn't disrespect a group like that, and I will admit, the Christians were a good part correct." The man sat down, still a bit frustrated by the looks of his arms.
"My point is, after the first energy signature was detected right outside our solar system, all the older religions came out of the woodworks hooting and hollering—" the Terran man grunted. "—that the signature belonged to *their* god."
Everyone around the room leaned forward with my pause, they were all very interested apparently. So I continued to impart my old wisdom, keeping the twist until the end.
"But when expeditions were sent to investigate the energy signature, it wasn't a black hole or an invisible star, it was a being. Now, I wasn't on *that* expedition, but from the accounts of my old colleagues, the being spoke to them. It told them how it'd been observing humanity, how it held domain over our solar system, and that there were more like it."
"What happened next?" The Plutonian man from before spoke softly, not realizing his voice could be heard via his mic.
I cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'll tell you. The Other with domain over our system helped us, it showed us faster than light travel, it showed us how to condense energy, many things that you can find explanations for in old science textbooks. But then, it was gone." I left my sentence like that, allowing silence to pervade through the room.
"How did it leave?"
The twist, they were not going to like this. "We killed it."
I saw the shock on all the young faces, the gasps, the grunts, I even heard someone spit out their drink. Hook, line, and sinker.
"What do you mean?" The Plutonian man's face was pale with shock. I just laughed.
"You know how humans are." They didn't, but I was enjoying this too much. "The Oth—god intervened with one of our experiments one time, saying that it would disrupt the universe's energy balance. It showed us what we did wrong, it was kind as always, but we weren't."
Eyes were all on me, they couldn't believe it. It reminded me of my reaction when I first heard the plan. I was working on the black hole generator with the rest of them.
"We checked our math hundreds of times, we didn't see what it was talking about. Our experiment should've been safe, should've." My tone got more sullen as I recalled the exact memories.
"We carried out the experiment anyway, but the Other tried to intervene. And instead of listening to its calls, we set the generator on it. Its energy was consumed by a black hole we couldn't contain. And in the end, it was right, we did disrupt the universe's energy balance." I looked out the ship's window into the empty space.
"The collapse..." I heard the man say though the mic.
"Yes. The collapse was caused by our own ignorance, our own arrogance, it was our undoing."
Everyone in the room silently nodded, some started crying.
"Anyway," I broke the silence with a cheerier tone. "that's my story, that's why we're on this ship, thanks for letting me tell my story."
Everyone once again looked back to me, not a single one of them was smiling. They thought it had all been told, they were wrong.
---
*They Were Wrong* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
&nbsp;
| 2018-10-28T14:54:06 | 2018-10-28T14:16:54 | 111 | 66 |
[WP] When you die, you get to choose any fantasy world for rebirth. Problem is, you get the last person's choice, as the person after you will get yours. And this was definitely not your first choice of worlds. | The first time I was reincarnated I got lucky. The guy ahead of me turned out to be a DND nerd who wanted to reincarnate into a world called Eberron. I wound up as a blue-skinned humanoid whose species' trademark was reincarnating whenever they die, which wouldn't have mattered much since it turns out everyone reincarnates anyways. Their trick, however, was that they could *remember* previous incarnations, which was an ability I retained through subsequent cycles.
Eberron was a nice transition from Earth Prime. Basically magic did everything technology did, and for a non-techy like me I usually couldn't tell the difference anyways. I got pretty rich as part of a small company by coming up with new ideas for products based on what I remember from Earth, had a long life and died surrounded by the people I love.
Next I was born in a place called D'Hara. Seemed nice at first; pastoral, basically. Wizards existed, but you hardly ever met one. What you frequently did meet were women who could permanently destroy your free will with a bad touch. Aaaaand other women trained in the fine arts of torture using magical dildos. Aaaaaand invading armies that really liked to rape. Seriously, you just couldn't walk down the damn street in this world without dodging at least three attempted sexual assaults. It got weird.
Next time around I was born on a disk on the back of some elephants on the back of a turtle. Nothing made sense there but it kind of worked out in a weird way anyways. I died there from laughing.
Then Athas. Who. The Hell. Says: "I wanna get reborn on Athas!" It's a desert planet orbiting a dying star where literally everything and everyone wants to kill you. Not everything, you ask? My mom presented me as an offering to a local undead wizard-lord when I was 12 before I managed to escape. Into a desert with marauders, giant sand worms and beetles that lay their eggs in your skin. Did I mention the sand? The sand there is carnivorous. I died when I was 22 because I stepped into a patch of carnivorous sand. That was a *long* lifespan for Athas.
I popped in briefly in a world where kids rode giant white dragons that looked kind of like dogs in a weird way, but that world winked out of existence shortly thereafter when its creator became a teenager and moved on to Young Adult novels.
Then came Westeros. I actually recognized this one from Game of Thrones. As soon as I was old enough to figure out that's where I was, I did a quick inventory. Was I: a lord? Nope. A dragon owner? Nope. I was a humble peasant living a charming rural life. I jumped off a cliff before things could turn tragic on me.
Next was Wonderland... | "You're donezo, kid."
"Uncle... Tom?" I couldn't believe my eyes. It was my dead Uncle Tom. But yet here he was alive, standing right before me.
"That's right. You died. Annihilated. Donezo. Finished. Retired."
"Where am I?" I looked around. It was just white as far as the eye could see. Like a blank page.
"You know what reincarnation is?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, this is it. You get to pick whatever world you want to be re-birthed in. Just uh... choose wisely, would ya?" He pulled out a stogie, lit it up, and gave a puff.
I gave it a good thought. "I think the Medieval Times would be cool. I always wanted to be a knight."
He chuckled. "Medieval Times, huh? You sure?"
"Yeah, you know what... yeah. I'm sure. Let's do it."
Uncle Tom snapped his fingers. Suddenly, the place went completely black, except for a bright white light at the end of a long tunnel. Uncle Tom was still standing next to me, but I could barely see him except for the end of his lit stogie, the cherry glowing in the dark.
"And so it's done."
"What's done? What now?" I asked.
Uncle Tom put his hand on my shoulder. "Walk with me, kid. Let's walk and talk." We began walking down the tunnel. "Just step into the light. Right now you're in your new mother's womb. As soon as you hit that light, you'll be reborn. A brand new baby in a brand new world."
"That's... kind of weird, but okay."
"Hey, I don't make the rules here. Also, there's something I should tell ya."
"What's that?"
"Now, don't freak out. I know you said Medieval Times and that was a great suggestion, but you're not going to go there."
I stopped in my tracks. "What? Why?!"
"Like I said kid, I don't make the rules here. You have to go where the guy before you picked. And then the guy after you will go where you picked -- the Medieval Times."
"But why?!"
"Orders from the boss man upstairs. I think he just likes fucking with people. But like I said kid, it's completely out of my hands." And with that, we had finally reached the end of the tunnel. I was steps away from the light. Uncle Tom took a long drag and then stared at me, expecting me to say something. I didn't know what to say. "Well kid, it's been fun. I guess this is where I leave you."
"But wait a second. If I'm not going to the Medieval Times, then where *am* I going?"
"Where are you going?"
"Yeah. What did the guy before me pick?"
He patted me on the back. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am." And with that he gave me a shove, pushing me right into the bright light. "Slavery." | 2018-11-12T13:15:42 | 2018-11-12T13:05:32 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | “We’re out of flatbreads.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “What do you have?”
“Italian.”
“Just Italian?”
“Yeah.”
I check my watch. There’s only fifteen minutes left on my break. “Whatever. Italian it is.”
*Five billion.* The voice states it plainly. It comes sometimes, just random numbers. *One. Eleven.* I don’t pay too much attention to it, but recently it's been speaking almost every time I do something.
“Sorry about this,” the teenager says. “But it’s Subway. What can you expect?”
“Eat fresh, right?”
I walk out. Mark is there, sitting on the sidewalk with his sign. He looks a bit cleaner than normal today.
“Sorry, Mark. I don’t have any change today.”
“That’s okay. Enjoy your sandwich anyways!”
“I’ll try to.”“You don’t sound too happy about it.”
“Yeah. All they had had was Italian. The worst."
“The worst! When I was a kid and my mom would give me money for lunch, I would run to the pizza parlor and get a pizza sub on Italian.”
“A pizza sub? That sounds good.”
“It is,” he says wistfully, looking at my sandwich. I look down at it. It does look long, at the least, and I can only imagine what a day is like for Mark, watching people walk out with their sandwiches, waiting so he can cobble together just enough change to get his own.
“Here,” I say. “I’ll eat a big dinner.”
“Oh, no, I can’t do that, kid. You need to eat.”
“So do you. Really.” I drop it in his lap.
He looks at me and smiles. “Thanks, kid. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
I nod, and walk away. Soon, the incident fades from my memory, just another lost coin in the fountain of my mind.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“Now we have Earth,” the Chairman says. “Earth is an interesting case. They are headed for extinction in twelve cycles, so we could wait to attack, but by then it may be depleted.”
“Their depletion rate is that rapid?”
“The prevailing species there seems to be amongst the most careless of all we have observed. Agent 614, what did you observe there on your mission?”
Agent 614 nods. “The depletion rate is as we projected. The species is careless and wasteful, and quite dim as well. But…”“What? Spit it out, 614.”
“They seem to rank high on the compassion scale. I know that doesn’t matter much, but…” Agent 614 pauses, reminiscing on the sandwich. “I would recommend we don’t attack.”
The Chairman looks at 614, wondering what has gotten into his most ruthless agent. “Okay, then. Earth will be spared for now…”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you want to read more by me, I started a subreddit, [r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347), and I will be posting some stuff there! Thanks for reading. | “Sorry, sir, we’re out of Italian bread, what else can I get you?” Makayla said.
The faces – oh god, the faces. Jayden held back his scream, hunching over; all eyes in the store turned towards him. Every face he would save flashed across his vision in an instant; a near infinite amount for him, so much joy—and so much pain.
The faces of those he would kill flashed in front of him now. One million? Ten million? A billion? He lost count among the contorted, bloodied, twisted faces of the damned. Makayla looked at the man in front of him—an ordinary businessman, dressed in a grey suit, with brown belt and shoes, bent over on the counter. Behind him, the line of workers hungering for a sandwich twisted through the store—out into the street. Makayla was *so done* with this.
“Sir, we have wheat bread, white bread, or flatbread.” She said
Jayden held onto the counter, arms shaking, tears in his eyes. “Please, help—”
“Hey asshole, you going to order or not?”
“Hey—buddy. Give the guy a second” Rodger said. He was the third man in line.
“Look, you twat,” the first man said, spinning around. “I don’t have time for this—He can have a meltdown on his own time, I have meetings to go to—important ones.”
The second man, a heavy built construction worker, had zero patience for this businessman’s attitude. *As if his cozy office job and meetings made him special.* Rodger pushed the lawyer forward, knocking him back into Jayden.
The store burst into action. The man rose and threw an untrained punch at Rodger, who took it in stride. Rodger hoped this man was a lawyer as he returned the punch in kind, knocking the man to the ground. The store burst into action.
Makayla pressed the panic button and drew a can of pepper spray from her pocket. It wasn’t permitted in the store; she didn’t give a rat’s ass about that rule. Jayden bent down and covered his face. He was surprised to see a single face flash in front of him—his own. Suddenly gunfire burst into the room, the bullet burying itself into the counter inches above where Jayden had been a moment before.
The riot broke out—construction workers fought businessmen, businessmen fought each other, punches and chairs were thrown. Bullets flew; people died. In the corner of the store, sitting at a table, enjoying a teriyaki chicken sandwich, a young, teenage boy watched as his mother was shot three times in the waist.
He screamed, crawling through the violent crowd towards his mother. Blood poled around her; her eyes were glazed and motionless. The boy cried—sorrow and rage. This world was unfair, and he would set it right. With a rage, he screamed, his voice lost among the chaos.
In the dark mob of a New York Sandwich shop—a hero was born. He would save the world, not through good deeds, but by cleansing it of the weak, the violent, and the angry. For a better world. For the greater good. Red light ran through his eyes, and he felt his new power flare through him.
Jayden, seeing a younger, crying boy, crawled towards him. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder, covering his head; together they ran out of the broken windows towards the street, away from the violence, and towards safety.
Jayden saw more saved faces appear in his mind—his family.
***
Well this turned real dark, real quick... anyway, more at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2018-11-17T14:21:41 | 2018-11-17T14:08:20 | 6,605 | 104 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | "I'd like a club on Italian herbs and cheese, please." Dan says.
This is his usual order. In fact, Dan comes to this Subway on his lunch break, orders the same sandwich, and return to his desk to eat every day like clockwork. Dan is a predictable kind of guy, and he doesn't mind it; and knowing that he's unintentionally saved a few people throughout his mundane routine is kind of cool.
"Of course sir," says the sandwich artist. She turns to the bread cabinet, but ends up grabbing a loaf of Italian instead.
"Whatever," thinks Dan "It's not worth mentioning. Italian is close enough."
Suddenly, Dan feels his save count skyrocket. It takes a moment for the exact number to register.
Five billion and eleven saved.
"What the fuck, how is that even possible?" he mutters under his breath.
"I'm sorry," The Subway worker looked up from the sandwich, "Is there a problem?"
"Oh, no, it's nothing. Just thinking is all. Um, could I get that sub plain? I'm in a bit of a rush."
Dan pays, and hurriedly leaves the store. His mind is a flurry of fear and nervous excitement. What could this mean? How could such a small decision, a simple sandwich order, change so many lives?"
On his walk back to work, Dan pays close attention to the world around him, looking for some sort of sign to show him how this would all come together.
Dan makes it back to his desk without incident. Somewhat disappointed, he eats his sandwich. That day, and several more pass with no obvious hint as to how Dan has saved so many people.
Three weeks later, Dan is found dead.
An autopsy reveals that Dan had a rare, deadly form of fungal infection. Fungal spores had entered his bloodstream, and after dismissing his symptoms as the flu, Dan took a day off to rest. He passed away in his sleep that night. Additional deaths and further investigation linked this fungus to the bread served at the Subway he regularly visited.
More interesting, however, were other discoveries made from Dan's autopsy. Dan's cells had an incredible capacity for autophagy. Based on his cells alone, Dan would appear to be half his actual age.
This revelation paved the way for medical progress. Degenerative disease treatment improved, and these conditions were eventually cured altogether.
The number of people that Dan saved with the cure derived from his cells was enormous.
Some might say billions.
| 5 billion
The voice boomed clear and articulate as it always did.
“What the hell?”, I muttered, in disbelief.
“Sorry sir? Was that too much mustard? I could start again if youd like.”
“huh?” I looked through the pimply faced kid not truly hearing a word he was saying. “no…..no that's, uh, no problem.”
5 billion. Wow. What the hell did I do? I always heard the numbers you know? 3, 15, even a couple hundred once or twice, but 5 billion? It never really made any sense, one of those butterfly effect kinda things ya know? Was it being at subway? Ordering a sandwich? The voice rang shortly after I decided on the Italien bread, surely it wasn't that? It was the last one but….seriously?
“That'll be $11.97 sir.”
“$11.97?”
“yes, you added the extra cheese and bacon”
“oh. Right.”
I grabbed the sandwich, I'd bring it home and devour it alone, no different than any other day. Did I really save 5 billion by ordering a sandwich?
Surely this super power or whatever you want to call it was on the fritz. Maybe it was finally going away.
-----------------------------------------------
I awoke in a cold sweat, my bed sheets soaking wet. Hopped out of bed and tried to make my way to the bathroom but my legs protested, barely keeping upright before a plunged into the wall.
I clawed at the ground dragging my dead weight to the bathroom. I reached up and clutched the sink pulling myself up.
I tried to scream, but all that came out was gurgles as blood began to pour from my mouth. Even if I could scream, it wouldnt do me any good. There was no one around for miles, that's how I liked it.
Is that me? Looking into the bathroom mirror. I could hardly recognize myself. My face swollen, blood pooling in areas I never knew it could.
My breathing began to give and I crashed to the floor, landing hard on my metal garbage can spilling its contents.
The pain was unbelievable. The only thing giving me any relief was the balled up subway wrapper cushioning my neck.
My heart sunk. 5 billion. It was the italien bread. Was it poisoned? Infected with some bio hazardous mold? It didn't matter, I could no longer breath.
Surely this was contagious but nobody would find me for months. The bacteria would die by then. Thank God I'm such a fucking loner. Had anyone else taken that italien bread….. 5 billion people. Damn. I dipped into my forever sleep.
| 2018-11-17T19:42:29 | 2018-11-17T18:46:50 | 166 | 33 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | Anger. It's always been a problem of mine. I knew from an early age when I hurt a school kid for no reason than his glasses made him look funny.
In the military i was kicked out before graduating boot, and that was okay with me. I hated rules. My dad had left me more money than i could ever spend, and it made me even more money without me doing a damn thing.
My first wife left after my anger lead my fists to her face, i shouldn't have done that. But I did, and oh well.
As i started mingling with the businessmen from my dad's company, i found that my anger made me stronger and them weaker. They couldn't handle it, and they loved me for it. I was tough talking, mean, and i got shit done.
The funny part is, since i was a kid I'd known i was a hero. Every action i took created a sensation in my head along with a number. I could see when an action saved lives, or by default took them. It made me even angrier, and somehow even stronger.
I didn't trust prepared food unless it was made on the spot. And now it was even more important for me to watch out for dangerous food. I had won the election against that stupid woman who called my supporters mean names. And now, now i was about to make Russia, North Korea, and everyone else bow to my wishes. I was going to be more than President, i was going to rule this whole fucking planet.
The subway subs really hit the spot for me, yet this one pissed me off. I didn't have time to go to another one and yet this one didnt have my four cheese bread. "Give me fucking italian bread then you jackass, and I'm going to make sure youre investigated for messing with my food!"
The italian bread was dryer than normal and in my rage I'd forgotten to chew right. The men under my employ tried to save me, but all they did was lodge it further in my throat and kick up a coughing fit. the air stopped coming, and i felt the signature tingle of my gift.
As i started to fade i felt the number enter my head. 5 billion....that had to be made up! Fake! I tried to shout, and the darkness took over. | 5 billion
The voice boomed clear and articulate as it always did.
“What the hell?”, I muttered, in disbelief.
“Sorry sir? Was that too much mustard? I could start again if youd like.”
“huh?” I looked through the pimply faced kid not truly hearing a word he was saying. “no…..no that's, uh, no problem.”
5 billion. Wow. What the hell did I do? I always heard the numbers you know? 3, 15, even a couple hundred once or twice, but 5 billion? It never really made any sense, one of those butterfly effect kinda things ya know? Was it being at subway? Ordering a sandwich? The voice rang shortly after I decided on the Italien bread, surely it wasn't that? It was the last one but….seriously?
“That'll be $11.97 sir.”
“$11.97?”
“yes, you added the extra cheese and bacon”
“oh. Right.”
I grabbed the sandwich, I'd bring it home and devour it alone, no different than any other day. Did I really save 5 billion by ordering a sandwich?
Surely this super power or whatever you want to call it was on the fritz. Maybe it was finally going away.
-----------------------------------------------
I awoke in a cold sweat, my bed sheets soaking wet. Hopped out of bed and tried to make my way to the bathroom but my legs protested, barely keeping upright before a plunged into the wall.
I clawed at the ground dragging my dead weight to the bathroom. I reached up and clutched the sink pulling myself up.
I tried to scream, but all that came out was gurgles as blood began to pour from my mouth. Even if I could scream, it wouldnt do me any good. There was no one around for miles, that's how I liked it.
Is that me? Looking into the bathroom mirror. I could hardly recognize myself. My face swollen, blood pooling in areas I never knew it could.
My breathing began to give and I crashed to the floor, landing hard on my metal garbage can spilling its contents.
The pain was unbelievable. The only thing giving me any relief was the balled up subway wrapper cushioning my neck.
My heart sunk. 5 billion. It was the italien bread. Was it poisoned? Infected with some bio hazardous mold? It didn't matter, I could no longer breath.
Surely this was contagious but nobody would find me for months. The bacteria would die by then. Thank God I'm such a fucking loner. Had anyone else taken that italien bread….. 5 billion people. Damn. I dipped into my forever sleep.
| 2018-11-17T18:54:59 | 2018-11-17T18:46:50 | 51 | 33 |
[WP] The world is suddenly changed as toys start to work like their fictional counterparts. Toy lightsabers can now cut through metal. People with yu gi oh cards can send others to the shadow realm. Foam mjolnirs become impossible to lift and cosplayers get the abilities of the people they copy. | I heared a strange whizzing noise coming from my shelf. Confused I looked to the side. "Do you hear that?" I asked my boyfriend. Before he could even look over, there is a bang. I was sure I was dreaming. The small creeper that was my first crotcheting project just exploded. Mike was now also looking there with a shocked expression on his face.
That's how all of it started, it was only yesterday and the world is already in chaos. I found out my 3D printed Laser Rifle from Fallout 4 was now a working Laser Rifle that had burned several holes in our furniture. The Niffler that used to be plush had attacked me and tried to steal my glasses, we had locked hi in the bathroom but there he tries to bite of the tap. My Tardis mug is just teleporting from one point to another. We really don't want to leave our flat, we are somewhat safe in here but everything is running wild outside.
| "can you start taking responsibility like a real adult?" She yelled as she storm away. I am a gamer, a hard core, die hard gamer at least I think I am. Always dream to be one of those no damage souls player or professional gamer as I was a child but I just grow up to be one of those medicores. I met her in high school... "it was my pleasure" miphas voice pull me back to botw from the flashback and remember I was fighting a Lynel. I pause the game and pick up the hand made master sword." If only I have the spirit of the hero then I can be a hero instead of looking for boring jobs." I swing it a few times like link does and slice my finger in the process. "What the it shouldn't be that sharp" I proceed to inspect closely " it almost look like a real sword maybe all the toys became real? Nah a sword can't be that light." I said to myself as I inspect the sheikah slate. "It's freaking working... All the runes can be activated. If the sheikah slate can work then it means..." I turn towards my collections of merch ranging from the majora's mask, hylian shield, dins fire to fairy in a bottle. A brilliant idea come into my mind."I know what I'm going to do today" | 2019-03-29T00:45:53 | 2019-03-28T23:46:45 | 53 | 11 |
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail! | "Hey Jim, how's it going?" Andrew greeted his friend as they met up on their daily commute to the office.
Jim put on the fake smile. "Oh, pretty good. You?"
"In fact," boomed the voice, "Jim is not doing well at all. He has not slept well for the last week, the pretty girl he was talking to on that dating app - the first woman to give him any attention in years - turned out to be a scammer. He's feeling even lonlier than usual, he's upside down on his crappy car and behind on his mortgage, his cat has cancer, his ex is being more of a bitch than usual lately, and he had to call the suicide hotline last night."
There was an awkward silence. Andrew put a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim looked down in shame. "Dude, you know I'm here for you, right."
"Yeah, I know. I'll be alright."
"In fact, Jim won't be alright. But since he doesn't want to burden his friends and family with his multitude of problems he will never reach out for help even though he desperately needs to."
It seemed impossible, but Jim seemed to shrink even smaller. He muttered, almost under his breath, "Could you....not?"
"You know Jim, believe it or not I think the truth voice thing is trying to help you out for a change."
"It's not. The damned thing just hates lies, even the smallest ones. It doesn't let anything go uncommented upon."
"In fact, the voice leaves all true statements uncommented upon."
"See?" Jim shook his head and looked up. "I don't suppose you'd answer me if I asked for the millionth time what you are and why you do that?"
"In fact, Jim has only asked that question three hundred and forty seven times."
Andrew rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's more talkative than usual."
"Yeah. I usually don't give it as many chances to catch me in a lie."
There was silence.
"I must be tired or something."
"In fact, Jim is struggling under the pain of a soul-crushing depression and does not know how to ask for help. He is intentionally uttering all the little social lies that people tell each other in the hopes that the voice will call him out on it and get him the help that he desperately needs before it's too late."
The awkward silence stretched longer this time. Andrew pulled out his phone and made a call. "Hey boss? Yeah, I'm not coming in today. Neither is Jim." Jim looked up in surprise. "It's....you know that voice thing of his? The one that won't let him lie? Has to do with that....Yeah, I'll explain later. Thanks."
He hung up the phone and looked at Jim. "Alright buddy, come on. I know an amazing therapist and you're going to see her right now."
EDIT: Thanks for the silver! It made my day.
EDIT2: And another silver and a gold. I'm blown away! Thank you! And also to everyone who upvoted or commented to say how much they liked it. I really do appreciate that. | “I love you,” Jack said, taking Katie's hand in his.
**He loves looking at her. In fact, he loves looking at every bit of her, even as she leaves the room. He loves telling all of his friends that they are together, and he isn’t quite sure that he will get anyone better.**
Jack let out an agonizing scream. He understood that he was making the scene even more complicated, but he couldn’t contain it anymore. When the noise died out, he looked over at his girlfriend across the table.
She had pulled her hands back away from him and her eyes were wide. Her mouth was slightly agape.
Jack’s eyes shifted focus just behind her to the tables and waiters that mimicked her expression, all staring directly at him. A soft sigh followed his dramatic scream, and he took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just get so tired of…”
“Of the only thing that tells the truth?” she asked.
The words stung. He rubbed his temples and tried again, “I get tired of the big guy making me look bad.”
**He gets tired of everyone realizing he doesn’t quite tell the truth-**
“Enough,” Katie said firmly.
To Jacks surprise, the narrator actually stopped. No amount of yelling had gotten the infernal announcer to ever stop talking and ruining his every moment.
“Thank you! I can’t tell you-” he began to say when she interrupted him as well.
“Enough out of both of you,” Katie repeated and crossed her arms against her chest.
Jack found his own eyes widening, and the bottom of his jaw going slack. He kept silent, not finding the words to properly respond to the situation.
The pair sat in silence, her arms crossed and his under the table in his lap while the restaurant managed to go back to a normal rhythm.
“Jack,” Katie said after a long while.
Their dessert and came and gone- both plates untouched. They had finished a bottle of wine, and Jack had begun to wonder if they would speak again at all that night.
“Katie…” he started and then hesitated, unsure of if he was still supposed to be silent.
“Do you like dogs?” she asked.
