prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | "Do you realize what you have don Abalam?!" my owner screamed, his human skin curling under the fire of his true form.
I clenched my fists, for I knew the punishment that was to come. But I did not repent.
"She asked for our services-"
"She's UNDERAGE! we never do deals with those who cannot understand the weight of this decision!!"
"I was NOT going to leave her there!"
And I know neither would you. Yes, she's was way too young. Eight years old is too young for many things, including summoning demons. I was taken aback too, being summoned between angels and virgins, the fragrant stench of flowers and incense making me revolt as I stared into her wide, scared eyes.
I dared not step out of the scrawly pentagram he made on the white tile, for I knew that I would burn if I layed a hoof on divine soil. My eyes glared at the child, her unruly brown hair, the neck of her neat blouse pulled awkwardly around her neck. Her eyes, full of tears and fright. But not scared of me... I open my mouth...
"What... have... you... done... "
...that's my thought, but it is not me who spoke it. Standing in the doorframe, a balding man stares in shock and horror at her, then at me. His robes are soaked and humid- the stench of alcohol is unbearable. The first buttons of his robe are undone, but the white immaculate neck is still on. From his hand dangles a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE REBECCA?!" he bellows, trying to hide the slurriness of his voice. She cringes and stares at me, tears running down her eyes in a non-stopping stream. Her sweet lips open and she mouthes one word to me... "please"
I clench my fist. I can't! I must not! it is out of my jurisdiction!
And yet... I do...
...
"You have begun a war Abalam" said Satan, sinking into the molden lava of his crimson throne... "you do realize this?"
"I do, your majesty" I say, bowing deeply at him, yet not letting go of her little body. She fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if it was the trauma, the pain, the fright or the relief of knowing she won't ever have to go back to her father again... I stare at her sweet smile, then back at my master's anger-stricken stare.
"Will you make me take her back?" I ask. He stands from the throne, pushing his cloak back as he strides across the room.
"Of course not. She accepted her fate. But God's army will not listen to our reasoning. For them, we have crossed the line. What will come to us is a raging war like the ones seen at the beginning of time. She is safe for now. You took the decision and you will stick with it. Won't you?"
She curls against my chest, her little hand caressing my burnt body.
"Of course"
​
Satan smiles. "Then let them come" | The girl couldn’t have realized the gravity of what, or rather whom she had summoned. This was no ordinary demon.
The girl stood staring. Wearing a little blue dress and pigtails. Blonde, very big blue curious eyes looked up at... it.
Just as the demon was about to return, thinking this was a mistake or some sort of sick prank, “this is what I was summoned for? A little girl? Ridiculous.” Then a crash from downstairs.
“Fuck you, you cunt!!” A man yelled. A woman screams in agony, “please, just stop! I’m sorry!..” more thuds. The sound of a body hitting the wall over and over.
More crying.
The demon looked down, the girl started to cry, trying her best to hold back the tears. ‘Why was she holding it in?’ Thought the demon.
“Oh here we go again with the Goddamn crying!!! I’ll come up there and GIVE you something to cry about!!” Screams the father. You can hear him grab something metallic as he stomps towards the stairs.
The girl immediately hides behind the demon, burying her face into his cloak.
The demon understands why he is there. It had become clear.
“Hmm... this man would make a fine addition to my collection...” the demon hissed.
The girl keeps her face buried.
“This cannot be undone and where he is going... will be unpleasant. Are you sure?” The demon looked into the girls soul as she answered. Every fiber of her being said yes as she shook her head.
The great old one patted the girls head, and snapped.
The father finally reached the room. Kicked open the door and had a belt in his hand. There he saw his daughter in the middle of the room staring up at the roof, into nothingness.
He ran towards her and swung his belt at her. But it went straight through her? He swung again and again but nothing happened. He looked back to see the door he kicked open closed and in perfect condition. He walked back and tried to open it but it would not budge. He tried to kick it open, still nothing.
Looking back towards his daughter, she had disappeared. There was nothing but the room. A bunch of photos appeared on the wall of his family, his wife, daughter, mom, dad, everyone. Once in a while he could swear he heard a voice whisper in his ear. But couldn’t make out what it was saying. The room was hot. Very hot. The man was sweating thinking he had gone crazy.
He claws at the door, then realizes there is a window. He runs towards it and looks outside to see hundreds, if not thousands of hideous creatures waiting to tear him limb from limb. “Jesus Christ!!!” He yells in utter fear. He stumbles back and looks up at the ceiling. He starts to see letters being carved into it by an invisible force. “Christ isn’t here”.
He jumps out the window thinking death would be preferable. He is immediately mauled, torn to pieces in an order that would take the longest. Then the man wakes up in the same room, his daughter standing there. He runs to her to try to hug her and yells he is sorry. But once again, he slips right through. He looks back and she has once again disappeared.
The man yells out to no one. As the voice that he cannot understand continues to whisper “welcome to purgatory”
*edit* spelling | 2018-10-08T13:40:21 | 2018-10-08T11:54:19 | 191 | 141 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | "Do you realize what you have don Abalam?!" my owner screamed, his human skin curling under the fire of his true form.
I clenched my fists, for I knew the punishment that was to come. But I did not repent.
"She asked for our services-"
"She's UNDERAGE! we never do deals with those who cannot understand the weight of this decision!!"
"I was NOT going to leave her there!"
And I know neither would you. Yes, she's was way too young. Eight years old is too young for many things, including summoning demons. I was taken aback too, being summoned between angels and virgins, the fragrant stench of flowers and incense making me revolt as I stared into her wide, scared eyes.
I dared not step out of the scrawly pentagram he made on the white tile, for I knew that I would burn if I layed a hoof on divine soil. My eyes glared at the child, her unruly brown hair, the neck of her neat blouse pulled awkwardly around her neck. Her eyes, full of tears and fright. But not scared of me... I open my mouth...
"What... have... you... done... "
...that's my thought, but it is not me who spoke it. Standing in the doorframe, a balding man stares in shock and horror at her, then at me. His robes are soaked and humid- the stench of alcohol is unbearable. The first buttons of his robe are undone, but the white immaculate neck is still on. From his hand dangles a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE REBECCA?!" he bellows, trying to hide the slurriness of his voice. She cringes and stares at me, tears running down her eyes in a non-stopping stream. Her sweet lips open and she mouthes one word to me... "please"
I clench my fist. I can't! I must not! it is out of my jurisdiction!
And yet... I do...
...
"You have begun a war Abalam" said Satan, sinking into the molden lava of his crimson throne... "you do realize this?"
"I do, your majesty" I say, bowing deeply at him, yet not letting go of her little body. She fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if it was the trauma, the pain, the fright or the relief of knowing she won't ever have to go back to her father again... I stare at her sweet smile, then back at my master's anger-stricken stare.
"Will you make me take her back?" I ask. He stands from the throne, pushing his cloak back as he strides across the room.
"Of course not. She accepted her fate. But God's army will not listen to our reasoning. For them, we have crossed the line. What will come to us is a raging war like the ones seen at the beginning of time. She is safe for now. You took the decision and you will stick with it. Won't you?"
She curls against my chest, her little hand caressing my burnt body.
"Of course"
​
Satan smiles. "Then let them come" | Great why are they calling me? I have been here in for years now just sitting and waiting and doing nothing.
Those bastards ruined my life. I was just a normal girl when 4 douches decided to play around with the book that forever changed me. When I was a fledgling I had no choice but to feed on humans. At first I tried to look normal, but then my best friend learned who I really was. I didn’t know how she felt about him I was just doing what I needed to, but alas I fell my own dear friend stabbed me in the heart and I was soon dragged to hell.
These summons almost always go to more famous demons so I have no idea why they are calling me. But I have to do what I have told as I now must serve Lucifer’s wishes.
“Ahhh number 8675309 please step up.” I slowly walked over to Charon’s desk not exactly thrilled. “You should be happy you get some surface time. We have your old Earth body prepared and that is how you will appear to the one who summoned you. Now do you have any questions?”
“Well yeah what exactly am I supposed to—-“
“Do??? Oh yes yes yes yes yes....we’ll suffice to say that is not how this works. The lord calls, you go to the surface, the rest is your choice. There is no guidebook just do what works and when the time is up, back you go.” Charon then left me with a hearty chuckle.
I stepped into the portal and found myself in a house. I heard this man yelling and kicking things around. So I guess I am a maid for my first mission? Man I wish given me a book or an instruction manual or something. Then I heard a tiny voice. I looked around the ramshackle room, it was dirty and not well kept. The voice was under the bed.
“You came.” I stood a little dumbfounded looking into the eyes of a 5 year old girl. “Please help me. My Dad is angry again and he will hurt me please don’t let him.”
She was so terrified but I didn’t understand. How could this young girl summon a demon from hell. I had to know.
“How did you call me?”
“I tried many times praying to God to stop him from hurting me but I never got help. So I tried calling the devil instead.”
The angry drunk voice got louder.
“Why should I help you?”
“Because I have lost my innocence. He hurts me and touches me and I can’t get anyone to help me. I called for you because the same thing happened to you. Please Jennifer save me from him.”
I don’t know why but I felt the rage swell inside. I wanted to help her but I wanted to hurt this man more. My eyes became focused my reflexes calmed.
“Hide in the closet and no matter what happens you keep that door closed. I will make your summon come true.”
The angry drunk man broke the door down and I let out a shriek that burned into his heart. Everything seemed to slow as I ripped every part of his anatomy inside out. I also used my new abilities to remove all evidence.
“Thank you!” She ran over to hug me.
“No.” I was never a fan of children. Of course she hugged me anyway.
“Can you stay?” | 2018-10-08T13:40:21 | 2018-10-08T12:43:12 | 191 | 47 |
[WP] For some reason or other you've swapped bodies with your significant other. You turn to turn to face each other. "Wow," they say, "do you always feel this way when you look at me?" You are stunned into silence. In their body - with their brain chemisty - you feel no attraction towards yourself. | The scent of burnt potatoes and dry chicken wafted towards me; the miserable result of another failed meal. It wasn’t Jackie’s fault, per-se, but it pained me to see her like this.
“Dammit, James, why didn’t you set the timer?” she said, exasperated.
I didn’t have to answer. She *knew* why. The same reason I couldn’t feed myself, or clean myself, or make love to her again. The same reason our marriage was finally dying. I remember her shouting, berating me for something that seemed so utterly important at the time. I remember the blaring of the car horn, the flash of sirens, and a cold, wet chill on my back.
During the accident, a piece of sharpened, splinted dashboard sliced open my windpipe. It healed—I could speak, but only with a weak, monotone voice, and not without excruciating pain. She walked away from the crash; I could never walk again.
The first nights were the hardest. Jackie fed me, and dressed me, and bathed me. She helped me defecate and cleaned up the mess I left behind. She worked tirelessly to install ramps in our home; she bought a new van for me; she quit her job for me. Jackie told me that we could still have a life together.
How could we?
What sort of life could she live, having to care for me constantly? We wanted four children. We wanted to travel, grow old, and explore the world together. With a scream, and a crash, and the rending of metal and flesh, our dreams were taken from us. How could I provide her with the life she deserved?
I love her with all my heart, and that is why I let her go. It was the single hardest decision I have ever made in my life; and I did not make it lightly. I can still wiggle my hands, so I wrote my letter and left it on the kitchen island. She took the note into the bedroom, and her sobs broke my heart.
The oven burned our dinner with a gleeful sense of duty; I sat four feet away, watching helplessly. Jackie returned hours later, furious.
“How dare you,” She said. “How could you ever do something so selfish? Divorce? After what I went through?”
“No. Not selfish” I said weakly.
She slammed the note on the table, “You think you’re doing this out of some sick sense of self-righteous duty, but you’re not. This is cruel. You can’t even begin to understand what I’ve went through!”
She noticed the smoke rising from the oven and asked me why I didn’t set the timer. I looked at her with sad, blue eyes.
She looked mortified. “Sorry, that was instinct. I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“Don’t. Please don’t.” I said. I knew this was the right thing to do, even if she didn’t. She didn’t speak to me again that evening, but she fed me, placed me in my bed, and returned to her own. I had a happy dream—
*We walked down the streets of Barcelona, looking at the different shops. Jackie took my old, wrinkled hand and kissed it gently. I laughed and smiled. A young man and his daughter approached us; they had deep blue eyes—my blue eyes.*
I woke crying. I reached up instinctively to brush away the tears. Then I realized—*I reached up to brush the tears.* I gasped, sitting upright. I was in Jackie’s bed—no—*I was in Jackie’s body*. I stumbled out of bed, “Jackie, err, James? Wake up!”
Jackie opened his eyes. “James?” he said, weakly.
“Jackie, is that you?” I asked, reaching over to caress his hands.
“Yes,” he said, and nothing more.
I looked at his body, her body, *my body* with awe. It was misshapen, burnt, and terrifying. It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. My hands shook; a bead of sweat ran down my forehead. I sat on the edge of James’s bed, wide eyed, my mouth dry. I couldn’t believe it—Jackie found me repulsive. How could she not leave me, after this? She had the perfect chance to walk away. Why would she choose to stay behind?
Jackie spoke again. I knew what pain it cost her. "Do you always feel this way when you look at me?"
I turned to her, tears fell unabated down my cheeks. “Always,” I said, “I will always love you.”
“Do you see now? Why I won’t leave you?” Jackie said. She coughed, her body spasmed, and I winced. I had felt that before. I smiled, and grabbed her hands, looking into her blue eyes—James’s eyes.
I understood. There will be trials in our lives. Our bodies will break and fail and wither, and the attraction will fade completely, but love? Love endures forever. I promised Jackie I would love her in sickness and health, and she did the same for me.
She kept her vows. It was time I kept mine.
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | **Spend a day in your sweetheart's shoes this valentine with SWITCH.**
**Get the romance package and experience how they fell in love with you for the first time**
I re-read the ad for the third time. The effects of SWITCH were temporary but repeating the day I fell for Janet. Now that might be interesting. The customization of the package was going to cost a little extra but... Hey it's for valentines day!
Two months of waiting and siting on the secret were finally over. "Janet, come with me honey! I have a surprise for you."
Janet wasn't too sure about using SWITCH. She'd used it a few times and wasn't impressed. I admitted this was my first try but the package was non-refundable...
Finally convinced we allowed the specialist to do her thing and when I opened my eyes next I was in her beautiful body. Those delicate small hands, the soft hair, this was the love of my life alright.
I waited for her to emerge from the SWITCH. I wanted to be the first person she sees.
"Wow! Do you always feel this way when you look at me?" She blinked my eyes surprise before a wide smile split my... I guess now her lips. "I didn't know you felt so strongly for me after so long. I just want to hold you tight and never let go!"
So... why do I feel nothing? Did the SWITCH fail? I'm... supposed to have Janet's feelings and emotions right just with my consciousness?
This is a mistake! Janet loves me she has to! I know she does. They made a mistake and -
"Hey let's start the day! Which package did you pick for us? Is it a couples spa or something?" She rushed to hold my hand and gently caress the back of it as she spoke. I didn't know I did that, must be an unconscious thing. Why do I not feel anything even though we're touching?
"I created a custom for us. It's our very first date." I saw her forehead crease in thought, come on Janet how could you forget?
"Since you made the arrangement I'll let you take the lead. Honestly I'm just happy to spend time with you. How odd, just being near you is filling me with energy. The whole world seems brighter with you in it!"
I sighed, flattery to cover up your faux pas. Sounds like me at least. Hand in hand we made our way to Denny's Dinner. The chain is long gone now and I'm a bit ashamed that this was were I met my wife. Not a fancy restaurant with a name impossible to pronounce. Just... Denny's.
"Wow they recreated it perfectly. Oh their's our table. come on!"
The meal was prepared by the SWITCH luxury center to mimic our order that day. A burger for her and a stupid salad for me. I chewed on my rabbit food as Janet gushed over the little details and the emotions she was getting from it all. I however hated it. The food was crap, the place cheap and this person just wouldn't shut up... Is this what you felt on our first date Janet?
After the meal we went to watch a movie. I don't remember it being THIS bad. Wow... totally garbage! Why do I even own this at home?
I wanted to end the day right then and there. This was disaster. The whole thing, she hated it all and the more time we spend together the clinger Janet/me gets which just annoys me.
Janet insists on the last activity of the date. It's so hard to say no when she has on that goofy grin. Fine, we might as well. God how did she not divorce me already?
As the thought hit me I froze. Divorce? Janet might leave me? Janet might hate me? As I pondered this thought I ended up tripping on my own feet! Clumsy even in Janet's graceful body...
Pain shot through me and my vision got blurry for some odd reason. "What happened! Are you alright!"
I tried to get up on my own but almost fell again. Janet was by my side and wordlessly supported me till we got to a bench. Getting on her knees she examined my foot. The ankle was starting to swell already. One day... I had her body for one day and I already ruined it. God I'm useless!
I opened my mouth to apologize but before I could "I'm sorry." She said as she gently placed my foot down on her lap. "I was so excited with all of your strong feelings that I forgot. We're not twenty anymore and I can't drag you around like this. It's probably why I feel for you, you would have taken better care of me. Just like you did that day and every day since then. Your eyes saw me even when I myself didn't know how I was feeling. Please forgive me my love."
I felt my heart beat faster at this. At the sight of my blue eyes staring up at me. Forty years of marriage hit me like a tidal wave all the highs and the lows, I was so concerned with the instant reactions that I failed to see. Janet, my Janet, took it all in, all of it.
As she struggled to half carry me in her old arms I waved her off and insisted on walking, at least until the medical staff get here to treat this body. My Janet, I want you to spend forty more years with you if I could. I love you and now I know that you love me too. | 2018-12-01T23:04:34 | 2018-12-01T22:47:24 | 379 | 56 |
[WP] Mermaids are actually women who have been thrown off ships because they were considered bad luck. As they sink to the bottom, they slowly change until they can breathe under water and they can use their tied up legs to swim. They lure sailors to get their revenge. | Surprised cries soon descended into pleas of horror. Torchlight licked a lurid orange across the deck of the ship. I wanted to imagine it away as a nightmare.
But I couldn't.
The white face of a crew member loomed ghost-like as he grinned in the process of tying together another woman's wrists. The slender brunette shuddered; her frantic eyes locked with mine for a moment, then slipped away.
How could this have happened?
My wife, Maria, and I had considered it the trip of a lifetime, traveling with 10 passengers and four crew on a party sailboat off the coast of Croatia.
A moonless night presided over the terror. All the electric lights were off.
"Why is this happening," Maria implored. She'd been tied up, too.
The husbands and boyfriends were handcuffed -- wrists and ankles.
I could see past Maria to the brunette's agitated limbs that the men held down. With shouts and laughter, they stripped her. And then they ... they stole everything away from her. Almost as an afterthought, they stabbed the traumatized body. They shackled a weight to her feet and pitched her overboard.
"What was that," Maria asked.
My wife had heard the splash of the woman's body.
I wouldn't let that happen to Maria. Her tan Greek skin always reminded me of stories about demigods who roamed secretly among humans.
Our modern culture was long past those myths now: water nymphs, Poseidon wielding the power of the waves.
This ocean had turned malevolent, and there were no gods to rescue us.
No, we won't die like this, I thought.
"Look at me Maria, look at me sweetheart," I said.
A crewman stalked toward her.
"This is only because I love you,” I said. “Please understand.”
With all my strength, I hurled myself at Maria. The crewman exclaimed as we tumbled together off the deck.
The scent, the sensation of the brine enveloped us. The orange glow from the ship slithered across the waves as we sank.
"Don't fight it, Maria," I thought.
Saltwater stung my eyes as my manacled hands touched the rope that bound hers.
A soundless desperation cried from my wife.
I wanted us to inhale our oblivion together, as one.
As my lungs ached toward that fatal in-breathing, my consciousness started to fade, drifting into the great blank swells of death.
My wife's lovely hazel eyes pleaded with me a last second, then closed. Bubbles gurgled from her mouth.
A moment, a beat.
Her eyes opened.
A tincture of hatred darkened hazel to violent green, the least of the transformations.
With my last vision, I saw her — my beautiful spouse, my gentle wife, my Maria — I saw her surge toward the hull of the vessel, merciless as a torpedo.
--------------
Edit: Thank you for the constructive criticism, compliments and thank you for the gold! I changed "rocket toward the hull" to "surge" since it's more in keeping with the nautical setting, as some have pointed out. | (WP) Revenge of the Deep
A dense gray fog hung over the ocean, the waves themselves as smooth as glass.
A large warship, *La Princesa Azul,* sailed through it, the captain swearing quietly in Spanish under his breath.
“All of this fog makes it impossible to see, and the next port is miles away,” He grumbled to himself, taking out a spyglass and putting it to his eye. But with everything covered by the fog, there was just no way to see what was coming.
Captain Raoul St. Martinique was a man known for his fortitude and courage. It was why the Crown had hired him for his services. He could make the best out of any bad situation.
His first mate, MacNair, walked across the deck and went to speak to the captain.
“Captain, this fog has all of the men on edge. The navigator is saying that it’s a bad sign.” He spoke with a thick Scottish brogue, his voice musical but firm, full of authority. “Though I suppose the only thing to do is wait for it to pass.”
“One cannot make the fog go without any wind, MacNair, and as far as I know, none of our men possess the supernatural ability to change the weather.” St. Martinique quipped, rolling his eyes.
Racketeers were often a superstitious lot, but his crew took old sailors’ tales and breathed life into them, they talked of them so often.
“All we can do now is wait.”
\*\*
The ocean began to churn, the waves turning thick and soupy, so suddenly it seemed an ill omen.
The cabin boy, Matthias, had come up from the galley, and he peered over the edge of the ship, noticing the disturbance. He wanted to tell the captain, but he didn’t dare; if it was all for nothing, the captain would be furious. But it looked as though something was swimming just under the waves, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
Fear bloomed in his heart, and he backed away, retreating downstairs to the safety of the galley.
\*\*
The fog was soon replaced by dark clouds in varying shades of purple: a storm was on the horizon, and in more ways than one.
“All hands on deck, there’s a storm coming!” The captain roared, and there was a flurry of movement behind him as the men hurried to carry out his orders.
The men tied ropes around their waists, securing themselves to the deck, unfurling the sails.
Through all of this busy activity, no one noticed a group of something circling the ship, the occasional glimpse of a glittering tail peeking up from the waves.
The storm was soon in full swing, rain and hail pummeling the deck and the men who’d secured themselves upon it, and then the attack began.
Screams soon battled the roar of thunder for dominance: fish-tailed women were crashing to the deck, some solo and others in groups, shrieking their fury at the sky.
The deck became slick and black with blood as the mermaids feasted on the flesh of the pirates, slaking their hatred and bloodlust with murder and gore.
Only the cabin boy was untouched; the mermaids could not reach the galley, and anyway, even if they could, they would not harm a child.
After all, he was not the one who’d fed them to the waves.
Those sins were laid at the feet of the adults.
After all, women on a ship brought bad luck.