Jack furrowed his brows. The question was out of left field, and he had no idea how it figured into the rest of the night. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out if they had this conversation before. He knew his narrator was extra obnoxious tonight and didn’t want to start a fight. It was such a simple question that it honestly felt like a trick.
“Yes…” he said, his voice lifting up at the end of the single word.
“Do you like cats?” she asked, her facial expression unreadable.
He let his face relax a bit with the follow-up question. “Yes.” He took a drink of his fresh cup of red wine.
**He likes to lock them in the bathroom-**
As the narrator continued to talk, turning Jacks face a deep shade of red, Katie stood up. She threw a 20 dollar bill onto the table, slid her purse onto her shoulder, and walked out the front door.
25 years he had lived with the voice that was currently droning on about his dislike of felines, and he somehow still let it win. He let out a long sigh and finished his glass of wine.
/r/Beezus_Writes | 2019-06-21T07:31:01 | 2019-06-21T07:07:10 | 2,874 | 101 |
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail! | This was Jake’s 4th date this month... and the 4th time he was walking back to his car without even getting through dinner. Shoulders slumped and head hung low, Jake mumbled to nobody in particular,
“This is just great.”
A somber, baritone voice very reminiscent of a certain famous African American man quite famous for his voiceover work rings out from nowhere,
“Of course, we all know this was as far from the truth as it could be. Poor Jake had been on 4 dates this month and all 4 were ruined. There was a time...”
People passing on the sidewalk looked at Jake and then started looking around wildly for the source of the disembodied narration.
“... when Jake was considered to be a good looking man. A chiseled jaw line, a muscular physique and a good sense of humor. Women found Jake hard to resist.”
The voice droned on and on. It was always this way. One falsehood, as small as a harmless white lie like telling his date for the night that the horrific metallic blue dress emblazoned with peacock feathers looked great on her would set the voice off for 10 or 15 minutes straight.
Jake had learned how to control the voice in most regards, but dating was hard. Why did women always ask questions that MADE a man lie? Is this too much makeup? Do you like my hair? The worst of all... does this dress make me look fat?
The voice had finally petered itself out and Jake felt like he needed a drink. He spied a bar across the street and made his way across. He pushed open the weathered door, sauntered into the bar as casually as he could muster and swung a leg across a stool at the bar.
The bartender was a pretty girl. About the same age as Jake with a great body and a pair of huge blue eyes that just grabbed you by the bottom of your soul.
“What’ll you have, darlin’?”, she asked.
“I don’t really drink. What’s good?”
“I just got in some green apple infused plum tequila that’s delicious! You should definitely try it.”
A disembodied female voice her similar to the legend Marilyn Monroe purrs out from seemingly nowhere,
“This tequila was disgusting, but her boss had told Sarah to sell it and sell it she was.”
The bartender dropped her head and softly cussed hard enough to make a sailor blush and Jake just smiled. | Bob kicked back and sipped his ice coffee as he wrote an email to upper management. He had been asked to run a report on the tasks his department had completed during the current fiscal year. Just as he was finishing up his email, the voice boomed through the office.
"Bob's team did not complete all of the work orders he alluded to in his email. He was stretching the truth for management by including duplicate requests from multiple users for the same issue in order to make them look busier at their job than they were to avoid having more work dumped on his team." The voice refused to let Bob tell a lie without mercilessly calling him out and explaining the lie in excruciating detail. Luckily for Bob, it did so vocally and he could still lie over email so long as the recipients of that email weren't in ear shot and nobody else brought up the lie.
Just as he sent the email, his coworker Jim approached his desk with a question, "Hey Bob, uh... how do you filter those excel financial reports for the software licensing costs again?"
"Oh, it's very simple." Bob began, "You just delete the file, check your email and the data you're looking for will be th-."
The narrator interrupted, "Actually, it's not 'very simple', and Bob knew that deleting the file wouldn't make his coworker's data magically appear in his inbox. In order to run the report, you wouldn't delete the file... obviously. First you would take the raw data, use a regular expression to..." The narrator continued to drone on about exactly what would need to be done. By the end of the narrator's monologue, Jim was nodding in understanding.
At first, the narrator frustrated Bob. It would call him out on any little white lie he made, leading to a lot of angry family and making dating extremely difficult. It's hard to make a girl feel appreciated by telling her you think she looks "okay", after all. Regardless, over time Bob had learned to live with the voice, and even use it to his advantage at times. By telling an intentional lie when asked for an explanation, he could get the narrator to explain the proper procedure to whoever he was talking to in that same excruciating detail, saving him time and effort.
Bob leaned back in his chair, "Another job well done. Maybe I'll go to the gym after work."
"That was a lie. Bob was simply trying to feel like he was making good decisions without actually committing to the hard work of seeing them through."
Bob sighed. He might be making the best of a bad situation by learning how to game the narrator, but it was still annoying to deal with most of the time. Perhaps he *would* go to the gym, just to prove it wrong.
*You know you won't.* | 2019-06-21T12:56:54 | 2019-06-21T12:31:23 | 55 | 19 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile. | Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.” | 2022-10-09T01:59:27 | 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 4,287 | 810 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | 729 days. That’s how long it’s been since the Great Blinding, although if you ask me there’s nothing great about it. What’s so great about losing your sight? At least I wasn’t the only one suffering.
&#x200B;
I was in prison when The Great Blinding happened. Whoever was pulling the strings chose the worst possible moment, we were having lunch. You can imagine how that turned out. Those first few moments were madness. Someone screamed, someone got stabbed, someone got shot.
&#x200B;
Immediately shit hit the fan I dove under the table. I stayed there until I heard The Voice. It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and as soon as we heard it all the commotion died down.
&#x200B;
“We are your guides, sent here to make sure that you do not lose your way now that you have lost your sight. Listen to us or you will be punished. “
&#x200B;
I felt something touch my shoulder and it hasn’t left my side since.
We were slaves with a master constantly looking over our shoulder.
When I woke up on day 730, I thought it was going to be an ordinary day. I would wake up, do whatever task I’d been assigned, eat my shitty food and go back to bed. I did not expect to see.
I almost screamed out in joy until I saw what was written on my wall
Don't Tell Them You Can See.
&#x200B;
I froze and immediately closed my eyes. That was my first mistake, but at the time I did not know. Thoughts began racing through my mind, who shouldn’t I tell? Why shouldn’t I tell them? How did they know that I would one day regain my sight?
Unbidden an old nursery rhyme came to mind
I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
At this point I lost it and burst out laughing. I didn’t let out a belly laugh or a chuckle; I laughed like someone who had lost his mind.
There’s something calming about laughing like that. You’ll never understand it until you are standing on the edge of sanity.
I laughed for god knows how long before they came for me.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Hey guys please tell me what you think. I'll be uploading part 2 soon | You wake up, and for the first time in years, you feel the pain of bright light on your eyes. *Wait, light?!* you jump out of your bed and close the green curtains on your window.
'Oh my God. I-I can-" you immediately stop talking as you look on your wall and see writing in neat, red marker,
"Don't tell them you can see. Act like everything is normal. Carry out your day as usual." Following the strange writing you decide not to shout it to the rooftops like you thought of, but open the door to your bathroom. On the mirror, in the same, neat writing,
"Nothing has changed. Pretend to be blind." you start to feel uneased, scared if someone is in your apartment. You slowly exit your bathroom, grab some non-safety scissors, and search the kitchen, your small office, and the living room. In each room you see more of the writing, telling you to not change anything in your daily life, to act natural; in every room the writings become more frequent, more aggressive, and more insistent that you should never reveal this recovery to anyone, even the people you trust the most. No one is in your apartment, that for sure, but one thing is certain:
In the last two years, someone was, and you had no idea.
"DING DONG!" rings the doorbell, snapping you out of this unnerving thought. You travel to your intercom, and say:
"Who is it?"
"It's James, duh!" Ah, yes. James, your best friend since college and your co-worker at Roy Industries, a company that started in manufacturing, specializing in disability aides such as: canes, hearing aides, wheelchairs, and stair-lifts, and after the Great Blinding, with everyone needing their products, grew into a ginormous cooperation that has a stake in almost every industry; everyone has heard of them, and most rely on Roy In. for their paycheck as well. You work in the admistrative section of the company, and so does John, you often walk to work together, as motor vehicles became too dangerous after The Great Blinding. Sure, it takes a while, but you live in the city, so at least it's not too bad of a commute; some people had to quit their jobs or move so they could work after the loss of an entire sense. Luckily, you lived close enough to not have to change your home/job, and so did John.
"You ready to go?" John asked.
"What? Oh, sure. Let me just get my cane."
Will write more soon, I just wanted to get the beginning on paper. (or, should I say, computer) Anyway, see you soon! | 2019-08-26T10:01:26 | 2019-08-26T09:40:50 | 35 | 17 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | The last thing I remember was a heaviness in my chest that grew until darkness took over. As I open my eyes, wondering if in fact that Chinese food really was too old, I look around me and see I’m not in my bedroom. In fact, I am now in a very cute, post-modern designed sitting room complete with an empty chair opposite me. A small coffee table is in between me and the empty chair, topped with pastries and coffee. Not to be missed, of course, are the glass walls surrounded by burning flames at least twelve feet high. Standing next to me, I realize with a startled gasp, is a red man with a pitchfork, horns and a barbed tail.
“Is this a dream?” I ask weakly.
“No.” He responds simply. I consider this for a minute.
“Is this… hell?” I sputter.
“Yes, Marty, but you’re not being punished,” he replies. “You are the punishment.”
“What do you mean, I’m the punishment?” I ask, squinting while my eyes adjust to the presence of the Hell’s flames. I couldn’t possibly fathom any reason someone would feel punished by my existence. Sure, I was rather lonely while I was alive despite my best efforts at trying to make friends but I never did anything I would consider punishing.
His grotesque smile is the only response.
“Well you’re not very informative, are you?” I sigh. Just as I was about to take one of the pastries, a loud knock on the door interrupted me. A tall man in a business suit walks through, looking quite harried and defeated.
Smiling, I give him a wave. He eyes the demon warily but relaxes a bit at the sight of me: a pudgy, white, middle aged man. “Sit down!” I offer, pointing at the empty chair.
He gratefully slumps in the chair, eyeing the pastries and the coffee with reserved judgment. “What’s your crime?” he asks finally.
“Oh, it’s funny you ask! As a matter of fact, this old demon guy here was telling me that I’M actually the punishment! Isn’t that a riot? I couldn’t possibly understand what he means. In fact, it really got me thinking about this funny joke I heard once about a skeleton.” I start to laugh uncontrollably, thinking about the punchline. The man stares at me expectantly.
“Ok, \*snort\*, I think it went something like, ‘Why didn’t the skeleton’… No, that’s not it. Oh yes. ‘Why couldn’t the skeleton share bad news?’” I look at him, barely holding back giggles.
“I’m not sure…” he answers hesitantly with a sigh.
“Because he didn’t have the heart! Isn’t that hilarious? I heard that once on Jimmy Kimmel. I wonder if he’s going to be going to hell or not. I mean, he’s too funny to come to hell. But you never can tell with those celebrities sometimes. Of course, I really did think that Kevin Spacey was straight so perhaps I’m not the best judge of character, you know? Oh, isn’t this fun? I haven’t been able to talk this much with someone in ages! Usually they just get this glazed look over their eyes and sometimes even walk away right in the middle of my story but it looks like you’re trapped here with me for a bit! Reminds me of this one time…” | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment.
In his ravenous hatred he found no peace, and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For alone he was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples.
He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer, sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons.
They knew he would come, just as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow dwellers, driving them into deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.
The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighy armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding.
With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that was left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell.
Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep and blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in.
The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus.
The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
&#x200B;
This is copy-paste, but I thought it was funny and fit with the **You are the punishment** | 2020-01-10T18:07:21 | 2020-01-10T17:42:54 | 124 | 11 |
[WP] Vampires aren't averse to garlic. Thousands of years ago a vampire introduced this idea as a way to develop and inspire better flavors in medieval foods. | "But... but you don't eat food" Joey said.
"Who made that rule?" Vlad responded, pulling a clove of garlic out of the fridge and crushing it.
"Um... Stoker I think? Or was it there before him?" Joey said, looking up at Vlad.
"Ah yes, Stoker. He was a fine vampire. Truly pushed our culture forward. Did you know, we actually gain power from having wooden crosses plunged into our hearts? He was a brilliant man." Vlad said as he threw the garlic in a pan and started to saute the spaghetti with the garlic.
"Damn, Stoker was a vampire himself? I would have never guessed."
"Yes, yes, everyone says that, now sit still, I need to get some blood from you." Vlad pulled out a syringe and poked it into joey's arm. "Start squeezing this ball, and I'll give you a band aid."
"Then you will let me go right?" Joey asked pleadingly.
"We'll see."
"So was the whole biting thing a lie too?"
"No, that was accurate. But we also used to not bath too. We learn and we change to protect ourselves. This method of collecting blood is much safer and more sanitary." Vlad walked over to Joey's blood bag, full by this point, and pulled the needle out of Joey's arm. "Ah perfect. Nice, safe, sanitary, doesn't spread any diseases, and everyone gets to walk away afterwards."
"So, how many vampires are there?"
"We don't really keep in contact with one another. Wouldn't really make sense." vlad said, spreading the chopped tomatoes over the spaghetti and pouring the blood onto of it. "Typically, we keep a population of around 100,000 between us. Makes it harder for us to go after the same people on multiple days."
"Huh, interesting"
"Now, before I let you go Joey you need to look into my eyes."
As joey stared into Vlad's cold eyes he felt his his mind go blank. Soon Joey was in a deep deep sleep.
\----------
The next morning Joey woke up in his home, with a bandage on his arm, and an "Red Cross" shirt on. He had no memory of the entire previous day. | Two things led to this misconception.
First: You wouldn’t believe how gullible they were.
Well, I suppose *you* would. You’re human. That species has always been easy enough to subdue. But something about 1348 (whether it was the general lack of education, the Crusades, or moldy bread) made people excessively malleable in regards to vampires. Or anything deemed heretical, honestly. Rumors spread as quickly and effectively as a plague.
Second: “Cooking” in the fourteenth century, if you care to disgrace the word like that, consisted largely of bread, bitter cheese, and the occasional sour apple.
Of course, the nobles and kings had actual, palatable meals, but their numbers were so small as to be laughable. Blue blood isn’t any better than that of a commoner, so there was no point in hunting them down except for sport. And, as to not draw suspicion, we ate only the insignificant or particularly unliked lords.
Anyway, we needed some variety. Garlic was Edmund’s favorite, so you can blame him for the whole mess if you like.
What, you think we can’t eat food? That blood is this miracle fluid that goes down like a strawberry milkshake, and it’s the only thing that sustains us? Contrary to most vampire novels, your taste buds don’t magically adjust to your new diet. Blood tastes like blood. It’s coppery and sour. The first time I swallowed human blood, my fists were clenched so hard my nails ripped clean through my skin. I retched pitifully, then vomited on the forest floor, staining the summer leaves deep red with bile. I tore the life out of a human being and I didn’t have strength to put her death to use. A waste, a tragedy. My knees drew up to my chest. In the half-dark of dusk, alone but for a corpse, I wept.
On the other hand, garlic bread is freaking delicious. Edmund really hit the mark on that one, so thank him for that. And I already said you can blame him, so I guess you’ll have to thank him and blame him at the same time.
I digress. Ignore Edmund, he’s been dead for centuries anyhow. The past doesn’t exist. What really matters is the here and now.
Do you want to know another myth we spread? Something that’s actually applicable, in the here and now, as I’m leaning against your doorframe?
A vampire can come into your home uninvited. | 2020-04-24T22:55:49 | 2020-04-24T19:15:53 | 164 | 64 |
[WP] Invade the humans they said. It will be fun they said. They only have nuclear weapons, it will be easy they said. Those bastards failed to mention that the humans also bite. | “It bit me, the fleshy thing bit me.” The scaley alien screamed, a chipped scale appearing in its perfect purple skin.
“And I’ll do it again.”
Samson flashed a toothy smile at the beast, watching it stagger back in fear. Its mouth comprising no teeth, only having a small blue sucker that it used to drain the blood of its food. The sucker ran into a problem when it came to fighting earthlings. Humans would bite at it, a painful experience for most of the aliens who had never felt the pain of having their sucker squeezed between hard matter.
“Come on, scared of a little teeth action? We dropped bombs on you fucks and this scares you? How do you survive a nuke but can’t handle a bite?” Samson made a chomping motion, causing a squeal from the alien.
“It’s so barbaric. I thought they were a peaceful race? one with limited weaponry. Guess we will just have to kill you before we eat you.”
The alien raised a brown nail towards Samson’s head. The nail sharper than any blade made over human history, a simple touch would cause a cut to appear. Samson watched closely, waiting for the nail to nearly make contact with him before chomping at the air.
The alien flinched, throwing its finger back in fear, holding it. The alien had lost its nerve. This human was fighting back. Even though the bite would have done little to hurt the beast, it still didn’t want to risk calling the bluff. It had already chipped a scale, if the human got a good bite at its body, it might peel a scale completely off, exposing the fleshy yellow underbody.
“I can’t do it. The beast is rabid, its crazy. To think it would try to bite someone so much more powerful. It’s like it has no sense of self-preservation. A smart creature would have played dead or hid. This makes little sense.”
Samson began grinding his teeth together, stopping the grinding only to make the occasional chomping sound. This caused the alien to scatter back.
“This isn’t worth it, they told us this would be easy. I’m not losing my scales fighting an developed animal.” The alien tapped its black wrist strap, sending itself flying back into the air, striking a pose, hands held out to the heavens as it floated off.
Samson let out a sigh, having felt like he just used an Uno card to make someone fold in poker. Reaching for his phone he sent out a message that would save humanity from its extinction.
“Bite back!”
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | The aliens moved into position for the human planet known as Earth but more commonly known as the dimwit rock.
General Glebo secured the go-ahead to invade the helpless planet. Planet invasion inquiries were usually hard to come by with the Galatic Order, but Earth was considered a barren rock with lifeforms bound for self-imposed doom before they reached the contact age. And besides, conquering a planet was mandatory for his species if one wanted to reach globblehood (equivalent to manhood for you puny humans reading with your vulnerable eyes that grow weary if you stare at your computer screen too long) and what better planet to secure globblehood with other than the archaic human home, Earth.
Glebo sat amongst his highest-ranked military officials. They strategized their plan of attack on a hologram image of the milky way galaxy zoomed into the smaller solar system Earth resided.
"Our scanners show their strongest weapon is a nuclear bomb," Admiral Bungo said, causing an eruption of laughter to fill the strategy room.
"So they're in the single-cell organism age?" Star Captain Xegborgi hooted.
"General, my readings show that you shall conquer Earth within ten minutes," Adia, the hyper-intelligent sentient AI said in between electronic laughs.
"I've seen asteroids with more resistance!" Commander Chungus XIX slammed a table with his seventeen hands--anymore or less would be rendered useless to his highly sophisticated species.
"Prepare the ships," General Glebo said. "We attack now."
\###
*Escape Pod 4, ready to launch.*
General Glebo's ship said over its fading communications system. An alarm blared as the red emergency lights flickered.
Glebo frantically slammed away at the *close door* button on his escape pod. It slid shut as he yanked his safety harnesses on. The pod ejected from the mother ship. Destination: space.
He watched as he flew away from Earth, his fleet grounded and doomed.
His futuristic screen of some sort began to flicker green as it displayed an incoming call from the Galatic Order.
"What is going on?" council member Bigxiantis said, his tentacled face manifesting on the screen.
"The humans, they've defeated my fleet!" General Glebo panicked. "They-they used rocks, sticks, and their teeth--oh the horror!"
"What? Did they launch these *sticks* and *rocks* through some sort of interdimensional-acceletronmatic cannon?"
"No, they used their own extremities!"
Bigxiantis puked at the words. "What? You said what?"
"And when they got close, they bit us."
"Bit you? With some sort of fake teeth launched through a hyperthermic ion collider hand cannon?"
"No..." Glebo gagged at the thought. "With their own mouths."
Bigxiantis's head exploded, leaving green goop all over the screen. General Glebo curled himself up in a tight ball and cried himself to sleep. Fearing the grounding and stern talking to he would receive when he got home for losing a planetary invasion.
r/AJHWriting | 2020-09-11T00:24:02 | 2020-09-10T21:58:17 | 335 | 176 |
[WP] The king promises a great sum of gold to the one who can slay the local dragon. The dragon, hearing this and noting that the gold promised was greater than his hoard, dons a human disguise and prepares to fake his own slaying | As the final echoes of the recent battle continued to subside, the smell of charred meat permeated the whole cavern. The young dragon much preferred the sweet scent of seared mutton over the vile stench of brased human.
Every once in a while, some poor soul would wander into his domain and the dragon would be forced to clean up the wretched vermin. He never ate them just as a human wouldn't eat a rat.
Of late, these wanderers had been more and more frequent, prompting the dragon to question their interest with his domain. His hoard wasn't all that large, since he had only just settled here in the last decade.
As the dragon began searching these newly fallen fools, he meticulously separated everything. While other dragons tended to eat whole and regurgitate their prizes, this youngling preferred a cleaner solution.
It didn't take long for the dragon to see these were no ordinary adventurers. Most that had ventured here before were lightly armed and wore no armor, a stark contrast to these men. Heavily armored and loaded with weapons, they hadn't just stumbled onto his domain, they had seeked it. Confirmation came shortly after this realization in the form of a royal missive.
The dragon could hardly decipher the crude message yet some words were clear to him. Gold. Lots of gold. Much more than he had amassed throughout the decade. It was being offered as a reward. What the reward was for didn't require much reading for the scroll contained the sketch of a decapitated dragon.
Young as he was, the dragon hadn't yet reached his full size. With enough effort he would be able to mix and match the armor on hand to disguise his form. The only problem was his tail wouldn't fit anywhere. They would surely need proof of his death before handing over the gold. Without hesitation he bit down on his tail, cleanly severing it. Being a reptile, he was sure it would eventually regrow.
Lowering the helmet's visor and with a tight grip on his severed tail, the dragon started the long journey down the mountain and towards the castle. Bipedal walking wasnt his forte, but he would endure it for the gold. | They'd done it. After so much time preparing for the greatest display of illusion magic the world had ever known, they'd finally done it. They were a human.
It seemed an insane plan when you thought about it – A dragon transforming themselves into a human to fake their own death and claim riches greater than their own hoard? *Absurd! It could not be done! Where would you even get a spare Dragon head from?!* These had been the words of the Dragon's Kobold followers, the snivelling cowards who relied upon their great lord's power and might to stay safe. Pathetic creatures.
The dragon marvelled at their human form. Despite being a male, they'd chosen a female one – and what a female body it was. Bodacious would certainly not be an understatement to describe such a form and yet a certain warrior goddess vibe was given off from the frankly outrageously athletic physique. The dragon found himself marvelling at his own body and even the Kobolds that served him were blushing.
“Bring me armour.” the powerful female voice echoed through the caverns. Holding his arms aloft, the Dragon allowed himself to be garbed in regal looking armour that slotted nicely onto his form, if somewhat loose. The kobold's dutifully strapped him in and passed a well crafted flail that had been collected into his hoard at some unknown point previously.
“My lord .. Are, are you sure about this? How will you convince the King? The advert specifically stated a Dragon head!” The snivelling Kobold once again asked.
The Dragon turned, grasping the Kobold by the throat and lifting the creature into the air. Squealing and spluttering apologies over and over the Dragon snarled in annoyance
“You don't think that I, your rightful Lord, haven't already taken care of that small detail? That I am not intelligent enough to realise that important facet of information? Know your place, scum!” He snarled through gritted teeth, dropping the Kobold whom promptly gasped for air, massaging his throat.
Smirking softly, the Dragon hefted the flail on one shoulder “The head has already been acquired. I am ashamed to say my son put up a rather poor display when I came to claim it, but then he was always the runt of the litter.” Grinning softly, the Dragon turned away. To claim his rightful prize. | 2020-11-18T08:56:39 | 2020-11-18T05:30:10 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] Snuggled into bed, you review the footage from your doorbell camera for the day. You notice a strange inhuman figure enter in the morning while you were at work. With rising panic you scroll through the rest of the day - there is no footage of it ever leaving. | Its body was a patchwork of color, its face pointed sharp. Its slitted eyes glared at me through the darkness, lit only by the lights of my screen. Its belly hung low to the ground, and it's back arched as it approached.
It peeled back its lips to reveal rows of sharp teeth, and as its jaw unhinged, I finally spoke out:
"Miss Fluffy-kins, where have you been?!" I hopped out of bed and scooped up the beast into my arms. She finished her yawn, beeped a little meow into my face, and settled into my arms.
"Did you get swatted by a meanwe kitty-witty," I cooed as I took her to bed. All I got in response was another meow and a demand for head pats. "I'm gonna have to puat a lock on that puppy door, yes I ammmm, Sassie Cassie."
I shut my door to keep the cat from getting out, and spent the rest of the night squishing her face until I went to sleep. |
“Ah I see you’ve found that footage,” the creature muttered in embarrassment whilst looking down at you from the ceiling.
“How many times Fredrick!? You have to go before the cats come home! Allergies man, allergies.” You sighed as Fredrick nodded and climbed his way down. “Got any plans for the weekend?”
“Just taking the wife and kids back to Usheuay to see their grandparents.” You nodded and led Fredrick out, still in your nightgown.
“You alright? You look a little blue.” The creature blushed and looked down at his actually blue skin. He sighed and kicked a rock.
“Isnia and I are fighting again, it’s why I came over really. The kids are gonna stay at her parents while we try and sort things out. It’s been three months man, I really hope it doesn’t turn to divorce papers being signed.” You shook your head to try and assure him that he was being ridiculous but you knew Isnia; she didn’t like to think long-term.
So now there you were: sitting across from Fredrick telling him dad jokes you’ve gathered over the years whilst stroking your cats. They were allergic to him but it was more of a sneeze here and there allergy. As long as Freddy was good and happy you were.
After all; you are his mistress | 2020-11-21T16:35:22 | 2020-11-21T16:02:48 | 53 | 26 |
[WP] After a child is born, a symbol of the child’s power will materialise on their forehead, disappearing after a few seconds. How long it takes for the symbol to show has a direct correlation with the extent of the child’s power, the longer it takes, the more potent the power. | He lay on the bed, the oldest man in the world, the only one never to show a symbol. He was a wonder when born, closely followed as a child, a yearly update as he got older. Always considered an outsider to be pitied and whispered about. They were all here to witness his passing, the worlds strongest telepaths transmitting the death of this sideshow freak to the world.
The reporters had eulogized him , video and photos flashed through billions of minds. His breathing was shallow, the doctors said not much longer now.
As he breathed his last breath a symbol glowed bright on his forehead, the omega.
There was barely time to scream. | “Is everything all right?” She asked after a minute.
The doctor cleared his throat and handed the child to a nurse ready with a blanket, who hurried her baby back to her. The room was silent as she looked down at her little girl, sprawled on her chest with a blanket draped atop them.
She’d coughed, then breathed. She’d looked around during the cord clamping and severing, mostly at the people, and the entire time, nothing had lit between her brows.
They looked at each other, and just as she began fearing she looked a frightful mess, the little thing cracked a wide smile.
*Hello* vibrated simultaneously across the room and at the forefront of her mind. The voice was older, almost like her own as a young woman, and it was emanating in waves from the girl under the blanket. The doctors, nurses, and even the suited man in the corner of the room paused and looked toward the bed as if they heard it too.
“M-*mawma*,” the little girl squeaked. | 2020-12-10T18:28:01 | 2020-12-10T15:16:43 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] After a child is born, a symbol of the child’s power will materialise on their forehead, disappearing after a few seconds. How long it takes for the symbol to show has a direct correlation with the extent of the child’s power, the longer it takes, the more potent the power. | He lay on the bed, the oldest man in the world, the only one never to show a symbol. He was a wonder when born, closely followed as a child, a yearly update as he got older. Always considered an outsider to be pitied and whispered about. They were all here to witness his passing, the worlds strongest telepaths transmitting the death of this sideshow freak to the world.
The reporters had eulogized him , video and photos flashed through billions of minds. His breathing was shallow, the doctors said not much longer now.
As he breathed his last breath a symbol glowed bright on his forehead, the omega.
There was barely time to scream. | She was laying on a bed, her head propped up, alone in the room. A monitor strap was around one arm, in the other she held a photo in a trembling hand - a family gathering, several generations of kids dressed up and reluctantly holding still in front of a big hedge. She smiled as she looked at it, a few more wrinkles appearing on her face. "I hope you'll forgive me for the lies," she said quietly, as if speaking to the people in the photo.
Her arm dropped to her side, and the picture fell out of her grasp to the floor. The screen on the monitor, previously filled with rhythmic movement, went still.
Only a few moments passed before a nurse came down the hall and stepped into the room. He gasped in surprise at the oddly familiar young woman sitting up in the bed. A gleaming symbol showing a burning flame was visible on her forehead, lighting up the room.
It faded away, and she laughed. "Tell me, son, have you ever been given a second chance?" | 2020-12-10T18:28:01 | 2020-12-10T15:19:07 | 50 | 16 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world. | **Connections**
***
The first thing I discovered was that I shouldn’t try to make phone calls.
It was physically possible, sure. The line would ring and then connect. The living person on the other side would answer, cheerful or confused, or sometimes somewhere in-between. I would say “Hello,” and they would repeat me.
“Hello!” I’d say.
“Is anyone there?”
I discovered that if I got frustrated and yelled a lot, static would come through so heavy that I couldn’t hear them either.
The bottom line was that I could make the phone call, but I couldn’t talk to them. I could never talk to anyone on the other side, and neither could any of the other dead folks that hung around me like moths to a lamp.
The second thing I discovered was that I shouldn’t try to upload videos.
I recorded half a dozen different videos in half a dozen different locations, wherever I could find that may give me a better chance of pulling it off. I would save it, and upload it, and when I would go back to watch it -- there was nothing but static.
I would search the comments, hoping it was some weird issue with my phone, my eyes, or something in the afterlife that stopped me from understanding weird things that I didn't know about yet. But every single comment confirmed. No one else could watch the video either. After a while, there formed a conspiracy theory that the static was on purpose, and they began to look for clues in the background.
They made wiki’s, subreddits, and Facebook communities.
Unfortunately for both parties involved, there were no hidden clues, and all of their guesses were wrong.
So I stopped trying to upload videos to places like youtube, or through email. I did leave them up though because the ever-evolving insane theories amuse me and bring about a glimmer of light in the strange and boring afterlife.
The third thing I discovered through trial and error was I could in fact send and receive text messages.
I had to connect to just the right type of wifi because regular mobile data apparently isn't the same as the type I had in.. wherever the hell I was. And I had to set up google voice accounts on a weekly basis because they got flagged for a whole bunch of reasons. Folks told google that I was spamming, that I was impersonating family members, or that I was elsewise violating the terms of service.
It stung a little and was frustrating. But it was only a minor blip because it wasn't as if I had a lot of time crunches in the beginning. In fact, I still don’t have anything at all that takes up my time, and that's something I keep trying to get across to folks.
I have the phone numbers of my mom, sister, and two best friends memorized still. I can’t text my mom or sister anymore, because they don’t believe me. When I message them, I get rude replies and the account gets nabbed quicker.
But my friends at least talk to me. Sometimes they play stupid, but sometimes they have legitimate conversations. They try to listen, and they are nice enough to relay information. They tell me how my mom is since my death, and they tell me that the new high school principal busted the basketball team in the bathrooms for…
Well, just about everything you would expect.
They also seem to believe the things I tell them, although they don't know how to help me. I tell them that even though they searched my pockets, I think they left my phone with me on purpose. Why else would there be an internet connection here?
I tell them that I don’t think I’m in heaven. It's too dark, and the light bulbs tend to flicker when you look at them. I can't find anything I would have hoped for, and all the furniture is uncomfortable, and a lot of the other souls…
They linger. They have been getting closer lately, and it's been making me nervous.
That's why I’m reaching out to you. I'm hoping that someone will be able to help find out where I”m at, and how to get me back home. I know, I know… you can’t raise the dead... But maybe you could help stop the nightmares that started cropping up at night.
***
/r/beezus_writes for more by me.
Have a look at r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others! | Posted by u/Apocryphon_from_Bynd \[Claims to post from beyond\] - 7 hours ago
**Recently deceased, can still access Internet, what to do with this ability?**
This may require you to suspend your disbelief for a bit, but please hear me out before you disregard my post outright.
On the 19th of January, I, Arthur McKinsey, passed away of a heart attack at the tender age of 36. Born and raised in NYC, my life was what one would consider ordinary, average, not exceptional in any significant way. Leaving behind a family with two children and my partner, I have to say that my untimely death has a certain tragedy to it, though interestingly, I am far more favorably disposed to the state I find myself in, then one might expect.
What you need to understand is that, for one reason or another, upon passing away one just accepts their fate. The mind, soul or whatever remains of a person past their demise seemingly adapts quickly to this place, where time and space are but a casual suggestion. I will meet my family soon, after all on a cosmic scale, a century is no different to a second.
Regardless, what might be more interesting to you is the how and why of this post.
Ever found yourself at a small airport five minutes before your plane takes off? I mean the rural kind where one can be happy if the plane has more than two isles, you know, the type of airport that, were it not for local subsidies and governmental infrastructure initiatives, likely wouldn't exist in a profit driven world?
Well, if you have, you might have witnessed that the TSA isn't always as unpleasant and "in-depth" in their pat downs as they are at Newark (incidentally, from what I've seen, no punishment up here comes even close to that Kafkaesque nightmare).
If you really need to get on the plane quickly, are dressed in the right manner (being a business traveler helps) and have a bit of luck, they'll just let you through with no invasive search.
Believe it or not, the afterlife operates on similar principles. They check for contraband prior to letting you in, and apparently I can count myself lucky, seeing as they seemingly overlooked my smartphone. Perhaps this is actually a test to find out what someone like me might decide to do if they gain the power to contact people from beyond the grave, who knows?
What I am certain of is my uncertainty of what I should do with this ability? I have already ruled out using this to verify the existence of an afterlife on a larger scale, which hopefully is enough to justify the lack of tangible proof attached to this post. On one hand, I really don't want to be responsible for any sort of conflict that might arise from humanity gaining this information. On the other, having worked as an assistant on studying particle physics, I really don't want to cause my colleagues to suffer beyond the mountains of math they deal with on a daily basis.
Rather, what I'd like to ask of you is advice on one specific question: Should I contact my family? While I will see them soon, relatively speaking, and have no problem waiting, I know that their current grief is eating at them. I simply don't know whether using this tool to inform them of my current whereabouts wouldn't tear these wounds open even further. If I couldn't verify my identity to them, they'd just consider this a tasteless, awful, horrific prank. If I could, what would the consequences be? They might not be able to move on, perhaps obsessing over this channel of communication. Perhaps they'd consider themselves to be mentally unwell, not without reason. Still, I don't know whether I can and should let them suffer for the next decades.
I understand how outrageous this sounds and don't want or need you to believe me. Doubt this as much as you want, but please, just entertain the thought that it might be true. If it helps, just think of this as the plot line of a series and ask yourself, how a character should act if they were in such a situation.
Thank you from beyond.
Edit: No, I won't answer how the afterlife is, nor who or what is responsible up here. Also, I've got no issue with people calling this a troll or bs, but please, for the love of everything up here, stop calling me Death-Senpai, like honestly.
Edit 2: Thanks for the gold kind stranger.
Edit 3: Thanks for your input, decided against contacting them. Also, handed my phone to the proper authorities.
***
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear on what I could improve in the future. If you liked what you read, check out more of my work at r/PlsCritiqueMyWriting. | 2021-01-20T12:48:41 | 2021-01-20T11:51:49 | 295 | 216 |
[WP] Never, in 10 millennia, has someone successfully broken out of the Gates of Hell or into the Gates of Heaven. Of course, the Lockpicking Lawyer just died and he's up for a challenge.
Inspired by the [comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/m6smji/does_this_count_dm_is_proposing_35_ranks_of/gr85q13?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) u/geckoobac made on r/rpghorrorstories | This is the Lockpicking Lawer, and today I’m standing behind the Lock of the Underworld.
This lock is famous, invented at an unknown time BCE, and is what keeps souls from escaping the Underworld. As you can see here, the lock seems to be in the shape of a smiling, human-sized skull, with the mouth being where the key is inserted. The security seems to be provided not by its physical design but through a set of unknown supernatural parameters that must be fulfilled to open the lock, which only the Warden of the Underworld seems to fulfill.
Fortunately, there seems to be a trick to opening this lock. It seems that the supernatural reinforcements on the lock are designed to make the skull impervious to any sort of damage or warping, so brute force would be impossible. The supernatural conditions are also set up to recognize the spiritual signatures of the Warden’s Key, so putting in a lock-picking device would result in a detection of your intrusion and your soul being consumed. However, the mechanism that opens the lock from the key is very weak and easy to exploit if you simply don’t use a lock-picking device and instead work from the outside of the lock.
Here I’m going to do a technique called “rapping.” I have a simple urethane hammer and I’m going to hit the skull right here at the bottom right of its jawbone. One, two, three hits, and the lock comes off as you can see here. I’m going to relock it and show that one more time so you know it’s not a fluke. One, two, three, four hits that time and the lock comes off again.
Okay folks, I’m going to escape from the Underworld now to upload this video so that’s all I have for you today. If you have any questions or comments about this, please put them below. If you liked this and want to see more, please subscribe, and as always, have a nice day.
___
r/WanderWilder | This is the Lockpicking Lawyer, and what I have for you today is something very special. You see, the other day, an old buddy of mine needed help getting into a safe. Not just any safe, but the main safe in the local banking office. Needless to say, the police didn't like that idea very much, and long story short, I'm now locked behind a very special Gate that no one has ever opened - let alone picked. Let's put on our special heat-resistant gloves and take a look.
There are some very tricky things to consider with this lock. In addition to the 666 pins in the tumbler assembly, there are several false gates and beveled pins - some of them on the same pins. In addition, once this tumbler is turned, it merely grants access to the next layer, with an even more devious lock set. Seven layers in all must be picked in order, but if it is done incorrectly, there are several traps that will seize the lock shut for another hundred years. But while an obstacle for your average picker, I have the experience needed to get past this hurdle - all it takes is a little knowledge and preparation.
So I'm going to take my tensioner to apply some pressure, and reach in with my 32/1000ths pick. There's some motion on 1, 2 isn't moving, got some motion on 3, and a click on 4. 5 wants to go into a false gate, so I'm going to reverse a bit - 6 is locked, back down to 1. 1 is frozen, 2 wants to fall into a false gate, click on 3. 5 is loose, back to 1. Click out of 1, 2 is moving, 3, 4, 5 is now frozen, click out of 6. Back down to 1, 2 clicks, 3, 4, 5 - and we get some rotation.
Now I'll pull out my 3" extender - special made for this lock, and we'll start working on the next six pins. This one will take a while to get through, but fortunately I've got nothing but time and a tool for every position... click out of 7, motion on 8.... | 2021-03-17T08:28:49 | 2021-03-17T07:35:05 | 5,313 | 836 |
[WP] You can tell just by looking into someone's eyes the most significant crime they've committed. You notice a couple of murderers on the road today, which isn't an uncommon occurrence, until one of them stands out. His death toll spans into the millions. | I looked again. No, not millions - *Billions.* Billions of lives lost at the hands of this one man.
I took a moment to look him over. He seemed normal enough, aside from his rather odd dress sense, but at the same time, it seemed that he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Somehow, I got the feeling that the lives he had taken weren't the main reason for this.
He glanced around. For a moment, I was sure that he'd spotted me; that is, until, he turned to leave. I followed. I wasn't sure if it was because of the massive death toll he had caused, or something else.
I followed him all around the city. Up one street, down another, turn left at one intersection, turn right on another.
He abruptly paused, then headed down an empty alley. It seemed perfectly normal, so what could he be looking for? All that was there was a few bags of trash, a few dumpsters, a police box, and -
Wait, a police box? I rubbed my eyes, and sure enough, there it was. Somehow I had barely noticed the thing that now stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the other things in the alley. The man paused in front of it.
"All right, you can come out now." I froze. "Come, now, don't be scared. I've known you were following me for... the past twenty minutes or so?"
I slowly stepped out, hands raised. The man rolled his eyes, then smiled. "You don't have to worry. I'm not going to hurt you." He reached into a pocket and withdrew an odd, pen-like device. "This, however, might tingle a little."
A strange buzzing filled the air for several seconds. "Ah. I see. No wonder you got curious." He tucked the device back into his pocket.
"The... billions."
His expression changed. It was the face of someone who had done something truly terrible and yet entirely necessary. "Yes. Story for another time, I suppose." He met my gaze. "Can't imagine it's been exactly easy for you, either. Probably makes it really hard to trust people."
I nodded. "... If you don't mind me asking, what exactly were you doing?"
He brightened. "Oh! Just trying to remember where I parked."
"Parked?" He beckoned me closer.
A grin formed on his face. "You're going to love this." He inserted a key into the lock, and turned.
The doors swang inward with a creak. He stepped inside and swung around, arms spread like a showmaster welcoming the crowd.
Behind him lay a single glowing column stretching from floor-to-ceiling, surrounded by darkness.
"This... is the TARDIS."
As if responding to him, the room came to life. Bright lights illuminated a cavernous space that seemed straight out of a science fiction film.
"All of time and space at your fingertips. And she's mine."
I stared, stunned. "It's... it's"
"Bigger on the inside." He finished my sentence for me.
I stepped inside, enthralled by the display. I barely noticed him moving to the strange console that surrounded the central column.
I was snapped out of my trance by the doors closing behind me.
"So... where do you want to go first?"
----
For those asking, this one sits somewhere during 10 and/or 11.
Sorry, couldn't resist. For some reason, the "millions" brought to mind Doctor Who. | Most people see me as crazy once ill tell them what I can do. Or what I can see. I learned you have to move a couple of states away before people don't recognize you anymore. Which is fine. I was able to see more than half of the US before I wised up an kept my mouth shut. At least I didn't ruin New York, New York. I have the privilege of living Brooklyn. More like a death sentence where I am at. Most of the people here either have committed a murder or will commit one. Seems to be a re-occuring theme with New York. Like a STD at a trashy frat house. Everyone is bound to catch whatever is going around. The only ones that seem to be immune from committing murder are children. Or so think. I may not be able to see children's misdeeds of MURDER. Could be my kryptonite into this weird ability. Still though, none of it ever scared me. Even when I saw the president. He was responsible for hundreds of murder and still didn't faze me. That was until I met someone sitting across from me in the train.
He seemed normal enough. Mid 50s, give or take 5 years. Hair slicked to the side. Black suit and tie, iPhone in hand. A brown leather briefcase sat beside him. With his arm resting on it. Seeing what I see, I just had to start some sort of conversation with the guy. I figured the briefcase would be a good start......
"Hey!"
"hmmm?"
He looks up sharply looking for whoever.
"Hey!"
"A-are you talking to me"
"Yeah. Whats the story behind the briefcase? Looks older than the both of us combined."
"Oh this old briefcase. It was my grandfathers. Before the war"
"Before the war? Damn that awesome. Im Joseph."
"Im Ad----Adrian."
"nice to meet you Adrian."
"likewise."
"So I take it you are not from here. Are ya?"
"Did my accent give me away? hahaha. Im originally from Germany."
"No way! what brought you here?"
"The wa----worst jobs were in Germany....for me anyway, so I moved."
"Ohhh I hear ya there, nobody hates working more than me."
We share a laugh at are mutual hatred for work.
"but, I don't think New York was your best option. People here borderline amazing and just assholes....in my opinion"
Couple people overheard what I had to say about the people of New York. None seemed to pleased as to what I said but kept to themselves. A brief silence brews between us. Then we cross 8th street. I only know its 8th because of the raw sewage smell.
"God, do you smell that?"
"No, I can't smell anything since I breathed mustard gas."
"Mustard Gas????"
"Yeah, mustard gas."
"What the fuck? How???"
"Its a bit of a story, one I would rather not relive."
"No worries."
The ever so annoying silence creeps in again. Nothing between us except the sound of the train and distant conversations between passengers, and the sewage smell. Kinda made my eyes water. Luckily the silence was broken by the train stopping. Adrian gathered his things, which included the briefcase and some old looking letters. Only reason I say old. Is the simple fact is no one writes letters anymore, let alone in cursive.
"It was wonderful talking to you, Take care friend."
I reciprocated with a smile and a head nod. Just a simple gesture. He stands next me while I sit, waiting for the doors to open. I catch a glimpse of the headline on the letter.
ADOLF HITLER.
Wait that said...... | 2021-04-16T01:13:14 | 2021-04-15T22:05:39 | 594 | 263 |
[WP] “How in the world did you get a hyperdrive to work? We tried everything!” A puzzled voice responds: “Well, did you try painting your ship red?” | "So... you're solution to the malfunctioning part... is to paint the ship?" The engineer couldn't believe what he was being told.
"yes." The xenologist repeated over the radio. "I'm telling you, it'll work."
"You do understand why it wont though... right? The problem is the engine. Honestly, this seems so obvious, I don't-"
"That doesn't matter. On that planet, painting a ship red will make it go faster, yellow will make it explode better, and purple will make it invisible."
"Painting it a color... Will make it invisible?"
"Yes." Just a deadpan response.
Everything was quiet outside. The xenos on the planet weren't around. They were fighting far off. Even now the engineer could hear the distant "WAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaagh". The sound terrified him. He'd taken a stray shot and was forced into a landing.
The ship wasn't very large, and it could still fly. Just paint the damn thing and fly it somewhere new before they get too close. The planet was a hell pit. Two days ago, there was no real vegitation. Now the ground was littered with mushrooms. Most animal bleed. These things blew off spores. Something about how they reproduced. The engineer felt them break under his feet and more spore flew around.
"emperor damn this planet." he whispered to himself as he started splashing the red paint across the hull. "A waste of time. But what else can I do?" Suddenly something tackled him from behind, and he felt it scratch his back. and he kicked the mysterious creature back, leaning up to look at it. He never saw the thing it... it was purple he noticed. His eyes wouldn't focus on it. Panicked he stood and moved... too fast. much too fast. Before he knew it, he was inside his ship and felt the ship being rocked by the things attacks.
"So did you do it? Paint it red."
"Some of it."
"Should be enough. they rarely cover the entire ship."
The engineers hands moved like a blur. So quickly and precise. Blood falling down onto the controls. It was incredible, everything moved so quickly, but it felt so natural. The world around him seemed to slow down. Soon he was in the air, moving much to fast. Faster than his clunky transport ship should, even with the broken hyperdrive.
"So how does this work exactly?" The engineer finally asked the Xenologist? | Feedback is appreciated. I haven’t written much in a week.
- - -
“Look your hyperdrive engine is faulty or incompetent. We’ve done everything and it won’t link up to our ship without blowing up from dangerous levels of energy.”
The humanoid alien looked up. “Paint it red.”
The office went still for a moment “... What?”
“Paint your ship red.”
“Umm...” Ezra laid his arm on the desk, the blue light matching his uniform and the room’s walls. “Look, paint has never been a factor for space exploration... uh-“
“Meralva Xtrilliab Bazzelek Gammaz the 58th. If that makes your tongue bleed you may refer to me as Minerva.”
“Yes, Minerva. We’ve been all over the Milky Way and paint has never done anything-“
Ezra froze as Minerva's gills groaned, a bit horrifying for Ezra to see on an otherwise human looking woman with purple skin, blue armor, and pitch black eyes. She walked to him and bent to her knees, so that her stature would not prevent him from seeing her face. She rubbed his blue hair, pinched his cheeks and adopted a sweet sneering voice. “Ezra, if you tell your friends to paint your ship red, the engine will start to breath. And a perfectly safe amount of fuel will be sucked into your skin and out into the ship, and then the ship will breath it all away.”
Ezra stepped back and scoffed, “I understand electromagnetic spectrum wave theory-“
“You don’t say!” She said, with her normal voice. “So why the fuck are you crying to me about your ships blowing up?”
“Human skin does not conduct your planet’s energy source well enough. Only your skin does.”
“Human skin conducts blue sun reactor energy very well. We send engines to your planet for that reason.”
Ezra broke eye contact for a moment, processing this new info. “I didn’t know that, but how do we recoup the costs for painting every-“
“Shut it.” Minerva shouted slamming the desk. “You’re honest to god like children, we’ve traveled through space for 10 millennia and at the scale we’ve seen, your species hasn’t even left their backyard yet. Go back to your station, paint your ships red, and tell your commander if he sends another grunt to bitch about our engines I will be eating him or her that night. You are dismissed.”
“Okay...” The office door opened itself automatically and Ezra left. As it closed behind him Minerva relaxed her pose, and her gills screeched once more.
“Bluebloods” | 2021-05-06T00:11:20 | 2021-05-05T20:14:24 | 125 | 66 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | “I don’t know. She’s pretty useless though. Can’t speak. Too dumb for any real magic, but she’ll heal you if you order her to.” Calix said to their new recruit as he marched down the goblin infested tunnels in his massive plate armor.
*Leressa the Black! I bind you!*
The recruit, Daved, looked back at me nervously, “Ah, would you please heal my wound ma--”
“No, not like that. You have to *order* it.” Calix interjected. To me he said, “Healbitch, patch up his arm.”
*I bind you to never again use your magic to harm another living being!*
I smiled. The muscles controlling my face spasm, holding the idiot grin as I catch up to Daved. Once again I reach for the healing magic I can barely touch. White magic has always been a struggle for me.
My talents lie elsewhere.
*I bind you to heal all that demand it!*
Purple light sprang between my hand and his wound; stitching his cut closed with agonizing slowness. Once I finished, Daved drew his sword and swung it about experimentally.
“Thanks” he said nervously, eyes bouncing off of my dull gaze.
*I bind you to follow all orders!*
“Found it!” That slippery old eel, Ronald, shouted back to us.
Calix hurried ahead, plate armor clattering down the tunnels. “Come on, healbitch.”
Once Daved and I arrived at the door to the goblins throne room we saw Calix impatiently waiting as Ronald carefully inspected the door.
*I bind you to use your magic to aid all that demand it!*
Almost by rote Ronald said, “Healbitch, give me better eyesight”
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me stronger,” Calix demanded.
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me faster,” Daved’s words *just* avoided being a request. He’d get used to it. They always did.
I smiled.
*I bind you to these things for all your life, with a smile on your face.*
Calix looked at the others, “Here we go.” He blasted open the heavy wooden doors with a supernaturally enhanced kick. A few dozen armed goblins stared back at us, faces contorted with surprise, fear, and rage. Their shaman shouted something in their guttural, barking tongue. Some charged. Some ran. It was a slaughter.
------
Calix stepped up to the throne, swordpoint against the shaman’s throat. “Any last words, greenskin?”
The shaman’s eyes met mine. He made a sharp gesture and cast one last spell before Calix drove the sword through his ancient neck. The room fell deathly quiet.
“What was that, Ronald? He curse us?” Calix asked, looking back towards the rest of us.
“No, it was inverted.” Ronald said, bemused puzzlement dominating his voice, “Why in the world would he spend his last breaths trying to *remove* a curse?”
I reached out experimentally.
“Fucking greenskins. Probably just learned the spell backwards. Anyway, who cares?"
Calix turned to me,
“Healbitch…” He cut off
Tendrils of purple magic extended from my robes in all directions, probing, reaching into the eyes of each and every goblin corpse, the ones nearest to me were already twitching. Black lightning danced on my fingertips.
For the first time in years, *I* smiled. | I remember this one dream, over and over again. I remember my mother’s eyes, so blue like the ocean, towering over me and boring into my soul, whispering to me the same phrase over and over again.
*I’m not crazy,* she would mumble to me, to herself, *you’re the crazy one. Crazy, crazy, crazy!*
And yet, everyone labelled her as such.
So she was crazy, and I was crazy, and we were all only ever crazy. But deep down I knew what had really happened. Because I remember my mother young and beautiful, darkness flowing from her veins as easily as ink, but eyes always kind, always warm, crazy in all the loveliest ways. But then one day, things had changed. She was never the same again. They say the darkness drove her to madness, that all darkness ever does is drive you to madness, but I knew the truth. I know someone had cursed her, and I also know that the only person who would ever be willing to help is also me.