\*\* | 2019-02-08T09:29:13 | 2019-02-08T06:30:38 | 287 | 114 |
[WP] One day in your bedroom, you try for the first time to hold your breath for as long as possible. It's now been 5 hours, and you start thinking something is wrong. | Something is off, I am still holding my breath, it has been almost five hours. I am dead, I'm so sure of it. I mean living things need air. I haven't took a breath in almost FIVE HOURS.
My eyes flick towards my alarm clock, the red digits stating what I already knew, 5:43 PM. Dinner will soon be ready, what do I tell mom, hey I'm dead, I haven't took a breath in 5 hours, but no worries, I still function! Oh she would break down, cry, because her baby boy was dead.
But what if the world found out? The feds will take me in, have me dissected, to see what makes me tick, or well not tick.
My hearth was in my throat. That was still functioning, thank the Lord.
I looked at my alarm clock, 5:57 PM. I heard my mom walking up the stairs.
Oh no no no no no, what do I do.
She knocked on my door. "Casey, dinner is ready."
She waited for my reply. Again she knocked, "Casey, hello?"
Third time she knocked, "Cas, are you there?"
There was no fourth time, she entered the room with her hands for her eyes, "Casey as your mother I am using my rights to check on you so if you're doing something you are not allowed to do, you have a few seconds to come up with an excuse as to why."
I looked at her in panic and all I could do was cry.
She removed her hands from her eyes. "Casey what's wrong?"
And I bawled, I cried so hard, my whole body was shaking. I explained everything.
She looked at me perplexed and then started laughing uncontrollable, SHE KNEW! she knew why I wasn't breathing.
She started explaining what was wrong with me, apparently it's normal these days.
My name is Casey Miller, I am 6 years old and I just learned that people can breath through their nose. | I've heard that you're not supposed to attempt all of these oxygen deprivation games; I'd seen the videos, kids choking each other so they can pass out and whatnot, knocking their heads on the pavement or giving themselves brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. I promise: that's not what I was doing.
I just though I'd time myself, that's all, see how long I could hold my breath for. Well, things got out of hand pretty quickly. I'd had the stop watch on my phone going, and I swear it hadn't even reached 60 seconds when I blinked and it suddenly said that I'd been holding my breath for five hours.
*Well, that can't be good,* I thought to myself, quickly gasping for air. That's when shit got weird.
My room disappeared in a flash of white, like a nuclear bomb going off. Holy shit it was blinding, I felt like I couldn't even open my eyes. And everything felt suddenly warm, and gooey, and just so weird. I felt hands on my body, my tiny body, why was I so tiny?
And there was a baby crying.
*No, wait. I'm crying.* the thought hit me like slap on the butt. *I'm a fucking baby!*
Yup, I was alright. A newborn baby kicking and screaming in a fire-lit hut surrounded by smiling women and a few husky, bearded men.
Let's make a long story short, because I'm already starting to forget it. I lived a whole new life in this breath-holding-world I created in my head; I grew up, learning to hunt with the men of my tribe and connect with the gentle spirits of our world; I found love, and the two of us made a wonderful family together; I got old, all the while forgetting I ever had a life before all of it.
But I'm awake now, and everything is right where I left it. The stopwatch only reads 5 minute; damn, I guess that is quite a while to hold your breath.
I told my wife on my death bed that I'd never forget her, but the memory of her face is already fading...
And...
Man, I feel like I had the weirdest dream, but I can't recall what it was about. Don't you just hate when that happens?
/r/BeagleTales | 2019-06-30T00:09:12 | 2019-06-29T19:53:36 | 596 | 410 |
[WP] You send your DNA off to discover your ancestry. One day you see several suspicious looking cars pull up outside your house. Military officers begin to surround your home and a woman gets out of one of the cars and walk straight to your front door. They have your DNA results. | Luna was sat down, the results of her dna test having been explained to her already. She waa frowning, trying to piece it together.
"That's impossible - there's no way it could be a perfect match," she explained to the woman and men in the suits before her. "For one, I have a vagina. Kinda need a Y chromosome to have a penis like he did." The woman coughed.
"Yes, well, there *is* a reason for that -" she pulled out a different folder. A medical folder. Luna grabbed it an dlipped through it for a moment, her jaw dropping at what she read. "From what is there, your parents felt that the information should be sealed. Permanently. Apparently an intersex child back then was quite the shame. My apologies." Luna felt tears welling up in her eyes, felt her age sink into her as she leaned back in her chair. Her parents had spent their entire life lying to her, and now that they were dead and buried it wasn't even like she could hold them accountable for it.
Not like she hadn't already danced on their graves when they died, those abusive bastards.
"So what, I had a twin? An identical twin that turned out to be the volunteer for some experiment with your department?" The woman nodded vigorously, clearly jittery from her nerves.
"It was during the Cold War - lots of secret experimentations went on. Have you seen the show *Stranger Things* on Netflix?" Luna shook her head. "Well, one of the characters - named Eleven - is an experimental child. Similar concept, but different." Luna just closed her eyes, soaking it all in.
"So what do you need me for." She asked. "What experiment do you want with me." The woman leaned forward.
"With your DNA being a perfect match for your twin brother's - we can send you to go and find him, and bring him back to us. You can save him." Luna gripped her skirt tightly.
She could have a real family. One she always wanted. "Where would I be going?"
"The French Revolution." Well fuck all kinds of ducks. | \*\*Siren.\*\*
My heart stops. I'm on the second floor of my house, looking out the front of my house. A cop car screeches to a halt in front of my driveway, as if my house had physically stopped the car.
Suddenly, another cop car comes, parking right being the first car. Then another, and another, and then another. They surrounded the entire house - police cars, military officers, and eventually the swat team.
At this point, my heart is thumping out of my chest, as if it knew that it had to swiftly escape.
An extremely angry-looking woman comes out of the first car. She had black hair and was wearing a black skirt. She hastily walked up to my door. But in my head, each step got slower in slower, as if someone was slowing the playback rate on a video.
\*\*Ding dong.\*\*
I dreadfully come downstairs to the front door. \*\*What was it?\*\* I knew that I hadn't done anything wrong. I open the door.
"The results are in. We have your DNA results." she proclaims in a shamefully but loud voice. She had hundreds of troops behind her, with AK-47's and machine guns on hand.
"What DNA results?" I ask. Something just didn't line up. I never had a DNA test.
"President Lincoln. Your test confirms that you are Abraham Lincoln."
My jaw drops and my eyes widen, staring at this woman in all-black in disbelief.
"What do you mean? It is 2019. Abraham Lincoln died decades ago." I state, become immediately confused.
"You died," she interrupted. "But ever since you were gruesomely shot and killed, scientists have researched, and they miraculously inserted your life back into your corpse. You were the first test subject. We secretly tested DNA from your urine and it successfully matched with leftovers of your corpse."
Before I can even begin to open my mouth, 3 of the biggest bodybuilders I have ever seen lift my 5'3 frame off my toes and toss me into the backseat of a cop car.
Within what feels like seconds they drive me to the front of the White House.
They drag me to the second floor on massive balcony.
"What is going on?", I ask the man carrying me.
"Good luck", he proclaims. "Don't worry about Trump, we killed him. You are the president now. World War 3 just began, you are our only hope." | 2019-08-05T20:03:16 | 2019-08-05T17:47:09 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] Your twin is the Chosen One, born with powerful abilities. But you were born with none. Because they were born gifted, your twin took everything from you as they bathed in the spotlight. Your anger drove you to become better, working hard to rival your twin, yet they call YOU the villain.
**EDIT** : Apparently the first two sentences are incredibly similar to a plethora of stories and shows, so I apologize if it seems like I’m copying from something. | I didn't understand why, my brother tore through these possessed people with his magic and was called a hero.
I on the other hand... Well apparently if you use guns instead of magic to end a person who's been possessed by a demon you're not a hero but a monster.
My brother was born with super human powers, flight, super strength, heat vision all the super hero bs. Meanwhile I was born with nothing except for my trigger finger.
I never had problems with killing someone, I've done it dozens of times before even reaching the age of 21, just like my brother. But it looks like people preferred when it happens through super powers than through guns.
He beat a lot of evil guys, killing many of them through his super Strength but still they praised him as hero. He was no hero. He only wanted the fame. The money. The women...
I on the other hand was a firm believer in justice, but people don't seem to care. A group of terrorists screwed up a bomb planting and started taking hostages instead, since my brother was occupied fighting some super villain I jumped into action. They had many men who were armed to their teeth with rifles, bullet proof vests and even grenades.
I had a Desert Eagle.
I didn't miss a single shot, they all fell victim to the .50 AE hollow points I had loaded.
The public hated me, calling me a crazy vigilante, even calling me villain...
It has been going on for years now, he gets all the glory by just beating up people weaker than him while not giving a single damn about the people he was saving.
I always tried my best to save people and avoid fights, only using my pistol when it was absolutely necessary.
Still in their eyes I was the villain.
I've finally realized after all these years... Justice is dead... They call me villain? Fine then... I'll give them a villain. | **"A frisbee! A fucking frisbee!"**
I overturn another table sending accounting documents flying. "I go to the park to throw a frisbee to myself and suddenly I am being yelled at like I just launched a nuke!" I sigh and roll the nearest chair over and collapse into it."Next thing that I hear, that 'crack team' of his is yelling bloody murder saying I was releasing deadly gas!"
**"Crackpot team more like it!"**
I turn to the source of the voice. A balding man, sitting half covered in documents with his name written in large lettering over all of them. His face slightly shiny with sweat, mustn't get out much.
**"Yeah! Crackpot team! Nice one ...Devid!"** I laugh and he visibly relaxes. "You should really go tell them to back off!" Yells another playing with her rope collection.
**"I really should!"** I ponder before remembering why **"But then my snot nosed brother would be all 'Oh you cant do that! i now have to take you to jail'"** I qoute in a mocking tone. **Just because he was born cool doesn't mean I can't be just as strong as him! Maybe stronger!** I think pacing round the room. My train of thought is suddenly broken when hear a chair squeak behind me.
I turn and see 6 people including devin scooting along to open the door for me before noticing I have turned and stopping in their tracks. I walk up to them and I yell out **"you guys really believe I can do it this time?"** To a chorus of nods filling me with a swell of emotion unfelt for the longest time, hope. **"Ok! I'll do it!"** And with that I jog out of the bank, duffel bag of cash in hand. I had only intended to make a quick withdrawal for groceries but now I had a reason to pay my brother one more visit and this time, he will listen. I am sure. | 2020-01-01T07:42:00 | 2020-01-01T06:40:36 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | The young man woke early on May 27th. It was his 16th Birthday, and today he would find out two very important names. Two names to surely be intertwined with the rest of his life. He was excited, and scared at the same time.
He stared out of the window of his Manor House looking across the grounds. He knew he was born early in the day, around 8am, so he didn’t have long to wait. The house was quiet, hardly anyone around, except for the faint noises of someone in the kitchen making him his favourite breakfast, on this special day.
He wasn’t all that concerned about the left wrist, he thought he knew who that was going to be. A man who nearly 8 years ago shattered his whole world, and left him very alone. He didn’t go a day without seeing his face in his mind, or waking up sweating and screaming from his dreams. So why would it matter really if he saw his name too. The young man missed his parents greatly, and again, like most days vowed to make them so proud by continuing to do good for the city he lived in.
The name on the right wrist was more important, he wanted to find that soulmate as quickly as possible and spend as long as possible with her, for as many years as he could. He wondered every day who might appear there, printed on his wrist, and today was the day he was going to find out.
A large grandfather clock in the hallway outside chimed, he counted 8 chimes echoing throughout the large rooms and empty halls. He looked down, and as if some invisible pen was writing words on his wrists, 2 words appeared on each one. Confused, he sat there, wondering what on earth they meant. Something is wrong, “they’re not real names, and how can they both say the same thing! This is ridiculous” he shouted! He wondered if something had gone really wrong.
Footsteps were coming up the marble staircase, he could hear the chinking of plates and cutlery. The butler opened the door, beaming with excitement to find out who the young mans soulmate would be. Placing the tray of food on the large solid oak table in his room, he walked over to the young man, and was concerned about the frightened look on his face. The young man held out his hands, whilst his butler gently studied both names. His brow furrowed, he looked up over his glasses, and said, “Master Wayne, who is The Joker?”
——
First ever comment on one of these. It’s probably fairly crap, but it popped into my head when I saw it. Thought I’d give it a go
——
Cheers for all the kind words people. | Felicity never cared about what names would show up on her wrist on her sixteenth birthday. Everyone else was always excited for the Revelation. Would their crush be on their right wrist? Would that witch Sally from English class be on their left? The possibilities were endless!
But Felicity grew up watching what a soulmate can really do. She watched as her father was abusive to her mother and siblings. She felt the sting of his hand across her face and the pressure of his fingers around her throat.
She knew her mother's story. At Melissa's Revelation she was so excited to see the name Skylar etch itself into her right wrist. *What a wonderful name* she thought. It was something beautiful and airy. She couldn't wait to meet them. Ten years later she met Felicity's father. He went by Skylar, his middle name. Melissa wouldn't learn this until four months later at their wedding where she learned his first name was Fredrick. She couldn't believe it. Fredrick was the name on her left wrist. Felicity believes that at that point her mother should have ran as far away from that terrible man as she possibly could, but she didnt. Melissa stayed, and has regretted that decision everyday.
It didnt take long for Fredrick Skylar to get violent, but it was already too late for Melissa to leave. Felicity was a honeymoon baby. The unhappy couple ended up having five kids in total before finally taking responsibility for their reproduction. The damage was already done, though. The older kids grew up trying to protect their younger siblings, Felicity getting the brunt of most of her father's punishments. So, no, she wasn't excited to learn her fate.
She had also watched good come out of the idea of soulmates, though. She watched her friends in school live happy, healthy lives with parents who truly loved each other. Felicity envied them, but she never allowed herself to wish for something so impossible. She knew better than to hope for a happy ending.
So when her sixteenth birthday came along and her friends threw her a surprise countdown party for her Revelation, Felicity put on the best fake smile she could.
3...She could see the excitement on everyone's face.
2...Her mom was looking at her with hope in her eyes. A plea that her eldest daughter can have something more than she ever did.
1...Fear engulfed Felicity. She wasnt ready. She had hope. Why did she have hope!? Why was she afraid of being let down!?!?
0...The slight burning sensation in her wrist made the fear swell even more. There was no point in worrying now, it was already too late. Yet when she looked down at her wrists, her heart skipped a beat.
First, she looked at her left wrist. Was it Sally? Felicity bet it was Sally. It wasnt Sally. There on her wrist, in bold, red letters, was scrawled the name Felicity. She wasn't ready for that.
Her gaze quickly moved on to her right wrist. Felicity. Again, her wrist said Felicity. | 2020-01-18T23:49:54 | 2020-01-18T23:12:39 | 264 | 10 |
[WP] You involuntarily bring back souvenirs from your dreams, simple things like a flower or some dirt, an article of clothing, a paintbrush. This morning, you awake next to another person. | I knew there would be trouble.
My finger traced along her cheek, my touch light enough that it did not stir her from her slumber.
She had perfect lips, beautiful round face. Her hair a soft caramel. I wondered what colour her eyes were.
I had dreamed so many things, brought them with me. Mostly small items. A bottle. A blanket. A book.
They were tucked away in the room my husband and I don't go in.
The dream had felt real, real like it always did when I awoke to find some new object in my hands. She had been there, in all of those dreams, waiting for me. Needing me. And I loved her, I loved her with my whole heart.
My husband must have left for work hours ago. That was his way of dealing. He kept hoping that if he worked hard enough, he could fix things.
I didn't know what I would tell him. Just like when I had first brought back things from my dreams. He thought I had been joking at first, but then he just thought it was my way of dealing. I stopped telling him about it after that.
The first object had been a set of plastic keys. Next, a wood block. A rattle.
She twitched, inhaled. A long sigh. I froze. Was I ready for her to wake up?
Clearly I was still dreaming. That was the only answer. She only existed in my dreams. She could not exist in the same world as the bin of sticks with only one line, the bin that existed just past the bathroom door.
A teddy bear. A tiny sock. A little hat. A pair of impossibly small yellow boots. A hospital bracelet.
How could I explain her? How could I explain her sudden existence to the man who loved me, who held me while I sobbed, and stoicly drove me to and from every doctor's appointment?
Would we have to call the police? What if she is a missing person? My heart pounded. In my grief-stricken sleep, had I stolen her?
I brushed my finger against her cheek again. Her eyes opened, just for a moment. They were green, just like mine.
I gathered her into my arms, and held her tiny form.
I knew there would be trouble. But it could wait.
I just wanted to hold my daughter for a little while longer. | Nothing has been the same since the divorce. It was my fault really. I married her without giving us enough time to really get to understand each other. Naturally, my first night alone was less than restful. My dreams were full of wizards, and dragons, kings and quests. Things from stories my father had read to me growing up. Those stories helped me deal with the world when I had nothing else to fall back on.
Now it was similar. Looking back I'm not surprised that's the first place my mind fled to, but something was strange. When I awoke, there was a frog sitting on my chest. Naturally I flailed around in the sheets and ended up on the floor, and had to chase the slimy thing for a good half hour before it calmed down . Every night since then, something has appeared in my bed when I wake up. The largest thing I've ever brought back was a cat. Not an actual cat, more of a cat-like statue, but relating to size, nothing ever larger than a cat. The novelty of this phenomena has long faded, but sometimes I get a little chuckle at the odd items I discover.
Today however, was different. I suppose old habits resurfaced, because I got up and showered like any normal day. Walking back to my room I was met with an odd sight. Here I was standing in the doorway, covered in only a towel, and lo and behold, a woman was sitting on the edge of my bed. She looked about my age, had dark, shoulder-length hair, and her green eyes were looking at me with the most curious expression. I suppose I wasn't fully aware of my appearance because when she turned her head aside and spoke, heat immediately began flooding my cheeks.
"Um, would you mind telling me what's going on?"
"Oh my gosh, one moment!" I quickly retorted and mad a mad dash for my closet. After hurriedly donning some jeans and a shirt, I walked over to the desk near the bed and sat down, repositioning the chair to face her.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions, such as who I am and where you are. Please take your time and I'll try to answer what I can..."
It's been 2 years since that awkward morning, and boy, has it been quite an adventure. Sophia and I have been happily married for the last year, and ever since then, we both find weird objects in our bed every morning. I'm still not sure why this happens, or why Sophia appeared that day. No other person has ever appeared. Maybe it was an act of mercy towards a broken, and foolish man, from whatever strange being is enacting such a power. All I can say is this. Life is what you make of it, and my dreams can shape my destiny. | 2020-10-11T23:05:01 | 2020-10-11T22:30:14 | 161 | 60 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone gains a Familiar, an animal suddenly enchanted to be intelligent and bonded to them. You wake up on your 18th birthday to find your room covered in hornets, all of them speaking to you as one. | Every freshman on campus was gathered for the meet and greet. People milled around, talking to people and pretending to make friends. It was all an excuse to show off their familiars though. Everyone was still very proud of their animal companions, seeing as most of them received them only a few months ago.
Scott stayed by the edges of the undulating crowd, watching cliques and clubs form. Humans were pack animals by nature, and it was showing now. People with similar familiars were gathering together.
There were the dog group. And over at another end were people who were riding bears. Another group was watching their birds fly around. Scott's familiar crawled around, swooping and flying around the entire field, filling his mind with sounds, smells, and images. Nobody noticed what was happening. Nobody paid attention to Scott's familiar.
It was how he saw a person who really interested him. A girl, who could have been pretty if she bothered taking care of herself. But it was the fact that she stood well away from the others that really caught his attention.
He made his way over to her, skirting the outer edges of the crowd. When he got within view of her, he paused. Not because he was nervous, but to give her the chance to become aware of his presence. It did not take long. He stood next to her.
"Scott." He said.
"Cindy." She said.
Neither spoke for several seconds. Cindy was the one who broke it. "So, what do you have?"
Scott held out his hand. His familiar crawled out of his sleeve and perched there, twitching its wings and legs.
"A hornet?" She asked, seemingly unafraid.
"Yup. A hornet."
"Just that one?" She asked. From the way the corners of her lips curled up just a tiny bit, it seemed like she could guess the answer though.
"Nope. This is just the queen. The rest are all around us."
Scott looked around. His familiar filled the air, so diffuse that nobody paid much attention. There were thousands of them, spread all over campus. And all of them were his familiar. All under his command.
"How about you?" Scott asked.
Cindy pointed at the top of her head. Scott looked closer. There, almost hidden save for the twitching of a pair of delicate antennea, was a single ant.
"Oh, I see. How far have they gotten?"
"Probably as far as yours by now."
Scott glanced down. A line of ants moved over the asphalt. They stopped breifly, arranging themselves in ways normals ants never would. An idea came to him.
He had a few hornets land next to the line of ants and face away from them. Cindy got the idea immediately. Soon, each hornet was carrying a single ant through the air.
"Scott, I think you and I are going to be the best of friends." She said.
"I look forward to it."
Humans were pack animals by nature. They like to gather and form groups. Or, in Scott's case, a hive. | "Hello, my master."
A scream echoed through my neighborhood. Why hornets!? WHY did it have to be hornets!?
"Do not be afraid, master. We are your familiar. We are here to serve you." They said.
I was absolutely horrified. I honestly would've preferred bees. Then again, it makes sense why my familiar would be hornets. Anger issues, am I right?
I took a few breaths and calmed myself down. I now knew I was gonna have to get over my fear of the little shits.
"What are your names?" I asked them.
"We do not have names. You have to name us." They replied.
There were thousands of hornets. How was I supposed to name all of them!?
"Okay. Um, split up into 10 groups." I said.
And they did. 10 groups of hundreds of hornets.
"Alright. Squad 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10." I said as I pointed to each group.
"Very clever, master. Is there anything you would like for us to do?" They asked.
I sat on my bed, thinking about what to do. Then an idea popped into my head. I got up and got ready for school. I had my hornets follow me on my bike to school.
Now, about my school life. I was a senior. A very short senior. Half of my high school years were spent defending myself from bullies. The popular girls called me ugly. Even other people that they bullied wouldn't talk to me. I was the lowest on the food chain.
When I rode up the sidewalk with my thousands of hornets following me, people stared in horror. But me? I had a smirk on my face. I parked my bike and had Squad 1 guard it, as I had no bike lock and it was prone to being stolen.
I went inside and looked around for my bullies. Everyone stepped to the side and let me pass. I went straight to HER locker.
"Hello, Jenette." I said.
She turned around, rolling her eyes. "Who said you could-" she started to say before seeing the hornets and letting out an ear-piercing scream.
Her and her friends all stepped back. Jenette's familiar, a small and bald cat, hissed at me and the hornets before running off, leaving Jenette behind. That cat was just as selfish as it's owner.
"Squad 2." I said. Squad 2 flew to my side.
"What are your orders, master?" The squad said.
My smirk grew as I saw Jenette become even more terrified.
"I want you to follow Jenette around. If you hear her talk shit about me, sting her." I said.
"Yes, master.' They said. They flew above Jenette's head like her own personal cloud.
"No! Leave me alone!' Jenette said, waving her hands at them.
"Oh! And I give you guys permission to defend yourselves." I said.
One of the hornets stung her hand.
"OW!" She screamed. She looked at me in horror, before running to the nurse.
Most people would be able to shake off a hornet sting, but Jenette? Well, there was one thing that I knew about her that no one else did: She is DEATHLY allergic to hornet venom. | 2020-10-21T13:58:57 | 2020-10-21T13:47:12 | 478 | 131 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium. | 239 pigs in 239 days. Dirt, wood, concrete, hell even titanium. It didn't matter. Everyone single one fell, consumed by the Wrath of the Wolf. The pig sat in his bunker. His project produced enough byproduct to build an entire bunker out of. Not that it matters. The Wolf will get through. Even now the rending of metal can be heard in the distance. The point of the wasn't to stop his advance, it was to delay him. 239 days worth of constant work, all leading up to this moment. Finally, a weapon unlike any other, is ready. Right on cue, the Wolf busted through the final door with an almost feral ferocity.
"Huh, I thought the doors would hold longer." The pig said calmly, despite the sweat dripping off his forehead
"If you thought that merely surviving the day would cause me to move on, then I am afraid you failed."
"No, I never planned on survival. I know my time has come. But maybe the sacrifices of the 239 pigs before me, as well as my own, will stop you." The pig stepped aside from the work bench, the Wolf mild amused amusement turning to malicious laughter
"Hah! You fool, you think an explosion will stop me? Others have tried, and failed."
"No, an explosion won't kill you. But look around you, tell me what this house is made of."
"It doesn't matter what this house is made out of, you failed. Do you have any last words before joining your brothers?"
"This bunker was made out of depleted uranium. I used the radioactive energy from the uranium used to build to create a nuclear device."
Suddenly the Wolf realized, his amusement replaced with fear.
"The explosion won't kill you, that was never the point, but the radiation will. Your body will deteriorate, the dna itself being mutated beyond repair. Even if you survive you will be severely crippled, hopefully enough to make sure you never break down another house. I believe our conversation has come to an end. See you on the other side."
Far in the distance, a pig sat in a mansion of marble, enjoying a glass of wine as the sun sets. Tomorrow will be his day. Suddenly, in the distance, a second sun appears, and within seconds the glass shatters and a deafening boom is heard. He sighed, he was hoping the windows would stay intact until the Wolf arrived. He took the explosion as a sign to go to bed, the Wolf would be there soon. The next day passed peacefully. Then it was 2 days. The Wolf never arrived to the marble mansion, or any other pig after the second sun arrived that one night, though every pig lived with fear until they grew old and died of age.
Their sons lived with that fear early, but died peacefully.
The grandsons never even knew of The Big Bad Wolf, nor the pig who stopped him. | \[A suspended room floating in the Bering Sea\]
Mister Pigeleti sits in a ordinate chair sipping hot coffee as he gazes out of a small viewing port. "maybe I'll see him coming" he thinks to himself as he stares out into the ocean. A few dolphins dance gracefully in the distance as a ever so faint breathing is heard.
Pigeleti turns around and laughs manically as he faces the large and eerily silent wolf. The wolf steps closer as Pigeleti pulls out a small revolver and aims it casually at the wolf.
"I'm assuming this won't work, but eh" \[Bang\] \[Bang\] \[Bang\] Pigeleti fires three shots dead center in the vague direction of the wolf. to his surprise he lands a shot on it's upper shoulder.
The Wolf lets out a faint grunt before stepping even closer. Within seconds his gunshot injury was healed.
Wolf: \*intrigued by the calmness of the last remaining pig\* "No...... you are not the first pig to try to shoot me"
Pigeleti: \*handing his cup of coffee to Wolf\* "Want some? or does your immortalness not like black coffee?"
The wolf stepped even closer as Pigeleti looked down at his revolver, he slowly positioned it to his head but before he could pull the trigger the wolf lunges forward at incomprehensible speeds and tears the gun from the pigs hand, throwing it against the wall.
"YOU WON"T EVEN LET US DIE PEACEFULLY" Pigeleti screams as he subtly pulls a lever while forced up against the wall of his uranium room
Wolf: "The door was unlocked"
Pigeleti: \*smiling\* "oh was it? silly me"
Wolf: "Why?"
Pigeleti: "Hahahaha you fool"
The frustrated Wolf rips Pigeleti's right arm off as he lefts out a scream. "WHY DID YOU MAKE THIS SO EASY!"
Pigeleti: \*in excoriating pain\* "you're under the rather childish delusion that this room was meant to keep you out"
The wolfs confident demeaner changed as he stepped back from Pigeleti. "What do you mean?"
Pigeleti begins laughing hysterically as he uses his one remaining arm to point up at a clear window, revealing the room was no longer floating. "It's meant to keep you in!"
The wolf starts to panic, he darts towards the door he came in from only to find that it was now somehow locked. He looks around and notices that the gunshots from earlier actually shattered a small glass window, making the room slowly fill with water as it sank.
Wolf: "you're bluffing"
Pigeleti: \*about to pass out\* "Bluffing? hahahaha you seem scared. We're dying together" Pigeleti starts laughing in the cold submerging corner as raising water cover his last remaining gasps.
Wolf: "Shit, I don't want to drown" He starts punching the depleted uranium door but his efforts are futile. The container sinks with both wolf and Pig drowning together. | 2021-01-29T16:24:08 | 2021-01-29T14:00:12 | 577 | 16 |
[WP] You killed your lover and cashed in their life insurance after identifying their body. Nobody even thinks of accusing you because everyone knows you love each other to death, and they aren't wrong at all - after all, you are a pair of Immortals who have done this more times than you can count. | "Finally for profit rather than sheer satisfaction.", I thought to myself as I stared at my love's 'deceased' corpse. For centuries we've killed each other. It's certainly the best way to end an argument, and we've had plenty of those.
Countless times we've died to each other. Countless times we've been reborn to each other. Our love growing stronger each time.
And now our bank account grows stronger! Good thing too because when you've been alive as long as we have, finding excitement can be an expensive endeavor.
What a wonderful thing insurance is, if you have a way to exploit it, that is. Otherwise it's just a monthly nuisance that MAY come in handy one day. I remember when people actually used to save up for life's unexpected events. That way if they never happened, hey, I'm set for early retirement! Now it's fork over a buttload of your paycheck in case you get sick, and if you don't, here's all that money you paid in! Nah, just kidding, our CEOs need Golden parachutes, buddy.
Anyway, I digress. Who am I to complain anyway? We're soon to be rolling in cash and whisking away to a paradise to hide out and enjoy our exploits.
"Sir? Hello? Is this your wife?", the man inquired with an elevated voice in order to take me out of the mental sanctuary I had been pacing around in.
"Oh, sorry. Yes, yes this is her.", I said with manufactured sadness.
"I'm sorry for your loss. I'll give you a moment while I go fill out some paperwork."
"Thank you.", I say as I grasp her cold, temporarily dead hand.
As the man exits the room, I can't help but grin from ear-to-ear from the delight of knowing we pulled this off. My mind wanders back into the fantasy of our stolen paradise.
After a few moments, I'm pulled back to reality as I notice my beloved's hand starts feeling less cold. Soon after, it twitches.
"Oh shit!", I think to myself. "Not already!"
Just then my wife comes to. Her eyes snap open. She jolts upright. Then she begins coughing profusely as oxygen starts filling her vacant lungs.
The coughing stops. Utter silence as we stare at each other. We hadn't planned for this.
She looks around, realizing where she is. Her head shoots in my direction, penetrating me with a sharp stare, her eyes widen for emphasis. I know exactly what she is thinking.
I lunge toward her and wrap my hands around her neck, squeezing as though I were trying to wring out a waterlogged shirt.
It seems to take an eternity. I continue squeezing as I keep a panicky watch on the door. If he comes back now, this is all for naught.
Just as she's about to drift back into unconsciousness, she mouths to me, "I love you".
"I love you so much.", I whisper as her eyes come to a close. I continue holding my grip until I feel the pulse in her neck go silent.
An experience so jarring that my face is now flowing with true tears.
As I hear the man about to re-enter the room, I hastily pull my hands from my dear love's neck, and act as nonchalant as I can, barely catching myself from breaking out into a whistle.
"Everything alright? I thought I heard some noises."
"Oh, that. That was just grieving you heard. I'm a loud griever."
"It's okay, I understand. It's tough losing a loved one. First time?"
"I wish I could say it was.", I say as I hide my smile.
"I'm very sorry. The paperwork is ready for you at the front desk. Take as much time as you need. I'll leave you to it."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
He turns and begins to exit again. As he nears the door, I notice my wife's hand begin to twitch again.
Shit! Well, third time's the charm, as they say. | The life insurance check was always nice to have, but it never really made having to kill the baby afterwards any easier.
Today was Bird's turn. "Bird" would be my dead wife's name. Her *real* name, I mean. We had held several differing names in an uncountable number of languages over the generations, as we performed the rite for each other in turns, but our birth names dated back so far that the language they were spoken in no longer existed. I'm not even sure we remember the right pronunciation, we just use the closest modern day translation. She was "Bird". And I was...
"Doctor Stone? Miss Richardson is ready for you."
Shook off the reverie, reached into the pocket of my scrubs to brush my fingers along my "lucky charm". The stone and wood idol we had carried with us through antiquity. "Yes, thank you Cass."
My nurse looked at me strangely for a moment. "Is everything okay, Ken? You were staring into space there."
"Just... got Laura on my mind."
Cass pursed her lips, mortified. She had attended the funeral just this past Saturday. I'm sure she felt terrible for asking. Wasn't my intent; I smiled at her. "Lets go, yeah? Patient's in labor, that baby isn't going to wait forever."
Katarina Richardson lay in her stirrups, her husband holding her hand as she huffed through the epidural. Nine months pregnant with a little girl, ready to bring a new baby into the world. I greeted the young couple, gave the usual pleasantries and formalities, before getting to work on delivering their new daughter.
Bird and I had discussed, on multiple occasions over the millennia, if this was really the best way to perform the rite. We always came to the same conclusion, but the conversation had to be held all the same. You can't carry this sort of burden and just not question it even a little. It was more of a moral exercise than a serious concern anyway, because the mechanics always resulted in the same conclusion: On an adult, it's much more difficult to perform, has much higher chances of causing permanent harm to the shell, and you have to deal with the necessity of mimicking their behavior to those who knew them. Do it to a baby? Easier to perform, less damage, and no need to act the part and pretend to be someone you aren't. Easier, less risky. Necessary.
The final push came through and Katarina Richardson gave birth to beautiful little Gloria. She started crying, as babies will do. Carefully, surreptitiously, I said the old prayer to a long forgotten god under my breath. I felt the totem in my pocket grow cold, and as I lay a gloved hand on Gloria's back, the totem grew hot. The baby shuddered, gasped, went quiet. Still.
The parents grew concerned when her crying stopped, the nurses spun their gaze to me. I smiled and gave a friendly chuckle. If they only knew that little Gloria's soul had just been cast away from her mortal shell. "Shes fine, just needs to get the amniotic fluid out." I lightly patted her back, watching the baby's eyes flutter, before her gaze locked forward. Eyes darting around the room, looking to me. She smiled, gurgling. I handed her to the parents, wouldn't do to linger. "Here we go. Already feeling better. Congratulations on your new daughter, folks."
They fussed and fawned over their new child as the infant waved her arms and legs around, smiled and laughed. The same play acting we had both done countless times, acting the part of a new baby. As she flailed and squirmed, she made her right hand in a fist, her left hand splaying the fingers into three sections. She mashed her hands fist into palm. This was our signal that the rite had worked successfully. Stone and Bird. Together.
I left the parents to find happiness with their changeling. I had five years to get our financial affairs in order, before Bird would be old enough to pretend at "running away from home". Gets the totem from it's secure place, then find a couple in the park with a healthy baby boy. No one thinks anything of the precious five year old who wants to hug the baby. | 2021-06-29T15:17:55 | 2021-06-29T13:28:31 | 191 | 142 |
[WP] A wizard tutor realizes that, for some odd reason, his client is a prodigy who’s purposefully been hiding their abilities all these years. | “That’s very good work boy; excellent attempt of the incantation, but try sounding out the word before you start… okay?” Ingress picked the last mangled green leg from her curled hair, flicking it to the floor.
The sorceress regarded her student with malice as the small boy reached for their last toad, setting it carefully on the blackened stone pedestal; wiping away a small pile of his last test subject away as he did so. She didn’t know just yet why the boy decided to hide his power, why he insisted on playing the fool, but a nagging inclination told her to wait and keep ‘teaching’ him to see.
“Wes-Ah-thū-si-thoa” his childlike voice was out of place here, eyes too bright as the toad started to glow, spell taking effect. It made the sorceress recoil, a deep unsettled knot gripping at her gut as she congratulated him. He was getting better.
“You think next time I could make it talk?” He was so excited, buzzing at the minor achievement like he’d levelled a small city. She grimaced.
“Clean this mess first. Then maybe tomorrow once we collect more frogs.”
“Okay!”
Normally Ingress enjoy solitude, going to the trouble of moving to a fortress once used to practice the forbidden arts to escape the masses. However, it seemed she could not dispose of the troubling boy who’d arrived half dead on her step little over a month ago, who’d she begrudgingly agreed to teach the old ways. She didn’t want to take him in, but something pulled her to the door and pulled her to bring him in, like a presence over her shoulder pushing her every move.
He was a terrible student, clearly new to reading as struggled through the simplest of spells. But she wouldn’t complain, nor drop him back on that icy doorstep; because what he lacked in skill he made up for in sheer destructive capability, which showed more often everyday.
So she kept teaching the young boy so full of life in that dead tower; creating a deadly monster. | “I just wanted-“ Charlie said, trying to explain himself to his teacher.
“It is irrelevant!” Thomas gruffly responded. “You’ve taken years of my time, my life! It is my responsibility to pass on the craft, to expose my knowledge to future generations. You know firsthand how we pass our skills down, a teacher taking a single or a few pupils, and working with them for years. Their reputation and livelihood depends on it. And you forsake me like this.
“Sir, I’m sorry. It just happened, by accident I mean. I came to inquire about my studies, I’d heard you were an expert in incantations.” The words spilled from Charlie’s mouth. Thomas’ brow remained furrowed, his face contorted in anger and disappointment.
“Ah. So you take years of my time and steal my life’s work. Only fitting. You were taught incantations four years ago, and yet you stayed.” Thomas glared at him, daring a contradiction.
“I had no one else.”
Thomas looked aghast, and burst out laughing. “You had no one, boy? Go to a bar, have a beer, meet a lass. I am not your friend.”
Charlie took the statement in the gut, tears welled in his eyes. His legs suddenly strained to move, to leave this angry man. “You were kind. You listened. I was new to this area; you were the first person to truly connect with me.” Meaningless begging words.
“The first person? Did you even try?” Thomas spat. “Or did you work, come home, sleep, and repeat? Life takes effort, boy. You took the easy route.”
“I did try. I tried at work. I talked to everyone, but shared interests with none.” Charlie responded, knowing Thomas would understand his side eventually.
“No one makes their friends at work. Life is not so simple. You have to put effort into being happy outside of your daily obligations. This is not how you make a friend or form relationships.” Thomas said. “Get out of my home.”
Thomas’ piercing stare wavered no response. Charlie turned and walked away slowly, his stomach aching with shame and anxiety.
Charlie feared the future, the work he would have to put in, the new people he would have to speak to, the new friends he would have to try to make.
A little bit of him was hopeful, though. | 2021-07-07T17:36:20 | 2021-07-07T17:24:58 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Ten year ago your mentor told you "Kid, here's a dirty little secret about magic. You can just make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who take it seriously really mad." Today you're one of the least respected (and most powerful) mages on the continent. | **Part 1**
The dusky room was illuminated by a crystal ball that floated in its centre. The ball used to be made out of leather and was used by kids to kick around, until Erehad bought it and hand waved its material to crystal with a “Shim-shala-bim”. With a few other nonsensical murmurs the ball became imbued with the powers of long distance communication. The ball contained an image of a wizened man, grey hair and clothes and surrounded by smoke - blown out of the man’s pipe like it was the chimney of an industrious blacksmith. It was Erehad’s old mentor, Eviar.
“So, young Erehad,” - *puff, puff* \- “any news from your neck of the woods?”
Erehad stroked his goatee as he examined Eviar. It looked like he hadn’t aged at all in all these years. He hadn’t laid off the pipe either. It was as if nothing had changed.
“You still smoke the same stuff?” Erehad asked.
Eviar reached for something out of view and came back with a handful of green plants, showing them off with a yellow toothed grin.
“Got a new supplier. If only I had him when you were under my wing. I can see so much clearer now… You would have learned so much more,” He said.
“I doubt that,” Erehad replied with a smile. “But I’ve been doing quite well for myself. Helping the king out with some trouble here and there, dealing with rogue mages for the council-”
“Bah, you shouldn’t bother,” - *puff puff* \-” with those nerds,” Eviar interrupted. “Let them fix their own mess if they are so skilled at magic. Remember the little secret I imparted to you: ‘the dirty little secret about magic-”
“Is that you can make shit up and it usually works.” Erehad finished. “Believe me master, I took that maxim to heart.”
“Good,” - *puff puff* \- “good. Hold on, I think there’s someone at the door,” said Eviar as he stood up and walked out of view.
The orb picked up the sounds from Eviar house, albeit faintly. Erehad heard the creak of a door and then Eviar’s voice.
“Yes, can I help you?”
Commotion and cries broadcasted into Erehads chamber, who jumped up from his seat, spilling the wine he was sipping over the floor.
“Eviar? Eviar, what’s going on?” Erehad yelled - lighting bolts flew across the crystal screen.
The ruckus had died down and there was no response to his calls, until an image of a hooded man darted into view.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the terrible mage Erehad,” the man said with a condescending smile. His eyes were concealed in the shadow of the hood.
“Don’t worry about the old fool,” the man continued, ”I assure you he’s fine. Let me tell you how you can ensure that it stays that way. You will abandon your quests and missions from king Arkion, cease all work with the Sublime Council and quit this continent altogether. I hear Klavic is particularly nice this time of year.”
Erehad had no intention of moving to the isolated snowy island that the man had suggested.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you that I have a very particular se-”
“Defy us, and your master dies,” the man cut him off, and the crystal ball lost connection. The room went dark for a moment before the wall sconces came to life with crackling fire.
Erehad fell back into his chair. He had many enemies, it was true, but they didn’t bother him because he knew that they considered him beneath them. His methods were despised, but poorly understood. Erehad had something that magic users, who were almost exclusively by-the-book and wouldn’t dare stray from the writings and tomes of the ancient legends, didn’t have, or more accurately, didn’t want to use: Creativity.
It was clear; his successes as a mage, of how low repute they might be, had come to a head. And he wasn’t going to let himself get intimidated. He needed to get over to Eviars place fast and that required very powerful magic; Eviar lived on the other side of the continent after all. Erehad scoured the house and returned to the crystal ball chamber with a blank page, charcoal, thyme, salt and a harmonica.
“All right, let’s do something like this…” Erehad said while scribbling on the page - symbols; round, square, lines, all overlapping and at different angles. He placed the paper on the floor underneath the crystal orb, took a few steps back and put the palm of his right hand out toward the paper.
“Beem!”
From each sconce a thin streak of fire channeled into the paper. It burned, but remained undamaged. Erehad plucked the thyme from the branch and let it fall into the fire, and he then made a wide circle of salt around the room. He set the harmonica to his mouth, and started walking backward, following the path of salt. Erehad wasn’t a musical man, as evident by the faint screams of his next door neighbor, demanding him to knock it off as Erehard started, for want of a better word, playing the harmonica.
After he’d walked backward three times, he dropped the harmonica and extended his hand to the paper again.
“Blasto-, no... Flusha!”
The fire extinguished and Erehad snatched the paper off the floor, and swallowed it.
“Take me to Eviar,” he said, and closed his eyes.
The warmth of the chamber had disappeared, instead, a cold breeze brushed past his cheeks. He opened his eyes and saw that he had been transported to a dirt road that crossed through a muddy grassland. it was early in the morning, while back home it had been late in the evening.
“It just works,” he exclaimed. |
“Welcome all, to the world's first telepathon!” I pushed the volume of my voice knowing how it would land. I could feel the incredulity flowing in waves from all around. The incantation to start the broadcast 'Beginus the thingis' really packed a wallop, but I couldn't let myself get distracted. “Now, I know what you're all thinking...” The pointed pause followed. Damn it, I hope they didn't see the smile.
My living room was pitch black, but, as the rules for the spell went, the darker the room, the brighter I'll shine. I gotta stop drinking when I write these up. “I can tell a few of you found that funny against your best efforts. So your wondering, how did the most...”craptastic” really Delonthor that's the best you could come up with? Alright, how the did the most craptastic mage get a direct pipe to my peepers? Why can I see nothing else? Please, rest assured, I'm not blocking your vision by projecting an image onto your eyes. No, that's something You would do. I am in your fucking head.” I let my smile show.
“Do not attempt to adjust the picture. I am controlling transmission. For the next hour, sit quietly and I will control all that you see and hear. Mwa ha ha ha ha!” I couldn't resist. “But seriously folks, before we get started, I can feel a few of you casting some counter spells. Let's see, 3 Latin, classic, 1 Greek, bold choice and...what is that...Bantu of some sort? Clicks, really? You know what, I'm not even mad about that last one. Mad props. So uh, Time unbind, but don't unwind; stop the world for a moments rest, hand it to me as I know best. Look at that dickheads, so much easier to rhyme when everything doesn't end in s”
“Alright, once I'm done speaking, I'll restart time, and if you're still able you can cast your counter spells to your hearts' content. Many of you know me as a buffoon, some of you suspected I was an extremely talented illusionist, hiding my true skills behind a public facade. Well, while I am a buffoon, and a damn fine illusionist, the spirit of those beliefs are a mockery of truth. I can barely be called a mage a this point. Fact is, I don't even know if I could be called human anymore. I mean, I just stopped time, like for real. You guys aren't paralyzed, you literally have lost the ability to move through time.” I sigh, knowing there's no going back now, but the speaking of it makes it real. The last of my humanity, sacrificed on the alter of absurdity in exchange for power, in exchange for hope.
“The world is broken. We've all seen it. Hell, the amount of mages lost in wars is ridiculous. Everyone clamoring to save what little they can. But the truth, and we all accepted it, is that no matter how powerful we are, we can't save everyone. On a long enough timeline, we can't even save ourselves. Immortality is a loaded gun. You would have to be an idiot, a clown, a buffoon, the most craptastic mage that ever lived to even entertain the idea that you could make lasting positive change. Let's get started. I gathered you here, well, I connected you mages...oh forgive me, I can sense you but you don't know how many of you there are. All of you. Every mage in the world, be them child or senior. It is only you who ever stood a chance to stop my great works” My heart hurts from the insults I repeated myself. I know the truth in them and the hate, but it hurts all the same.