So I swore from dark magic, and devoted myself to healing. I learned spells, learned the right and wrong ways to approach those spells, and soon, it was as if nobody ever remembered the dark kid who lived in the woods with his mother.
I was a new person with new magic.
A new person to everyone but my mother.
Even with the madness, she could still tell whenever I got agitated with a new spell, or annoyed with my progress, because she would sort of give me an awkward pat on the arm as she walked by, mumbling under her breath all the while. I never knew what she was saying. I suppose I never dared to listen.
So I put up with her constant musings and her sullen temper and those piercing, electric eyes, and everyone thinking that I’m merely a terrible cleric, because in the end, I was doing it for *her.* I was going to save her — was going to create the most greatest healing spell to cure all things, ~~but it would never cure the darkness.~~
It was quite peculiar, then, when one morning as I was sipping tea and going over a new incantation, my mother walked in wearing her old black gown and embroidered cloak, something I haven’t seen her put on since I were a child. But perhaps what was more peculiar, was that her eyes, once fog on a autumn’s ocean day, were now clear, as if the mist had passed and the sun had come out.
As if a part of her was still somewhere in there.
As she got closer, I could still hear her mumbling, only now, if I listened closely, I could make out the words.
*Black crow. Mr. Aimes on second street. I’m not crazy. Black crow. Mr. Aimes on second street. I’m not crazy.*
A mantra, one someone could easily ignore, but those desperate blue eyes, a dream that plays on and on, and a mother who’s willing to do anything to protect her child.
And if I were anyone at all, if I had to choose a name for myself, then I would be my mother’s son.
I may not know what black crow means, or who Mr. Aimes on second street is, but I do know that my mother’s not crazy.
I do know that black magic still flows through her skin the same way it flows through mine, and I do know that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to start using it again.
That maybe this is who I am, who I’ll always be; a high level black mage who’s absolutely *horrendous* at healing spells.
And maybe, it’s time to let the world know that.
Starting with Mr. Aimes on second street.
—
/r/itrytowrite
Edit: grammar | 2021-09-03T08:38:40 | 2021-09-03T07:46:22 | 2,163 | 237 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | Jerik groaned as the cleric patched his wound, a burn on the arm. He wasn't in that much pain to be honest. He was mostly groaning because of the shit show that was the cleric's healing abilities.
He botched healing his burn, he botched healing Mary's stab wound, and he almost botched healing Corians splinter.
Not only could he not heal to save his life, he also couldn't even apologize as he fucked near every attempt at healing someone.
Jerik watched as the rest of his party barricaded the door, the demon they were attempting to kill slamming it's scarlet horns against the door, near getting in.
Finishing the patching up, the cleric helped Jerik up, who instead of thanking him, just grabbed his sowrd
He didn't need to thank that idiot. He neede dto kill that fucking dem-
The door gave in, shattering into a thousand metal shards as it barreled towards the frightened party.
Closer.
Closer still.
Then as its breath singed their hair, the cleric snapped his fingers, reducing the towering demon to a pile of ash.
They turned to the cleric.
"Ho- how the fuck did you just do that?" Jerik was flabbergasted, how the hell did this old ass cleric just kill a demon in the blink of an eye?
"It's nothing, really." The cleric words had a certain softness to it, yet remained cold.
"No, you just killed someone!" Mary shouted, how the hell did this guy just shrug off killing a demon.
The cleric turned to her.
"I'll add it to the list. Not we best get going if we don't want to miss getting back to town in time for collecting our reward." | I told mother, repeatedly, that I didn't want to study dark magic. I wanted to become a healer, I wanted to learn healing spells! But noooo, of course not. "Our family has been black mages for centuries!" She'd say. "You're descended from some of the greatest black mages!" Little did she know I studied white magic in secret, under bed covers late at night at the magic academy. Long past lights out, I poured over ancient tombs I'd stolen from the library in my dorm. The academy was split into two main wings, the left half was for students of black magic only and had a library filled with only black magic books. The right half was for students of white magic, and had a library filled with only white magic books. Students from the dark magic track were not allowed to intermingle with those of the white magic track, and vice versa.
Now I'm a master in black magic, but I managed to teach myself a few white magic spells. I changed my name and became a cleric, but everybody thinks I'm a terrible cleric because I always use the same couple of weak healing spells. But I don't care, I'm just happy to be doing what I've always wanted. When my family found out they threw me out, but I don't care. I live hand-to-mouth from inn to inn but I manage to survive. I just don't want to hurt anyone. That's not me. I hate the thought of using magic to hurt others. Black magic isn't inherently evil, just as white magic isn't inherently good. But black magic harms others, and lends itself more readily to evil. Some of my ancestors were the greatest black mages who ever lived, but they were also vile monsters serving corrupt monarchs and raining down fireballs on innocent peasants. I never want to be like that. I curse the villainous blood that runs through my veins. Black magic isn't inherently evil, but the blood of all the mages who learn it seems to run just a little bit colder. | 2021-09-03T14:49:32 | 2021-09-03T13:22:10 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] “Congratulations on defeating The Dark Lord…” Your mentor and all of your allies suddenly turn their weapons on you, “…but you were meant to be a martyr. Forgive us.” | My companions have betrayed me. It turns out that during the post-victory celebration, they had poisoned my wine.
"I understand. I forgive you. But do let me take some knowledge to the grave - why?"
My old mentor, the elven archer, the youthful priestess and the spry thief seem surprised at my calm yet knowing words.
"The Dark Lord is born from the Abyss and bears its curse... which is passed on to his slayer. If you survive, you will become the Dark Lord in the span of a year... but if you die the world will have peace for a hundred years. Forgive me." I nod.
And that very moment, I attack the old bastard. The distance between us is covered in a single step and my drawn knife cleaves through his head.
If it were the others from my party, they would be impossible to kill so quickly but this bastard was *old*.
After my instantaneous counterkill, three arrows fly at me. Flame burns from my hands as I incinerate the arrows with the wave. Of course the archer would be the only one to fight - the priestess and thief are fleeing already.
"As if I wouldn't detect the poison. What, you didn't expect me to know you bastards were planning to betray me? I am the Hero after all, the best of this era's humanity... not dumb muscle you can fling at the Dark Lord." My boast is answered by a rain of arrows - naturally this long lived elf wouldn't speak a word during battle.
So be it. A fast paced battle of magic and arrows ends with my inevitable victory when I close the distance. After divesting my dead allies of their possessions, I give them a cremation.
Now, only the thief and the priestess remain.
If they manage to get away, the world will know of the Hero falling to evil.
If I manage to get them, the world will know of the Hero and his party sacrificing themselves to defeat the Dark Lord.
Let's go. After saving humanity, I want a fair try at destroying it as well. | "You realize you can't beat me right?" I respond. "You summoned me from my world to solve your world problems. The powers I amassed far exceed yours collectively, and you think you can kill me?"
"You're powers must be returned. Yours and the darklords powers keep this world in balance. If there is an..." Lucille, my lover through out this journey pleaded.
"At this point." I interrupt. "I don't care."
I brace as my allies attack me. I'm ruthless in the defense of my person and exploit what weakness I've noticed throughout our journey.
The fight is short and they're down and disarmed before too long. I hold a blade to my mentors throat. His eyes blaze with anger, but fear skirts around the edges. "You would doom us all?"
"You doomed yourselves." I growl back. "You think, I went into this a blind sheep that would willingly follow your every word. You underestimate me, and my knowledge. You think I'd be dumb enough to let the Darklords power return to the well of magick fron wence it came? I took it for myself."
The audible gasps of shock from my former friends were satisfying to hear.
"But... but why?" Parker, my first friend demanded trying to stand on his weakened leg.
"Because, I wasn't going to let you guys send me back. I wont return to my world where I am nothing." I growled. "I came here with purpose and you think I'd just be content to go back to world that doesn't even know I exist? No... my goal after coming here was to become a legend, a god, and be more than the lowly cashier as McTaco King Jr. In the Box. Having to deal with degenerates who huff their own fumes every day and think their shit don't stink."
I felt the powers in me starting to storm and meld. "Now, I will be the one people respect and look up to." I know the grin on my face was a little manic.
"You've gone mad!!" Lucille said horrified.
"Mad I am not, but I am benevolent." I said acending to the Darklords throne. I sat upon it, back straight. "You may live to tell of my ascension to godhood. This world will remain in my balance and I will see this world run right. But anger me my subjects, and I will craft a new race to oversee you." | 2021-09-12T11:32:03 | 2021-09-12T10:41:01 | 108 | 71 |
[WP] You're the master of the worst weapon, one made as a joke, to be ineffective, hard to wield and a danger to it's user. Just to become good with the weapon takes as long as it would take to master any other. But the thing is, nobody knows how to counter the weapon once you get good enough. | When a warrior reaches the rank of master they get to enter the great vault and pick a legendary weapon. Today was the day I got to pick my legendary weapon. Every weapon had a name, some were recorded in history for all time.
"Take as long as you wish. Today you pick the last weapon you will ever wield. The weapon which you will die holding." The grandmaster advised as he opened the vault. "I will be here when you have made your choice"
I entered the vault, thousands of weapons lined the walls. Gleaming swords, menacing axes, cross bows, spears and many more. None of them spoke to me so I passed them by.
The vault was immense, but past the entrance hall the corridors were less well tread, here the less popular weapons were kept. The unwieldy and hard to master. Yet still I did not find what I was looking for.
I found it in a dark corner, hidden behind a rack of rusted swords. A long steel handle with a chain at one end and at the end of the chain was a hollow iron ball. It was covered in dust.
I brought the weapon back to the grandmaster and was met with a disappointed look. "Many have tried tried to wield that weapon and as many have failed. We had hoped none would ever choose to wield it again. It's inventor was a mad man and it's creator was a fool. Are you sure this is the path you wish to take."
A simple "Yes" was my response. There was no ceremony like was the norm, I simply was shown out of the vault.
From that day on I was shunned by the order, none spared with me. Few even spoke to me, and they were outcasts them selves. Every day I filled the ball with water and trained with the weapon. The slightest jolt would splash water every where so I learnt to swing the ball as smoothly as possible. It took me a year to learn how to swing it in such a way as to not splash myself.
Next I learned how to predict where the water would splash when it hit something, it took me a further four years to master. Finally it took five more years to learn how to splash the water where I wanted it to go.
Now today I am ready. I fill the ball with oil and set it ablaze. None will stand against The Inferno. | "Sword-chucks" the fighter said, everyone laughed. "Sword-chucks", the blacksmith laughed as he made one, half as a joke, half as a challenge. Everyone who saw it laughed. Everyone but the fighter, too dumb to understand why they were not the greatest invention since forever. "Sword-chucks" he said to the guild, everyone laughed, and added them to the list of weapons so everyone could laugh.
And it was a joke for 300 years until everyone forgot it was a joke. And a new generation of pencil pushers took over the guild who had never been in battle. And over the next 100 years "improvements" were implemented in the guild, like the rule that the guild at all times should have a master for every weapon. And the masters would assign a weapon to newcomers. And sword chucks were officially a weapon.
Now 500 years after their invention I'm the 20th fighter assigned to master the sword-chucks or die trying. Die trying like the previous 19 would-be masters. Die trying like the previous 18 misfits and outcasts who were assigned to this in order to get rid of them to keep the guild "racially pure".
But I'm also the first rock troll to join the fighter guild. And the secret to Sword-chucks was having thick armor. The dwarves gladly donated some to avenge their previous failed Sword-chucks masters. And the elves gave me healing potions to avenge *their" failed Sword-chucks masters. And my own healing served me well during the first few months.
And now it's the final test. The last round of a tournament between the different weapon masters. They warned me that "accidents happen" and they couldn't always "stop their weapons" from hitting me, I might die. I smiled and nodded. They were all out for blood. They all tried to kill me. 5 of them died. Turns out that "accidents happen" with Sword-chucks. The previous 19 master's deaths attested to that. And a shield or a sword can't stop a swordchuck wrapping around them and cutting off their wielders heads. Sorry but I can't stop them.
Now I'm facing the final master. The top pencil-pusher. The one man everyone always let's win in order to get political support. I don't do politics. I see him sweating and nervous. Stalling for something. But finally the fight starts. "I know about the poison" I tell him, "it won't do anything to me". He shits his pants. I smile. He holds his staff in front of him shaking. The Sword-chucks wrap around it.
Oops. What an accident. | 2021-10-21T03:48:21 | 2021-10-21T03:02:47 | 1,649 | 499 |
[WP] You look around the lecture hall and notice all the other students have fallen asleep. You look towards the lecturer, who has now stopped talking and is staring straight at you. “I don’t know how you’re still awake, but I guess we do this the hard way.” He says, before pulling out a sword. | Perhaps, under normal circumstances, I would have been scared. I might have pretended to be asleep, going along with what everyone else was doing out of a panicked herd mentality.
But it was finals week. I was halfway through one essay, I'd barely started the other, and I was still trying to remember an entire semester's worth of Early World History. My manager didn't have any sympathy in his cold, shriveled, corporate burger boot licking heart, and gave me extra shifts. Honestly, it was a miracle I made it to class in the first place. Yet there I was, only half asleep, too out of it to pretend otherwise, and rationalizing the event as an annoying prank because I had the cognitive power of a drunk bumblebee.
Professor whatshisname, I never actually remembered it, approached my seat with what I assume in retrospect was a menacing glare. He said something, but I couldn't comprehend it any more than I could figure out why Google docs wasn't working without wifi.
"I'm sorry, professor. Could you repeat that?" I swung my head to look at him, dizziness washing over me.
"I said, we do this the hard way. Now, get out of your seat." His pointed his sword at me.
"...what?"
"Your seat. Out."
I looked around. The lecture hall was large, seats crammed together in rows. I, as always, was in the middle.
"Oh, there's people in the way," it was a sudden revalation to my tired mind that I actually regularly sat in between people, "sorry. One sec."
"No, just, that's too far away. Come here, no, over here." He said.
"Oh, okay. Sorry."
"Just, watch out, don't trip, careful."
"No, I've almost got it. Excuse me, sorry, sorry."
As I bumbled my way out of the row, apologizing to the sleeping students I bumped into, the professor sighed.
"Okay. Here I am."
"Do you even realize what's going on here?" He asked.
"Senior prank?" I replied.
"This is college. Not high-school. No pranks. I have a sword. Unlike the rest, you didn't fall asleep, so I'm going to have to finish you off myself."
"Can I just go to sleep then? I didn't want to be rude, but if it's okay, then I'd really like to."
"You're pretty relaxed for someone being threatened."
"At this point, I'm kinda begging for a hospital stay to give me an extension on my tests and stuff. Or free tuition."
The look of genuine concern on his face betrayed the threat of his sword. "How long has it been since you've slept?"
"Three days, my dude." I said.
"Jesus christ... How the hell didn't you fall asleep when you're like this?"
"My roommate gave me this energy drink cocktail. She calls it the Fuckening. She's kinda bad at names."
"Just... just go to bed. Let's forget this happened. You wouldn't be able to understand this, anyways."
"Can I sleep here? I don't want to walk to my dorm."
"No."
I stumbled to my room, beginning to fear that it was actually a theater class and I was about to fail. I could still hear the professor's voice in my head, echoing. Not because of magic or mind control or anything. I just hadn't slept. I was also hearing the beeping of my alarm the moment I fell into my bed, despite having left my phone in the class. And my backpack, I realized right before I fell asleep.
I woke up to the sight of my belongings. The notifications on my phone alerted me of an email from the professor.
"Health is important, so be sure to get some rest. Don't rely on the 'Fuckening' next time. There's no need to worry about the test. I'll give you an extension. Despite everything, I was also a student a few centuries ago."
I still had questions. But it was finals week. I was halfway through one essay, I'd barely started the other, and I was still trying to remember an entire semester's worth of Early World History. My manager didn't have any sympathy in his cold, shriveled, corporate burger boot licking heart, and gave me extra shifts. Honestly, it was a miracle that I even made it to my next class. | "I'm sorry, David," Dr. Santosh said. "I didn't expect that you'd be the one. I thought I had plenty of time to find you, but it looks like I have miscalculated. I don't suppose you know how to use one of these, do you, boy?"
"W.. what!?" I yelped as he nimbly pulled the sword from its sheath with his left hand and flipped it in the air to grab the blade. He then thrust his arm out with the handle pointed towards me, and I froze.
"Take it. You're going to need it to see."
I was half-way in shock and didn't know what to think, but my instincts somehow kicked in and I grabbed the handle. My hand was shaking like an old Volkswagen Beetle. I didn't know what to do with the sword or how to handle it, but, for some reason, I felt like I could figure it out.
"There's no time to explain the situation, so I'm going to give you the simplest instructions I can," Dr. Santosh said. "Face my direction, do exactly as I say, and don't move away from me no matter how much you want to run. Got it?"
I nodded and stood up nervously. My classmates were still in their chairs. Most had slumped over onto their desks. One girl in the back had fallen off her chair and was snoring on the floor, but otherwise everyone seemed fine.
Dr. Santosh placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and spoke with a kind voice. "You might want to close your eyes for this," he said. "Your first time transporting to The Dark can be a little jarring, but you'll get used to it."
"The dar..." I nearly said before the world turned black.
~~~~~~~~
It was pitch black. I was likely to be eaten by a grue, my brain mused. I'd recently played the 1980's text adventure game, Zork, and I think my brain was trying to focus on anything other than my current situation in order to keep me sane.
"David," Dr. Santosh whispered in the dark. "Welcome to the Dark."
A cool breeze hit my face and I could hear the wind. "W.. where are we?" I asked. Somewhere in the distance I could hear running water, like a brook or a small stream. Some kind of animals were chirping, but in every direction all I could see was complete blackness.
"Oh, God. Am I blind?"
"No, David. You're not blind. You're in a place where no light exists at all. Not a single photon is detectable here. This is a parallel universe that defies physics." Dr. Santosh explained. "We call it The Dark."
"How do I know you didn't just turn the lights off?"
"Clever, indeed," he said. "Do you hear that brook in the distance. Try pointing the sword in that direction."
So, I did. I lifted the sword with both hands and held it perpendicular to my chest. I rotated my body towards the sound of the flowing water.
"Concentrate on that sound, David. But, try to think of the sword as a compass rather than a weapon."
I tried to allow the sword to *find* the location of the water, and as it did so, my vision gradually returned. However, instead of seeing anything, it was my other senses that picked up the brook. I could actually smell the water. I could feel the humidity. The sounds of the brook grew louder and more distinct. I heard a series of something splashing on the surface of the water... a foot? Maybe two feet? No, not just one pair, but several feet walking through the stream creating splashing sounds.
"I can hear it," I said. "I can hear people walking through the stream. I can almost see it happening."
"You are the one I've been searching for, aren't you." Dr. Santosh replied.
"I don't know what you... " something grabbed my leg and yanked me to the ground with a thump. "Ah!"
A blinding sound of what I could only describe as light transformed into a *whoosh* passed inches from my face and whatever had grabbed me had let go. Or was severed.
Dr. Santosh grabbed my arm and picked me up. "This is a dangerous place for us, David," he said. "We must leave. Grab my hand. I will lead you to a place where we can begin your training."
"My... training?"
What the hell had I fallen into? | 2021-12-05T23:01:30 | 2021-12-05T22:14:44 | 59 | 43 |
[WP] The elder gods looks to us the same way we look to cockroachs. What means that they are irrationally scared of us. | “Yeah, you’ve got a nest here,” said Percy the God of Pest Control. “Those are roads which connect all these things that're scattered around,” he pointed to some buildings.
“Are those all filled with… humans?”
“Yep, that’s where they feed and sleep and reproduce.”
Alanna gagged. “Reproduce?! I’m going to be sick.”
“It’s alright, you called us at the right time,” Percy said, floating over to Alanna.
“You don’t understand,” Alanna said. “I’ve been sleeping over this, this nest for hundreds of years! I feel dirty.”
She clicked her fingers and spun into a new outfit: a golden dress with frilled edges, and a crown of platinum studded with gems.
“A hundred years more and they might’ve spotted you. Luckily, the infestation didn’t appear to progress that far.”
Alanna was stunned. “They can see us?”
“When they’re not treated quickly, yeah, some species can develop technology to identify and communicate with us. And then there’s all sorts of issues with eradication. At this stage it's more simple.”
Alanna sighed in relief. “So what now?”
Percy, with a wave of his hand, transported them into his office where he laid out some papers for Alanna to look over.
“Here are the catastrophe plans we offer. A meteor will do the trick, but can do damage to the integrity of your house.”
“What’s this one?” Alanna was pointing to a picture of a nuclear warhead.
“That’s a fun one. We actually let the humans progress a bit further than where they are now, and with a little nudging they irradicate themselves. Some customers like that, helps ease the moral burden. But it does create a bit of a smell.”
“I need them gone today. I’m hosting a party this evening to mark my return to Elder God society. I’ve been asleep a long time, you know.”
“Have you now? Very nice. Well then what you’d want is probably the meteor.”
“How bad will the damage be?”
“Usually minimal, but we can’t guarantee that.”
“Fine,” Alanna said, taking out her checkbook. “What do I owe you?”
Percy waved his hand again and the office was gone. They were back hovering over the human nest. It was really chugging along quite marvelously. Skyscrapers were going up.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. This looks like a good nest, I’d like to study the remnants after it’s been destroyed, if that’s alright.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Then I’ll say 75% regular price and I can keep any archeological finds from the nest. Deal?”
Alanna shook on it. Twenty minutes later, Percy unleashed a meteorite that crashed into the nest and obliterated an entire human civilization.
As he scraped up what was left of the humans, he noticed something.
A titanium engraving made by the humans. It was a picture of Alanna sleeping. Inscribed underneath it was a message: “We can’t wait to meet you, Lord Creator. We love and worship you. Forever in your glory, Mankind.”
Percy wiped a tear from his eye. Most Elder Gods couldn’t stand human infestations, but sometimes they really ought to give them a chance. Humans can be so adorably sincere.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr |
Never before in R’lyeh’s slimy, grimy, and unceasing eons, had a pest as disgusting as a human infiltrated it.
But despite the sunken city’s remote location, the humans had come. Even Great Cthulhu, now sitting petrified ph'nglui h' wgah'nagl, knew that it was inevitable. No amount of repellent and deterrents—sunken ships, sirens, or human spray—could stop the irritant that was the two-legged plague.
“Byatis,” Cthulhu whispered, a mere tremor in the Earth’s crust. “Do you see that… human?!”
Byatis, squatting like an overweight frog, scoffed.
“Human? There’s no way. We keep this place so miry, there’s no way—”
And his sole eye settled on the disgusting biped.
And nothing in this world was prepared for his quivering mass jolting away at lightning speed, his one eye swivelling hysterically while his beard of gross serpents flapped like hummingbird wings. The shriek that emanated from his was so terrible and unknowable, a vile auditory poison that would worm its way into a human mind and destroy it from within.
Cthulhu’s imposing figure stood still, bouts of fear striking the Elder One like so many harpoons. Every arm, every tentacle, and each wing froze like time consumed by a black hole, and an earthquake-low, dreadful whine seeped out from his abominable mouth.
The human chittered and chattered, its revolting mouth gabbing up and down. Both Cthulhu and Byatis felt the intense need to puke.
“You! Byatis! Go and whack it!” Cthulhu cried.
“What do you mean? Hell no! I’m not going anywhere near that thing!” Byatis moaned. “You do it! Go hit it!”
The human tilted its head, and started clambering towards Cthlhu.
“Oh god, it looks so disgusting,” Cthulhu’s horrific tentacles waved frantically as he backed up and bumped heavily into the table, the pot of seaweed tea splashing onto the floor. Out of desperate necessity, the Great One grabbed the empty vessel, smashing it down with a force so abrupt that it caused an immediate tsunami above R’lyeh.
The human was utterly broken, bent more out of shape than a toothpick after Byatis was done with it. But it refused to die, croaking a few final, unintelligible words, before finally expiring.
“You throw it out,” Cthulhu said.
“What?” Byatis began to protest.
“You didn’t do anything except shiver! Get that thing out of my sight,” Cthulhu said firmly.
“Fine,” Byatis grumbled, gingerly moving over to pick up the corpse, quickly flicking it out into the open sea.
“How did that thing get in here anyway?” Cthulhu said. “I’ve sealed everything!”
“I’ve heard rumblings in the realm above,” Byatis whispered. “They said the humans… evolved. Ever wondered why lesser ships pass by now?”
Cthulhu shook his great head.
“They have planes, now,” Byatis said, grave as a tombstone. “Mechanical wings, that enable to fly.”
“By Azatoth. What do you mean, humans can fly?”
And on that day, the two primordial horrors felt fear seep into their gloomy heart of hearts, like dark sediment trickling into the deepest ocean bed.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-01-03T09:27:37 | 2022-01-03T09:04:46 | 1,225 | 335 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe? | Jackson Steelflex was just an ordinary kid, but he isnt. You see, he also has a dark secret. He is an international spy and likes killing people with the coolest gadgets. One time he even killed a man with only my bare hands.
Somewhere in the world there is a building with guards . It was night time and they had kidnapped Jackson Steelflexes girlfriend Jessica. Jason knew what he had to do. He breaks in and uses his machine gun to inconstipate the guards and then he runs down the hall. But it’s a trap! Spikes came out of the ceiling toward Jackson and he has nowhere to run. That’s when he activated his special ability and turns into steel.
He breaks the spikes and saves Jessica. “Thank you for saving me you’re so brave” says Jessica.
“Thank you my girlfriend “ Jackson says.
Then he kisses her with his mouth and they escape.
Edit: this hurt to write. You’re welcome . | I stepped out of the car like an alpha lion on the hunt, I was hot shit, my drip was hella soothin, and the bitches were flocking to me as I made my way across the courtyard and into the party, where I'd light it up with my electric personality. People kept talking to me, but I stayed hella quiet and sipped on the xo91 gold as i am eyeing the bitch of this asshole bitch cunt milksop mafakka I remember from back in the hard old days in Redwood 1995, you'd best keep your fucking minidisc-player close player omnomsayin, cuz cuz got strapped when he was a youngin, back when we was both white suburban lil hoppers from rural america with steady income parents and happy childhoods, all that lit shit you know?