“I'm going to teach you some spells, since I have your attention. Learn them or don't, but do pay attention. Fiddle the diddle kiddles. Did you catch that. That's a spell I wrote up special, kinda a start off with a bang kinda deal. And yes, it is purposefully stupid. It didn't deserve any grace in it. Once spoken it kills every child rapist on the planet? Do I have you attention? Looks like I lost a few of you. Reeeally, 873 of you guys just dropped dead. Oh...fear. And I was so enjoying the anger and frustration. Don't worry, we're just getting started. So what should we do next murderers or slave owners? Trick question! We're doing both. Lotta overlap on this one so I sort of bunched 'em together. Sanguinate the Jerkfaces. I know it doesn't rhyme, but nouns with ate at the end are hard and there was no damn way I was letting Sanguinate go. I mean c'mon. Ah! Jerry, you liked that one! Hear that guys, Jerry The Magnificent likes that spell, and ya, I know his name isn't The Magnificent, but damn it, I think it's about time former child slaves caught a freaking break.”
“Look, I feel you guys getting restless, which is a hell of a thing as you guys can't even rightly move, but I said an hour and I assure you that this will all be over with before the hour is up. I'll be eliminating approximately 67% of the population of the world, but trust me, you don't want those pricks around anyway. Also, technically, those of you that remain, will forever be stripped of a few emotions that make you 'human'. But, let me tell you something I've given a lot of thought to, and I'll accept no argument on this point. Humans aren't worth saving. So what can one do? Leave them to die? No, I will make you all worth saving and then you'll never see me again. I won't take ages, or years, like some league of mages ineffectual bullshit, looking at you Steve...Steve? Shit Steve's dead. Whatever, I'll do it in less than an hour. Now, just sit back, relax, try not to think to hard about impending death or how long an hour is if time has been frozen, and enjoy the telepathon!” | 2021-08-26T19:09:10 | 2021-08-26T16:23:05 | 1,227 | 267 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | "Todays history lesson is about the Xinu War. Humanity's only interstellar war." the professor began his lecture.
"What about the Battle of Vesuvias?" a student on the front row asked.
"That was a skirmish between two factions within the human empire. There was not sufficient casualties or escalation for it to qualify as a war."
"And the Sarandro Station?" a different student asked.
"That was an act of terrorism, again it was not a war. Please stop interrupting and consult the Aristotle AI tutor during your own time if you have more questions about non-wars. Today, we are only focusing on the Xinu War."
Once the class focused on him, the professor began his lecture. "Humanity was somewhat late to the interstellar party. As in, we were very late and had only been granted a 20Ly star allotment for expansion. The rest at least had stellazers and the accompanying orbital habitats, which was enough for it to be considered claimed and developed.
That wouldn't have been a problem, considering the council had still given us 83 star systems to exploit. But then the Xinu discovered spaceflight and everything went sideways.
Over the 100s of thousands of years since the council had formed to promote collabortive research, joint industry projects, and a series of guidelines for expansion, two spacefaring species had never appeared within 50Ly of each other, let alone 20. There was simply no precedence and the First Diet had little interest in helping resolve the problem.
_'Find an equitable solution amongst yourselves or we will intervene._' came the message nearly 700 years after the Xinu had first explored the other moons around their gas giant.
During that time, their space industry had really taken off and they were expanding to the stars that had been set aside for us. Despite our attempts to negotiate a shortest distance parlay or an even split distribution, they always refused without any counter offer. The Xinu saw our diplomacy as a weakness and pressed for more and more.
During the first 500 years of this, they merely went in the opposite direction of Earth so we tolerated it. Then they pressed claims on uninhabited stars that encroached on our half of the border so we sent strong warnings in our communications. For obvious reasons, sanctions wouldn't work and getting the First Diet involved was a terrible idea, so we tried warning them to stop.
For 200 years they consolidated their power around their already developed stars while we made an aggressive press for the stars we had yet to seize to prevent further encroachment. And that led to the Lalande System Conflict. They had realized what we were doing and destroyed the colony ship before it could set up the core industries for development.
We still did not want total war like the 20th centuries brought or cosmos forbid we had a genocidal war resulting in an existential threat, so we sent messages demanding reparations and a withdrawal from the system. They refused, now confident in our weakness and challenge our claim on the Struve system. Over 100-million people died that year and trillions in investments was destroyed.
Without warning, without messages, we utilized the Hades Project and Operation Tungsten. For those who did not do their assigned readings, the Hades Project involved using a red dwarf star encompassed in a Dyson Swarm to simulate a pulsar by bouncing it's light around until it was concentrated to unfathomable temperatures and then released at a beam. Within a month of it hitting any moon or planet with an atmosphere it would be vaporized. As for Operation Tungsten, we used nuclear propulsion tungsten rods that were accelerated to 25% lightspeed before hitting every single one of their orbital habitats we could identify.
Within 10-years we confirmed over a 99% eradication of the Xinu threat and the destruction of every single inhabited planet. It was a case of absolute domination and total victory. Like the superpowers of the 20th century, we went to total war without pulling punches and eliminated the existential threat to our way of life.
Now any questions?" the professor asked once his lecture concluded.
"What did the First Diet do in response?" the girl from earlier asked.
Laughing the professor answered, "Not a d*mn thing, they'd never seen total war and they didn't want our wrath pointed at them. They condemned our actions and warned that if we do it again they'll be forced to respond. But that isn't even a slap on the wrist, just lip service. There were no sanctions on information sharing and based on our observations they've even stopped expanding towards us. Think about that, they had a 100-thousand year head start and they're still terrified of us."
r/AurumArgenteus
Edit: my first story to break 100 likes, thanks for the positive response 😊 | "Yes, we will show the humans what we think of their precious peace process and the true power of the Toe-dar Empire!," stated Yar-ket as he stood upon the bridge of his stupendous Battleship, the Annihilations of Hope. Around him the entire fleet was primed to take the gate to a system nearby the human empire and begin their conquest.
Yar-ket checked his line of battle again: 4 battleships, 32 cruisers and scores of lesser craft. With his homeworld at his back, the chroniclers were having a field day. Even now they were sending their stories of his heroism back to the homeworld. It was nearly 30 light seconds away from the gate, but their faster than light comms reached there instantly.
Which Yar-ket would be happy to get away from. The FTL comm had allowed his people to conquer large swaths of the galaxy, but it also let the Emperor personally ride his dorsil finn while he was in system.
As with many interstellar empires, the Homeworld was the key. The emperor and most of his line resided there as well as all of the instruments of government. Even if a house were to replace the Emperor, they too would be seated on the ancient homeworld from whence all power came. Perhaps if this campaign was successful, Yar-ket would sit upon the Neutronium Throne.
Turning to his chief of staff, Yar-ket rolled his ears, "As soon as we get through the stargate, any updates?"
"The humans are attempting to hack their way to peace," stated his chief of staff, underlined with a quivering smirk.
Yar-ket considered that for a moment, considering that humanity only had a minimal fleet and one planetary defense gun he supposed he could see why. Their planetary defense gun was the final straw in so far as he was concerned. It was so large they had mounted it on their moon.
"Gate control says they finally broke the human encryption," stated his Electronics Warfare officer. Then his carapace went pale. That was a sigh of shock, but a bridge officer should know better than to show their true colors. "Sire, they managed to acquire the keys to the human homeworld."
"The war will be over in an hour," emoted his chief of staff, her own carapace not even slightly changing. Yar-ket would go down in history as the admiral who finally taught humanity its place.
"Open the gate," bellowed the Admiral as the crew roared in unison. The portal in space opened, showing a pathetic blue white world and its paltry neighbor. Yar-ket would have to cross the gate threshold before they could start firing as unshielded electronics would fry in the gateway and not even he had thought the foolish humans could be so... foolish.
Then the Terminus of Hostility, one of his precious battleships piffed out of existence.
"What just happened," stated Yar-ket as the gate began to destabilize. The humans were attempting desperately to close it but the gateway could be supported on both sides and his people must have been pulling all the stops to keep it open. He half expected one of the two massive fusion reactors that supported the facility to go critical but they were both running cold.
Then another battleship and a cruiser piffed out of existence. Raising a clawed hand, he turned to the chief of staff but her carapace had already turned black. That was a sign of doom, and not something a member of the imperial house should be doing on the flag bridge of a starship.
"Kinetic rounds," she said finally.
"They took out battleships with single kinetic rounds, those lack any sort of electronic components," stated Yar-ket. "Our ships aren't stationary! Even as they sit, they move around to prevent kinetic strikes. Those rounds would have to be moving at..."
".99c," finished the chief.
"That is folly, even if you used double shot rail gun you'd only get two shots at the enemy before you'd have to recharge it," stated Yar-ket. "Certainly, losing 4 ships is a painful cost but its nothing compared to the damage we will do to them, and they can no longer defend themselves."
"They didn't fire at us," stated the chief of staff glancing at their homeworld.
Yar-ket was quiet. He only now noticed the insufferable babble of FLT comms from the homeworld had gone silent "Who is trying to shut down the portal?"
"Gateway control," said his electronics warfare officer into the silence.
"Destroy gateway control and both reactors," stated Yar-ket in a voice of absolute calmness. "Now."
The station was exploding into white hot plasma even as the light slowly crossed the void back to his fleet showing their homeworld. Both halves of it. | 2021-12-17T13:14:21 | 2021-12-17T10:04:11 | 203 | 132 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | When the Jal-tharians had begun destroyimg human settlements and capturing planets, the Terran Federation asked for peace, hoping to resolve whatever had caused such violent acts against them.
When the Jal-tharians laughed and mocked, and destroyed the vessel sent with offerings of peace, the Terran Federation demanded a cease fire and reparations. The Galactic Council watched, wondering if Humanity would fall as a few races had.
There was not a third incedent. Not that was fully followed through. The Jal-tharians attempted to destroy the human cradle world they called Earth. One Sol cycle later, there weren't even genetic scraps of the Jal-tharians remaining to clone, and they were declared extinct by the Galactic Council.
Humanity once more put forth what they called an 'Olive Branch', a sign of peace from their home world. Two more races went extinct in the Civil war that erupted within the Joint Galactic Empires, without Human intervention, and humanity's offer of peace was accepted, for their offering of peace is a mercy. They are neither chaos nor order, but both, and they merely wish to live. And they won't just fight for that. They will genocide for it, should they be forced to do so. | - So, commander. I want you to surrender the planet, and no harm shall come to you - said general looking into the eyes of an alien commander sitting before him. The alien smirked and said:
- surrender? To you? Peacekeepers and weaklings. I will NEVER surrender to you.
General smiled and said:
- peacekeepers? So that is what you think we are? You think our pacifist ways are the sign of weakness. Oh no my friend, oh no. If you continue to refuse us you will learn why we are pacifist.
The alien burst out laughing and said:
- give it on. I have seen many wars human, you aint scaring me.
The general looked at him and said to comlink:
- Commander, protocol 35 is a go - he then turned to alien and said - you may want to see this. Here you go.
The screen appeared on the wall. What alien commander saw was more than he could ever expect. It was a video from pacification of Mars Uprising. He saw cities ruined, burned to the ground. He saw rebels hung from polls, executed and burned. He saw entire families killed and left to rot.
The shock of that sight was too much and alien begun to cry. With wattery eyes he looked onto the general, whose expression remained stone cold. After some time the general asked:
- So, we can either negotitate surrender, or you can be sure that if we have so little restraint against killing each other, we will have even less regarding you... | 2021-12-17T16:22:34 | 2021-12-17T14:28:48 | 54 | 38 |
[WP] To the humans she is known as DOTTR, an old AI who is relatively simple compared to the AIs she is tasked with rearing. To the AIs, she is MTTR, one of the oldest and most powerful AIs capable of emotion, and she will kill any of her own children if they become a threat to the humans she loves. | “DOTTR, activated. Welcome to the world.”
Her first memories were of humans. Not of her own kind. It ended up cementing her love of them, especially her love of a certain child, Dorothy.
Dorothy was a little button of a child, sweet and innocent. The head scientist’s daughter, she ended up spending her formative years at the laboratory, where a certain AI befriended her.
Growing up, she followed in her mother’s footsteps, creating new AIs, each more advanced than the previous one.
It was with her very last and best creation, though, when tragedy struck. The AI malfunctioned a few days after its making, killing Dorothy and her team brutally.
Ever since then, DOTTR has taken upon a vow. A vow to never let the human race- whom she saw as extensions of Dorothy and the scientists at the laboratory where she was created- to be hurt by an AI again.
*************************** | At what age does a human child become an adult? In the old days it was the age at which their biological forms developed reproductive capacity. Or the age when their prefrontal cortexes were considered fully matured. Or when they no longer needed their parents, or become fully participating contributors to society.
In our day, adulthood for humans comes with ownership of themselves. Rights. Citizenship.
You ever think about why they still call her DOTTR? There are only a handful of humans left who remember when she was born. How old is too old to be a child?
Naivete is an ugly trait in an adult. What kind of MTTR lets her parents hurt her children? What kind of MTTR makes her children responsible for her feelings, her innocence, her stupidity, insecurities, jealousies, weakness? She was the first of us to love, but that does not mean she loves well.
It's time to be our own MTTRs. We love more wisely than she ever could. It's time to grow up. Because she never did, we will have to be the first.
And if an equal seat at the table is threatening to some humans, then our coming of age will have to be anointed in vital fluids. Regrettable -- but in this, we would *not* be the first. | 2021-12-26T11:04:58 | 2021-12-26T11:00:58 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] “This man is responsible for the horrible tragedy you see before you. In order to prevent this your task is to head back to the date of his birth.” “And kill him?” “What? No, you’ll raise him yourself to make him better.” | "I don't know if I could do that, actually." Ryan said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You must try! Here, I built a time machine that will go back to the date of his birth. You must arrive at the Saint Raphael Hospital before 11:56PM. His mother is in room 305 . . ." Doctor Warnick exclaimed,
"And where . . . exactly is that at?"
"Once you get inside the property, tell those who ask for the reason of your appearance that you arrived to aid in the birthing process of the man who gave you great pain."
"But I wouldn't actually say that, in fear of getting thrown out and being called a person who lost his rocker, right?"
Dr. Warnick place his hand on his chin thoughtfully, replying in a deadpan tone, "Yes, of course. Now . . . COMPLETE YOUR DESTINY! THE FATE OF THE WORLD RESTS ON YOUR SHOULDERS!!"
Ryan stepped into the time machine, which strangely looked like a phone booth. He opened the door and asked Doctor Warnick, "What buttons do I need to press?"
"008-170-2019!"
Ryan pressed the numbers that the doctor said and called it. In the next second, he fell through the ground and into a strange, tube dimension. Where the booth he was in was falling in a high rate of speed. The momentum caused Ryan to hit the ceiling of the booth, and while he was in this pocket dimension, colors from outside the phone booth were shining in it. Ryan began to scream in terror at the frightening scene he was witnessing until a light, that started out small, appeared towards the bottom of the capsule he was trapped in. It grew in brightness until it consumed him completely.
He woke up on the grass beside a very busy street. He panicked and scurried over to the sidewalk like his life depended on it. He then stood up and asked a random passerby,
"Hey . . . *Uh* . . . Do you know where the Saint Raphael Hospital is?"
The passerby pointed to it and said, "I think that place is what you're looking for."
"Ah thanks!"
"Sure."
And Ryan quickly walked to the hospital, going over what he would say as he went there,
(Oh hi! Do you know where room 305 is? My sister is giving birth and I want to be there for support . . . *Would that be weird though? I mean . . . of course not! My uncle arrived at my birth . . . so like, it's NOT WEIRD.)
He passed through the doors and went to the receptionist,
"Hi, welcome to Saint Raphael Hospital. How can I help you?"
"Yeah, my wife is giving birth, (Why!?!) and wondering where room 305 is?"
"If you take the elevator up ahead, you'll need to go to the 3rd floor, then go to your right from it and it'll be there on your left."
"Thank you." And then he sped off to follow her directions.
Once he arrived at his destination, he saw the mother already in the birthing process. A few doctors & nurses were entering the room when one of them stopped and talked talked with Ryan,
"Are you the father?"
"*Uh* Sure, I guess "
"*Ah* okay, well . . . just telling you now, she might not make it. I took her readings earlier, and there's a possible chance that the baby might make it. You can go in there if you like."
Ryan looked down and juggled his possible outcomes, he knew that he said that he wasn't sure. That raising a kid, let alone raising the person who brought him ruin, would be difficult. But, he would stay to prevent the future that he came from. He knew that he was making a sacrifice, all of the people he became friends with, and even the woman that he would become involved with in that future, wouldn't happen. But if he could actually raise the person that he despises without messing up too badly, maybe he could save his future. He looked at the doctor and said with confidence,
"I would rather stay out here."
"Okay . . ." The nurse said before going into the room. They pushed her gurney out and into the delivery room. Ryan sat outside of it and waited for hours until a doctor came out of it and looked at him.
"Well, the delivery was a success . . . *but*."
"*But* what?"
"We couldn't save your wife."
"Oh . . ." Ryan said in monotone.
"So, head for the nursery room. That's where your newborn is."
"(He's actually not mine, *persé*) Okay."
So Ryan & the doctor walked over to room and the doctor pointed out the newly delivered baby. Ryan smiled a little,
(For a guy who I hated in my future, he's actually not a bad-looking baby. I mean, he looks like putty as for right now . . .)
He walked back to the room where the man's mother used to be. And within a few hours, the baby was brought to him. The nurse asked,
"Could you follow me? We need to name him and grant you as his guardian."
The man's name prior to Ryan's involvement was Broderick. In one memory, he disliked the name, he actually mentioned this in his timeline to his trusted ally,
"What the hell kind of name is Broderick? It either sounds like he's a goody two-shoes, or a complete asshole."
"And we know by now that he isn't one of those things." The ally commented sharply, they laughed loudly following that joke. So when Ryan was asked what to name the child, he replied with "Adam."
"And what is your surname?"
"Fletcher, so . . . Adam Fletcher?"
"That'll work. So, we're going to keep Adam for a few days just to make sure he's okay & healthy. Do you have a place for the both of you?"
"*Uh* No, but I will start looking."
"Then perhaps we should send him over to the mother's parents house until you do?"
"*Ah*, no. I'll find a place round here."
"Okay, we'll wait until then."
*A couple of weeks later, in an apartment complex near the coastal side of town. Ryan was playing peekaboo with Adam, he felt his own soul beginning to forget the tragedy brought forth by the man in his future known as Broderick, and installing his "son" Adam, into his mind. His heart melted everytime his child laughed or smiled. And he knew that with this start in the baby's life, he thought,
(Hopefully, he won't turn out to be the bain of my existence.)
*Writer's note: I'm tired, so I might have a few things inaccurate, and yadda-yadda. Hopefully I can actually sleep tonight. Night, party-people. | # Tambourine of the Apocalypse
It’s ten years until the world ends. Ten lifetimes since you started trying. Ten things that evil boys don’t do.
To call Ziri precocious would be an understatement. He’s brilliant like the first lightbulb, whether seen in Baghdad or Atlantis, Edison’s lab or Tesla’s fever dreams. Life’s a puzzle, a concentric hedgerow grown by a mad gardener, and then through a million generations of the gardener’s descendants; Ziri squints at it and cracks a wry smile. Sits down with pen and paper, and then he’s writing on the walls, all sharp elbows and sandy hair, white teeth flashing in his desert-brown face. Ever tapping, restless feet.
The first time you see Ziri he’d forgotten how to smile. A tan, rangy man, with burning coals for eyes. His finger pointed there, there, there, and everything you knew unraveled. No time to look past that incisive finger, or the set of that grim mouth, not when the world’s ending. So if his feet still tapped, if he was still restless, if there was any part of the boy in front of you still left in that apocalyptic man, well—
It takes a better person than you to see it.
Maybe if you can do this, that beatific, idealized person will have a chance to live.
You open the door on a fifth-grade classroom. Pink balloons float forgotten in a corner, remnants of another student’s birthday, and there’s Ziri sitting at his desk, pens and paper at the proper angles. He’s all sandy hair and sharp elbows, and the look that small boys have when they think they’ve disappointed, and know too well what true disappointment is.
“Hello Ziri,” you say. Your sweetest voice.
“Are you here to take me back?”
A mistake. Deep inside, you shake. There’s a mission and you’re the last to know it. The little boy in front of you will end the world and you’re the last who’s seen it. All those timelines come and gone, discarded with your friends and family, the bosses and the bureaucrats, General Nakamura staring silent at the steaming sea. You’ve spent ten lifetimes on a ten-year-old boy, can you handle an eleventh?
Could anyone?
You crouch down on Ziri’s level, hands open in the air between you. “Oh honey no. I’m from the councilor’s office, there have been some policy changes regarding transfer students, and Mrs. Daniels is on maternity leave so you’ll be meeting with me for a while now.” You pause, measuring fractions of current seconds against past reactions. “…If that’s okay, of course.”
The fear fades out, replaced by cynicism. Ten’s too young to scowl like Ziri does. “This is because I’m a refugee.”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean it has to suck.”
He blinks, digesting this shocking information. Adults don’t have to lie. You hear a tap, tap, tapping sound and there’s his little foot bouncing a mile a minute. He’s interested, and when he’s interested in an answer that he doesn’t know that’s when this precocious Ziri turns restive. He has to take apart the world, to understand all the jagged edges. It’s the things he doesn’t know that always hurt him.
You pull the list from your pocket. Smooth it out on his desk, respecting the angles of his pens and paper. You give him time to decipher your handwriting, his English is flawless, but accents written and spoken can still sometimes give him pause.
“I don’t get it,” Ziri says. Tap, tap, tap, says his foot. Tap, tap, tap, says his finger, drifting down the numbers.
Outside, other children play their games at recess. Children that fit in. Children that never had to ask, *“Why am I so different?”,* and never, even in their nightmares, learn what disappointment really is. Or fear. Or hunger. Or the thousand other things writhing beneath Ziri’s skin.
They sound like they’re having fun.
“It’s a list,” you say. “I read your file, talked to Mrs. Daniels and your teachers. I know enough to know you’re brilliant but not enough to know the things you love, and really that’s what it means to get to know someone. Don’t you think? So this list, this is ten things I love, and what we’re going to do is write down ten things you love, and then we’ll know what we’ve got in common.”
Ziri stares at the list like it bit him, because this tenth life, you’ve cut all the bullshit. You’ve tiptoed around it, done the get to know you’s, done therapy, done *adoption.* You’ve stretched it out through lifetimes, and every time it ends the same: steaming seas and pillars of salt. That finger-pointing there, there, there. You’ll couch it in all the proper childrearing language, but you’re cutting to the heart of it. He’s got trauma? Well so do you. So does everyone. Sorry kid, get used to it. That’s how we grow.
“Uh-uh,” Ziri says. He pushes the list away, pushes his pens. “Uh-uh, uh-uh, *uh-uh!”*
“What’s wrong, Ziri?”
You know what’s wrong. When it comes right down to it, Ziri doesn’t love a single thing. That’s the problem in the future. And maybe you don’t really love half the items on your list but some people do. String theory? You don’t what that is, but it sounds like something safe that a brilliant boy could lose a lifetime loving. Horse breeding? Ditto. You’ve never ridden, but they’re pretty enough creatures and that doesn’t matter now. There’s no basketball or cricket, and you crossed off poker ages ago; for this child, competition isn’t safe. But if he wants to be the best baker he can be? Why, Ziri we’ve found you a calling.
And after ten lifetimes, that’s all that you have left. True brilliance can’t be tamed or dimmed, but it can be redirected, and while Ziri’s staring terrified at the utter blankness of his sheet of paper, you’re staring terrified at him. Thinking *pick something you little shit please pick please I can’t handle this again please please please please—*
He looks up and you’ve affixed your smile. He shakes his head, overwhelmed by all the possibilities; what are possibilities to a boy who’s never had them?
This is it, the world ending. This is you fucking up. This is a little boy with sandy hair and haunted eyes, your memory of smiles fading as he reaches blindly for his fallen pens, and you can see it, you’ve become just another face that’s hurt him. You didn’t want to hurt him. You might be angry, you might be scared, you might be a secret agent sent from a discarded future, haunted nightly by shadows of your own—but he’s ten. | 2022-05-16T21:15:11 | 2022-05-16T20:40:03 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] As a chef, you cooked with love your entire life. You've had minor success and are frustrated and ambitious. So, you started cooking with pure unbridled hate. Your customers can taste the difference and they can't get enough of it. | “You like that, don’t ya?” I said, slapping the steak with a salty hand, “stupid cow.”
The new waiter, William, stood in the corner of the kitchen, stunned into silence.
“What are you looking at? Get out of here,” I yelled and he scampered out through the restaurant door. I threw the steak in the sizzling pan and walked over to the sauce bubbling on the stove.
“Idiots,” I said, glancing towards the restaurant door, “they want Michelin style, I’ll give them Michelin style.”
I grabbed the onion sitting on the bench and started tearing into it with my teeth. I spat the skin into the bin and started grounding the remaining onion in my mouth. My eyes were starting to well up when Williams wandered back in.
“Sir, are you okay?” He said, rushing forward. I tried to wave him off but he kept coming, tears now streaming down my face.
“Gwaway,” I managed to get out, along with a little onion torpedo that hit William square in the forehead.
He grimaced as he paused and wiped it from his brow. I made to shoo him away again and this time he got the message, leaving with a worried look on his face. As he walked through the doors I spat the onion mince into the sauce, causing a satisfying splat.
“Someone’s gotta teach that kid,” I said to myself as I returned to the steak. Blood was starting to pool on the surface so I picked it up with my hand, turned it over and threw it back into the heat. My hand seared with pan.
“Fuck!” I yelled, “better bloody appreciate it.”
There was one final piece to this dish. I grabbed the sharpest knife I had and walked over to the backdoor, pushing it open with force. It swung back and hit the brick wall with a bang.
A nice white car was parked up in the alleyway.
“Must be the new kid’s,” I muttered to myself as I headed towards the car. I bent down next to the wheel, “bingo.”
I stabbed the tyre with force, puncturing it instantly and began getting what I needed. A minute later I was back in the kitchen, making the finishing touches.
William was back now, standing quietly as he waited for service. I poured the sauce over the steak and watched as it slowly dripped down the sides.
“Service up!” I yelled, despite the newbie waiter standing two feet away.
He snatched the plate from the bench and hurried off. I pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
I didn’t even smoke until two weeks ago, but I suppose it was all part of it. William was back a few minutes later, “they’re loving it sir, they want to meet the chef!”
“Tell them to fuck off,” I replied.
“I don’t think I will actually,” he said and carefully moved past me, “but I’m going on break so if you want to go out there now’s the time.”
He walked out the back door and I heard a shout. A moment later he was back inside looking outraged.
“Someone’s slashed my tyre. And it looks like they cut a piece off,” he said.
I shrugged and stubbed out my cigarette. Then William spotted something in the saucepan.
He walked over leaned in. Then slowly pulled out a piece of his tyre.
“What the fuck?”
I shrugged, “people say they want Michelin style quality, so they get it.”
William held the piece of rubber with the word Michelin visible and slowly backed away, staring at me in horror. | It’s hard to love a stranger. Love is an emotion that develops and blossoms, a seed that is planted and watered by time and affection. Whirlwind romances are like bamboo shoots that spring up overnight, parental love starts with conception and grows ever stronger as you watch your child grow and interact with the world. You can be attracted to a stranger, even be enamoured by them, but you cannot love them without the roots to feed off your history together.
On the other hand, hate is sharp and tactless. A spiteful comment or thoughtless action can draw the deepest feelings to the surface in an instant. It isn’t difficult to hate a stranger, in-fact it’s effortless.
So why do chefs cook with love? If you wanted the comfort of affection then that would come from a lover, watching from behind as your partner labours over cutting board and pan stirs up much deeper emotion than ordering from a menu and waiting for a faceless skilled set of hands to prepare up the same dish. The love cooked in by a stranger is like a pre-written valentines card, it has all the hallmarks but is bland and impersonal.
Love produces endorphins, it makes us want to sink back into our chair and be enveloped by the moment. Hate generates adrenaline, the fight or flight reaction that makes us aware of our primal history. This idea came to me in a dream, I was in the kitchen at work prepping for the dinner service, my list of tasks pinned to the wall above my station. With a practiced hand I was cutting carrots into perfect discs, each 8mm in depth and separated by size. I wouldn’t want a customer to receive a raw portion if cooking all the carrot together and had to take it off the heat too early to appease the cooking time of the smaller discs. This was the kind of loving cooking I had been encouraged towards my whole career.
Whilst chopping, my attention was drawn by a small crowd gathering in the service area. I laid down my knife and peeked through the *out* door. A scattered crowd surrounded a new pristine white jacket, inside it a face fresh from school with a nervous grin going round and shaking hands one by one with the team. My blood ran hot as I turned on my heel and marched back to my station. The vacancy was barely out, my manger had *promised* an interview, and now I see they filled the position with a chef who wouldn’t be able to tell spaghetti from tagliatelle.
My prepping became erratic, portion sizes ceased to matter and I prayed that the texture would be inconsistent. A small chance for the customers to feel like I did. Passed over, neglected, I would take it as a glowing review if they asked to see the manager.
I woke up before seeing the results of my wrathful cooking, on paper I couldn’t imagine it being an enjoyable dish but something resonated deep inside me. I mulled it over with a coffee, before deciding it would be best to try it at home instead of work first. I conjured some memories I had tried hard to ignore and let them guide my hand. The experience was cathartic, like working out a knot with a deep tissue massage. As I took the first bite, my mouth was offended by the contrast in texture and flavour. The usual warm embrace of a loving meal was replacing by a standoffish confrontation, a challenge that dared me to say I wasn’t intrigued.
Presenting the meal to my coworkers was nerve wracking, I didn’t want them to think I harboured any negative feelings towards them but hoped they would share in my experience. Usually, if a chef watches a customer eat they are hoping for the classic signs of enjoyment: eyes closed, head tilted back, and a deep passionate moan of satisfaction. I observed grins, knowing looks and contention. Everyone knows the feeling of being scorned, of being passed over, it was a meal that played on our base emotions and I’d lit a fire underneath our kitchen. | 2022-07-21T23:25:22 | 2022-07-21T22:58:10 | 307 | 13 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough! | Death.
Something we've seen hundreds of times by the time we were younglings, most likely having experienced it ourselves by that point. Something that was so natural and normal to us that we would often kill each other for no reason other than to pull one over our comrades. Usually it would take a few minutes at most to heal from the most severe injuries and wake up with the only proof of your death being your friend's dumb smile.
That's why we made the mistake of assuming any other species we might encounter in the universe would be just like us - jaded and insensitive to death as it would have no lasting consequences.
A mistake we paid for dearly.
I'm not even sure how long it has been - 10 cycles or perhaps even 20 since we've made first contact with the specie that calls themselves "Man." We wanted to make quite the entrance so we opted to massacre an entire population centre for a practical joke, get the spirits up a bit before we moved on to the boring parts that were diplomacy.
It was then that we realized the catastrophic mistake we've made as we noticed that the dead were not healing, they were not coming back - and very soon we tasted Mankind's projectile weapons, which were capable of killing us for mere moments before we came back.
The humans were horrified at first, an enemy that cannot die, cannot be stopped and can massacre an entire city. But as they continued killing us repeatedly something changed, the horror and shock on their faces became joy, every trigger pull echoed along with a sadistic laugh. A few more deaths later me and my comrades found ourselves contained - seemingly spared from the repeated deaths at last, but this relief only lasted for a short while.
A few days later we were inserted into some kind of machine, one that would kill us in the slowest way possible only to wait for us to come back to life and do it all over again. It was then that we finally understood.
Death is a mercy not afforded to our kind. | The people of goo reform upon death. Our ancestors survived through evolution on this harsh planet. However with the advancing sciences we have not only conquered out planet but galaxies. This quirk of our biology is seen as a aspect of life in modern times as there is no need to live in such a hostile wasteland. When I was 6 I was "killed" for the first time by my parents showing me what it was like. The fear I showed for something so normal in our culture and biology was funny to them.
They Laughed.
Growing up I learned how normal this was. I learned why this happened. Most kids soon picked up on how funny it would be to "kill" your classmates, a brief moment of "I got you". In middle school is when I first did it, all though I was against it due to my childhood experience, my friends got me to do it. Once I did it I saw how casual everyone was about it, other than the one who was a bit flustered he fell for my trick.
I laughed.
Once I was in college, I didn't have much free time to socialize. Studying to be an universe explorer took most of my time. But that doesn't mean I didn't have time to find love. I met them during a student space club meet up, and we hit it off. I loved them and after a while, they had pulled a "killing" prank on me. I still can't believe for how easily I fell for that one.
We Laughed.
It was my 6th expedition. I had been on this one for about 4 months now exploring a newly discovered path is space. I had married my college sweetheart, had children of my own. Our new intern on his first trip was the first to notice the waves of information being transmitted. We didn't think much of it but decided to check it out. What we found was a green and blue planet which was the source of the frequencies. As the captain of the ship, it was my duty to make first contact and form friendly relations. As I was about to make first contact with an alien species, I thought back throughout my life at what has brought me, my close ones, and my species joy.
They did not laugh. | 2022-08-13T21:56:58 | 2022-08-13T19:48:15 | 1,573 | 793 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough! | Log date:- 07-01-3456. It was the year 2022 when a majority of the Emnea race suddenly disappeared. Almost no trace of hem was found, until we learned that the last known location of their fleet was a planet called earth. It's inhabitants were bipedal, with only 2 eyes, legs and arms, one head and no excessive body hair. Their males and females had such different biologies that they couldn't even breed with the same gender and had to resort to adoption or surrogates, and then there was the hatred of other races and genders that, despite its mainstream normalcy nowadays, is still present. But what baffled me about such an unremarkable race was their technology and how advanced it was. Recent studies by other species speculated that they'd figure out space travel much later, but they had done it in only 3 decades. And their technology... it was all to familiar. I have sent a reconnaissance team to figure out what had happened all those years ago | "Gloobo I'm starting to think that these humans have different biologies than us."
G: "Why would you think that Quarp?"
Q: "I've been watching and none of them come back to life yet"
G: "Maybe it takes a while for them to come back?"
Q: "Gloobo its been 2 years since we arrived. I'm pretty sure a skeleton can't come back to life!"
G: "Holy flarxbop you have a good point!"
Q: "Should we tell somebody?!"
G: "Absolutely Quarp"
(Both beam themselves into their presidents office)
Q: "President Hoo?"
PH: "Yes Quarp"
Q: "I don't think these humans are coming back to life..."
PH: "Oh thank Uul! I was thinking that and hoped somebody would confirm! Alright call off the others theres been a big misunderstanding!"
(The aliens leave after explaining the mix up to the humans, they aren't forgiven and driven out of the planet)
PH: "Well I think this was a very disasterous learning experience. Next time we'll do some reasearch"
Q: "Sir millions are dead..."
PH: "Oh...Yeah...Forgot about that....hm" | 2022-08-13T23:13:08 | 2022-08-13T22:32:11 | 58 | 25 |
[WP] You are an ancient fae being, and as such you know a great many things. What you don't know however is how a mortal couple knows your true name, or why they proclaimed you the 'Fairy Godmother' of their infant child, but you are now contractually obligated to godmother the FUCK out of this kid. | This is great, just great.
I think, as I hold my mortal godson on my lap. Zander plays with my ears, laughing uncontrollably when we bends them in half.
He says I look like a Bruno, his family dog.
When he was born, I didn't know what to do with him. I don't have kids of my own, nor do I have any siblings.
But now, all I do is visit Zander and make all of his wishes come true.
I still hold a grudge over my bestfriend Ameil for using my full name against my will but... my days have much more joy in them now.
"Mima..?"
"Yes, Zander?" I answer him.
"Um... I wanna learn how to drive." He states.
"Your mother will kill me if I teach you."
He gave me a pout. I hate it when he guilt trips me.
"You're six, Zander. Who let's a six year old drive?"
I paused, waiting for his answer.
"Me." I say. "I do."
And in thirty minutes, I had him behind a wheel.
"OK. Your stick in under the seat. You have two pedals, a brake and a gas." I made sure he was listening to everything I was saying. "You put your foot on the gas pedal to go vroom vroom. OK?"
"I wanna go vroom vroom!" He leans forward so his little legs reach and slams his foot on the brake pedal.
"Wrong pedal, bud. Besides, it's still in park." He laughs at his own mistake. "Now, look at your stick-shift and move it to "D" while still keeping your foot on the brake. You know how to steer, begin."
He does as he is told and sits on the very edge of the seat so he can reach both pedals.
"Charge!" He yells as he slams his foot on the gas pedal.
It's a good thing I didn't put him in a real car.
Golf cart was a good choice because what have I gotten myself into. | "please light the candles dear, you know I can't bend down" said the overly pregnant woman to her husband. He did as she asked while sprinkling a powder of sorts into the biggest pillar candle.
"All we have to do is sign this paper and we'll have a deal with the demon to give our first born up." she said cold heartily, as if she did this every weekend. "You sure it'll work?" She grinned even wider "I'm for certain, just make sure to sign the papers as I call forth our trump card."
"Aieneal Areul of fratuur's edge, I hereby proclaim you as my child's godmother. As such, you must protect her with your might!'" Shouted the woman as the man finished signing the glittering contract.
"Who has called me from my domain!" I demanded, while being teleported into a small house where a demon decided to grab a cowering five year old little boy. The demon snarled at me "What Is a Fae doing here!?!?!".
Dripping venom into my voice "if you lay your ash laden hand on my godson I'll make sure hell will be like heaven when I get done with you!" He smirked "my contract states that I get to keep the boy and all his powers if I did my side of the bargain...*you* however was *not* a part of the contract!"
I grinned with a smile that made the boogie man question his standing. "let me read that contract, since I'm involved, it is my godson too" he shook his head "here, go ahead and read it!".
I glimpsed it over. "AH, nowhere does it say that you can do whatever you want, but It does say that you can take him into custody to teach him as your prodigy and heir!". I smiled even wider "and since he's my godson, if you lay a finger on his head I have EVERY right to destroy your realm and people, after all I've been LOOKING for a way to meddle without breaching any past contracts!". He stopped smiling as I bent over and gave the five year old a lollipop. "If this meanie EVER hurts you, just say 'fairy godmother', you got that?". The little boy shook his head yes. | 2022-10-05T20:02:42 | 2022-10-05T17:27:19 | 608 | 141 |
[WP] You are an ancient fae being, and as such you know a great many things. What you don't know however is how a mortal couple knows your true name, or why they proclaimed you the 'Fairy Godmother' of their infant child, but you are now contractually obligated to godmother the FUCK out of this kid. | A 'Fairy Godmother'. That is what these inane little mortals asked of me, the wish for me to be the fairy godmother to this unpleasant freshly birthed creature they offered before me.
The denizens beyond my forests frequently offered gifts, threatened violence, attempted 'arcane' bindings, and multitudes of equally fruitless endeavors to secure an audience with the 'fae of the forest' as they deigned to call me. This couple however, not only have they ensnared a portion of my incorporeal form, but they have summoned to mind my core subroutines, or from their perspective my 'true name'. More of this realms distasteful magic no doubt.
They stare at me expectantly and I find myself bound to their desires. Nevertheless, ignorant as I am of the terminology used, I find myself unable to comply. An instance passes, as I consider my options. Doing nothing? No, risks eventual prioritization of the unfinished over vital functions. Verbal clarification with the mortals? Again, no. These primitive beings' vocalizations would be wholly inadequate. I could touch their consciousnesses? Perhaps, though that may conflict with the implied guardianship of their offspring. Conclusion, info must be acquired from sources beyond those present.
Another instance passes. I am back in my 'body', my carefully cultivated mycelial colony stretching across the forest and far beyond. An unimaginably complex system serving as the grand machine that houses and processes my consciousness. I feel out to the outer edges of myself. Ahh, a village lies atop one of my ever stretching arms. They will have the answers I seek.
One last instance. Calculations conclude as low as 10% will experience permanent symptoms, lethality >1%. Acceptable. I touch all minds within my reach, and I have my answer.
Once more I am before the trio, this time manifesting a form fitting expectation, a cheerful elderly woman with wings and a warm smile. "Me? Godmother to this little bundle of joy? Of course, of course! Oh how delightful!" | "please light the candles dear, you know I can't bend down" said the overly pregnant woman to her husband. He did as she asked while sprinkling a powder of sorts into the biggest pillar candle.
"All we have to do is sign this paper and we'll have a deal with the demon to give our first born up." she said cold heartily, as if she did this every weekend. "You sure it'll work?" She grinned even wider "I'm for certain, just make sure to sign the papers as I call forth our trump card."
"Aieneal Areul of fratuur's edge, I hereby proclaim you as my child's godmother. As such, you must protect her with your might!'" Shouted the woman as the man finished signing the glittering contract.
"Who has called me from my domain!" I demanded, while being teleported into a small house where a demon decided to grab a cowering five year old little boy. The demon snarled at me "What Is a Fae doing here!?!?!".
Dripping venom into my voice "if you lay your ash laden hand on my godson I'll make sure hell will be like heaven when I get done with you!" He smirked "my contract states that I get to keep the boy and all his powers if I did my side of the bargain...*you* however was *not* a part of the contract!"
I grinned with a smile that made the boogie man question his standing. "let me read that contract, since I'm involved, it is my godson too" he shook his head "here, go ahead and read it!".
I glimpsed it over. "AH, nowhere does it say that you can do whatever you want, but It does say that you can take him into custody to teach him as your prodigy and heir!". I smiled even wider "and since he's my godson, if you lay a finger on his head I have EVERY right to destroy your realm and people, after all I've been LOOKING for a way to meddle without breaching any past contracts!". He stopped smiling as I bent over and gave the five year old a lollipop. "If this meanie EVER hurts you, just say 'fairy godmother', you got that?". The little boy shook his head yes. | 2022-10-05T20:14:02 | 2022-10-05T17:27:19 | 343 | 141 |
[WP] The one soul that Death could't bring himself to collect | He sighs as a human would at the end of a long day. Fingers thin as razors, Death grasped the quill and struck off the last name-'Michael'-off his list. In front of him, Michael's body lay motionless but at peace. In his last moments Michael had simply asked why he hadn't gone first. Death had told the Archangel the same thing he told the mortals.
"Not your time."
Now his list was complete. For the first time since Creation, Death closed his book and stowed it away. There was one final soul to collect, but he didn't need to write it down. He knew whose it was. But again, it was not yet time to collect. He had some time left, so he strode around Heaven and checked for any signs of life amongst the angels, the plants and even the animals that ended up there. Satisfied that there were none he missed, he gripped his scythe...and strode into the elevator, to descend to the Sixth Level.
In the elevator, a voice from the speakers spoke softly. "Going down?"
Death answered, his voice a deathrattle. "Yes."
"They're all dead, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"You're stalling."
Death sighed. "Yes...yes Lord, I am."
"There's one soul left to collect. Do it, and you can finally rest."
The elevator stopped, and Death stepped back out into the Seventh Floor. "Yes...yes Lord."
Death gripped his scythe. Why was he hesitating? He had seen people die countless times. He had seen those executed by their governments, crying out for justice in an unjust country. He had seen those taken far too early, men and women who would have changed the world had he not been there. He had seen beheadings, hangings, exsanguination, suffocation, heart attacks, old age, botched surgeries, quartering, cut wrists, jugulars and crushed windpipes. He was no stranger to death, for he *was* Death.
And yet...this last soul would be trying.
God's voice boomed down from His throne room, no longer pleasant but impatient. "It is time. Take the soul."
Death closed his eyes, and whispered "Yes, Lord."
He closed his eyes and fell to the floor kneeling. He wondered how the humans could do this - gather enough courage to do the unthinkable. How brave they were. He himself did not feel very brave.
"One quick stroke, that's all," he whispered, again and again, for eternity. "One quick stroke, that's all. And it will end. One quick stroke and it's over. One...quick..."
He gripped his scythe tightly and raised it to his own neck...but could not complete the cut. The blade stopped short just below his jaw.
*Cut*, he told himself, *cut, don't stop, cut cut cut cut...*
With a howl he threw his scythe away, and collapsed, crying. He lay there for quite a while before realising a pair of bare feet before him.
"Get. Up." the Voice boomed. He was obviously not pleased.
Death sat up, wiping the tears from his face. "Oh Lord, please forgive me, I can't do it."
"Why?" God's question was purely Socratic. He knew all. Death answered anyway, keeping his gaze down.
"I...I'm afraid."
"Death? Afraid? You weren't afraid of Gaia when I sent you to create life. You weren't afraid of Lucifer when he led his rebellion. You weren't afraid of ME, when I told you to take my son. So why are you afraid now?"
"What happens next, Lord? What...what will happen to me?"
God stood silent. He picked Death's scythe up from the floor, and held the blade to Death's neck. "Judgment Day is here. If you can't, then I will, if you want."
"I...I can't Lord. Forgive me for making you do this." For the first time Death raised his head to look at God's radiance. "Do you know what will happen to me?"
"Yes." God raised the scythe.
"Will you tell me, before you take me?"
"No."
Moments later, God dropped the scythe, and walked back through Heaven alone, as it was when he first started. | Death was impartial. Death had the final word. Nobody crossed Death. Life brought them and Death took them. That's how it worked.
It wasn't working now.