I saw Tiffanys legs from underneath my gucci gold tinted sunglasses and soared over to her, immediately catching everybodys affectious attention. Everyone in here wanted to fuck me, and who could blame them? Tiffany spoke but I was busy admiring my adoration. It was truly beautiful to be me. The shot must have been instant, I never even saw it coming? Who would want me to go out like pac?
&#x200B;
I am sorry. | 2022-08-19T17:57:14 | 2022-08-19T17:37:22 | 152 | 51 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe? | It was a hellish day, in a hellish month, in a hellish year.
My mom forgot to wash my favorite purple sweater, and my dad had the audacity to serve me lukewarm pancakes before school.
So much for my senior year. Whatever.
But things actually got interesting when I arrived at school. No one said hello, which I preferred. Except for the new boy.
He was over six and a half feet tall, with beautifully dark skin, gleaming white teeth, and smoldering golden eyes. The well-toned muscles seemed to burst out of his t-shirt, and his black leather pants showed off his assets to great effect.
I watched him pin Tony, a rather arrogant dweeb, against his own locker. With a phrase spoken in an exotic language, I watched the loser crumble to ash in his meaty fist. God I wish that were me.
And as if He heard me, the new boy sauntered over. He leaned against the wall. I could smell his musk—it was like smoke from a gasoline-fueled bonfire.
“Hello there,” he said with a voice taut with mysterious tension. I felt my cheeks flush bright red.
“H-hi.” I stammered back, then regained my composure. “You new around here?”
The boy grinned as he flicked jet-black hair out of his face. “You could say that. Name’s Daemon, by the way.” | “It’s Friday..Friday..FRIDAY OOO!” Rebecca started with enthusiasm and ended in a happy shout.
Angela chimed in with stunning speed, as if she already knew the conversation was going to take place “We gotta get down on the weekend!”
“Wait..is it actually Friday already..??” Chris asked while his dumbfounded face began to change to excitement.
“Ya dummy! Anyway, it’s time to head to school, let’s all get to the convertible!” Gabby answered, and they all happily strolled out the door, nearly starting to skip.
Rebecca hopped into the drivers seat while the rest took places after a brief fight over shotgun.
“Everyone ready!?” Asked Rebecca to all her friends. Nearly all in sync, the friends answered with “YA!” and off she went.
The convertible had come to a cruise, their hair all flapping in the wind, Rebecca loudly and cheerfully exclaimed “Friday! Then Saturday, Sunday..YA!” And it almost sounded like she was singing it. “Wow I didn’t know the order! Thanks Rebecca!” Chris shouted back. “Ya! It’s going to be partying and partying YA!” Cheered Rebecca, and not long after a “YA!” came from Angela and Gabby too.
Chris was still comprehending that it really was Friday already after all when the car started pulling into the school, maybe he would enjoy school today! Another line came from Rebecca, nearly singing again “Let’s get it done! For the week-eh-end!!” She pulled the car into the usual parking spot, and they all got out together, walking towards the school entrance.
One final shout from Rebecca “The weekend!” And as if rehearsed, Angela and Gabby added in unison “YA!” | 2022-08-19T19:12:52 | 2022-08-19T18:51:48 | 65 | 28 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe? | A chilled wind rolled in from the north. Night began to fall on the small town. An army of darkness marched towards the village blood lust on their mind. One lone warrior stood to defend the weak and helpless. They drew their glowing red sword, and with a single strike fell the evil forces.
"Who are you?" Asked a dying evil doer.
"Amanda Nightingale!" She said revealing her perfect flowing blonde hair, and radiant heterochromatic eyes. One an emerald green, the other a brilliant sapphire blue. Her face was rather plain to say the least.
"Amanda!" Two men called out, her friends Alex Evermore, a tall dark haired rugged rouge, and Andrew Darkstar the queens guard Sweden to protect her.
As Amanda came too the dream was quickly fading.
(First writing prompt how'd ai do?) | My name is Drake Silverheart and this is my story.
I go to Meadow Heights, a Christian school ever since my parents died and my uncle started taking care of me. The guys in my school would often make fun of me for wearing all black and being an orphan and not being a Christian but I did not care because I knew they simply lacked the intelligence to know what I knew. I knew that I was enlightened by my intelligence and that God wasn't real. I sometimes felt sorry for them but then they would belittle me and I would no longer have mercy upon them.
But it all changed when Brad, the biggest of the bullies, tried to bully me. He tried to punch me but I blocked his punch because my uncle was in the military and taught me to be a fighter and often said I was the most talented fighter he'd ever seen. I moved faster than Brad could anticipate and with a single flick of my hand, I smashed his nose into the wall. That's when Mrs Krepkins, the headmistress, came and took us both away for detention. I told her to fuck off and got extra time in detention but I saw several of the students clap.
And that's when it all changed. | 2022-08-19T19:57:54 | 2022-08-19T19:13:09 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees. | My starship hovered somewhere between the moon and the planet formerly known as Earth. We, the Caretakers, were unsure what the new sentient species had named it. After the humans had driven themselves extinct, ignoring warning after warning, a new and different species had risen. We had expected perhaps dolphins, or dogs, to come forward, but never trees.
Stepping into my planetary transport and closing my eyes, I waited for the shivery twist in the center of my gut that signified the shift from ship to surface. Soft sounds of birds and small animals surrounded me, as gentle light pressed against my eyelids. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes, to find myself in the center of a giant forest. Trees larger than I'd ever seen before towered around me, creating an almost solid canopy of leaves.
Shifting my awareness inwards, I sent out a peaceful thought on every frequency I could think of. As most species that rose to sentience in the Second Era, the Trees would likely be telepathic. A sort of pinging sound, that was not actually audible echoed across a long disused frequency. It was a questioning sound, something that asked what I was, asked what I wanted, without using any words.
I sent a calm response, telling the Trees that I was just here to visit. All I wanted was to walk around the forest—if that was permitted—and see what had happened, how things were now. There was a strange silence at my words, but all around me, the Trees rustled, the branches moving in strange shapes. Then, again without words, they gave permission and a warning. Do not take from the Forest. Do not hurt the Forest. And do not bring the Fire to the Forest.
Acquiescing, I began my walk, marvelling at the forest that surrounded me. My people had been worried that such large creatures rising to sentience would threaten the galactic stage at some point. But it had been thousands of years, millions, and there had been no sign of anger or striving to get to the stars. The Trees had simply spread across the surface of the globe, only stopping at the oceans.
Around my feet, small animals darted, having lost the fear my arrival had caused. There was no strange acrid smell that I had come to associate with the planet during the long years humans had lived here. No, all around there was simply the smell of earth and green. I sent out a questioning thought, asking the Trees if they ever wanted to reach for the stars, to leave the planet. They sent back a simple question in return, a quiet one.
What are stars?
It was something I'd never questioned, that every race knew what the stars were; could see the heavenly bodies. And yet, the Trees had no eyes, had no way to know anything but their own star, the one formerly named Sun. Standing there, feeling them waiting for an answer, feeling the peace around me, I lied. I told them stars were nothing important, that it was not necessary for them to know. And they accepted the lie, these creatures who had never known anything but the truth they shared amongst their great network.
As I pressed the controller on my wrist and waited for the transport shift, I sighed. This place out of all the planets in all the galaxies was perhaps the best of us. They didn't want more, or less than they had. This world was finally, finally at peace. As I keyed their status as a protected planet into the computers I smiled. And with this designation, they would never again need to know about war or suffering.
They were, and would always be, at peace. | They said that the future was suppose to be bright and silver, a world where people would know peace. Flying cars, no wars, people living deep into their 100's. A world without borders, a time of space exploration, a time where humanity will reach its potential and then surpass it in spades.
Thats what the elders said, before the Green.
I slowly look outside, the sea of endless green under a early morning's dawn. The ruins of the tower I live in was once one of many that showed the power and greed of humanity. I have seen pictures of these towers being taller, larger then the one I am in now. But they are all gone now, only those with trees supporting its old stone walls remain.
The elders tell us that the world changed after the Third World War. Where humans fought with dark practices, trying to gain an advantage over one another. Some nations turned to bigger guns when their bullets needed a bigger kick. Others turned for armor, to protect from the endless steel rain. But one country turned to fantasy and religion, seeking out a call for a hero to create; their own personal gods.
Elder K, as she refers to herself, was one such seeker. She was given to us by the Green, after she sought mercy for her sins. She will not tell us what she did, but honestly, I am afraid to ask. For her sins, her arms and legs were taken, so that she could not flee. Her eyes were taken, so that she would be denied the beauty of the world she destroyed. But she was given a seed, implanted in her heart, to ensure she will live forever, to tell us young ones the lessons that we must know. Our history we must repent.
For from the small forgotten country arose three Heroes; The first was Torg, the Terror. From his hands came flames, from his breath a frosted death. Everything he touched, died. He was in constant pain, a side effect of his own power. Relief was only given in his quest of destruction, toppling great armies, drowning cities in flames, and laughing over the cries of the dead and dying. When the Green arosed, he fought for 30 days and 30 nights, until his was silenced. The Green keeps him alive, but in a deep slumber.
The second was Apex, the Animal. They were given the blood of every animal, of every species and family, and from their blood they could alter themselves, and any that they touched were changed as well. Apex tried to convert humanity, trying to save it from its self by changing it into a peaceful mixed species. But the world did not see a change of peace; they saw monsters, and struck back. By the time the Green arrived, Apex had taken their followers to a new world, one where the Green leaves them be.
Finally, the third, the one we now obey; The Green. She gave up Her name, for She no longer needs it. She never speaks, for She finds it meaningless to talk. From Her feet sprouts endless roots and vines, securing Her at the Heart of the Endless Forest. Every plant is connected to Her, they are Her eyes, Her ears, Her flesh and Her mind. For every broken twig, She feels as real as a broken finger. For every ember that burns, She too burns. But despite the pain, She broke free of the little garden She was born in, and found a world begging for help, begging to be saved from its dreaded infection.
And thus the Green saved the world from humanity.
My tribe is one of the last few human remnants, the ones who made a quiet peace with the Green. We are only permitted to live by the fruits and harvest that the Green trees provides. And for Her mercy, we protect Her and Her trees from those who seek vengeance, from those that believe in the old future. I pity them, for they seek a future of blood red and dull silver.
I smile. Such a wasted dream of boring colors. I think I prefer the future of Green. | 2022-08-27T07:03:58 | 2022-08-27T06:16:04 | 519 | 60 |
[WP] My job as a demon is to take requests from those who summon me in return for their souls. It's amazing! But it's always the same requests. That's why I promised myself I wouldn't eat the soul of the one to give me a brand new request. Nothing new. Until today. "Can you be my girlfriend?" | I stood there for a moment, trying to fathom what had just happened.
“You want… the perfect woman?”
“No I want you.”
He was imperceptibly shaking, trying to hide it. I admit, this man had me curious.
“You want me? To be your girlfriend”
“Yes, you, girlfriend, me”
I flashed him a smile that had captured many before him.
“Ok how about this, let’s play a game. If you win I’ll be your girlfriend. If you lose I take your soul.”
“What’s the game?”
“Your choice”
The man was shaking more, obviously panicking now. He furrowed his brow in thought. I took the time to look around the room. Not a mess but not tidy, blank walls, a pile of clothes on a chair. How boring for one so interesting. There was something strange about this space however. Something I could not place.
“How about an arm wrestle?”
I nearly laughed in his face.
“A contest of strength? With a demon? Are you sure human? I was beginning to enjoy this but it seems I overestimated your intelligence”
“I’m sure” he said, now visibly shaking.
“As you wish” I held out my hand. “Put your fingers in my palm”
He did as instructed and I chanted the pact. The flare of colour was always a joy to see. When the pact was sealed I pulled a table from my home into this space.
“Shall we?” I asked, slamming my arm onto the table. A little intimidation couldn’t hurt. The man slowly placed his arm next to mine.
“Whenever you’re ready” I said. There was a long pause while the man drew in a deep breath. Then he started pushing with all his might. It was amusing to see him strain against me. I leaned forward a little and smiled at him again, simply holding our arms in the middle. Suddenly the man gave me a sly grin, pushed himself forward and kissed me. Before I had time to process what had happened he had used all of his strength to push my arm down. He leant back and looked at my stunned face.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” | Malina looked down at the... *child*(comparatively speaking)... knelt before her and the summoning circle he had used to bring her to his plane of existence. She raised an eyebrow, her glowing yellow/orange eyes peering curiously at him through the awkward silence as he started to sweat. If the candles were still lit, they would have concealed the glow from the golden runes covering the purple skin of her body, but they had been blown out as she emerged from the portal.
"I beg your pardon." She said, looking down at him.
He adjusted the kneck of his t-shirt before repeating himself this time with a lot less confidence. "C-can you be my girlfriend?"
She sighed, a smirk upon her face as she slowly stepped around him, looking him over as he nervously watched her. He was overweight and out of shape... needed a shower... and a proper skin care regime for the acne on his face. If she didn't know any better he would put on a fedora and greet her with a 'm'lady'. But he seemed like a well intentioned boy.
"And what do you have to offer me, boy? Your soul? Two years in service as my pet?"
"H-how about my first-born?"
Malina chuckled softly as she heard his offering. He had a long way to go before he would get one of them. "That's a really hefty price to pay, and who's to be sure you'll get one, hmm~?" She teased him
"What if it's your child too?"
She thought for a bit. It was tempting, and she could use an apprentice. Said apprentice being her own child would make it easier. And so she grinned.
"I will be your girlfriend until you provide me with your firstborn, and if you fail to provide me with one your soul belongs to me for all eternity. Deal?" She says, offering her hand.
He thought for a bit, but he was desperate. And so he grabbed her hand, and felt a slight, tingly burning sensation as he said the word "Deal."
Malina grinned as her body shifted in color to a fair, human shade, and her denonic features seemed to slowly melt away, leaving her standing before him in a black dress. "Good. Now we have a lot of work to do on you before you can even think of granting me that first born." She said, as she leaned down and stroked the side of his face. An apprentice or a pet, she literally couldn't loose. | 2022-09-09T20:19:57 | 2022-09-09T19:31:28 | 56 | 22 |
[WP] Suddenly, everyone on Earth becomes immortal, free from physical injury or disease. Except for one person. | The sealed chamber outside of the glass cube opened and another swath of visitors entered, with cameras ready. Mark watched idly as they swarmed around the railed off laser-line fence that protected his glass cube. Several kids tested the fence and their hands were incinerated. They laughed at each other while their hands regrew.
Mark kept flipping channels- nothing on but mutilation game shows: who could stand under the largest pile-up of cars, who could take the most stabs to the heart, etc. This world had become far too gruesome for Mark, which- he supposed, was why he was in the glass cage. Some tourist threw a bomb into the crowd and it blew apart limbs as people laughed and cajoled the bomb thrower outside of his cube.
The ticker around his cube read “The last mortal man” and displayed facts about his heart-rate, his body temperature, what type of air he was breathing and other incredibly uninteresting facts that seemed to fascinate the larger whole of the immortal population. Sometimes he felt trapped here in the Smithsonian, like another museum relic, but then- the curators had been able to protect him from the unadulterated chain of violence from the outside world, and he appreciated that.
When he got up and drank a beer from the fridge, one of the people on the outside of the glass cube yelled at him:
“You’re not supposed to do that, it’ll kill you!” Mark smiled wide at the nervous young girl and slugged the beer down his throat as fast as he could. Then he grabbed his heart and made his eyes bulge wide, dropping to the floor and convulsing. Everyone in the room started crying and bowing as they watched his body convulse. After a solid minute of this, Mark’s head popped up smiling, and everyone in the room laughed. | "Christina, you get dressed right now, the Ceremony Of The Innocent is starting in 25 minutes. You are lucky it is starting right outside our villa, young lady!" A middle-aged, newly shaven tall pale man stood at the door, covered from toe to crown in vibrant robes, with his young daughter in his eyes. She simply was not listening to him. This Ceremony, which celebrated the yearly anniversary of the immortal gifting of the Gods was especially celebrating Brian Underwood, or *Elonaq Munasota* as he has come to be called.
Ninety-eight years ago today it happened. Some retreated into temples for answers, and others rioted, burned the great temples of our notable cities. It is now finally commonly believed that God(s) lost hope in us, and did not want to care for us, so he or them, in his/their *wisdom* made all of us, every single one.. immortal. Unable to gain horrid and common diseases alike, and without the plaque of any injury.
"Father, why is it called 'The Ceremony Of The Innocent', how do we know he is-"
"You will **not** blaspheme in my house. Go, do as I told you".
It took us four months to discover one was unlike the rest. Brian Underwood, Scottish-American who lived happily in South Boston with his wife and three children. Immediately people believed him to be the amalgamation of The Gods themselves. Everything was switched, mortality was now holiness.
With the concentration of the best medicine and scientists all over the world Brian has been able to live to be one-hundred and twenty years old. Many believe we should let him pass on, others want to try harder to make him live forever. If he dies, as most point out, he will be the only one from these two centuries and centuries/millenniums to come who will be with God, or as some others see it, The Gods.
The ceremony began. | 2013-12-10T11:59:25 | 2013-12-10T10:53:20 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Write something with a twist that I really should've seen coming
| "I can't believe you're going to do this..." he wept, looking into the eyes of the man about to kill him. "I trusted you, I did everything you said!". The man stared back, full of emotion and yet, an unwavering determination shown across his thin lips. His reply hissed through them like steam escaping a pipe. "You did everything I said, and that's why I have to do this. You're the loose end, the final regret... the only thing that can lead them to me." He raised the pistol and placed it against the side of Marcus' head. Marcus took a deep sigh, one he thought was brave but in his heart, it wasn't. He put his other hand against the mirror and stared at his killer... "Do it!" and they pulled the trigger. | Jack opened the briefcase and ran his fingers through the bills, caressing Benjamin Franklin’s tattered face.
“I see you have it,” whispered Michael. Michael was wearing blue jeans, a red and white flannel shirt, and grey sneakers. His blonde beard glowed in the black night of a San Francisco alley. He was a short and skinny man, just above five feet. When Michael was nervous, he would incessantly scratch his right hand--leaving red marks and scratches. Michael’s hobbies consisted of tea making and crossword puzzles. He always kept a pen in the left pocket of his shirt, and his mind was already racing to solve the next puzzle.
As Jack handed the 3,000 dollars to Michael, a pen fell out of his pocket. He leaned down to get it. He noticed his hand was red, and wondered why. Before he had time to ponder the scratches on his hand, he gave the briefcase to Michael.
But Michael stood motionless. Jack was silent. They both stared at themselves through each other. Only *one* shadow stood in this alley. The capsule with the LSD was empty.
| 2014-01-21T13:03:39 | 2014-01-21T13:03:03 | 68 | 17 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | Dear Sir,
This letter is to inform you that one Randy Payne, of 530 Linden Lane, Harrisburg PA, has filed a form 839 (y) - Intent to Murder against you on June 24th, 2016. The Intent to Murder has been approved and is valid from your receipt of this letter today until the 31st of September this year. Please review the FAQ section below about what actions you may take should you wish not be murdered. Please also note that our records indicate that you yourself were approved for a form 839 (y) in November of 2015 against one Rachel Payne, which you carried out on the 26th of that month. As you know, this waives your right to self defense should someone attempt to carry out an 839 (y) against you at any time and you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for any unapproved killings.
For further information regarding this matter, please see the FAQ below, or visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim.
**Frequently Asked Questions**
* *I do not want to be murdered, what are my options?*
Many people do not wish to be murdered and seek to evade the intentions of their murderer. This survival instinct is only human, and should not cause alarm. If you wish to prevent your murder, it is recommended that you file a form 839 (y) against your intended murderer and attempt to face them in a duel. Please note that if you have filed a form 839 (y) at any point in the past, you must wait 6 months after the expiration of that form to file a new 839 (y) against a different individual and 1 year to file a new 839 (y) against an individual you have attempted to murder before. In the event that you have filed a form 839 (y) and successfully dispatched your intended victim, you are no longer eligible to commit murder.
* *Can I hide?*
While you may hide from a murderer, please be advised that there is nothing preventing an intended murderer with a valid form 839 (y) finding you. Some individuals have attempted to flee to foreign countries, with various degrees of success. However, your travel will be recorded by the State Department in a publicly accessible database. If you wish to plan travel to a country that does not honor form 839 (y), please find a list of non-participating sovereign states at www.doj.gov/rtm/victim
* *What if my murderer is not successful*
If, for whatever reason, your intended murderer does not fulfill the lethality requirements of form 839 (y) (Section 3.5 - Lethality and brutality of methods,) within the allowed timeframe, they are free to file a new form 839 (y) against you after 1 year has passed. Please note that extraneous and repeated filing of a form 839 (y) against an individual without significant action towards their demise is considered harassment. If you feel that an individual is filing forms 839 (y) against you without actual intent to murder, you may attempt to get a restraining order issued against them.
* *The person who filed against me is an employee, am I within my rights to fire them?*
You are legally protected from a wrongful dismissal case if an employee has at any time filed a form 839 (y) against you or anyone else associated with your company. Please visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim for information on preventing a murder on company property.
We hope this letter has been informative and helpful. If you wish to leave feedback, please send an email to victimfeedback@doj.gov | I released a deep sigh as I lifted the still smoking barrel of my handgun to my lips, giving it a brief kiss. It was, by far, the most sound investment I'd ever made. After placing it on the table and stepping over the would-be assassin's body I approached the closet nearest my door to don my jacket: the black leather, I had decided two days ago when I received the notice that yet another would be coming to make an attempt on my life. At least with this one I'd had an idea as to when he'd be coming, and the timing couldn't be any more perfect. However, I had to keep my priorities in mind. I pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Julie, my girlfriend. She had been on edge since I received the notice and she always hated it when I forced her to stay away from me until it was dealt with. I approached the desk and began to scan over the other document I'd received two days prior as the rings began to come across the line. I couldn't even begin to guess how many times I'd read it already, but one more time couldn't hurt.
*The selected individual will be notified once approval has been received. If you opt in, you may be notified via SMS when they have been informed.*
Two rings, and then her voice came over the phone as she answered. I could hear the relief in her voice as I continued scanning. "Is it done? Is it over? Are you alright?"
*Once you receive notice that the individual has been notified you are free to proceed with any methodology you see fit.*
"I'm fine, not even a scratch this time. I told you these morons don't stand a chance. Came crashing through the door, caught him with the hollow points as soon as he stepped around the corner."
"You were worried about this one. I could tell."
*However, you maintain liability for any damage caused to privately owned property.*
"That's why I rushed him. Didn't want him to have time to plan. Seems to have worked. How's my son doing?"
*The individual indicated may defend him or herself using any means legally available.*
"He's scared, but I'm sure he'll be much better once I give him the news."
*You may not kill others who attempt to defend the individual you have selected. They retain their rights to defend the individual and will not face sentencing for attempting to stop you if they are present at the time of the attempt.*
"Good." I put down the document, turning my attention to my computer monitor. A few clicks and I reached a map. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I could almost see the little red dot pacing back and forth within the apartment less than 15 minutes away. Checking my watch, I saw that it was now six o'clock PM. Her voice came over the phone again, "You have to do this. This is three times. As soon as she gets another boyfriend she's going to try and convince him, too." I released a deep sigh before responding, "I know. I can see her at home now." Standing up, I approached the corpse on my living room floor and removed his phone from his pocket. I glanced over his messages, paying careful attention to his format and spelling. I had to do this just right. I could hear the remorse in Julie's voice as she spoke. "I'm sorry you have to do this." Again stepping over the corpse I headed back to the bedroom to grab my rifle, texting from the dead man's phone along the way.
*its done showing police permit now ur son wasnt here*
I removed the rifle from the closet and pulled the bolt, chambering a round. I hadn't answered her, she knew I was dreading this. "Just remember, you're doing the right thing for your son."
*o thank god ur alright. we can pick him up from his bitch tomorrow. dinner to celebrate?*
"I know. I'll call you when it's done."
*good idea meet outside in 30* | 2014-03-17T09:31:02 | 2014-03-17T06:28:23 | 143 | 17 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence. | I adored her. She was at once the most perfect and the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in my life. Even though she was sleeping now, I could not stop looking at her face, and thinking about how it trusted me. How my power over her life was complete. And not merely because of the ties that held her arms to the ominous machinery. Or because she was at the crux of life and death, and I myself had put her there, hardly knowing what I’d done. Even though I was in more pain than she was, and even though she would never know, I felt my power over her surging through me like a curse and a blessing. Even though it was only these terrible machines that kept her delicate body from fleeing me, far far away, almost to another world. I needed to possess her. I laid my hand upon her mechanical prison.
My newborn daughter woke then, and began to whimper inside the humming plastic incubator. | He-tay olice-pay ficer-ofay as-way tanding-say, ilent-say. t-Iay as-way ayay old-cay orning-may, nd-ay he-tay orning-may ush-ray as-way eginning-bay, ringing-bay he-tay peeders-say ith-way t-iay.
t-Iay nly-oay ook-tay n-ay inute-may r-oay o-say efore-bay ayay usty-ray tation-say agon-way lasted-bay ast-pay ur-oay ero-hay, locking-cay n-ay stounding-aay inety-nay ine-nay iles-may er-pay our-hay.
he-Tay fficer-oay uickly-qay ulled-pay t-iay ver-oay, trolling-say o-tay ts-iay indow-way efore-bay earing-hay -
"Et tu requisisti in me, non potest; Quia rex sum ego civem!"
e-Hay eplied-ray ack-bay ithout-way ayay oment-may o-tay hink-tay,
"Meus via."
The sovereign citizen gasped before shouting, "PIG LATIN!"
| 2014-04-11T07:04:01 | 2014-04-11T06:04:08 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] You are a sock and today is laundry day. Everything is going well until you lose sight of your matching partner.
Looking for something along the lines of why socks sometimes go missing. | "Ahhh! Laundry day! Time to party! I'm gonna get wasted on tide today! boy last week I was so hung over I didn't leave the drawer for like a week! I wonder if Joe's coming too, I mean last month we tumbled like a motherfucker! It was cra-zy!
Hmm... This drum is rather different, Adam changed the washing machine! Finally! I hope the motor rocks the stage. Hey Boxer! Can I have two shots of tide?"
"Oh Hi! my name is Bra, I don't know any Boxer"
"..."
"And we don't serve tide here, we have Cheer"
"Cheer? What's that?"