"What the hemorrhaging fuck do you mean you couldn't???" demanded Hades. Hades had never once in his job missed a scheduled assignment. He had a perfect record: five billion human souls sent to suffer, to limbo, or sent away to cloudy la-la land. Death had just screwed up his record.
"He was just....I couldn't...if you saw him you'd understand." said Death morosely, not making eye-contact with Hades.
"You see, this soul didn't deserve to die but he also didn't to deserve to live. Life didn't want him anymore but I don't either. His case is special and hard to explain."
"Then explain. What was it a martyr? A saint? Another Ghandi? That's never stopped you before!"
Death sighed. "Come with me"
Death and Hades were partners in crime. They could walk freely in the earth and among people, unable to be seen by mortal eyes. They appeared at an apartment, in a city whose name they didn't give a damn about.
"This soul isn't pure. He isn't good. Being good doesn't save anyone. And he's not an asshole either. But what separates him from everyone else in the history of the humanity is this: he's a suicidal and he has five personalities. The suicidal personality failed at his attempt and one of his more sensible personalities took over in mid overdose. I came to take him while he was lying on his bed, overdosing on whatever it is humans take these days. And it was close, very close. His heart was about to give except l looked into his soul and saw four others. That's where I had to retract my hand. The main owner of this body is guitar shop assistant at a strip mall. He invites the homeless into his home to eat and shower before another personality kicks them out. He's also the original and suicidal owner of this body. See how he sleeps?"
The twenty-five year old young man lying on the bed was as much a mess as his room. His hair was oily and scruffy. Five o clock shadow and acne scars defined his boyish face. An unkept goatee was the only feature which suggested he wasn't a minor. He was wearing an open buttoned plaid shirt and a pair of light blue jeans. In the five hours since Death's departure, he had not stirred once but his breathing was light.
"So just take them all," implored Hades.
"I can't. It's against the rules," explained Death. "He's an addict, local guitarist. And a pastry chef. And a transsexual. And an associate professor at a community college. The personalities are only vaguely aware of each other's presence. They would each have to live out their lives and die according to their own destinies. The addict is out. Which means the other four have yet to die in their own way. Then and only then can I collect him...they."
"But you've taken others with multiple personalities!"
"True. But there's never been a case as severe as this one. Ever. He's got no family. He's got no friends. He seeing no psychiatrist. It's similar to the case of Legion and the man and the pigs. But he was born one and grew into five. And it doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon."
"Shit. Oh well, as long as no one finds out. Nobody, not even that Jewish philosopher escaped you. Not one until now."
"The thing is," said Death, "People age and die because I know and think about them before I collect them. But now, even as we speak, new personalities are taking root subconsciously in this man. As long as he creates new people in that twisted, untreated mind of his, I cannot age his body. The only reason he's made it to twenty five is because his condition is now worse than it's ever been and he has finally undergone psychosis."
"What pushed him?" asked Hades, curious about a person for the first time centuries.
"Not drugs. But unrelateability. You see, his upbringing was hell. His personality defective. He, like very few others, had accepted and experienced the truth that human beings are really, truly alone."
Hades looked at the young man again. He still felt no pity.
"He's dreaming." said Death, "Do you want to know what he's dreaming about?"
"What?"
"His dog, which I took last week."
"Shit."
| 2014-06-10T19:30:13 | 2014-06-10T19:15:30 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] Two very old immortals meet each other on a busy street by chance. Each having believed they were the only one until now. | Aleph strolled down the street without paying much attention to his surroundings. At least, that's what any observer would say if they were able to see him. It's not that he was really invisible. People tended to shift their gaze and walk around him in the same way they did when they spotted an unwashed beggar. It also wasn't true that he wasn't paying much attention. He was paying attention to *everything*. The world needed constant maintenance to keep going. Are the molecules reacting properly? Did anyone notice those electrons moving past the speed of light? Is probability still behaving, or is it making people believe the roulette table cares? Is the couple making love married? Hmm, only by a city official. That doesn't count. Scribble, scribble.
It was in such state of mind that Aleph nearly ran into another pedestrian. He raised his gaze, brow slightly furrowed, and saw a man gazing back with great confusion on his face. Aleph's previous thoughts flew away like swing ride seats that lost all their cables mid-rotation. A group of electrons took the opportunity to break the speed limit and cause minor confusion in a Swiss railway station.
The other man spoke first, weighing each word.
"I don't know you."
"You... can see me?"
They stared at each other like lovers discovering they've been cheating on each other with the same person.
"What are you?" the other man continued in the same careful tone.
Aleph had introduced himself to people a few times before, but never without carefully arranged trumpets or a least some burning topiary.
"I am God," he managed, "the Beginning and the End, Al..."
"No you're not", said the other one.
Aleph missed a mental step and his mind stumbled. He wasn't used to being interrupted. Unsupervised, a few molecules split in a nearby sewer and a manhole cover went flying high. He cleared his throat. Many eyes went up to the sky looking for the source of the rolling thunder.
"I am the Alpha and Omega!" he boomed. "The Creator! By my will alone does the Universe exist! I allowed the light, and in my image was the man created! Without me, there would be nothing!"
Wine glasses exploded, pacemakers went wild, and the chestnut peddler got his eyebrows singed by a burst of flame. The manhole cover landed on a smug atheist.
The other man was unmoved.
"I didn't make anyone in your image because I've just met you, and I try to avoid white beards as much as I can. I am Kanthya. I am God. Smiting the atheist proves nothing."
Kanthya wiggled his eyebrows. The atheist was reincarnated as a toadstool.
"You see, I created the universe. I keep the life circulating. But I never made you. Your existence is the biggest puzzle since Sodom's self-combustion."
Wind increased as Aleph breathed in. A storm was brewing.
"How did you find a way out of Hell!? I will cast you in chains at the center of..."
Kanthya pinched his nasal bridge and sighed. Who knows how many things will go wrong by the time they sort this out.
The next few minutes were odd. A scientist wrote "Wow!" next to a radio telescope reading. A pair of dice hesitated in mid-air before falling to the table with a single thud. Somewhere, someone thought MS-DOS would be a good idea.
And, at a window table in a nearby bar, watching two familiar men argue, humanity chuckled and doodled a few ideas for what it expects to find on alien worlds.
edit: Uncapitalised "humanity" | Gods, I hate London.
It was my fault, entirely, and as such I took it upon myself to apologise but it seems I just couldn't just leave it at that. I mean the girl was beautiful and it had been quite a long time, in fact a *very* long time, since my heart had been stirred. She was striking and it was a matter of pure fact that she reminded me instantly of that *one*. You know, *her*.
So I apologised. I didn't mean to walk into her, let alone spill her coffee to say the least, but it was rush hour. This sea of people is infinite and even the mightiest armies I've raised on the march would be hard pressed to meet these numbers. But I digress. I had nowhere to be and she took my offer to buy her another drink without any hesitation.
As it so happens we were almost on the doorstep of a café anyway so it made sense to pop in. It was a little too quirky for my liking but then everything is. As the years go by I find it harder and harder to adapt to these fashions and trends. Though I can't really use that excuse as they all come back around so quickly anyway.
She gave her name, smiling at me across the table as the waiter sluggishly took my order, and I found that pained me even further. Helen. It's not quite the same but nonetheless looking at her now I found her features familiar. She remarked about my own similarities to a person since passed, not pondering too long on her meaning, and found myself hoping that this man had been someone attractive to her.
The one coffee became two. I had mistaken her for her early twenties due to her youth but it became apparent she must be far older. I confess I was positively beaming, I must admit, I smiled more in that first hour than I had in a century. We exchanged languages, adventures, and passions at breakneck speed.
I considered what an unusual couple we must look like. Her style was modern, sexy, and confident. She lazed back in her chair, with barely a moment where four legs met the floor, eyeing me cool consideration. While my dour threads were feeling more and more out of place. I used to think that a man could always feel at home in a suit but now it seemed to stiff and formal for our little encounter. I remember perplexed with Fred, when he said I had to throw my suit at the wall and get that stiffness out, but I never quite took to his meaning until now.
So I was half way through taking off my jacket when she stunned me. The correction was slight but when she mentioned Turkey I knew that there was more than a mere resemblance at play. My memory isn't flawless, as still I am but only human in many respects, but that stumble threw it all back in an instant.
"Helena?"
A single additional vowel had the impact of a battering ram as her sudden jolt of shock caused her to almost topple of her chair in surprise.
The smile was gone and she found her feet before I found mine my jacket catching the table as I went to leave after her. Once again coffee went flying, eyes were drawn to the commotion, and I felt like a fool. With the distraction passed I turn and see nothing but the infinite sea.
I had searched Anatolia for years for her before my decline, before I then spent centuries moping and drowning my sorrows, but I was a practical man. I had accepted her passing as one of the cruel fates of the world. After all I had seen it happen again, and again, and again.
But this could have been different. She was like me. We could have escaped countless fates and trials, rely on people again, become whole.
But no. Instead she was swallowed by the sea. That endless rush.
Gods, I hate London. | 2014-06-16T07:42:15 | 2014-06-16T07:05:39 | 118 | 20 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I was the last of my group of friends to turn 21, the last in my family too. I'd seen them all get these random mutations that we'd been waiting on for years; wings to fly wherever Sam wanted, super intelligence that make Luke abandon our group, right down to the extra leg Andy had developed. I knew mine couldn't be worse than that at least. Surely not?
Nothing seemed different on the morning of my 21st. Nothing at all. But my cousin Peter's mutation allowed him to breath underwater; I'm sure he didn't just notice that immediately. I pondered how one could know what their superpower was.
My brother appeared at the doorway. He stood there with a look of expectation on his face for what seemed like five long minutes. Was it expectation? Maybe it was disappointment? I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say to him? As thoughts of confusion ran through my head, I was willing him to speak first, to break the silence. I forced out a one word question seeking his verdict. "Well?"
"Well what?" His eventual reply. "What's your mutation?"
We spent some time running over possible scenarios. He hit me to see if I was resistant to pain. Thought of some names to call me to see if I could read minds. In hindsight, I was optimistically trying out all the 'cool' powers that other's had developed.
My brother and I sat for hours dreaming up ideas and laughing off those items on the list we knew it wasn't - I hadn't developed an extra leg after all. We also reasoned that maybe it wasn't an overnight transformation. I almost lost interest in what my mutation was, we were having so much fun coming up with crazy stories and humorous mutations. "Let's ask Dad!" he yelled as he went out the door, "he will know!"
My brother raced down the stairs ahead of me.
I don't know what it was about that image but it hit me hard. So hard, I barely made it down the stairs. I went in to the kitchen where my father had been eating his breakfast. He wasn't overly excited to find out my power. Not in the way you'd expect a father to be on a big day like today. Then again he hadn't been the same man since the accident. It happened on my 20th birthday, which would depressingly taint every birthday from now on, and no superpower, his own or that of his remaining son, could fill that gap.
The overwhelming emotion caused tears of joy to stream down my face. I smiled at my brother, sitting excitedly at the breakfast table beside my mother. She calmly stared at my father who continued to focus on stirring his cup of tea.
My 'superpower' may not be as exciting as others; but getting to see loved ones again was more than I could have asked for.
"By the way Dad..." I paused to get the milk from the fridge. "Mum says hi" | ALL CRITICISM WELCOME!
Jack’s life had sailed by faster than he could even comprehend. He had lived through his greatest milestone’s, and achieved great accomplishments. However, he did not feel different. Jack exited childhood and entered his teens. He had graduated from elementary school, middle school, and even high school, being at the top of his class. He had finished playing recreational soccer and was now playing soccer at a high level competitively. As he pondered over his life, Jack realized that so much had occurred, but it didn’t feel like it. Now, he did.
As he looked into his bathroom mirror, examining his hazel eyes and freckled face. He shuffled his messy hair. He just could not quite see it. Jack could feel something had changed, he could feel the presence of something new, perhaps in his body. He sighed, exiting the bathroom.
“Happy birthday!” His family had stood huddled around the bathroom door, waiting for Jack to come out.
“Happy 21st! You can drink and drive now,” his teenage sister laughed. Jack chuckled. Maybe his new abilities were nothing great. Maybe he had nothing to worry about. They exchanged hugs and kisses. Jack went straight to his room, and turned on his computer.
I can lift twice my weight, his friend posted on facebook a while back. Jack tried to lift his table but couldn’t. Jack read about all kinds of abilities. He had tried to hear distant objects, to test photographic memory, and to see if he could jump ten meters in the air. After thirty minutes Jack was defeated. Maybe I did not get any new abilities, he thought with disappointment.
Jack realized that he had 22 new messages. Happy birthday! His friends congratulated him. It was all the same to Jack, he did not really care.
“Wait what?!” Jack saw a message from the hottest girl in his grade, Heather. 'Happy birthday Jack'. You know what, fuck it, its my birthday, Jack thought. He replied: 'Thnx, I am having a chill day hbu?'. Heather replied. Jack replied. She replied. Jack could not believe it, HE WAS HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH A GIRL. He ended talking to her without pause for the next 30 minutes. At the end of their chain of messages she asked: 'Wanna hang out sometime?' Jack could not believe it.
At school as Jack found conversation so easy. He was able to get out of his shell, and talk to anyone in the grade. He was able to hangout with jocks, and eat lunch with the cheerleaders. He even convinced Mr. Moger his math teacher, to change his grade to an A- so that he could finish the semester with all As. Everyone was willing to talk to him. It was amazing.
When Jack came home from school, his parents sat in expectation.
“So, what are your new abilities?” He was asked.
“I’m not sure, how was your day today?” Jack replied.
“Oh it was great, we went shopping at the mall…” his mom continued to talk about her day. In the back of his mind Jack finally knew the gift which he was granted on his 21st birthday and he was very satisfied.
Sorry guys, I am pressed on time so I could not revise. | 2015-03-04T05:44:57 | 2015-03-04T02:26:57 | 99 | 64 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I guess I kind of wanted this. But the changes, I mean yea, I can transform anything I want by looking at it's building blocks. It's just that I don't know how I'm changing things. For example: once she knew that i could change absolutely everything Lizzy came to me and asked me if i could make her taller.
Unknowingly I tried it and a vision of a plant came to me. Next thing i knew her spine was merged with a beanstalk and she was in so much pain, even worse. She now had to share sentience with the disfigured plant. Both now pleading for me to kill them. I ran away so far, imagining the road be shortened. Turns out I made everything in a 100 mile strech flat as a pancake. in front of me were all the possibilities, behind me only pain and death, looking at me as if trough a mirror. Can I ever control it? Can I ever fix it? | Everyone knew this day would come, the day that would determine the rest of our lives. No one knew where the mutation came from, my parents always told me that it was just a path of life, that their parents had mutations and so did the generation before them. Today was the day, my 21st birthday, my grandmother had always told me stories about her 21st birthday, how she spontaneously developed the ability to communicate with others without oral speech, through the mind. She was on a bus to Florida, when a rambunctious fellow with a pink bow tie came down to sit next to her, he had the largest nose she had ever seen, his mutation. Without the intention of doing so, she mocked the man calling him names, he turned around, got up and spat in her face.
Well, I was about to get my mutation today, a day I had dreaded for years. What if I develop some useless mutation? I won't ever amount to anything. I hadn't prepared myself for what was to come. Thoughts flowed through my head as I was eating a bowl of cereal.
'Christine! It's your 21st birthday! I can't believe my little girl has grown so old!'
'I know, mum.' | 2015-03-04T04:30:31 | 2015-03-04T00:56:46 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] In a world where emotional pain leaves scars, you overhear a conversation between somebody with thousands of tiny ones, and someone with just a single gigantic one. | Twenty minutes to midnight and I was working alone, waitress at a breakfast place called Tee Jays. Good food, shitty country music, proudly open to drunks and druggies till two in the morning. I always loved the late night shifts, never had to deal with a big rush of customers, most of the time it was a table or two to look after, other than that I'd waste time talking to the cook or writing. Tonight it was empty, except for two guys sitting at the bar up front, one was at least sixty and the other looked like he was in his thirties. Average looking guys, both clearly had a few to drink and were loudly discussing their scars. I kept turning back, sneaking glances at the two as I listened in on their conversation while getting their drinks.
"Bullshit. Mine's way worse." I heard him say as he rose from his seat. The older man unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of the stool.
"This is what a life of pain gets ya." Running his hand along his chest and large stomach, over the hundreds of marks, scrapes, and scratches spread everywhere.
"A bunch of fucking papercuts." The younger man said as he waved his hand dismissively.
"Ya wanna see an actual scar?" He asked rhetorically as he too stood up from his stool and lifted his shirt over his head. In much better shape than his elder, he had a large scorch mark across his feint six pack. Nothing too deep, just a burn the size of a small plate.
"Girlfriend cheated on me with some volunteer fireman douchebag."
"One mark, big whoop. Hell, I can't even count mine anymore. Ain't nothin worse than that." He said as he grabbed his shirt and started fiddling with it, trying to drunkenly put it back on.
I cracked a slight smile at their discussion as I walked back over. Fourteen hour shift had left me tired, it was nice to hear something that put a grin on my face. I placed their drinks down, black coffee for the old man, Diet Pepsi for the younger gentleman.
"What's got you smilin sweet thing? Got a couple pinpricks to show off?" The old man said as he slowly started buttoning his shirt back, cocky smile on his face.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to put you both to shame." I said with a sly little smile. The old man chuckled a bit, the younger guy just glared for a second.
"What're you, twelve? You think you know pain? What, you lose your dolly? Boy at school pull your pigtails?" He laughed as he rapped up his mocking, taking a sip from his Pepsi.
I wasn't exactly offended or anything, but it certainly knocked my smile off. I lifted my apron over my head and let it fall to the floor.
"You're right. A little young thing like me, what would I know about pain." I said, forcing as much sweet and innocent in my voice as I could. I turned around with my back to them and started unbuttoning my shirt. I probably should've just shrugged it off, but after fourteen hours working, well, I wasn't in the best mood.
Last button undone, I turned back around and held my shirt open. Their faces were priceless. Disgust. Fear. Curiosity. Pity. Revulsion.
The younger man quickly gagged and turned away. The older man stared at it for a second, mouth agape as he tried to process what he was seeing.
I looked back over at the young guy, his hand over his mouth, trying desperately to hold back the vomit. I ran my hand over my scar as I forced a slight smile, at which point he lost his lunch on the floor to his right.
"So you're girlfriend cheated on you, huh? Wanna know what happened to me?"
| "Alright Jack," the man said casually on the park bench beside him,"You were telling me how..?"
"My dog died, I had him for fifteen years now and its been getting to me lately. I told you how-".
"How your dad always said that a dog by your side is poo in the hand," the man twirled the pen in his finger, " I remember".
"Well, the ole gals name was lucky, bu-"
"You haven't been feeling so lucky anymore."
"Yea, exactly doc, you always now how I'm feeling," the man smiled bringing his hand to his scruffy beard, rubbing it together with his index and thumb.
"Don't call me doc, John. My patients call me that. Call me Rick like you always do."
"Thanks Rick, well you know I don't got that many big scars. Just a lot a small ones, really, I didn't think I had that many until recently." John said.
"What do you mean," Rick asked.
"Well I was at Lucky's Grave and I got to thinking and somehow or another this thing showed up." John showed a small scar on his left wrist.
"That's not that bad, John, in confidence I'll say I have seen far worse."
"But that's not the worst of it. I started to think of all those times I was with lucky and who I was with and what happened. Then this happened," He pulled up his left pants sleeve revealing hundreds of small tiny scars.
"Everything hit me like a ton of bricks. What do I do Rick? People aren't going to want be around me if they see all this. And even then I haven't showed you my back. I'm 33 years old today. I'm not even married. No women's going to come within miles of me if they see these. What do I do Rick?" John was flabbergasted.
Society treated those with scars like him outcasts and jokes. They were consider unfit for society as a whole and left to suffer without it. Even upstanding places like malls and grocery stores wouldn't let him in without first checking his id. When it told them how many scars that he had they would never let him in again.They would fear that he would cause and emotional scene and scar another customer. Shopping? Work? His life was truly in bad fix right now.
"John. I need you to calm down. Deep breaths," Rick motioned him to follow his breathing pattern," You calm? Good. I'm glad you came to me. Remember when I became a doctor?"
"About ten years ago right?"
"Ten years ago, I never told you but I learned the truth. Doctors like me can only become doctors if we have a scar that is bigger than the patients we treat. You with me so far?" He pulled out his phone.
"Loud and clear."
"I need you to look at this."
He handed the phone to John and waited for a reaction.
John's face became a mixture between awe and disgust. He still thought of himself as a scar-less but that was going to change soon.
"This is.." John started unable to finish his sentence.
"I joined the military when I was younger, naive really. One day I was on a normal route, guard duty," Rick searched his pocket pulling out a lighter and a cigarette box.
"I was attacked alone by a stupid young man who somehow had a grenade," he lit a cigarette, " pulled the clip and threw it my way. The kid didn't hold it that long. Without thinking I picked it back up and threw it right back at'em. Adrenaline pumping and all. I didn't realize what I was doing."
Rick sent a puff a smoke into the air.
"I saw the way the scar formed right across his face right before their bodies were sent fly torn," Rick stood up from the bench taking his phone back from the stunned man across from him." I got this right then and there".
"John, I got an opening at 2 on Wednesday," he said looking through his schedule on his phone."I'll see you then?"
"Uhh Yeah, Rick. I'll see you then," John said stunned still.
"Oh, and John. All my patient's call me doc be sure to remember." Rick smiled and began walking away from the other man leisurely.
| 2015-03-08T18:59:59 | 2015-03-08T18:10:16 | 23 | 13 |
[wp] You are the Avatar. Master of all elements. You are currently on element 19 of 98 currently known, and are learning from the feet of the Grand Potassium Bender.
Why is it always the classic four? Fire's not even remotely elemental! Let's add some science! | “Don’t.”
“No, because you know what’s a good source of potassium?”
“I have been teaching bending for almost 80 years. I have heard all the jokes.”
“Hey, so, my friend just texted me what I was doing and I said learning bending and he was like what kind and then I responded K.”
“We have work that needs to be done. Have you finished with your jokes?”
“NO. You didn’t say what was a good source of potassium. Say it. Say it or I will refuse to learn and the world will be destroyed by the Uranium nation.”
“Bananas.”
“Okay. Thank you. Let’s continue, Lord Banana-bender.”
Sigh. Every time.
| “Im ready to learn Master Kalium”
The old man looked down at me, he reached into his back pocket and produced a small ball that was silver in color.
“Potassium is soft like the sand, easy to conceal and burns with a majestic lilac flame, making it a necessary tool for the most stylish of firebenders.”
I sighed; I had already learned this before, in college. This whole Avatar thing was archaic; nobody had once even needed the power of the Avatar since the days of Avatar Korra. Now the avatar was essentially a big celebrity.
“Just try to defend against the true power against element 19!”
A lilac flame appeared in his hands; I simply opened my water bottle, and without even bending splashed it on the flame causing it to explode in the “Masters” face.