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"Of course I am! Me and Joe, we belong to Adam"
" Who’s Joe?"
"Joe is my pal! We’ve been together for 10 years now!"
"And where is he?"
"He likes hiding under beds, He'll be here soon, or next week. He doesn't have the liver he once had, can’t take two tumbles a month"
"Buddy, I hate to break it to you, but you're on Mandy's washing machine. And Mandy **always** checks under the bed"
"But... then..."
"Then it means He left with Adam when they stayed over and you behind."
"I'll have a Cheer then. Make it a double"
| "Ron? Ron? Where are you Ron?!"
Roger, also known by "left sock" had a deep seated connection to his counter part Ron. They'd been together for years, right from the moment the came off the factory line, stitched together by a little Thai girl. They'd been packaged, mailed over seas and bought by a lovely young man by the name of Douglas, but today.. today was the first time Doug had mis sorted the two and Roger was in disarray.
He'd been crammed into the laundry basket with Doug's other clothing, and Ron was so where to be seen. The rummaging of Doug's hand swept through the laundry basket, digging through and piling items into the washer. Without Ron by his side, Roger would surely fray under the pressure of the spinning turbine, the vicious soap and water that the washing machine possessed. It was Roger's least favorite part about each week, after coming off the sweaty feet of their owner, the two of them would be safely tossed into the laundry basket, and Ron would always consul him. He'd been walked over his entire life, but Ron.. Ron made that life worth living.
Being clothing apparel wasn't easy, and suffocating against a shoe soul and Doug's foot wasn't the extravagant life you'd expect. Not like boxers.. Man, especially the pair Doug's girlfriend always wore when she cam ever. Those boxers we're lucky.. But RON! Where had he gone?1 Was he okay? Would they ever be reunited...?
The water started cascading down and the turbine started spinning.. Roger knew.. Today was his last day.
| 2014-05-27T14:14:29 | 2014-05-27T13:46:35 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc. | Perhaps he had never truly realized, until that moment, the depthless gloom of his fields. The skies were overcast, devoid of color, clouded by permanent mist - no spark or sign of the heavens' warming light to sweep away the shadows. He had never realized just how quiet it all was: his realm was embalmed with a deadly stillness, with no birdsong to break the silence of the grave.
The barrenness had never bothered him. He had always believed himself content with his place in the world, had borne his role with perfect stoicism, until she broke through the gloom and cast light upon the gray. He should have averted his eyes: an eternity spent in the mists had made him unused to the kind of brightness that poured from her white limbs and cascaded, like some divine melody, from her very core. Her song, as she gathered flowers in her mother's field, surpassed the sweetest of harps. The sight and sound of her filled him with a disturbing urgency. He knew, from the moment he set eyes on her, that the silence of his kingdom would be unbearable. She was the only spark of light in an endless dusk, and he knew that he must have her.
For the briefest moment he was filled with self-contempt. How could he lure a creature so divine, a daughter of light and laughter, into the lands of the dead? How could he condemn her to an eternity of gray, to fields where no flowers bloomed, where only echoes carried in the mists? But another glimpse of her dispelled his remorse. A king, after all, deserved a queen, and eternity was far too long to spend in darkness. | My job required me to be here, I never wanted to, it suffocated me. This place became the worst cage of all and I had to do something to be free, even if my boss killed me in the process or in the aftermath.
I never liked to be the middle manager of so many people. People are dumb. They say they want freedom, but none of them have the decency to be responsible enough once they get it.
But then there was the time when he set me free, I finally had a choice. I felt very strange with myself when I decided to stay, when I decided not to take the next step. At first it was a bit of fear of change, but soon I realized that I had a higher purpose, people were lost and I had a freedom and a means to show them the way to peace, to harmony, to a place where their stupid decisions would not lead them to self-destruction.
At first I tried to reason with them, to make them see their behavior was their doom but they are short-sighted, selfish, dumb... like animals.
Then it dawned on me. With my new given freedom I was able to make them understand, with a bit of me in them. It felt great, have my consciousness expanded and I finally decided: they should all become me.
If everyone was able to see what I see, this would have not been necessary. But they don't, and I continued, absorbing everyone and everything into what I am today. A full society within myself. No wars, no disagreements, the properties of everyone and no internal struggle.
He has just arrived to this place to our final confrontation, here I should absorb him too and I will make him understand. There should be just one of us so I can be the greatest society of history of man and machines. Here he comes...
... *"Mr. Anderson ... it ends tonight, I have foreseen it"*
| 2014-06-20T07:37:41 | 2014-06-20T06:57:06 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You're a human trader for the intergalactic slave market. Advertise to buyers why they should buy human instead of another species. | Alright look, I'm not gonna lie to you: Humans are tricky. They're weak, slow, and for all that's holy they love to complain - but that's not why you want one of my stock.
You want *my* stock, because they're fucking clever - and they love a challenge. Analysis and problem solving, that's where the Human's shine. Each one is inherently different, so we raise them from birth to be acclimated to certain tasks. Need an engineer? Check out batch H-473. Military adviser? H-649. We can even custom rear you a batch for whatever purpose you have in mind... for a price.
What's that? Can't be that clever if they're enslaved? I suppose you have a point, they do tend to be a little naive. Here's the trick though - they don't know they're slaves! A little bit of word play here, a little false hope there - I know it's an inconvenience, but the human spirit will not be broken by force - but they're so eager to be manipulated.
Tell you what, I'll order you up a personal assistant to try out. The only thing I ask is that you play along with our charade - they get quite upset when they figure out the truth and may need to be put down. Now, a final warning - our process is sound, but occasionally one of the slaves will ask about a 'promotion' or some such nonsense. If this happens, or they become too unruly, just use the protected catchphrase to settle them down.
"This internship will look great on your resume." | "And here we have a specimen of our 'strongman' range, perfect for all heavy lifting needs! Even stronger than the standard Heoy lifter, these gents are from stock who are known to have built structures many times their height! What's more, they can subsist on most of the cheapest high-protein foods edible to carbon life forms on the market, lasting for on average five standard planetary cycles!
"If that's not what you're looking for, why not try the 'dogsbody' range, available in both of their genders. More than willing to cook, clean, babysit, or whatever you wish them to do after only a little instructional flogging. This all-round range is perfect for a family home.
"Why you, good sir, are clearly looking for something in order to keep your... er... nightly exercise business running, are you not? Then look no further! I have a range of fresh and experienced stock here, each multi-use! Standard license checks apply.
"If none of these suit you, then how about our brand new Office Worker (TM) range? These individuals can work for up to thirty guntraels at a time, and exceed the entry requirements for most low-level executive staff in all major corporations.
"Ah, you are a sports-thing, are you not? If you like a spot of hunting out on the gamma-fields or the blue forests of Blarbaron, then these 'athletics' are for you! Whether you prefer a short, high-speed chase, a longer marathon-type, or a course involving athletics including swimming, jumping, climbing or whatever you can think of, we have them available for you. For a small extra fee, you can even have one who will attempt to fight back, adding even more fun to the chase!
We regret to inform you that this species is unsuitable for ultra-gravity environments, radiation, acid baths or unprotected interplanetary travel" | 2014-11-22T09:04:18 | 2014-11-22T08:16:06 | 242 | 10 |
[WP] Life was planted on Earth in order to be a sport hunting planet for aliens to use in the future. However they did not anticipate that life developing advanced weaponry. | It was the best kept secret in the world. Life as we know it did not develop naturally on this planet.
Instead it had been brought here billions of years ago by "them" in order to develop into some kind of sport game. They hunted the dinosaurs and eventually grown tired of their reptilian quarry. So they ended that line and let things start again.
It has to be said that they never interfered directly with the development process. They preferred to let Darwinism (or whatever version they observed) take it's path. They'd just check in every century or so, see how things have progressed, and maybe take a quick hunt.
We started tracking them in 1952. By we, I mean the Soviets. To the public, it was another nuclear test at the Semipalatinsk Test Site in Kazakhstan. To the Soviet high command, it was the intelligence coup of the century and the revelation of a lifetime. You can understand why they were keen to keep it a bit of a secret.
The United States, and by proxy NATO, didn't come into the loop until the defection of Viktor Suvorov in 1978. When he brought with him a wealth of documents detailing the incident and the results.
After that, there was a small NATO task force created under the name "Meleager." Like their namesake, Meleager's job would be to sail the ocean of space and kill the boar that awaited them.
The next time that "They" came for one of their games in 2197, we were ready. It's funny the kind of hubris that comes with thinking you're the dominant race in your neighborhood of the galaxy. It's the kind of blinders that make you oblivious to the notion that one of your "subservient" races could have an armada waiting for you on the far side of the moon; armed to the teeth and looking to inflict a little pain. | At first it was just the dinosaurs but the aliens quickly grew tired of the brute savagery these creatures exhibited. They were no longer fun to hunt for sport. They were even losing their entertainment value as observatory material.
The aliens longed for a greater challenge, one that could react to different variables with intelligence. They realized that by harnessing part of their genome they were able to mutate earthly bacteria into what they would call a humanoid, or human for short.
The result was immediate and clear, a new form of entertainment and sport was born. It didn't take long for the aliens to grow bored of hunting these humans though. Even with an increased intelligence relative to the reptiles the humans still lacked the sophistication of defending themselves.
The sport of hunting humans began to slow until many years had passed and the aliens were all but a distant legend. The humans had begun to construct small societies in which some of these legends grew to represent mighty gods. It came to the point of worshiping the aliens, or what the primitive humans came to call the Star Gods.
This piqued the interest of many aliens that began to observe the different factions of the humans. The aliens started to develop favour towards certain humans and arguments would break out over who were the superior group. They decided the only way to truly know would be to begin the humans towards the path of technological enlightenment and bear witness to the outcome.
Rules were put into place where no direct guidance or contact was allowed between the humans and aliens after the initial push. They decided to genetically build several other races of humans which were placed all around the world. The name of the game was simple, whoever backed the race that would eventually conquer the world would win. Although no interference was allowed, throughout history several instances were investigated when a faction would achieve momentous strides forward with technology. Who ever said aliens play fair?
Eventually the aliens began to notice segregation was talking place on earth no longer through race but through where people were segregated on land mass. Humans called these new factions countries and along with these countries came alliances between them. The races were now melting together and if that wasn't a big enough problem humans had devised their first weapons of mass destruction. This was not expected and the aliens realized in their haste for sport and entertainment they may have doomed their paradise known as Earth. | 2014-11-27T02:07:27 | 2014-11-27T00:42:07 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] For years an alien race has been intercepting audio transmissions from Earth and understands English. However, they have been exclusively listening to X-Box Live conversations. They have now prepared their first message for Earth. | The day of First Contact brought chaos in the streets. Many flocked to places of worship, others made a simpler pilgrimage home. It wasn't the end as many predicted, though you wouldn't have guessed it in those first few hours. Riots in the streets, stores closed, governments worldwide on highest alert.
It was just a voice clip at first. "We are here. You are not alone."
It wasn't until that Friday that we saw them. Tall, willowy figures, clacking and spindly. Like mantis with melted faces. Not beautiful, but unsettling and grotesque. They came to a UN blacksite where so many of our world leaders had convened. The day was somber. Everything was closed, everyone at home watching their televisions. Even the animals and weather seemed still, the whole world observing patiently the fate of two planets.
They spoke English, much to our shock, though their voices sounded the furthest thing from human. It was almost too awful to hear them speak, their voices threaded through throats too long, too strange, the result at once too full and too hollow.
Presidents opened with speeches of great pomp and officiousness. Dictators brandished their own self importance, their own petty kingdoms. The world tolerated the grandstanding without complaint this *once*, entranced by the buglike strangers sitting quietly, waiting for their turn to speak.
No one knew. No one had any clue what was about to happen, but all of us knew it would be the most important thing to happen to humanity since man discovered fire.
Finally, *finally*, the largest one rose. Gracefully he climbed to the podium. A few clicks, and then, for the first time, humanity listened to an alien speak.
"We.....want...." The world held it's breath. They leaned towards their radios, their televisions, their phones. "We.....we want.....Kevin."
What. What? What?!
Chaos erupted on the floor. Who was Kevin? Did this mean something different to aliens? Was this person a criminal? Which Kevin? Did they know anything else?
No. They wanted Kevin. They *needed* Kevin.
And so the hunt began. That first week so many Kevins came forward to change their names that a moratorium was announced on name changes to stem the tide. Black market identity sales went through the roof.
A registry was proposed, then tossed out. Algorithms crafted, then discredited. Two weeks passed before another piece of the puzzle was discovered -- a partial voice recording.
A young boy's voice, calling orders through a low quality head set. At the end of the recording, a woman screaming the name Kevin. The Prayers (for that's what the media had started calling the praying mantis like beings) were unhelpful on how they had intercepted the transmission nor why it held such importance to them.
Communication had come to an impasse with them. They offered nothing in trade. They wanted nothing but Kevin. They rebuffed all others with a cool silence, their expressions and voices impossible to read.
It was a month later that a Twitch player came forward. He recognized something in the clip and shed more light on what had quickly escalated to the greatest mystery of all time, Sherlock Holmes be damned.
He recognized the voice from an X-Box game.
The search regained media fervor. It was the matter of a few hours that Kevin was located after that, a focus finally lent to the whole affair.
Middle-of-nowhere, North Dakota. A town that had only rocketed to fame due to one small citizen, still unaware of the public eye about to shine down upon him.
It was the Secretary of Defense himself that knocked on the door. A tired woman answered. Flashes blinded her, cameras clicking in a frenzy all around. Incredulous at first, then a dawning horror on her face. With shaking hands she led them through the messy house, to a room off the kitchen in the back.
Kevin.
He was a small boy, not even blessed with puberty like most of his peers. Young, wide eyed and fearful.
There was debate after that. So many voices worldwide calling for the child's protection, others advocating for his promotion to interplanetary diplomat. Why the Prayers wanted him became unimportant.
In the end it didn't matter.
A month later found the trembling child face to face with the first sentient life humans had ever encountered.
The tallest one came forward. He leaned down. Kevin was still as stone, his back ramrod straight, tolerating the invasion of his space with a sort of fearful tension.
^^^^^"We ^^^^^heard ^^^^^your ^^^^^call ^^^^^for ^^^^^help ^^^^^youngling. ^^^^^We ^^^^^are ^^^^^heeerrrrreeee..."
It whispered next to his face, the last word drawn out in a hideous sort of gurgle that sent shivers racing down Kevin's spine.
| It's 3am, all you can hear in little Timmy's house is the mashing of buttons, the sharp push of analog sticks, timing the perfect 360° noscope. Little Timmy is one kill away from his favourite kill-streak when his life is taken by what he refers to as a "faggot camper".
" You fucking faggit, wait there I'm gonna noscope you I'm in FaZe" he shouted down his low quality mic. You could hear the sharp crunch of Duritos™ coming from his widened mouth followed by a loud guzzle of Mountain Dew™
"Shut the fuck up kid" is the reply from XxNewbSc0PezxX
"Faggot, I'll have you know my dad works for..." His sentence was cut short from what sounded like an earthquake. Timmy took one last sip of his now empty Mountain Dew™ Code red® can. Timmy peered out the window, for a breif moment he could see a strange rounded object, which vanished in a flash. A faint green light could be seen in the distant forest, the light was warm and inviting. So much so that he dropped his Duritos™ and snuck out the house to investigate, Xbox controller still in hand.
Timmy arrived at the forest, his surroundings pitch black. With only the guidence of the flashing light he navigated his way to the unidentified object. He starred in awe at the enormous object before him, it hovered gently above the ground before finally making a graceful decent. A small tremour could be felt as the the object struck the ground. The forest sprung to life as birds fluttered away and animals previously unseen scattered off like they could sense the shrekage® about to happen. At closer inspection Timmy now realised why he was so drawn to this object, everything from the power button, the disc tray and the dusty Duritos™ crumbs from last year were here, it was an exact replica of his Xbox 360.
Timmy moved closer to the Xbox, his curiosity got the best of him, he couldn't leave this alone, maybe this was faze finally accepting his application. He looked at the controller, still tightly gripped in his hand and tossed it at the power button. The controller hit right in the centre of the humongous power button and then ricochet off it, landing back down on the hard ground. The distinct Xbox startup sound ringed through the forest. The disc tray slowly opened leaving Timmy in suspence. After what felt like an eternity the disc tray fully opened and beamed down a huge bright light, briefly blinding Timmy before it eventually died down. A mysterious figure appeared out of the light. Timmy stared at the figure that was approaching him.
"Kevin spacey?" He wisperred in disbelief
"Wag1 Cunt" Kevin replied.
"After years of listening to your voice it is gr8 to meet you xXBl4Z3d4D4yZzzXx of clan tag [FaZe]. We have intercepted your communication Xbox devices and have taken form most comfortable for you. We come in ally clan invitation and offer the dankest kush from your prophet Snoop dog of clan [Smoke Weed everyday] and ask of you not to treat us like fucking skrubs and to be sparred of your 360° quikscoping skillz. For many earth years we have trained ourselfs in the ways of your kind. We have limited our eyes to 30 frames per second and 720p to give us the most cinematic experience when nuking faggots on COD. We have abducted several of your species known as the MILFS and fucked them to give is an idea of how you roll in Pu55y, and have accustomed ourselfs to your foods by eating nothing but Duritos™ and Mountain dew™. However we must disclaim that my dad works for Microsoft and is going to have your account banned if I ever see you fucking camping fucking faggot. On these terms I hope our clans can 420 blaze with shrek on the highest peak of kush mountain together and truly become MLG."
Timmy stood in silence for a moment letting this all sink in. He realised now that his actions have consequences and his name calling and mum fucking online has influenced an entire race of sentient beings who might of otherwise learned what humanity is truley about. He turned around and started to head back to his home. This displeased the new alien race, and the Kevin spacey lookalike exclaimed "Where are you going? You honestly thingk your fucking funny mate messing with my freinds!?" Kevin grabbed his DSR 420 and tried to 360° noscope Timmy but instead flopped to the ground helplessly.
"I'll fucking rek u cheeky cunt" he shouted as Timmy disappeared into the distance.
After heading back to his house Timmy climmed in through the back window and crept back to his room. After arriving he threw his Xbox, his controllers and all his Dew™ out the window before laying in bed, reflecting on what just happened. | 2015-04-03T14:32:39 | 2015-04-03T14:22:39 | 53 | 22 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated. | Obama looks down as the small black box is placed in front of him.
"It's a - " He frowns. "What is this?"
"A… save button?" suggests an intern, before he's shushed by a stern glare from one of the senior advisors.
"That's a 5 1/4-inch diskette, sir. Also known as a floppy disk."
Obama stares at it. "Do we know," he asks slowly, "what's *on* it?"
"Sir. Not as of yet. They say it's a virus, but…"
"Go on."
"We've put out a call for floppy disk drives, but it may take us a few days to find one that uh, actually still runs..."
"Because all of them are thirty years old," the President finishes.
"Yes, sir."
"But - " Obama stares at the floppy disk some more. This was the secret weapon that the aliens had been hiding away for weeks? What exactly were the aliens expecting to do with this? What about all the threatening messages swearing vengeance for the mothership?
Then suddenly, it clicks.
"So," Obama says, finally. "That explains the messages we keep getting that are all addressed to The Fresh Prince of the White House…"
"Well," the senior advisor starts. "It may be that - to aliens, that is - and humans. Your uh, skin tone. May appear uh, similar - to."
"Yes, I got that. Thank you." The room falls into uneasy silence as Obama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, he stands up. "I think we can go back upstairs, gentlemen. The aliens do not appear to be as dire a threat as we first imagined."
"But, Mr. President - what sort of response should we send to their, uh, weapon here?"
Obama thinks about it for a minute. "Send them Blade."
"The old Will Smith movie?" the intern asks.
"*Yes*," says Obama, and sighs again. "That one. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs." | I know it's a cliche, but as the ramp of the mothership lowered, all I could think of was "I didn't sign up for *this*."
However, I did have orders. My Marines knew that this would probably be a losing fight, but it wasn't in any of our natures to go out on our knees.
The sight around the mothership was truly a sight to behold, a hippie's worst nightmare, and a arms manufacturer's wet dream; armour of all sorts, Abrams, Bradleys, Strykers, Linebackers, you name it. In the sky flew hundreds of attack helicopters, thirty milimeter chain guns at the ready. UAV's, bristling with precision guided missiles, buzzed up high. The din of jets completed the crecendo. "Fuck," my sargeant said, "they even brought back the A-10's for this shit show."
However, despite all the billions of dollars surrounding us, they still felt that some guys with rifles needed to be there too.
Now was the time for an inspirationa, speech, but I couldn't think of one. "Get ready guys, this is it" was all I could muster.
The end of the ramp touched the ground, and the world seemed to stand still. A blinding light eminated from the ship's opening, penetrating the steam that clouded the door.
I gripped my rifle tighter, and readied myself for death.
No one said a word. We were all scared. I may have even pissed myself.
Even with all the vehicles, the silence was defeaning, until it was pierced by a soft *barrrum, barrrum, barrrum tum tum.* Before anyone expressed their amazement, the sounds of a fife and drums filled the air, as tall, blonde humanoids began decending down the ramp, tricorns upon their heads and muskets slung over their shoulders, green petticoats with white trim glistening from silver buttons.
They didn't last long.
EDIT: Made a few changes to things that didn't make sense. I've been sitting in this history class too long. | 2015-04-16T10:56:52 | 2015-04-16T09:08:53 | 480 | 140 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated. | ACTION REPORT
Date: 4301.51.2
Reporting Officer: Flormat Snikker, Tricounsel, Fourth Armada
Subject: Sol 3 Conflict, Withdrawal
Initial skirmishes were wildly successful. The natives were woefully unprepared for combat. After the customary challenges were issued, our champions were sent forth from each ship to do single combat. In most instances, they were able to immediately slaughter the opposing champion. Many natives failed to abide by the Rules of Challenge and engaged our champions in large numbers. Ultimately, surviving champions were called back to their ships to await formal surrender.
No formal surrender was provided. The natives' primitive and incomprehensible communication attempts ceased. Shortly following, they used what we believed to be mining explosives to destroy a number of our ships. Faced with dishonorable betrayal, the full armada was landed and our forces deployed.
Resident xenologist Rather Bellow has suggested that the native population lacks any sense of honorable combat due to a state of near-anarchy that seems to have existed for multiple lifetimes on their planet. Lacking systems of honorable resolution, they developed fearsome weapons which propel metal and explosives over significant distances.
Losses were too severe to fully report in this document. Provided is an account of one engagement:
Wing 5, Division 43 was tasked with capturing a population center and pacifying the locals. 18,000 armored troops were deployed in full close-quarters gear. The division engaged a significantly smaller forced that was entrenched on the outskirts of the population center. A charge was organized. 500 spearmen attempted to advance to within throwing distance. Launched explosives resulted in casualty rates exceeding 80%. The entrenched troops advanced on the division's position and pressed the engagement. Their superior range resulted in a total inability to respond. Any attempt to muster a counteroffensive was obliterated.
When a full retreat was ordered, the division reported an awful truth: they arm their vehicles. Our soldiers were easily able to outpace theirs, but were overtaken by monstrous armored vehicles with devastating weaponry. Division 43 was a near-complete loss.
Even those troops who escaped to carrier ships were not safe. As with their ground vehicles, their aircraft possess fighting capabilities. Carriers were destroyed mid-air.
The armada was forced into total withdrawal of the system when it became apparent that the natives had taken control of multiple carriers and landed them on several launch ships. My Tricounsel counterparts reported fighting on several vessels before going silent.
Total losses are estimated at 5 launch ships and their entire crew and complement, an additional 87 carrier ships and their divisions, and approximately 510,000 soldiers beyond those losses.
Under normal circumstances, custom dictates I give up my life in penance for this failure. I request a deferment to court martial to determine whether the loss is due to the inappropriate warfare as conducted by the natives of Sol 3.
ADDENDUM:
Shortly after transmitting the summary report, long-range scans detected four of the five launch ships on a home-bound trajectory. It is with great relief that I report that our losses might not have been nearly as severe as initially reported. | “They took the water.” That is one of my favourite apocalypse stories, and I'm living it right now. We have heard the speculative tales of laser-wielding aliens, thermonuclear war, zombies or deadly diseases over and over again. I like “They took the water” better, probably because of its relative rarity and the whole synopsis is there in a four word title.
The story begins with a huge, perfect sphere coming into the Earth’s atmosphere, then another, and another. Their size is absolutely massive, their surface unblemished, like somebody had taken apart a giant ball bearing in space, its parts sprinkling over the Earth. There are hundreds of them and for a week, there is perfect silence. Nothing of note happens, save for some slight changes to the tides because of the massive weight of the spheres and the widespread confusion – sometimes panic – among humanity. The nations of Earth try a myriad of methods to achieve contact, but ultimately fail. Either there is no sentient life in there, or they just do not care. After a week, give or take, has gone by, there is a terrible mechanical growling sound that can be heard for miles when the spheres descend towards various parts of the ocean.
This is when they start taking the water. It takes a little time before we understand what is going on, the spheres floating there, half-submerged, glistening and howling. Slowly, for the first month or so, we noticed how coastlines were rising, a few millimetres a day perhaps, but increasing quickly to several centimetres for every passing day. Despite the large number of spheres now bobbing around in our seas, calculations were swiftly conducted to show that the water would in fact not fit inside the spheres. Rather, it was being removed from Earth. Teleportation perhaps? Who can say.
Humanity’s response when we had it figured out was swift but utterly futile. Fighter jets, ballistic missiles and whatever else we had was of little use. After heavy bombardment, only three or four spheres out of thousands were destroyed, and upon inspection, they were seemingly empty. Decoys perhaps, or a technology entirely beyond our comprehension. The spheres’ revenge was swift, taking out military targets across the world in a few minutes with some sort of beam weapon that made you blind if you looked at it.
Its defences crippled, humanity largely sat and waited while the water disappeared. New landmasses formed, continents joined, whole countries perished from droughts. When the invaders had drained the oceans enough to lower the water level about a kilometre and a half, they were apparently satisfied, and went away. The Earth was saved, in the sense that life could continue. Humanity was not, in the sense that about 90% of the population was dead, and close to all of civilization had descended into anarchy, Mad Max style. The loss of water would mean some major issues for the Earth’s climate as well.