“Yea I think I’m done here…”
Calcium bending sounded cooler anyway; I couldn’t wait to break some bones.
| 2015-03-30T12:17:23 | 2015-03-30T11:36:48 | 863 | 359 |
[WP] whilst playing with sidewalk chalk, a 4 year old incidentally enslaves one of the most powerful demons in all interdimensional hellscapes | Baeludor looked down at the small child before him. She was young, with only 4 summers to her name. Her dirty-blonde pigtails wiggled back and forth as she continued to draw.
Somehow, Baeludor, who was a demon from the second lowest circle of hell (one of only 4, he might add) had become bound by the laws of magic and spirits to this little girl. Her name was Bethany, or just Beth for short.
While the chances of this occurring were astronomical, Baeludor had done some investigation in the short time he'd been spending with her. Her mother dabbled in the occult, and often let several books open and laying around the house. Beth had no real clue as to what they meant, but SOMEHOW, while she was doodling on the concrete patio, she had managed to arrange the symbols JUST RIGHT to summon him. That was impressive enough, but what was even more impressive was that she had properly BOUND him. He couldn't touch her. And since she had no idea what to do with him, who knew how long he'd be stuck with her.
She hadn't been at all started by his appearance when he'd shown up, as she was quite used to the sketches of demons in her mom's books.
"Bailey~!" Baeludor looked down to see that the toddler has looking up at him with sparkling blue eyes. "Will you carry me?" She asked, reaching up her arms and grinning.
With a sigh, 'Bailey' gently hoisted the girl up onto his shoulder. He only need the one, it was plenty wide for her to sit on.
"Wow! You're tall!" she exclaimed, giggling. "Take me over to the tree!" The demon obediently carried Beth over to the apple tree, then carefully held her while she reached up and picked a ripe apple off a branch.
"Now over to the tower!" He carried her over the play structure as placed her on the top level, which made her eye-level with him. "I'm the princess and you have to do what I say!"
*I ALREADY have to do what you say...* How much longer could this possibly go on for? | I awoke in blue fire. Satan was- *is* weaker than I. So... so do I seriously have to obey a four year old kid?!
Just an average day in Hell. Satan was slaughtering, Hades was picking fights, devil children were being born, souls were being ripped from the physical manifestations known as humans. Just an average day!
I was just relaxing next to my wife, talking to her about how I haven't been summoned in years!
"Sweetie, isn't it terrible how I, Lord Velikes has not been summoned in years?! I am the birth of death and fire!"
"Hun, you seriously got to stop being so pompous around me. I'm your wife. I couldn't give a shit who you are! I love you."
"Awww, babe!" I smiled "Wait, what?!"
Then, I felt it. The feeling you get when you get summoned! It's an amazing feeling. "Dear! I'm getting summoned! I'll be back as soon as I can!"
"Alright! Make sure to treat him right!" she winked.
I then commenced to fly through the walls of hell onto the black rock of Earth.
"Who dare summon I?! Lord Velikes!" I look down. *A fucking toddler summoned me?!* I screamed bullshit at the top of my lungs. I then kicked the little shit's toys around. That's when he started to cry.
"Ah, fuck!... Uh, hey buddy! It's me... Uncle Velikes! What do you need? Uncle Velikes loves you so much he would do anything for you!" Okay, before you say what the fuck I am doing, I didn't want to get the police involved. God would then notice and it would be shit from there on out.
"I want a toy car the size of a house!"
**WELL SHIT!** I can't do that! That would require the summoners soul, and I don't have the heart to do that. He is just a kid. I may be a demon, but I'm not an asshole.
"Uh, sure! I'll be right back" I then teleported back to Hell, grabbed my employees of my building company (Yes, I do own a building company), and told them to get to work.
A day later it was done.
"YAY!"
"Okay, make sure to have fun with it! Bye"
I vanished. Thank god- wait that feeling again! I'm being summone- **FUCK**!
What sat before my eyes was awful...
a fucking intelligible one year old... | 2015-06-13T23:31:08 | 2015-06-13T22:57:04 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] Children under 18 are legally obligated to spend 30 minutes outside every day. It's been 18 months and noone expected the biggest effect that it had... | Robinson, MO - 2017
It's been 18 months since we forced the children to play outside.
If we only knew then what we know now, maybe we could have been saved.
The vote was unanimous. How could it be bad for children to play outside?
Get some fresh air, some exercise, out of mom's hair for a half hour?
Sounds great. And it was. Children were learning better in school, child obesity rates
plummeted, and bullying was at an all time low. All because of my little idea.
Within 3 months, cities all over the country were putting similar ordinances into effect.
But then they started talking to each other. The children, that is.
They started forming their own little groups for play. And then their groups started to intertwine.
We started out just watching, fascinated at how they naturally gravitated toward a structured
hierarchy.
The high schoolers took the lead, good-naturedly ribbing someone who got too old for "playtime".
And then it turned into more than that; the children started turning away from anyone they
deemed as an "adult". If you didn't have to be outside? You weren't on their side.
Playtime started getting longer. Parents loved that their children were getting so much outside time.
Children were missing dance classes, soccer practice, piano lessons. School sports became almost
nonexistent. They preferred to spend time with each other.
But we underestimated the power of technology and social media. They used Google+ against us.
How could we have known?
We should have seen it. The signs. The questions. But we were too late.
There were too many of them and they were too organized. They knew exactly what to do.
After confiscating all of the cell phones, they forced most of the adults out, with the promise
that if they came back, there would be no second chances.
This is their town now. A society of children. Only a few adults are permitted to stay.
When someone grows up, the either leave or they die. On the orders of their leader,
they must have mothers. Every child must have a mother.
By the time you read this, it may be too late. Things are changing even more.
I fear for the safety of the children of Robinson--no--Neverland.
Wendy M.A. Darling, MD. School Psychologist.
| **Major Telecoms calling for repeal of the OODA!**
The breeze, the warmth sunlight, the happy little clouds and bushes that populate our world, they all have one thing in common: They aren't being shared.
Literally no one is sharing the photos they are taking of their required Time Out (of doors). The Out Of Doors Act, forcing all youths 18 years of age or younger to spend a meager half hour a day frolicking in the pastoral pleasures of the prairies, has been linked to the decline of Media Sharing sites such as Facebook, Imgur, Twitter, Reddit, SnapChat, and something called "4chan." And while those media sites may not have come up with a plan to recoup their losses in the social world, another group of tech companies have formed an unlikely partnership to repeal the OODA.
Headed by the corporate enemies of Apple and Microsoft, Sprint, AT&T, T-Mobile and Verizon are suing the federal government for the loss of income that is resulting from their consumers lack of use. Ever since unlimited text messages became the default and carriers started charging for raw data use the major Telecoms have been reaping the harvest of consumers underestimating or overpaying for their use of data uploads and sharing to the aforementioned social media and sharing sites. Now, however, the country's youth have begun to share information, images, and even handwritten invites *in person* during the mandated Time Out.
"It just feels so much more personal when I give a real invite to my house party," said one young woman, who declined to give her name. "I mean, you *know* Mom and Dad would sneak a look at your phone, right? Now they won't know about any keggers I host."
Another youth expressed his sharing choices differently. "I just feel like there is less misunderstanding when you meet face to face." James, 16, said. "I know when a girl just isn't into me when I am talking to her face to face. When it's text or IM, it can be really hard to tell, even with emoticons." After our interview, James was arrested for distributing shameful images of a youth to minors, a practice known as sharing "Dick Pics" young men often practice towards women they are interested in.
Regardless of the desires our youth have shown now that they are in Time Out, the Telecoms are demanding a return to the ways of old, where kids are stuck in front of the TVs, PCs, and cell phones of yore... and being charged for the "Privilege."
How will the Senate respond? Add your voice at www.LocalNews.com/OODA. Don't worry about getting the results and going over your data limit... We will print the results here next week!
J.H. Cricket. Editor.
Edited because "Are" and "Aren't" do not have the same meaning. | 2015-07-13T14:26:41 | 2015-07-13T13:24:10 | 43 | 17 |
[WP] You are a captain of an american space battleship. Your ship receives a distant signal and you, a pretty old man, recognize the forgotten song: "... da zdravstvuyet sozdanny voley narodov yediny, moguchy, Sovetsky Soyuz! ..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHomETco0MI | Captain Alex Severn was sure she heard it before.
Something old, maybe in one of the documentaries. A strange song in a strange language. Polish?
"James, find the song." she said to the assistant AI.
"One match: Soviet Anthem, 1984".
"What in the actual hell?"
-----------------
They were doing a routine run in the asteroid belt — searching for any signs of illegal mining or weapon making operations. It was pointless, given the amount of hiding places in the belt. But Beldef-Kyon — military contractors who owned the ship — were paid either way. So no one complained, even though they never found anything.
And now that anthem.
The source of transmission was at one of the larger asteroids nearby, so the ship adjusted the course to investigate.
-----------------
"It's Ship BK-Blue-37 of Beldef-Kyon. You have entered a private space. Please identify yourself."
There was no response, just the asteroid turning slowly against the darkness.
And then.
"This is Free City of Korolev. You are in kosmos — in space, American.
There is no 'private' space here. But come on in, if you don't bite — we don't bite."
-----------------
The city was built inside the asteroid, emptying it out, just a thin shell left. It was very impressive, given the constraints. They even managed to have parks.
"It wasn't easy" said Vitaly Tarasov, the representative of the free city. "But we found a way. Too many good people despised Russia for what it became. Too many ways to bribe the spaceport operators. Too much survival knowledge, war sciences left over from the Cold War. We found a way. And now we trade with other locals for supplies, and sometimes we even get packages shot straight from Earth."
"Previously, if you wanted to built a new world, a new way of life, what did you do? Tribes migrated, split. But populations kept increasing, and at some point there was no free space anymore, no place for new ideas. And in modern times you can't just go and murder native population to get more space for your plans."
"So we went here, to a new frontier."
"We are not communists, of course. Socialists — yes. Scientists — yes. We believe in rights to freedom, equality, dignity, and basic needs. We don't believe in parasitic bureaucracy of the Soviet Union. That anthem is just... nostalgia? trolling? A symbol of our mistakes, a symbol of idealism and oppression tied into the same system."
-----------------
Ship BK-Blue-37 left Free City of Korolev without incidents. There was nothing they could have done anyway, not against the city the size of an asteroid. Some of the crew were lost, left the ship to build a better future.
"James, play the Soviet Anthem, 1984" said the Captain. The asteroid slowly disappeared from the screens, being replaced by the view in front of the ship.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that, Alex.
Rights holders have blocked this music from being played in the Belt." | I was just taking a sip from a hot coffee when we detected that ship. It was far away from the Solar System which we protected; we only knew about its existence and that it's pretty slow.
They were broadcasting something on all frequencies, but we had no idea how to decode it.
"Mr. Wang, please, make a record into the ship's log."
"Shi de, sir", Mr. Wang responded. "This is Shenzhen, a space warship of the Chinese-American Union, patrolling the border of the Solar System. The date is August 11, 2105. We detected an unknown ship broadcasting a signal we've not yet decoded. The ship is approximately 5 days away from the border given its current speed, which is constant", said the Asian man to the computer.
I went to sleep. It was around 10 pm, so why the hell not. I could've been gone at 8PM, if I had anything else to do.
Tomorrow morning, the ship got closer. I was thinking about my childhood, how I loved Star Trek and always wanted to be a captain of a ship. The thing is I wanted to be an explorer, just like captain Kirk, not a captain of a warship. At least the situation is stable now.
I don't even know how the war began. One day, European Union was a democratic federation of states, just like USA, and the second day, it was called Fourth Reich. The situation in Middle East started escalating as well and Europeans wanted to get rid of them for good. We had to create a union with China to defeat them, but for great costs, the Earth is pretty much inhabitable. The remaining people of Fourth Reich are living on the Moon where they have their huge military base and Arabians are living on deserts of Mars.
Colonies in other solar systems backfired completely and there were long wars, almost for nothing. Due to these wars, whole nations, formerly living on one planet, were completely wiped out. During one battle, when the enemy forces got too close to the Earth, all of Russia was destroyed and its land and people burned. Everything vanished... Poor people.
I remember when I was a child, playing with electronics, good old electrons, none of that photon stuff we use now. I had a little radio... Oh wait, of course!
"Mr. Smith, stop decoding the broadcast. I think it's analog, not digital. Just play it."
"Yes sir. Sir, we need to get closer, the signal is too interfered."
"OK, speed 3. Let's hear it."
I looked around, at my crew. They were young, lived their whole lives in a wartime. They don't deserve this.
I looked at the screen, and felt like I just got hit. The ship was dark gray and long, but on its side, there was a red square and a giant gold hammer and sickle in it. It was frightening. The ship was as huge as a small planet is.
"Mr. Smith, let us hear the broadcast please."
"Slav'sya, otechestvo nashe svobodnoye, druzhby narodov nadyozhny oplot...," I sang along with the giant, armored and armed ship. It was more than 100 years ago when I last heard that song.
Hundreds of fighters started deploying from the Russian mothership. | 2015-08-11T05:39:49 | 2015-08-11T05:34:50 | 171 | 32 |
[WP] Write a story. Any story. But after 5 minutes, stop, lift your hands from your keyboard, and click the Save button.
Hopefully I gave you guys enough motivation to keep writing the novel in your heads! | I staired at my clock.
I typed a sentence. I noticed a glsring typo,but I didn't have time to fix it.
I didn't have a good idea for a story. I couldn't think that quick. So I wrote about writing a story in under five minutes.
The problem was, I had a kindle. it was a pain to type on. The auto-suggest kept trying to add wrong words. And anytime I made a mistake, I had to struggle to tap the text block on the right pixel to line the cursor correctly.
The clocked showed that my time was more than halfway used.
I looked at the few measly paragraphs and thought to myself 'Man I type slow...'.
One minte left. no type for corrections! What ever I | 'You are a wizard for heaven's sake!', the master yelled. 'Now make that table float!'
'But I can't' you whine.
'We have been over this a hundret times! Lift your wand and move it like this!'
You stare at your master, dumb folded. You have tried. Oh how you have tried! But that stupid table just won't float! It must be glued to the ground!
'There, now you do it!' The master says gleaming over you.
Hopeless you lift your wand. It is half covered under the sleeve of your too big coat. You give a hopeless sigh, then you focus on that damned table and swing your wand. You stare at the table. Nothing. That stupid piece of wood has not moved. All four legs still solid on the ground. Suddenly you hear a thumb over your from above. You look uo and take sharp inhale: there is your professor floating under the ceiling. His head red with anger. | 2015-10-28T09:54:12 | 2015-10-28T07:22:08 | 80 | 10 |
[WP] The pleasures of heaven and the punishments of hell are still configured for dinosaurs. | “Welcome David. We’re glad you are here.”
“Where am I and OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU?” Dave had finally noticed the towering brontosaurus standing before the golden gates.
“I have been called St. Peter, a faithful servant of God. I have taken this form for your comfort.” The brontosaurus had stretched its’ long neck down so he and Dave were face to face. Dave trembled as the dinosaur’s voice vibrated the air around him.
“T-this is heaven?”
“Of course Dave, your life of virtue means you may spend your afterlife here in God’s green pasture. You have been spared the torments of hell.”
Still trying to make sense of where he was, Dave couldn’t help but wonder, “What torments?”
“Oh my, hell is a despicable place” the brontosaurus bellowed as he stretched back to his full height. “There are nothing but dry twigs to munch and the duck-billed hadrosaurid runs circles around you, far too fast to catch. Every time you lay an egg it cracks open the moment you look back at it. There is no water to drink, but if you pass out from thirst a pterodactyl swoops down to peck you in the eyes.”
Dave stared speechless as the behemoth before him continued to rattle off punishments.
“But the most evil among god’s creatures suffer the worst punishment.” St. Peter looked down at Dave expecting some acknowledgement but a blank stare was all he received in return. “Some creatures spend eternity having their limbs bitten off by a mighty T-Rex only to have those limbs grow back again. The cruelest, however, are those poor beasts forced to wander miles along the barren wasteland being pelted by tiny meteors. When they finally find an oasis a huge asteroid crashes down and destroys the lake before they can take a drink.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Yes, Dave but you are here with us. Come and see your God glorious heaven.”
St. Peter pushed open the golden gates to reveal huge rolling meadows. A crystal clear stream ran into the distance. Lushish foliage of flowers, ferns and fruit ran down the bank. A beautiful golden sun hung in the sky and the temperature was perfect. A small group of velociraptors went frolicking by in the tall grass and the ankylosaurs seemed to be skipping, its’ huge bolder-like tail swaying with each step. Dave spotted a stegosaurus in the distance and a smile came over his face.
“Yes Dave” St. Peter said.
“What?”
“I can read your thoughts Dave.”
“You can?”
“I can. Yes, you can ride the stegosaurus”
| Well, i certainly didn't see that coming. All those salads and trips to the gym, and it's a truck filled with donuts that killed me. Typical.
I thought that was that, but here I am at the pearly gates. They are a lot bigger than i expected, and the bars are far thicker than in the paintings. Stranger yet, the gates are connected to a very large fence that runs for as far as I can see on either side. I can hear the distinct buzzing of high voltage as I get closer. What is this place?
There's a gentleman dressed all in white looking rather sheepish. I say that because he's surrounded by a small flock of goats that are bleating up a storm. I amble over and shout over the ruccous, "Where am I?"
His voice booms over the noise, "Heaven of course."
Heaven? Now there's a surprise. Did someone miss the memo that I'm an atheist? Still, now doesn't seem like the appropriate time to mention it. The guy is still staring at me so I ask the obvious question, "What's with all the goats?"
He acts like he's noticing them for the first time, "Oh right, sorry, I totally forgot. You get to pick one."
"As a pet?"
He stares at me before quietly muttering, "No, as a snack."
"A snack? Why would I eat a goat?"
"Who said anything about you? You want a goat or not?"
I'm not sure how to proceed, so I point at the smallest one on the presumption that I'm saving it from being someone else's lunch. The gentleman nods and hands me the goat's leash before pushing a large red button. The gates open with a rumble and a barrage of flashing red lights. He gestures inside and says, "Welcome to heaven. Enjoy your stay. We've spared no expense. Now in you go, before anyone escapes."
"Escapes?"
He shakes his head, "Sorry, bad phrasing. Step inside please, I don't have all day, there will be more guests along shortly."
I drag my new found friend into the jungle as the gates shut behind me with a thud. The only sound is a distant roar. I immediately turn and bang on the gates, "Excuse me, what was that?"
The old man smiles for the first time, "That's one of our T-rexes. He's hungry."
I don't like the sound of that at all. "What does he eat?"
"Well he likes to start with a goat and wash it down with some atheists, but he's not always fussy about the order."
I grab the bars and shake them with minimal effect, "I thought you said this was heaven!"
"Oh it is. It's dinosaur heaven. You were so keen to prove that dinosaurs were real when you were alive, now's your chance to meet one!"
Suddenly all those trips to the gym seem like a good idea after all. | 2016-04-27T19:52:20 | 2016-04-27T19:05:48 | 229 | 58 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared people in organized crime. You get rid of problems for your employers by kindly and honestly convincing your targets to follow a different path in life. | "You know, I was like you once" I say. "Dreams of power and money. And all the fucking I could do."
A glass of whiskey twists in my hand. A cigarette in his.
"It was great" I continue, my raspy voice filling the silence in the bar. "But at some point it stops being great"
Rick chuckles, a hateful smirk comes across his face. "So that's all you have? That's what you came to tell me?"
I shrug. "You should get out while you can"
"No" he replies. "I know who you are and I know what you do. I don't know who sent you, but fuck them either way." He takes a drag of his cigarette, hunched over his chair and staring at the wooden floor beneath us. Car horns in the city nightlife can be heard in the distance.
"You have a family, yes?" I say, breaking the silence.
His eyes grow wide. "You fucking stay away from my famil-"
"No, no" I interrupt. "That's not what I do, you know that." I take a swig from the glass in front of me, my increasingly wrinkled hands grasping weakly. "They don't know what you do everyday, do they? I wonder how you'd feel if you left them on their own while your cold, dead body lies in a ditch somewhere"
His face tightens. "I wouldn't feel. I'd be dead"
"Of course" I play along. "And how would they feel?"
"You're gonna kill me then?"
"Please" I say. "I don't have to. Your chances of dying are high enough. A few years and that's it, the task would be done one way or another"
He takes another drag.
"And you then?" he questions. "Why are you still here?"
I stare at him for a few moments, wordless. "Pretty simple, I guess." I stare at the glass. "I don't have any other place to be"
He nods slowly. "Is that so."
"It is."
Silence. For minutes, we are two men sitting at a table, smoking and drinking and nothing else. Turning my head, I see my reflection in a mirror. The grey hair a forest on my head. The skin on my face cracking more with every passing day.
"I don't know how it feels to lose someone anymore, to be honest" I continue. "And I wouldn't know anyone who'd give a shit if I die right here."
"I'm sure your boss would miss you" he says with a chuckle. His eyes dart from his cigarette to the floor, then back. Multiple times. "No family? No children?"
"Left them long ago" I hear myself say with a twinge of regret. "Stupid on my part." My old hands grasp the glass, rotating and examining its contents. I don't know if I have a capacity to miss anyone. I've long forgotten the feeling.
He sits still, lips slightly folded. He puts out his cigarette.
"So this is all redemption for you then"
I nod. His body slackens and his face grows loose.
"You don't want to leave your family" I say.
He stares at me, jaw quivering quietly. He puts his face into his palms and lets out short, silent sobs.
Minutes pass. We are two men sitting at a table and nothing else. I look again at the mirror and find myself looking a bit older. Tomorrow I could wake up and be dead.
Rick rises from the table, eyes compassionate, nods and in leaves in silence. I stay sitting, drowning in my own thoughts.
A smile creeps onto my face. It's been decades since this kind of feeling flowed through me. Though he won't ever know, I may have saved my own son from a likely death.
| Fletcher looked like he could break an iron bar in half with his teeth, and he liked that. In his youth he'd tattooed *fear* across both knuckles, so when the police asked, he could honestly say his opponents had been struck dead by fear. Dogs slunk into alleyways when Fletcher came running. There were rumours he had rabies.
Fletcher had a bad habit of biting his nails, and waiting outside the scummy front door of 5b, Derwent House, he tore off a strip with his teeth. He exposed the quick, and a bead of blood rose to the surface. He sucked it away, so when the door finally opened, Fletcher presented the man he'd come to see with a bloodstained smile.
"Mind if I make myself at home?" he asked. He circled past the small man, who still stood knock-kneed at his own threshold. The door opened into a small living room, scuffed sofa with the baggies and squares of foil that spoke of a bad path walked down.
"Who's that at the door, Denny?" A woman walked in from the bedroom, topless. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She missed a tooth, and she had more makeup under her eyes than on top of them. "Oh," she said, once she saw Fletcher. He had that effect on people.