Being neither a geologist nor a biologist or any other –ist who could have created a convincing post-water-theft narrative, that is about all I can tell. Why did they come? Perhaps they felt humans were becoming a threat, what with their spacefaring, and needed to be taught a lesson; perhaps they just enjoyed water.
They would destroy us, without firing a single shot.
| 2015-04-16T10:56:19 | 2015-04-16T09:54:49 | 78 | 13 |
[WP] Two planets come within range of eachother every 300 years. There is always an ensuing war that lasts the 5 days that the planets are close enough. Each side can only guess at what new technology the other has built since the last time. | The Alignment. It had always been this way. Every generation knew of it, but none now lived to remember the last occurrence.
My generation was the latest Soldier Generation. From the time we could walk we were taught tactics, weapons skills, and physical training. A cloud hung over our lives like the storm clouds that hung over The Hive; the enemy planet that would be descending upon us. We were a generation that knew the date of our deaths before we breathed our first breath. We didn't celebrate birthdays, we trained. We didn't fall in love, we trained. Our idea of childhood fun was giving your training partner a fat lip and a broken bone.
We were cold. We were ready. No matter what technology they had developed since the last time we saw them, we would win. Or so we thought...
As the year of The Alignment approached, our astronomers scratched their heads in confusion; The Hive was gone. Soldier Generation waited anxiously; our sinews ready to snap into action, our souls ready to depart to the resting grounds. We longed to join the other generations before us. A glorious death.
But The First Day of Alignment came... and went. As did the second. The third, then the fifth. Our steely eyes watched the dark between the stars as we were deafened by the silence of the cosmos. On the sixth day, we learned the extent of their tech.
For 300 years we developed ferocious weaponry; high tech pulse lasers, satellite systems that could carpet the dark side of the moon in death, children that knew nothing but the thrill of the hunt.
For 300 years they created a cloaking device.
The Hive shifted into view as it passed out of reach, the city lights taunting us; flickering like the coins in a wishing well we had never thrown. We watched as our purpose in life drifted away with the plodding pace of gravity. | Marcus burst through the tall wooden doors that separated the common area from the throne room.
"Sire I implore you, please we must prepare." He cried as the guards took him by both arms with a sharp force. "All the signs have shown themselves, please!"
The great King Harold had heard this all before and was not even going to consider throwing his great Kingdom in to a panic to appease these priests who keep showering him with thoughts and warning of the gods returning to bring pain and suffering to his people. While it is true the tides changing, and the new ever brightening star coincide perfectly with the prophecy. it can only be a sign of the gods being pleased with how his family had stepped up and brought peace out of the scattered and war torn bands of savages that roamed the landscape only a few centuries ago.
"Marcus, my patience wears thin with you. Have I not been fair to the priesthood allowing you to continue to spread these rumors through my lands?" Harold now stood up and stepped down from the throne, now seemingly addressing all in attendance. "Yet you continue to make a mockery of this court by requesting the kind people to abandon their homes and lives, to what? Run and hide in the northern caves from the waves, and from the stars?"
"But sir, they're coming, the proph.."
With a sudden wave of his hand the guards threw Marcus out back in to the common room. Turning to his fellow priests he could only mutter "I have failed."
Three days into their journey towards the great valley of their ancestors, the great star now as big as the moon looming overhead there was sudden thunderous roars. A few at first as two fireballs, one on each horizon came gliding down from the heavens. Then more as the sky began to fill with them.
As they reached the edge of the valley with only the old winding staircase that led into the tunnels, they turned back.
"It is too late for them, but we have enough to rebuild." Marcus said with a frowning look of regret.
"Yes, we have enough."
[first time I think I've written anything fiction, and on my phone, hope it is at least interesting]
| 2015-05-26T20:36:04 | 2015-05-26T18:52:53 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one. | **Log 1**
Specimen displays unusual amounts of strength, stamina and dexterity, also only requires 5-9 hours sleep compared to our 18. It's appetite is insatiable needing to feed every few hours and large amounts at a time, consumes enough in day for fifty of us.
**Log 2**
It seems irate, our weapons also appear to only be able to stun it sending it's nervous system into chaos causing it to spasm on the ground, even in this state it should not be approaches as it's flailing limbs could still knock one of us into a wall crushing or ribs.
**Error missing files please reboot or load from back up**
**Captains log 40**
Damn those scientists, I told them we should send it back but no they wanted to keep examining. Useful for a super soldier they said, best predator of that savage planet they said. Fools the lot of them, that thing it is no ordinary predator, a normal predator just eats to feed its self just survive this thing, it stalks us, laughing as it rips of our limbs, Aqron the head of the guard shot it in the arm 4 times, it just let out a roar. Apparently our 'lethal' weapons can only bruise it, these are military grade weapons they kill enemy soldiers fine but this thing, it just made it angry.
**Captains log 45**
It barred Aqrons door last night while he slept... the screams of that poor guy, we could hear the beast smashing his body into the wall. We managed to open the door a bit but it just reached out and grabbed the nearest person, dragging his body through the narrow gap.
Aquieres the from the science labs has managed to analyse the species DNA, the damn thing is according to him an "Endurance hunter, it stalks things for days at a time never tiring out it's prey until it collapses, mild trances of the now extinct Neanderthal where found in it's DNA." These things, wiped out the Neanderthals of Anteries 4, raped them, and those creatures where nearly unbeatable in the coliseums it took high powered kinetic weapons to kill them. We have the engineers working on something to hopefully kill it.
**Error drive missing, please check everything is installed**
**Captains log 65**
We found it's den, crude pictures drawn by scratching through the metal of the ship, this thing can casually gauge metal for entertainment. We have sent out distress signals, the first ship to dock with us had the misfortune of docking next to it's den, it's made a crude spear. Skewered that ships entire crew before we figured out what happened, cameras show it only receiving mild burns from their energy weapons. It appears smart enough to run water over it's burns since we found water rations strewn about the place and puddles around a make shift 'medical station' for lack of a better word.
**Captains log 70**
The damn thing broke into the main frame, this is a capital class war ship, a crew of 100,000 and no one can kill it or stop it. It threw 80kg computers around like nothing, it damn well dossed one into a squad of guards killing them all at once. What the hell does it want, it can't be reasoned with, bartered, pleaded, nothing it's just some predator with mild intelligence and unstoppable strength.
**ERROR**
**Captains log 225**
No planet, station or ship will allow us to dock, the army refuses to help us. We are stuck on here quarantine until we die or it dies. 20,000 dead, it's braver now. Hunting in the night while we rest entire quarters killed and devoid of all life, body gnawed on, order is breaking down. Sections A through J are in full revolt, personal had to gun down a mob trying to take a ship off, the beast heard the commotion and charged through, swiped it's in the middle and sent 10 people flying, every fled and it just hounded them down like a hunting beast.
**'Captains' log 240**
The ship is in anarchy I am a captain in name only, the main reactor is down, or priest Aqwerdian lured the beast there and over loaded the reactor, it killed him and fled before it exploded, power on is now unstable, that thing though can still see partly in the dim light. We run like blind rats but it see's us clearly, the dim lighting must be bright enough for it.
**Remnants log**
We have taken the bridge, all logs are being transmitted to nearby ships. We are setting course to the nearest star, the ship and everything in it must be burnt, we are down to 60,000. 40,000 dead since this thing got on board, the only solution is to burn it, us, the ship, everything. | "All I hear are noises."
"Is this a metal box? A tray of sorts? Oh god, what am I doing? Where am I?"
"Big eyes. They were huge, but I don't know what they were. I...I was working on my deck. Then I wasn't. Marissa, please forgive me, I don't know where I've gone. Oh God."
Stephen held his temples. He began to endure fleeting memories of his recent phenomena. He recalled blue shadows. Tentacles. Eyes as wide as tires. They lacked voices. They emitted frequencies. And rather than listen to them, he felt them. Low, coarse, violent. Non-intelligible, and random. A chill ran down his back as he recanted them.
His awakening proved shocking. He grumbled and wailed, wracked with disbelief. On a flat table, that shimmered with digital and electro-light pulses, he began to shout for help. Like something pulled from the future, the table flickered with fractal ambiance that seemed to mimic his own heart rate. He jumped from the table onto the cold metallic floor, realizing how naked he was. He glanced around, to the most otherworldly laboratory he'd ever seen. Vats of squid-like creatures seemed to be being harvested, while human limbs, animals entrails and tubs filled with blood lined up along operating tables.
He was alone, but wasn't sure for how long. Stephen walked towards the operating tables and found his carpenter jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing yesterday--or was it weeks ago?
Dressed and scared, he frantically searched through the various drills, weapons, tools, and other dissection equipment for something of use. A prod about the size of a broomstick caught Stephen's eye. A black button lined along the middle of the staff. He pressed it, releasing a 10 pronged extension out of the end, that dealt a directed shock of electricity. Relieved by the potential effectiveness of his newly found weapon, he began to stride to the end of the Lab, to the exit.
Down the hall connecting to the lab, he is suddenly greeted with frequency. A gurgle of static burst through his brain. He ducked behind a metal cabinet.
"Is this a metal box? A tray of sorts? Oh god, what am I doing? Where am I?"
The frequency grew louder. The sound of slapping tentacles and the slab of fleshly pulp slid across the floor. It passed ahead of Stephen, not realizing the human stood up and readied his prod.
He aimed the electro-staff towards the monster, and pressed the singular button. A bolt of electricity emerged from the prod and struck the creature dead-on, igniting and turning it into flames. It burned for a few seconds, simultaneously jolting with static shocks and imploding into itself. Within seconds, the foreign and seemingly hostile mutant disintegrated into ashes before him.
He glanced at his staff, wide eyed and stunned, and let out a large thankful sigh.
He continued down the silver and chrome mounted corridors. Everything science fiction he had seen was surely materialized in this all-too-real nightmare. Creaks and whistles were heard within the walls. This was a ship it seemed, and had to be moving a great speed.
The next room Stephen approached seemed to be "a cafeteria." Or what a cafeteria might seem to Stephen. Long rows of tables sprawled across the floor, in an organized manner, with platters and plates of indescribable alien delicacies. Some plates merely contained purple or pink liquids, while other plates seemed to hold various organs, human and animal. Other food-items existed too, which could not be identified by Stephen. They were small animals of sorts, ones he'd never seen. Short small snouts with several tiny feet and jagged tails. He held down the vomiting sensation that grew every minute he remained in this room.
A frequency grew within Stephen's head. He knew more were coming, so with a feared yelp he scrambled to hide under the nearest dining table. From the far side of the room, another blue morphed abomination appeared, with another close behind it. One had vibrant red eyes, as big as the moon, while the other had tiny blackened holes for sockets. They slobbered and rolled along towards the entrance that Stephen had arrived. It wasn't until the second one limped past that Stephen saw it was holding something.
Tunnel-vision overcame Stephen as the subject came to focus. Curly blonde hair, with smudged and bent glasses. Cradled by the slimey and infested tentacles of this monstrosity. Marissa. His wife.
He rushed from under the tables, stopped to grasp the tiny snout-weasel from the platter and pitched it towards the being, striking it in the ribbed and dislocated spine.
It froze for what seemed like seconds. With a high pitched scream, it rotated with speed and velocity. It's dead eye stare locked onto Stephen. Flared the depth of its inhuman nostrils. And began towards him.
He lifted his prod, took his stance, and began his mission.
To escape the fate in which he had awoken. | 2015-07-30T03:12:30 | 2015-07-29T21:01:54 | 186 | 56 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one. | He was scared. No, that was an understatement. He was petrified. All he can do right now is hide in one of the cargo holds and hoped that the human did not find him in this dark and cold corner of the ship.
He thought back on how it all started and why it ended up like this.
It was supposed to be an easy mission. Capture a human and study it; find its weakness and strengths. Send the data back to their home planet and build an invasion force in regards to their findings. It was all going very smoothly. They captured the human and brought it back to their ship. They wanted to observe how it will react to a different environment first so they let it awaken first.
When it awoke it seemed to be surprised but still remained calm. It started talking but naturally they couldn’t understand what it was saying. So they put it back to sleep and installed a translator chip in it. After the operation they all left to rest since it has been a long day. And that was where it all began.
They were in front of Jupiter when they got back to the lab. What they saw shocked them all. The researcher was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and the human can’t be seen anywhere.
The ship only had 8 crew members; 3 legionnaires, something similar to earth’s marines, 3 researchers, one lying in the pool of his own blood, a mechanist, and the captain, the only one who can control the ship because of the genetic lock that was installed.
They decided to split up to look for the human; it shouldn’t be too hard since they were supposed to be an inferior species. It seemed that it was a good idea at the time, they didn’t know how gravely mistaken they were.
One by one they were killed. First, one of the legionnaires. His neck was twisted and it seemed that he was not even able to fight back. Next was the engineer, he was impaled by a pipe and again it seemed that he was struck before he could do anything. After that they heard a scream form one of the researchers but when they got there the only thing that greeted them was the comm. of the researcher, both he and the human was nowhere to be found.
It didn’t stop there. Every time they got separated someone died. One of the legionnaires turned into a corner to check if the coast was clear, apparently it wasn’t because the next time they saw him he was already sprawled on the ground scalpel on the head.
Now there was only the three of them left and they decided to stay together but it seemed that the human found ways to make them split up. First was the fire. He started a false fire to trick the system into thinking that one of the sections was compromised. Two of them got out in time, the captain and the legionnaire. The head researcher wasn’t so lucky and he was ejected along with one section of the ship.
Now there was only two of them and they decided to just abandon the ship altogether and just take a life pod back. But before they can even reach the life pod a shot was fired from nowhere that hit the legionnaire in head instantly killing him.
After witnessing this he ran way, hoping that the human won’t catch him. He never knew that they were so terrifying. It was a mistake to have gone on this mission, a mistake to treat them like some lower beings. It was a mistake to have gotten involved with it at all.
This is why he is hiding in the cargo hold right now. He knew it was a hopeless situation. Everyone was dead, and no one was coming to save him because he hasn’t activated the SOS beacon yet. His only hope right now was that the ship reaches their home planet before the human kills him.
He was thinking about how he wanted to get back when the PA system of the ship started. At first there was just silence but suddenly a raspy voice suddenly started speaking. He recognized the voice immediately because it wasn’t from one of his crew. The first time he heard it he didn’t understand a word it was saying but now that the translator chip is implanted he can clearly understand every word. And what the human said terrified him.
“I know who you are. And I know what you want. One of your friends told me after I 'Persuaded' him. You want to invade us and you wanted to study me to find out about humans? I can tell you that won’t be happening. Because I have a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for aliens like you. Even if you let me go now, that'll not be the end of it. I will look for you, I will pursue you, and after I’m done with you. Your planet is next.”
=================================================
First WP post, please be kind. :)
EDIT: Thank you kind person for the gold... :) | "All I hear are noises."
"Is this a metal box? A tray of sorts? Oh god, what am I doing? Where am I?"
"Big eyes. They were huge, but I don't know what they were. I...I was working on my deck. Then I wasn't. Marissa, please forgive me, I don't know where I've gone. Oh God."
Stephen held his temples. He began to endure fleeting memories of his recent phenomena. He recalled blue shadows. Tentacles. Eyes as wide as tires. They lacked voices. They emitted frequencies. And rather than listen to them, he felt them. Low, coarse, violent. Non-intelligible, and random. A chill ran down his back as he recanted them.
His awakening proved shocking. He grumbled and wailed, wracked with disbelief. On a flat table, that shimmered with digital and electro-light pulses, he began to shout for help. Like something pulled from the future, the table flickered with fractal ambiance that seemed to mimic his own heart rate. He jumped from the table onto the cold metallic floor, realizing how naked he was. He glanced around, to the most otherworldly laboratory he'd ever seen. Vats of squid-like creatures seemed to be being harvested, while human limbs, animals entrails and tubs filled with blood lined up along operating tables.
He was alone, but wasn't sure for how long. Stephen walked towards the operating tables and found his carpenter jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing yesterday--or was it weeks ago?
Dressed and scared, he frantically searched through the various drills, weapons, tools, and other dissection equipment for something of use. A prod about the size of a broomstick caught Stephen's eye. A black button lined along the middle of the staff. He pressed it, releasing a 10 pronged extension out of the end, that dealt a directed shock of electricity. Relieved by the potential effectiveness of his newly found weapon, he began to stride to the end of the Lab, to the exit.
Down the hall connecting to the lab, he is suddenly greeted with frequency. A gurgle of static burst through his brain. He ducked behind a metal cabinet.
"Is this a metal box? A tray of sorts? Oh god, what am I doing? Where am I?"
The frequency grew louder. The sound of slapping tentacles and the slab of fleshly pulp slid across the floor. It passed ahead of Stephen, not realizing the human stood up and readied his prod.
He aimed the electro-staff towards the monster, and pressed the singular button. A bolt of electricity emerged from the prod and struck the creature dead-on, igniting and turning it into flames. It burned for a few seconds, simultaneously jolting with static shocks and imploding into itself. Within seconds, the foreign and seemingly hostile mutant disintegrated into ashes before him.
He glanced at his staff, wide eyed and stunned, and let out a large thankful sigh.
He continued down the silver and chrome mounted corridors. Everything science fiction he had seen was surely materialized in this all-too-real nightmare. Creaks and whistles were heard within the walls. This was a ship it seemed, and had to be moving a great speed.
The next room Stephen approached seemed to be "a cafeteria." Or what a cafeteria might seem to Stephen. Long rows of tables sprawled across the floor, in an organized manner, with platters and plates of indescribable alien delicacies. Some plates merely contained purple or pink liquids, while other plates seemed to hold various organs, human and animal. Other food-items existed too, which could not be identified by Stephen. They were small animals of sorts, ones he'd never seen. Short small snouts with several tiny feet and jagged tails. He held down the vomiting sensation that grew every minute he remained in this room.
A frequency grew within Stephen's head. He knew more were coming, so with a feared yelp he scrambled to hide under the nearest dining table. From the far side of the room, another blue morphed abomination appeared, with another close behind it. One had vibrant red eyes, as big as the moon, while the other had tiny blackened holes for sockets. They slobbered and rolled along towards the entrance that Stephen had arrived. It wasn't until the second one limped past that Stephen saw it was holding something.
Tunnel-vision overcame Stephen as the subject came to focus. Curly blonde hair, with smudged and bent glasses. Cradled by the slimey and infested tentacles of this monstrosity. Marissa. His wife.
He rushed from under the tables, stopped to grasp the tiny snout-weasel from the platter and pitched it towards the being, striking it in the ribbed and dislocated spine.
It froze for what seemed like seconds. With a high pitched scream, it rotated with speed and velocity. It's dead eye stare locked onto Stephen. Flared the depth of its inhuman nostrils. And began towards him.
He lifted his prod, took his stance, and began his mission.
To escape the fate in which he had awoken. | 2015-07-30T00:16:33 | 2015-07-29T21:01:54 | 115 | 56 |
[WP] This new drug's an incredible bliss with no side effects on health. There's just one thing: after taking it, you can't lie for 24 hours. | "Do you know how fast you were going?"
"Not exactly sir, but the last time I checked it was 109 mph"
"you talk about speeding quite cheerfully son, are you high on something?"
The officer smiled as the boy's face began to contort, trying not to open his mouth "I just smoked a monster blunt, drank a bottle of vodka and injected myself with at least 10 milligrams of pentabliss."
"have you committed any other crimes recently?" the officer knew that now the kid was stuck in a trap, and he looked like the type who wasn't a first time offender
"well officer, I've got a pound of black tar heroine in my trunk that I was about to sell, I've committed three robberies that I remember in the last month, and I broke someone's kneecaps last night to pay back a debt to my supplier."
The kid's lip was trembling, he couldn't have been more than 19, and the severity of his crimes seemed to just now be dawning on him "son, you better hope that this is your first offense and that there aren't any witnesses for everything else you just admitted to" Just as the officer pulled out his handcuffs, the kid said one more thing
"wait officer! there's one more crime I need to tell you, and it's pretty bad."
the officer sighed "what is it son?"
The kid pulled out a sawed-off 10 gauge and emptied both barrels into the officers chest "I just killed my third cop," the boy said, taking the officers badge as a trophy "and I'm on my way to take down my biggest rival, Javier Gustavo, the leader of the libélula cartel. They're the United States biggest pentabliss bliss supplier, but pretty soon that title will go to me. And by the way officer, pentabliss only stops you from lying, it doesn't stop you from acting guilty."
A bright white 1968 GT500 drove off, leaving a dead cop and a lone police car behind it. | Drugs. Everyone loved the drugs. Hell they are drugs! Of course they loved them. Something better than abutting else? That's legal? The makers made billions in a matter of days.
Everyone was popping them daily, suicide rates plummeted, productivity skyrocketed, and life was great for all.
Well... Almost all. Nothing is universally loved. And it turned out this was true for this drug as well. Within a week a small select group didn't just stop using, they actively hated it, denying even using the drug to begin with.
Of course it was the politicians. If they can't lie they can't do their job. Sure they thought they could get sound it but it only took that one week to show that they couldn't.
Turns out that the governments of the world are making secret agreements behind the public backs and screwing over the big rich people. All it took was one head of state to spill the band after taking the drug. Denials were spewed in obviously vauge ways but Pandora box was opened.
Not that people really cared. They were too into the drug to care.
That didn't stop the elected officials to start a campaign against the drug. Scare tactics, lies, graphic images, taxes... They three the book at it but nothing changed public opinion. Mostly because they were too blissful to care.
The only politician in America to be for the drug was Bill Clinton and he was obviously on it. He was just that good at twisting his words. It also helped that he wasn't exactly active, only appearing to push his projects or say how awesome being back in the white house would be.
Once it was obvious that no one could sway the public the government tried to outlaw the drug.
But it didn't stand a chance. Not because the public rallied or such. They didn't even care they were that blissful. No. It was the corporations, specifically the makers of the drug who put a stop to the banning of their money maker. For once the corporation was the hero and saved the public from tyranny. Not that they noticed.
Sure it was 'unethical' spiking drinks and gathering the blackmail but hey, that's politics.
"Could you shut up now?" The person ahead of me in line groaned with displeasure as we waited in line for more of the drug. | 2015-10-20T10:00:03 | 2015-10-20T09:57:17 | 95 | 13 |
[WP] Scientists discovered that vegetables and fruit have a conscience. Vegetarians and Vegans go crazy. | It was a horrible realization. Literally all plants were connected together through a form of conscious that transcended our own ideas of what was intelligence and awareness. This super intelligent being was beyond our comprehension but after establishing communication with it we quickly learned that although it was vastly more intelligent than us it was also vastly more neurotic, weird and creepy than any human being could ever be.
When the translation terminal first starting receiving messages all that was received was "eat me" literally billions of times a second. At first it was baffling to scientists but quickly it became apparent that this amazing super conscious trans-dimensional being was into a nasty kind of kink known as vorarephilia.
We were all around the world collectively participating in this being's sexual acts. It was literally cumming in our mouths every time we ate it. Fruits and vegetables seemed to be primarily its detached sexual organs which it had adapted to make tasty so we would want to eat it.
The worst part was we had no choice but to continue. People would shudder at the thought of eating a banana, pealing an orange was tantamount to a fruit stripper show. There was no escape for us now but to eat it, just keep eating it.
EDIT: For oxymoron
| "Your eating salad again?" said the carrot to the vegan
"Yeah"
"What it wasn't enough to kill just one of us? You mix us all in together?"
"Hey man you're being really judgemental"
"Hey I subsist off of nutrients. But that's just because I care about the world" said the carrot.
…
"Yeah so like, we grew these organically because we like…care about the like environment…so if you like, like the environment and vegetables…you should buy these"
"Yeah also if you like murder" said the tomato
"Did that tomato just say murder?" said the customer
"Uh yeah cause like…if you eat meat…it's murder…but like if you eat this, it's not"
"Cause it sounded like the tomato said eating it is murder"
"It's not" said the vegan
"It is" said the tomato
…
"Hello, tonight we have Dr. Spantz in the fire bombed studio. Dr. Spantz, you've said in the past you regret publishing your findings, can you elaborate on that?"
"Yeah we thought that it would be something worth knowing, we didn't realize that it would lead to a violent world wide war between vegans and whatever people who eat meat are called over who murdered more things"
"Interesting. And I'm getting word that our position is about to be mortared, so if you could hand me that machine gun and follow me we'll be back after showing these Vegies what's what. And also these messages" | 2015-12-06T09:41:37 | 2015-12-06T08:13:15 | 219 | 51 |
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away. | She walked into her classroom, and sat down. Her eyes were red from the tears, it was a rough day already. The children walked into the room, sat down at their desks and she did roll call. The children were the worst. Every day the children would come in, and she would see kings and queens, small doctors and businessmen, even God's with beautiful light around them. Their imaginations controlled the way they viewed themselves, and it was beautiful. Except the sad ones. The sad ones had no faces, the abused one's had three heads and no arms. She paid extra attention to the them. She bought them crayons and supplies, always brought their favorite snacks. She usually managed to get enough to report, enough to have them taken from their terrible homes but sometimes she couldn't. Sometimes they'd change in her classroom, even for just a few hours. They would look like normal kids, with smiling faces. | Some people see themselves as Gods. I stay away from those folk as much as I can; they generally aren't worth getting to know.
Most people see themselves as monsters, with their flaws and regrets plastered on their faces and amplified beyond all logic. They may be hard to look at, but at the same time, I know that they have more depth to their personality. Whether they are good or bad, it's hard to tell, but I know that the ugly ones are the interesting folk.
But then there are the *others,* people who don't see themselves as human. Sure, you've got your internet otherkin, but those only appear as their imagined self, twisted or beautified all the same. No, the others I'm talking about are the beautiful monsters.
First, there are those that are hideously flawed, yet in a way that is also beautiful - they acknowledge their own flaws and love themselves regardless. Then, there are those who appear as actual monsters straight from fantasy, yet who also appear beautiful. Both are people who think they do not fit in society, who do not even think themselves human, and yet love themselves anyway. They are the people worth getting to know, for they won't judge you back. | 2016-09-16T19:03:55 | 2016-09-16T16:38:05 | 590 | 122 |
[WP] After first contact, mankind and another civilization agree on a exchange program where you went to their planet spend a year there. When they bring you back, there is nothing where earth used to be. | **Galactic Lunch Time Theorem**
What used to be there was no longer there. My life, my memory, everyone I ever known and all the computer games I ever bought on Steam was gone.
Mars was there, so was Venus, even the moon was still there orbiting around an empty space like an abandoned dog barking at a car long gone. Only the Earth was missing.
I was on a student exchange program with Oakrion, a planet around our friendly neighboring Galaxy a few light-year blocks away. I had a good time there, I like the people, the food and their culture. I made lots of friends there to a point I almost didn't miss home. Only until I saw the Earth was missing, I realized how untrue that was.
"Don't panic," said the Oakrion spaceship captain.
"But this is the perfect time to panic!" I scurried around like chicken little under a falling sky, "Earth is missing. It's time to press the panic button. Where is the panic button? We must call the galaxy police! We must call the Search and Rescue!"
"Lunch time, don't panic," the Oakrion captain repeated nonchalantly.
"Earth is missing!" I told the captain. "We don't have time for lunch."
"Earth is missing!" I repeated to every crew member on the spaceship. Nobody seemed to be in any panic mode, I was the only one jumping around like a headless chicken.
"It's a perfectly normal phenomenon," the captain explained patiently. Meanwhile he took out an Oakrion Mystery Meatloaf from his lunch bag and asked me to joined him for lunch.
"I see it's your first time traveling in space," he said, cutting off a big piece of meatloaf to his plate. "Come, sit down. You must have lunch, if you want to see Earth soon."
I sat on the chair opposite to him, "What do you mean?"
"Have you heard of the Galactic Lunch Time Theorem by Dr. Bibble Jucie from PL31415?"
I shook my head.
"The theorem stated that every matter in the galaxy must obey the lunch time phenomenon. No matter what planet, what creatures, living or none-living must assign a specif space and time for lunch. Lunch is sacred and is a basic human right for all the living things in the galaxy. All works, entertainment, travel or physical reality must stop during lunch time."
"I still don't understand."
He pointed at the big screen. The screen zoom in to a sign on the moon. The sign said, "Earth is out for lunch, return soon."
"But earth is not a living thing," I protested.
"Everything is alive. How do you think the Earth get to run around the sun without eating lunch? It must go to lunch everyday."
"I never heard of it when I lived on Earth."
"Lunch time is a special time-space reality. Nobody will notice the time lost when Earth went to lunch and when she returns, everything goes on as usual."
"Is that so?"
"That is so."
So, we enjoyed lunch and sure enough Earth returned after lunch time.
TIL Earth also goes to lunch. | "It's been wonderful having you," my host mother said. I called her Ma. I'd managed to learn the basics of Alpha Centaurian, but I'd never got my tongue around the all the vowel-less syllables in her name.
"You must be looking forwards to having your daughter back though," I said.
Ma nodded. "Of course. I've missed R- very much. But it's been great to have you. To think, a year ago our civilizations were on the brink of warfare, but now everyone here thinks humans are simply wonderful."
Pa came in. I couldn't say his name either. In fact, I hadn't really managed anyone's names. But they'd all been very nice about it.
"I've got your spaceship ready," he said. "Are you sure you'll manage the journey by yourself? You've never done such a long hop before."
"Yes, thanks," I said. "You've done a great job of teaching me how the warp drive technology works. I should be just fine."
They saw me off with great fanfare. The event was televised planet-wide, and I found out much later that nearly 3 billion Alpha Centaurians had watched my departure.
As it turned out, however, the voyage did not go 'just fine'.
I popped out of hyperspace in the middle of my own solar system, half way between Mars and Earth. Or rather, where Earth should have been.
In the distance beyond was Venus, but in the spot formerly occupied by Earth was a large wall floating in space.
There was one small door in the wall. As I tentatively approached it, a large cannon emerged from a port hole and trained on my ship. It was laughably primitive technology, and probably wouldn't have been able to hit the Centaurian ship even if I'd come to a dead halt, but it was worrying none the less.
"Halt and identify yourself." The angry voice came over the ship's loudhailer. It was the first English I'd heard in a year.
"Bob Jones," I said. "Returning from Alpha Centauri."
"Who?"
"Bob Jones," I repeated. Had they forgotten me that quickly? "I was the exchange student sent as part of the peace treaty. An Alpha Centaurian, R-, stayed here with my family."
"Oh," the voice said. "Her."
There was a long static-filled pause, and then the voice returned. "Prepare to be boarded for inspection."
"What-" I began, but the hull of my ship shook and I heard the side door open.
A man came into the pilot room. He wore a uniform that said Alien Registration and Security Enforcement. I was unfamiliar with the name, but I was pretty certain about two other things. He looked human and he definitely had a gun.
"Come with me, Alpha Centaurian" he said, waggling the gun.
"I'm not-" but he waggled more threateningly, and I stopped protesting.
They transported me to the door in their own ship, and frog marched me down a series of bleak concrete corridors, finally depositing me into a small room. It was empty apart from two chairs, one on each side of a scratched and dented table. I sat down in one of the chairs.
On the wall of room, somebody had graffitied the letters "M.~~A~~E.G.A." | 2017-04-11T10:48:17 | 2017-04-11T09:28:31 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen. | "Judith, my favorite thrall, come here."
"Yes master, what is your will."
"Am I, ugly?"
"Ugly? How could my master think he is ugly. He is the most beautiful and..."
"Okay, enough. You're just a thrall, what do you know, of course you'll see me that way. But, what if I removed the charm then you'll let me know."
The color came back into Judith's eyes as she blinked looking around the room before settling on the grotesque figure in front of her. Oversized eyes set deep in an elongated deathly pale face. Deep age lines and wrinkles stretched over his skull making them appear both not as deep but ultimately more noticeable. Long white fangs protruded as he talked, his mouth opening wide for each word and never closing all the way like his jaw didn't quite fit his face.
"Well Judith, am I ugly?" Judith screamed dropped to her knees and began murmuring to herself.
"A simple yes would have sufficed." Judith started to cry as he stepped close to her. He wrapped a pale boney hand around her chin and forced her to look him in the eye trapping her back in the charm.
"Well then, it must be as bad as I feared, none of those new aluminum mirrors for me. Maybe I'll go pay a visit to the inventor of these new mirrors, I could have gone another thousand years never knowing this."
| "Eee-yo..." I cringed, pointing at the image in front of myself as I looked to my companion. He sympathetically tried to hold back a grin, but failed horribly.
"Hm?" The smug little shit. He was practically wheezing as he tried not to laugh at my unfortunate discovery.
"...Dude, is that me?" I looked into the mirror again, face twisting in disgust, making myself that much more grotesque. What a vicious circle.
"Pff no, asshole, I hired an improv actor who happens to be flawless at the mirror game." He rolled his eyes, before locking them with mine in the mirror. He was enjoying this far too much.
"You're a dick, you know that?" I prodded at my face, mourning the tragedy.
"Yeah and you're hideous." Finally he couldn't hold it back, doubling over as he let out a mad cackle. My eyes narrowed to slits and I whirled to face him.
"Dude, it's not funny! I'm like...fucking Nosferatu or some shit! This is why that seduction shit doesn't work!" I looked into the mirror again, muttering to myself, "What the fuck."
"Haha you're fuckin' stuck with me though, nobody else is gonna wanna hang out with that hot garbage." He was overcome by another round of ugly laughing, the kind that's accompanied by uncontrollable snorting and wheezing. I let out a pitiful sound and turned to go slump into a chair.
"Man, this shit was supposed to make me irresistible. This is balls." I heaved a heavy sigh, running my hand through my hair. "Whatever. Fine. I'm fine. This is fine." | 2017-07-29T12:59:14 | 2017-07-29T12:22:53 | 122 | 77 |
[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment | Douglas slid the final quarter into the Terminator 2: Judgement Day console. This was it. Fifteen more seconds of end boss play. Three more grenades. One more life. FOR. THE. WIN!!! It was glorious! The best $20.75 he'd ever spent. As the light gun in his hand settled down for the final cutscene, you thrilled at the brilliance of the game. The first two levels were playable on a single 50 cent buy-in. And then it became exponentially more expensive as you progressed. Earlier, he'd stopped as he ran out of quarters at $5, $10, and even $20. That had been heartbreaking - partway through the final level he'd realized: This game wasn't just your typical pay to win coin-op faire. No no, it was a masterpiece, tuned *just beyond* the $20 threshold.
Douglas grinned the entire bus ride home. He threw open the door, triumphantly, "DAD! I finally beat Terminator 2 at the arcade," Douglas thrilled.
"Son," came the somber reply, "I don't want you throwing your money away on those arcade machines any longer."
"What?"
"Come in here, your mother and I want to talk to you."
Douglas hung his head. What had he done wrong? It was his own allowance money he was spending, and he'd saved for a month to achieve this victory. He'd washed both cars, mowed the lawn every week, and taken out both trash and recycling like clockwork to guarantee success. And now he was... what? In trouble for it? That just didn't make sense. He kicked his feet as he walked down the hallway to the TV room where his parents were waiting. This sucked.
"Surprise!" yelled his Dad, Mom, and kid sister. "Happy Birthday!!!"
What!? Douglas felt his heart skip.
His Dad beamed at him, "Fooled you, didn't I?"
"Uh.." Douglas was speechless as he took in the room.
"But I wasn't lying - you don't need to spend your money on those arcade machines anymore," his dad continued. "We saw how hard you saved up just for this one try, so we thought - for your birthday - you'd appreciate a *home gaming system.*" Dad gestured to the TV cabinet, and the shiny black device at the bottom. "This, son, is a brand new SUPER NES. Now you won't ever have to pay money at the arcade again on that 'pay to win' crap. What did it cost you today to play *once*? $20? Well now for $50 you can *own the game* and play whenever you want! Winning isn't about how much you spend, but how *good you are at the game*! Isn't that great?!"
Little did Dad know, this wasn't an alternate universe at all, but actual goddamn reality, circa 1991, and it was fucking glorious. | “I just don’t get this new trend in gaming,” Axel complained to his girlfriend, Riley, as he stared at his phone debating another chest roll on Hero Clash Saga. They want $60 to even try their game, and you need a special ‘console’ costing hundreds of dollars to play it on.
“I don’t know. I kind of want to try one,” Riley told him. “I hear they’re pretty fun, and some of them are put out on a computer too, so I could try one on that.”
“As if you’re cheap computer could handle it,” he scoffed. “I’ve read up on these things, and you’re wasting your time.”
“So it’s a little expensive to get started,” Riley answered in a huff. “Once you have the game, they’re free from then on. And don’t try to say you don’t spend hundreds every year on your games.”
“It’s not even about the money,” Axel answered. “It’s the time. I’m currently playing five games, and I finished two of them for the day during this conversation. You know how they make money when so few people are willing to pay any for a game upfront? They target people the call elephants. Idiots willing to spend countless hours perfecting every aspect of the game. Then those people record it or stream it and show off how amazing it is to everyone else, and now the people watching think maybe they can do it too and go out and buy the game.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad, as long as they’re having fun,” Riley insisted.
“Oh, sure they’re having fun,” he told her, rolling his eyes. “These scummy developers have learned perfectly how to prey on their customers. Dazzle them with graphics, hit them up with dopamine rushes from accomplishing challenges, heck, some of them even craft emotional stories as if it were a movie out for an Oscar just to draw suckers in. Before you know it, you’re practically working another job every day with how much time you’re spending on these games.”
“Well, some people have trouble with restraint, but that doesn’t mean they’re a bad thing,” Riley countered, refusing to give up the argument.
“It’s more than just a few, and it’s often the people who have the least time to spare sucked in the most,” Axel pointed out. “It’s not just rich kids slacking out home with nothing better to do. You have parents working multiple jobs and taking care of their kids who hardly have any time to spare using all their free time and more on this stuff. It can ruin lives.”
“I think you’re being a bit melodramatic why do you even care so much?”
“Meh, honestly I don’t that much, but I’ll still never touch one,” he told her. “When I play a normal game, I know that if I can’t compete, I don’t just have to suck it up and wait. If I feel it’s worth my money, I can jump right into the action at whatever level I’m willing to pay for. You play one these new trashy games, they refuse to even give you that option. If you want to actually have fun, you have to spend the hours ‘practicing’ or whatnot. Even then, you may never be good enough to make it to average, so forget about even thinking of playing with the big boys.”
“No,” he continued, as he finished off his final title of the day and put his phone away, “I’ll stick to real games.”
| 2018-02-12T15:10:56 | 2018-02-12T14:20:56 | 115 | 48 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | "This isn't possible!" the man screamed, as the guards dragged him into my office. "How! How the hell did you find me?"
"That's not the important thing, Mr. Spencer." I said, calmly, as the guards pinned him face down to my desk. "The important thing is after my firm put up the money for your bail, you attempted to skip out on your court date. Unacceptable, Mr. Spencer. *Unacceptable."*
"Your damn tracker *can't* have worked!" he snarled, as they lifted up his shirt, exposing a thin, recently healed scar. "I was picked up in an air car with a lead-lined interior! They flew me around the city for hours and *verified* we weren't followed or observed from any angle! My safe house is 30 feet underground, inside a F*araday cage!* There's no signal on Earth that can penetrate that!*"*
"Apparently there is." I muttered, as I withdrew the extractor from my desk drawer and placed it over the implant site on his back.
"How did you do it?" he pleaded, a wavering, almost panicked obsession creeping into his tone. "I don't even care that you caught me anymore, I just want to know *how!* Your men were at my location before I could even have the damn implant pulled out! It's not possible, it---*AHG!"*
He snarled in pain as the extractor's laser scalpel automatically made a quick, clean cut, sucked out the implanted capsule, and then resealed the incision with a medical adhesive.
"How do I always know where each shipment I insure for my clients is? How do I know the location of every priceless piece of art or errant trust-fund child I'm hired to look after? These are the secrets of my trade, Mr. Spencer. They're not for the likes of you." I said calmly, putting the extractor away and palming the implant out of his sight.
"Tell me! Please, for the love of God, *how* did you do it?!" he wailed, tears of frustration filling his eyes as my guards dragged him away. I shook my head -- bad risk. I shouldn't have given him the chance to try and screw me over. But then, there was never *really* a chance he'd get away with it.
I looked down at the metal capsule in my hand, and smiled as I opened it, revealing the tiny, old fashioned brass key inside.
They were common when I was a kid, but these days electronic locks have replaced them for almost everything. If not for some lateral thinking, that would have made my particular gift almost useless.
You see, unlike most people, I never, *ever* lose my keys. | I was told I was blessed with a green thumb, when I was the only kid in my preschool who didnt kill their plant. This made my grandpa very happy.
Grandpa was a man I loathed in my younger years, someone who always smelled of cigars and hands where always covered in dirt, even after washing up for supper time. From as early as I could remember my grandpa had a vegtible garden and every sunday we'd eat fresh vegetables from the garden, along with some meat from the deep freeze or that my uncle had caught the previous day.
When I was old enough to pick up a trow, I found myself spending time in that garden, tilling, planting, and helping the garden grow. I didn't know that my time in that place I loathed would ever amount to anything later in life. My grandpa's garden would thrive every year until the summer I spent with my aunt and her two boys down at their lake house.
Grandpa said that the haul wouldn't be as good in the years past, there would be less to sell and he was glad when I returned.
Again the garden florished, with my sun soaked skin back in the field. We even expanded it, taking over most of the back yard, excluding grandma's flowers which where thriving as well. I was really convinced at this point that my presence helped the garden grow, that this was my mundane blessing.
That was till grandpa fell ill, the years of smoking taking to his lungs, leaving him unable to tend to the garden, grandma was there, but only able to water it. I visited him over a long weekend and saw the state of the garden I had revived not a few years ago. It was then that my blessing was really shown to me for the garden with watering alone had survived.
I switched to online classes to finish my bachelor's, and took my uncles childhood room at the house, bringing the garden back and better then ever, some of the plants in the newer addition where noticablly thriving compared to the old plot, the only difference was I was the one who planted those seeds. I took some seeds at the end of the harvest and put them on the planter outside my window. Oddly enough I knew where to plant them to make them grow to thier full potential.
Switching my degree was the smartest move of my life, with grandpa's passing I was left with a trust fund to pay my way through school and give me the knowledge that I now desired. I increased my plant knowledge 100 fold and began to make my own seeds, getting a grant and then a lab of my own, knowing exactly which batches would thrive and be reproduced, until I had super seeds that could survive in the harshest conditions and the most bountiful harvests. With that, came the riches and the glory.
Grandpa's love for gardening wore off on me and much to my surprise,my favor wasnt a green thumb, but a knack for plant perfection. | 2018-06-30T14:13:13 | 2018-06-30T13:56:55 | 8,960 | 173 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | Danny was what you would call a "gambling savant". He never seemed to lose any bet, no matter how outlandish. Everyone knew his gimmick: he'd flip a coin, call the sides in air and whatever it landed on, he would bet. Eagles or Patriots? He could tell you who would win based on a coin flip: heads for Eagles, tails for Pats.
He took his summer job savings of $1,000 and parlayed it into just over half a million before he turned 19. The hawks, the sharks, the eyes in the sky all monitored him. They dissected his behavior, strip searched him upon walking in the doors, and even tried to take away his coin. But all to no avail, it was never the coin. It was just *him* that was lucky. Short of losing all of his fingers and being unable to flip a coin by himself, Danny was going to win every bet until the day he died.
To the rest of the world, Danny was just Mr. Lucky. Couldn't lose if he tried. But the sharps knew his secret and they were tired of seeing Danny stroll in every day like clock work at 11 a.m., place his bets, finish his virgin ice tea and walk out... fully knowing that he would return later that evening and cash in a handful of winning tickets that would clean them out for anywhere from $100K to $5M depending on the sporting event of the day.
They hired a hitman to trail him. It wasn't easy... Danny had grown accustomed to sharps, sharks and desperate gamblers hounding him for the secret to his success. He had hired his own bodyguard to drive him to and from his home on the outskirts of Vegas. His home was surrounded by 10 feet walls and monitored 24/7 by a private security company.
The hitman knew his routine and knew that around 9 pm every evening, his driver turns down Las Vegas boulevard on the way off the strip. He runs the red light and times it perfectly as his lifted SUV smashes into the passenger side window of Danny's chauffeured Bentley.
The violent collision produced the most sickening sound, almost an explosion to anyone within 100 feet. When the smoke cleared and everyone could see inside the car, Danny was there. Eyes closed, still breathing, almost calm and relaxed. The hitman approached the car to see if he was successful.
Danny opened his eyes and looked at the other driver. "Something told me to sit on the other side of the car this evening."
He stepped out of the vehicle as emergency service responders descended onto the scene and the hitman could do nothing but look on. Danny left town and was never seen again. | I felt nervous and sweaty as I awaited to be called to the stage. The university was bursting at the seams with media, all there to witness my graduation. Perhaps not so uncommon to have global celebrities at Stanford but as the “smartest man alive,” everyone wanted to know what was next. As did I.
Of course, smartest man alive isn’t quite right. Most media had taken to calling me the smartest man ever. But, that wasn’t right either. My best guess is that my IQ is around 130 but no one including me would ever really know. Then again, my life had never been quite right until my ninth birthday.
I owed everything to my cousin Thomas. I still don’t know how he knew. Perhaps he was the one who gave me this curse... and gift. You see it was on my ninth birthday that he gave me the book that would change my life.
Until that day I had been to every kind of charlatan, physician, and psychologist you can imagine. “Deaf, mute and dumb” they used to say. I was just self conscious. No one around me ever made any sense. I couldn’t understand when they read. I couldn’t understand when I read. They couldn’t understand my speech. But, somehow, Thomas knew.
Well that seems like more than seven years ago now. But, here I am graduating from Stanford in the most unlikely of majors. Well, unlikely only if you didn’t know my curse and my gift.
The curse and gift that by the age of sixteen had enabled me to win three Noble Prizes and a Fields Medal. I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
I clutched that book. The book Thomas had given me all those years ago. Tighter. I was so nervous. Graduating from Stanford was literally the hardest thing I had done. They announced my department, Classics was up. Everyone started to cheer prematurely. They knew that I would be allowed to speak.
My name was called.
I walked to the stage still nervous.
I contemplated backing out. I was already here though.
I received my diploma to thunderous applause.
As I began, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. As we celebrate our commencement I am reminded of the twelve labors of Hercules.” I clutched the book harder in hand.
I continued, “I can recall a time when I couldn’t read the twelve labors of Hercules in the original Greek. As I stand here now, I contemplate all that the Greeks have have given and continue to give to us. Having studied their great works and considered our achievements through the lense of the Greek language I can honestly say that it is ‘All Greek to me.’”
You see, all language is literally Greek to me. But, for nine years I couldn’t understand anyone until I read that book. Then I started studying Greek night and day. It was hard but the more I learned Greek the more I could understand. Modern language was often overwrought with complexity but in Greek it was understandable. | 2018-06-30T18:35:54 | 2018-06-30T17:46:43 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] The hero and villain are roommates but don't know each other's secret identities. Come up with excuses for each other's injuries and describe a normal day. | I locked the door behind me as I headed out of my apartment. Even if I spent the night fighting with Doxx, I still had classes to get to.
Last night had been a close one: Doxx had infiltrated an industrial warehouse with a shipment of phones and had been installing... *something* into them. Not going to lie, I really didn't understand the techno-jargon he threw at me during his villain monologue. Pretty sure he knew it. Pretty sure that's why he did it.
Pretty sure that next time I'm just going to shoot him when he starts.
In the knee. With a blunt-tip. I'm an exasperated hero, not an anti-hero.
Still. The fight ended up with me getting flung out a window, and him getting shot a few more times than I care to admit.
Dad would kill me if he knew I was wasting bullets. But it's not like Doxx stands still, and he seems to have improved the armor in his body suit each time. If I didn't know better, I'd say he actually had some sort of kinetic absorption powers, but he still gets hurt when I punch him.
Which also happened last night. In both directions.
"Hey!"
I rammed into the side of someone walking in front of the stairs. To be fair, I haven't had my coffee yet. "Oh, geez, sorry!"
Oh God. It's Drake. Mr. Too Cool for Anybody in This Building. Mr. I Have Way Too Many Muscles For A Guy Who Doesn't Go Anywhere But Work. Mr. Have You Seen My David Tennant Hair. Which he was currently running a hand through.
Fuck. Maybe I *should* take Beth up on her night on the town.
He waved me off though. "It's fine, whatever. Just be more careful next time." He started to walk away before turning back, looking up from his phone with those golden brown eyes of his. Like the woods at home at sunset.
Damn it, Britt, don't be crushing on a jerk just because there's nobody else available.
He was speaking, though. "What happened to your face?"
"My face...?" I touched my cheek. Oh, right. The scratches. "Practicing breaking boxes with my head last night at the dojo. Kinda missed." That's when I notice the bruise on *his* cheek. "What about you?"
"This? Oh, had a D&D game last night. Things got heated."
"...that seems a bit much for a game."
"You haven't played before, have you? Folks get passionate when their characters die. See ya." He shook his head and walked back towards his room, head bent over his phone again.
There was a bruise the size of one of my blunt-tips on his neck. Right where I'd last shot Doxx last night.
It couldn't be, right?
***
Kind of a prequel to this: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/95cln5/wp\_youre\_a\_supervillain\_but\_you\_cant\_do\_crime/e3rxwjp/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/95cln5/wp_youre_a_supervillain_but_you_cant_do_crime/e3rxwjp/?context=3) | *beep beep beep*
I slam my hand down on my alarm clock and hop out of bed. I need to get up as quick as possible so I can meet Silvera at 7:00 and bring her to justice. I hear my roommate also shuffling around as I shove my brightly colored “Starfury” outfit into my backpack and I pull on pants that may or may not have been all the way on when I got out of the room. I see Alison already pouring herself some cereal. I look at her confusedly- she never gets up this early. She spots me and speaks before I can,
“Since when do you get up this early?”
“Uh... early meeting. You?”
“Ha. Same.”
I don’t have enough time to talk more I HAVE TO BRING JUSTICE.
I stuff a pop tart in my mouth and head out the door to change and get to the police station ASAP. I need to meet with them before going to meet with Silvera. I hear something breaking in the room behind me as I shut the door, but ignore it, as I don’t have time to deal with it. I change in the alley behind the police station and stumble in, exhausted.
“Sir.” I manage between pants.
“Ah, Starfury. You’re meeting with Silvera in a few minutes, yes?” I nod, “Good. We have measurements set up for her capture, but we also have the building directly east of your meeting place evacuated for the day. Good luck, man.”
I smile at the police chief as I fly out to the meeting site.
“Starfury. So nice to see you.” Her voice sounds strained, even exhausted.
“I can’t say the same about you, Silvera. It’s time to bring you justice.” I realize mine sounds equally exhausted. I am just not a morning person.
“Let’s just get this over with, shall we? I’m going to assume you don’t just wanna hop into these handcuffs here?” I banter. She smirks.
“Nope, and I don’t suppose you wanna just jump in a pit? That would be great.”
“No, that’s not in my plan for today. However, something that is-“ I surprise her by shooting a ray gun but she quickly dodges. The fight rages on for like twenty minutes (ridiculously long for a hero-villain fight. Neither of us have much stamina) until eventually she circles over me and away from the area. She’s badly wounded, but so am I, making it hard to chase. She grabs an innocent onlooker that was a ways away and lifts them far into the air, laughing. I chase, confused but determined not to let this innocent person die. She drops him- I hear him scream. I decide to save the person rather than follow Silvera- as she knew I would. She gets away again.
The door slams behind me of my apartment as I go to get some ice for the bigger of my bruises. I groan as I sit down- I really must’ve sprained something this time. I see my roommate sprawled across the couch, also nursing some strangely familiar looking wounds. She speaks up first again.
“Jay? What happened? You alright?” I wave it off,
“Uh yea, I just tripped. Fell against the side of a table. What about you, Ali?”
“Oh uh- I Uh- fell down the stairs.”
I’m too tired to notice how stupid of an excuse that is as I eat some ice cream. Man, I’m glad to have a friend as great as Alison. We eat ice cream together laughing about our injuries for the rest of the day. | 2018-08-08T05:52:21 | 2018-08-08T05:42:55 | 19 | 10 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.