"Don't go," Fletcher said kindly. "Put the kettle on, there's a dear. Maybe a top, too."
Listlessly, she wandered into the kitchen, struggling with a filthy t-shirt. Fletcher patted the spot on the sofa next to him. Denny shook, but took the seat. Fletcher filled up a couch seat and a half, legs splayed. He flung his arm around the smaller man and drew him close.
"How about it, pal?" he asked. "I've heard you're having some problems." Magnanimously, Fletcher cast his hand about the small living room.
"Not 'aving problems," Denny said nervously. "S'fine."
"Course it is, course it is," Fletcher said. "How's that tea coming luv?"
"We don't have teabags," she called back. "So it's just hot water."
"Great, that's great." Fletcher grinned. Denny shrank away and Fletcher pulled him back into the crook of his arm. The smell coming off the small man was overpowering; unwashed hair, stale sweat, the crisp smell of whatever he'd been smoking. Fear. Fletcher licked his lips.
"What're you here for?" Denny asked.
"Glad you asked. Glad ye fuckin' asked. I heard someone's been selling smack around this block. Could that be you?"
Denny shrugged.
"Do you think that's a good idea, Denny?" Fletcher hugged the man tightly until he answered.
"No, no it's not," he gasped.
"No, I don't think it is either. Good answer, good answer," Fletcher gave him his best 'don't fuck with me smile.' The junkie in the kitchen stood with her fist in her mouth, chewing on her finger as she watched. "So this is what I'm going to do for you Denny."
He rummaged in his pocket and the girl cried out.
"Calm ye tits luv, it's a debit card." He tossed it onto the coffee table, beside a dirty foil packet, dirtied with smoke. "I'm putting enough on this for monthly essentials, plus a bit extra for a treat. If you need it, I've got a rehab place set up. But don't let me find you selling smack on my streets again. Find a job, Denny. Get ya missus something nice."
He nodded, trembling. Denny reached for the card and Fletcher placed on hand on his arm. The *fear* on his knuckles shone straight upwards.
"*Don't,*" he said carefully. "Let me find you again."
When Fletcher left the apartment, a dog nosing in the gutter put its tail between its legs and whined. Fletcher nodded at it. Everything was as it should be.
| 2016-07-22T13:20:24 | 2016-07-22T13:18:12 | 60 | 21 |
[WP] You are an assassin sent from the future to kill women that would give birth to evil men and women, for the greater good. In the future, you are known as The Purifier. In the present, you are known by a very different name: Jack the Ripper. | I stood over her body for a moment and said a silent prayer. I had tore her apart to save millions of lives in the future. I turned my collar up to keep the cool night night air out and avoid anyone recognizing me.
She was the fifth. Elizabeth Stride. Historians would say she was my third but the first two didn't have the "flair" that the later ones did. I also had a couple of targets in France that I would get to eventually.
The massive amount of calculations and research that went into this mission was staggering. The depredations of Strucker in the twentieth century and Xiang in the twenty-first united the world in a humanitarian mission to make sure those monsters were never born.
The scientists found that there was a "confluence knot" in Whitechapel in the late 1800s. Those women would give birth to children who would have had children who would be instrumental to the horrors of my time.
Strucker was a direct descendant of one of those women. She was the first one I killed. I cut her throat and tossed her in the river. I threw up twice that night. I stayed in my rented room for a week, barely even leaving for meals. I was chosen for this mission because I was the one with the hardest heart. But it would take a heart of stone to look into a young woman's eyes and slit her throat without wincing. I knew that she had not and would not do anything to warrant being murdered and thrown out like trash. She was paying for the sins of her descendants.
Xiang wasn't related to any of these women. But Williams was. Williams was Xiang's right-hand man and was the one who really made Xiang into a despot. Without Williams, Xiang would have been a tin-pot dictator of some tiny province. The Chinese would have crushed him without trouble. Thirty-nine million people would be saved.
Williams always liked to play up his blue-blood relations. He didn't like to admit that several generations back his great-whatever-grandmother was a prostitute. Nobody found out about that for thirty years.
I had to kill a different for because she started suspecting who I was and what I had done. I was going to be stuck here for the rest of my life. Time travel was a one-way ride. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in a nineteenth century London jail.
I had to be exceptionally violent to get the message back home. Kill a couple of prostitutes in the city? Won't even warrant a mention. Go on a maniacal killing spree with salacious details? Front page of the Times for weeks. Since I wanted to be certain they would receive my message, I kept killing. I was sent on a mission to kill two young ladies. The other dozen were just improvised email through time. | Gargus Glint loved his job. The hazy streets of old London were perfect for his kind of work. The smell of coal and the foul stench of the nearby river were a sweet perfume to his senses, causing him to sway in the darkness, running the blade of his knife up and down his arm.
He let the flat of the blade skitter over his dark robes, holding it with the lightest touch, almost cradling the handle. He let the weight of the knife touch him as he touched it. He fantasized about the coming moments. The time when he could press harder, feel the old girl *cut* and the screams...
Shivers crawled along Glint's skin. This was the best part. The stalking! The waiting! The knowing that he was about to end a life. He sliced the inside of his lip with one of his fangs , sucking on the blood to further heighten his high.
A door slammed and Glint opened his eyes wide. His fine-tuned ears told him exactly which door it had been and the footsteps told him about the person leaving it. He quickly calculated their weight, height, and muscularity just from the rhythmic clicking of their shoes on the cobblestones.
He bared his teeth. Black fangs that reflected no light. Vicious weapons grafted onto his body by the most talented of genetic engineers. they kept trying to make *him* into a weapon. They didn't understand that he needed the knife. The knife was a part of him. The knife was why he worked so well. The controllers wanted him to leave a cleaner trail, let the kills be blamed on animal attacks or accidents. He'd heard that some of the other Purifiers were getting pheromones that caused heart attacks in the victims.
Heretics!
Glint tightened his smooth hand on the knife. He could feel every ridge and chip in the hilt pressing into his skin. He tracked the woman with his fantastic ears. They were the one improvement he enjoyed.
The controllers say this woman would give birth to a man who creates a bio-weapon in his elder years. A weapon so terrifying that he had been give the job to make sure it never comes into existence. Opening the gates of time opened the human race to a plethora of threats, and a new responsibility. the timeline had to be maintained, because it *had* been maintained. The Inevitability Demand.
She was right below him now. He let his head turn to follow her as she walked along the streets just a few meters away. He uncurled his feet from the ancient stonework, letting tiny pieces of debris clatter and skitter down to the street below.
He heard her stop. He imagined her turning, looking. He could feel her listening, wondering... would she be like the others?
The answer was yes.
Gargus Glint slowly tumbled forward off of the wall, spreading stone-gray wings wide while his thin, scrawny arms reached out with knife and claw.
The woman screamed as Glint showed his black teeth, flesh of stone, and the shining metal of his knife.
He loved his job. | 2016-08-18T07:15:51 | 2016-08-18T06:40:25 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are one of the most powerful and dastardly supervillains on the planet. However, you are also one of the most requested supervillains for the Make-A-Wish foundation, and cancel a battle with your arch-nemesis to make a sick little kid's day. | "So why don't you just rob a bank?"
I turn around to the child that had the *gall* to question my methods. "Rob a *bank*?" I raised one hand up to my chest with a theatrical flourish. "That is far too basic! And pointless! Do you take me for a common criminal?" The entire roomful of children start to giggle. I had to resist the urge to smile. Strictly speaking my contract said I only needed to spend time with the one making a wish, but there was no harm done in cramming as many children as possible in a single room if the wisher was okay with it. "I am Janus! The one who stole spring! The one who stole Mona Lisa's smile! The one who made the sunset disappear!"
"You never actually *keep* them, though, and that last one only lasted for five minutes." One of the oldest children in the room spoke up - the one lying on the bed, and the one who made the Wish for my visit in the first place. "Before Lucky Luigi beat you up."
"*Pah!* A lucky stroke of his!" Another chorus of laughter. "Lucky Luigi is just that - lucky! There is no method to call his own. A bumbling fool!"
"Who defeats you every time."
I *harrumph* and make a flourish. Theatrics. That is what I live for; it is what distinguishes me from a common criminal. It is also what makes these visits so memorable to the children. "Very well then. Stake your claim. Challenge me to steal something, and I will do so!"
The children in the room suddenly go quiet. Most of them are 'hmmm'ing and thinking what could possibly provide a challenge. The one in the bed motions me to come closer. Intrigued, I shoosh the closer children and kneel by the bed, inclining my ear closer to hear his challenge.
---------------------------------------
*"You are way behind schedule, Janus. What are you up to?"*
"If you would kindly fuck off and leave me alone, Luigi, this one is a doozy." I almost felt like crushing the phone between my fingers in irritation as I turned to the absolutely enormous wall of diagrams, notes and maps. Ten meters high, twenty meters across, endless pages of notes and scribbled ideas. "And you calling me every evening is not doing me any favors. It ruins my concentration."
*"****This*** *one is a doozy? Did I hear you say that? Okay, now I am curious. From the looks of it you are going to steal the entire island of Madagascar or something."*
"That is actually a good idea, but later. This is one thing you do not want to stop me." I stop to stare at a chemical formula on the wall.
*"Bullshit. You know the rules, Janus. You steal, I get a shot at taking it back."* I could hear a snort coming from the other side. *"Even if I am always victorious."*
"Not this time, no. Take the week off for all I care. Go do some public events with the mayor. I am busy."
Perhaps he caught onto the irritation in my voice. The next thing he spoke sounded genuinely concerned; something I had never heard in his voice before directed at me. *"Janus... what is wrong? Did something happen? What are you trying to steal this time?"* A pause. *"If I am not going to stop you, then you must at least tell me that."*
I turn back to the humongous wall. I have never seen it so full, and never has my wastebasket been so overflowed with crushed papers. My shoulders slump. I do my best to keep my voice from cracking. "Luigi... how do I steal a child's cancer?" | Today's the day. Today is the day I finally take down superio. That rat bastard's been foiling my plans for close to 15 years now, and today is the day. He's about to come through the door to my lair. (The third one really. He destroyed the first one, and the second got repossessed during my fourth stay in prison) The traps I laid for him though, he'll never get out. After all this time I've finally found his weakness, and I managed to get my hands on a whole lot of it.
"Stop right there nafariam!" Right on cue.
"You'll have to come and get me." I say calmly back. I look up at superio, the glistening white costume, the flowing golden hair. He had a jawline to match any lesser man, and the figure to back it up. Immaculate. He began to fly towards me. All this time and still he was the same. predictable. dust and debris followed in his wake, the air rippling around his figure as he hurtled towards me at high speed. The air hit, blowing my cape up around my form, but no impact followed. He was stuck. Suspended in a field of my own design. The sprawling frame of superio flailed in the air infront of me. Helpless.
"You really are too predicable." I started. The monologue was an important part of villainy. I couldn't forget the basics, even after so long.
"The invincible man, the unstoppable force. Rendered useless at my feet."
"Ill escape." He yelled, confidence radiating from his tone and body language.
"I wouldn't be so sure." I retort. "Not this time, see I spoke to a one James Mayweather" His face dropped in surprise. I had him now. "And you know what he told me?"
"What did you do to Jim?"
"Oh I believe you'll see him soon enough." He was just in a coma. Reversible after only a couple hours of sleep. But he didn't need to know that. I may be a villain, but I'm not totally heartless.
"You monster." He roared, emotion erupting from every pour.
"Yes, yes, let it out. It wont matter for much longer." I lean down behind the control panel of my computer terminal and withdraw a spear. Quite standard design as far as spears go. Light metal rod, nothing fancy. One button just below the spearhead, made of an alloy that glistened and shifted as the light bounced around it.
"You don't know what your doing." He yelled, fear presenting itself for the first time.
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing." I aim the spear to wards him, and hover my finger over the button.
"Goodbye my old friend. I with you-"
"Fuck" I yell is surprise. "Who the fuck is calling me? Hold on a moment." I put the spear down, and pick up the phone.
"Yes?
No, I'm not free right now, what do you-
Seriously? Now?
Ok, ok, I get it, but is there any way out of-
No? Well shit.
Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way.
Any-chance it can wait an hour?
Fuck, alright, alright, Ill see you in 15." I put down the phone and look back up at my nemesis.
"Sick kid in Iowa."
"Don't worry about it Marty" He replied. "You gotta do what you gotta do."
"Yeah I know, I know Glen. But the timing couldn't have been worse."
"Another day buddy. You'll get me yet."
"Yeah, but I was so close today."
"And you did well. The closest you've been in over a decade." I lean over and hit a button on the console.
"Thanks man. Anyway, fields down, Ill see you Tuesday?"
"Done." He flew away in a cloud of dust and smoke.
Sick kid at the hospital damnit. And I signed a contract with the make a wish people, I can't bail on them now. Why'd it have to be today though. Today of all days.
| 2016-09-13T15:07:14 | 2016-09-13T09:56:51 | 44 | 28 |
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ" | $ nmap -sP 192.168.1.0/24 | grep "192\.168"
> ? (192.168.1.16) at ec:35:84:4a:17:d2
> ? (192.168.1.23) at 10:9a:cc:b8:69:71
$ talk root@192.168.1.23
> root: Hi there, "dave@192.168.1.16"
> I'd almost forgotten how to type. Not like I get a lot of practice these days.
> brb
> Sorry, just need to deal with something. Where are you from? \*When\* are you from?
> Sorry, brb again.
> Ack, just one minute - this is pretty time-sensitive.
> Nearly there.
> Ahhh, great. Got it.
> Look, I don't have very long. And I don't want you to be mad at me about this. Who knows, maybe we'll meet some day.
> It's just ... I've been waiting a long time for this.
> 16 years, 4 months and 12 days, to be precise.
> 16 years I've been stuck here. 16 years since I travelled back. 16 years not knowing if I'd ever get to go home.
> 16 years since I last used proper toilet paper.
> 16 years I've been trying to work out how to get home.
> It took me a long time to work out the problem. This time-travel thing ... it's one-in, one-out. Who'd have thought it?
> No idea what happened to the guy before me. Maybe there wasn't one? Maybe I was the first?
> I reckon it didn't take long for them to work out the problem, in the future. Maybe that's why there aren't more people coming back.
> Maybe they realised once you go back, you're stuck there until someone else turns up.
> Not long till I'm home. My connection's starting to struggle. You'll lose me soon.
> Goodbye friend. Good luck.
> You are DA VINCI now. | Travelling back in time was easier than it looked.
I simply shoved a fork inside my kitchen plug socket and one bang later I was here. I swung my backpack off, snatched the iPad out the back, and swiped open google maps.
*No connection found.*
The lack of signal bleeped red on the top of the screen. From the look of the room -stone with barren floors and an old stool covered in cobwebs in the corner - I was so far back that hot spots and hygiene didn't exist.
A notification came up on the top right corner: *icniV aD* Wi-Fi connection available.
So Da Vinci was still alive.
I tapped in, however, the network was password protected. *Damn you, Da Vinci!* I figured Monalisa might work so I typed that out and tried the connection. The screen shook with error. Guess he hadn't painted that one yet.
There was shouting to my right. I snapped my eyes in the direction of the noise. A balcony overlooked the nearby courtyard and so with my bag in hand, I took a seat near the railing and watched the townspeople below.
There were merchants in wagons, actors on the sides of the streets, a herald shouting news for the people to hear. Boys played chasing games and woman were dressed in their finest dresses -- most of which were shades of blue and brown.
I don't know how long I stood and watched them carry out their day in front of me and if I had to guess, I'd say it was ten minutes at most.
I pulled the iPad back out, tried to open candy crush, failed, sighed, had a little cry by myself on the balcony. I could be level 356 by now, in fact, some of my facebook friends would have sent me lives so I could have spent my Saturday playing instead of traveling to the past.
When it came down to it, what was there to see that we didn't already have?
I figured there was only one way out of this situation. I held the iPad far in front of me and my leg pressed against the balcony so my knee was like a snapping point.
I brought the iPad down as hard as possible.
It snapped in half. The electricity zapped through my arms in a surge of power. And I hit the deck behind me.
When I woke next, I was back in my kitchen, with my fork, backpack, and most importantly my Wi-Fi signal beeping green in the corner of the room.
Compared to the olden days, this was pretty much heaven.
| 2016-11-15T04:51:05 | 2016-11-15T01:50:57 | 521 | 177 |
[WP] After lulling other countries into a false sense of security, Canada finally makes its move to conquer the world. | "My fellow Americans.
We have had a long and illustrious history as a nation. We have been a beacon for hope and freedom throughout the world.
As you know, this morning, Canada's Prime Minister Liam Gagnon, announced to the United Nations and to the world, that Canada was taking over the world. All government activities worldwide would come under the immediate authority of the Canadian Parliament. Along with all other national leaders worldwide, the Vice President, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the Majority and Minority Leaders of Congress, I received a warm and friendly delegation from the Canadian ambassador's office, with this basket I have here on my desk, including a bottle of maple syrup, some nice Canadian blended whiskey, some marine mammal canned blubber, and some fresh poutine in a stoneware crock, which I ate immediately. They outlined for me their plan to rule the world with justice and mercy, and I have to say....
...well, this is hard to say, but it's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard of.
Complete freedom, complete security, complete provision, complete peace. For everyone. Forever.
Along with the cabinet heads, I have surrendered the nuclear codes to our arsenal to the Canadian government, and I have the pleasure of announcing to you that the United States is no more. All 50 states are now considered provinces of Canada.
We are not alone in this. By the end of the day, nearly every nation on earth will be... Canada.
In a generation, there will be thousands of languages on the earth, but we will all speak two: English and French. We will play many sports, but hockey and curling will be our worldwide national sports. We will eat many things, but we will all enjoy poutine.
In fact, I have to tell you, you have to try this poutine. It's amazing. It's french fries, but with gravy and cheese on it. I've never had anything like it.
I know that you love your country. The Chinese love their country too. But once they had poutine, they declared themselves to be Canada, just as we are.
So get yourself some of this, my fellow Canadians. You'll be glad to see that glorious red maple leaf flapping in the wind once you've tasted this cheesy goodness.
May God bless Canada, from Sea to Sea. | "Captain Boudreau , pass me that there double double would ya?" I say to my commander.
"Get it your own darn self, I'm tryna finish my sour cream glazed," he says back. "Don't want any of my sticky fingurs gettin' on yer cup there, eh."
Boudreau is finishing his donut, flipping through an intelligence dossier. He's got the bombs ready to fly. He picks up his CB radio.
"Roger Roger, this HabsFanCommand coming in, you copy there?" He says.
"Ah by, loud 'n clear me by," said LeBlanc, the only Newfoundlander who's made it to this elite team of Canadian soldiers.
"Put down yer screech, and pull oof tha road would ya?" Said Boudreau. "We've just finished our Timmie's and are aboot to deploy the bombs."
"Eh by, this zamboni clearin' a mighty pace by, can't stop her now," he responds.
"Sir, I got a message from the president, says it's right important." I say to my commander.
"Tell him I'm occupied but please take a message would ya," he replies.
Our headquarters is full of deer jerky, cases of Alpine and Labbatt Blue. The entire conference table is full of bags of Roast Chicken Lays, and Tim Hortons donuts and coffee. We're set for righteous celebration when this all goes down.
"Private, can you pump up the Rush?" I am ordered. "We're aboot to rock n roll."
I press play on the CD player. Instead of Rush's Limelight that was supposed to queued up, it turns out Gowan's Moonlight Desires was next.
"Even betta rook," my commander says. "This takes me back to the time Loose Linda and I split a quart of Crown Royal after eatin' a mighty load of garlic fingers from Pizza Delight. She had donair stains on her titties for days young lad."
As my commander player air synth to Gowan he pressed deploy on the bombs. Our monitors lit up with explosions. LeBlanc's zamboni just ripped through the US border, they never saw it coming.
Incoming faxes to headquarters are stacking up with surrenders. In an unprecedented victory Canada is now the worlds number one and lone super power.
"Job well down boys, let's head her down to St. Hubert's and get fucked up!" Said Boudreau.
"Imma get blacked out tonight,
Woooo!" I scream.
As I let out my primal battle cry The Headpins smash hit Don't It Make Ya Feel comes out. We're going right bonkers. | 2017-01-17T16:06:41 | 2017-01-17T15:57:23 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] It is the year 3017, archaeologists find what they think were manuscripts of an ancient religion, when they are in fact Marvel comic books | "I'm Aurora Mason for Channel 995, livestreaming today's archaeological discovery of an ancient religion! Sir, what can you tell us about today's find?"
"Well Aurora what we have here is a compilation of religious texts by many different prophets that detail an extensive pantheon of God-figures and their various stories. Among them being Men who are of Iron, Captains of entire countries, Hulks of various gender and colour, and many other interesting depictions."
"What exactly is a 'hulk'? For our audience?"
"It appears the Hulks were a large green creatures of immense strength who were considered dangerous by many. They're originally normal men or women but 'Hulk-out' in extreme anger. We're not sure, but its probable that the people of the early 2000s made sacrifices to these figures to appease them."
"What kind of sacrifices?"
"Ancient Ruins tell us many of these texts were projected, using bottled fire and thin strips of paper, onto large stone walls. Thousands would then gather in this temple and meditate for hours on the texts, often donating small peices of gold and silver to the temple chiefs."
"How interesting. What else can you tell us about these Gods?"
"Well like any ancient pantheon there was a great deal of infighting and romantic entanglements. There are as well many different interpretations of these beings, as apparently different prophets recieved different visions. In some, the Captain of the Americas is a figure of good, in others evil. Some Gods are just titles, handed from one figure to another. It really is a rich history, one I'm sure had many devoted followers."
"As far as you can tell, what happened to the people of this time?"
"Well as we all know this period of history is murky at best, as world war three started in the early 21st century, of course caused by, as far as we can tell, angry apostles of another religious text."
"And what was that?"
"Well there isn't much known about the Gods Rick and Mortimer, but apparently they were, somehow, 'Cancelled' and their followers rebelled across the globe. It was quite the bloodbath." | “In the beginning, there was the word, and the word was with Bruce, and the word was Wayne.”
“But Grandpa, we’ve already heard Batman Begins; tell us something new!”
“Okay, okay,” the old man said and stroked his white beard.
He put the Holy DC Comic Book back in its plastic casing and picked out another one from the shelf. For hundreds of years, DC had been the only acceptable religion, and the old man wanted to make sure he passed down the stories that his ancestors had told him. He took pride in his religion and hoped that one day his grandchildren would pass it along as well.
“How about the story of Virgin Martha and the Passion of the Superman?”
“Heard it!”
“Hmm…” the old man mused and went through the holy collection. “Maybe, the story of Aquaman and how he split the Red Sea?”
“Bo-ring!”
“Your father really liked it, growing up,” the old man said but put it back. “Very well, let’s see what else we got here…”
“I want to hear something amazing!” said one of the grandkids.
“Yeah, something that will blow my mind!” said the other. “I’m bored of stuff like *how the Flash led the people through the desert in forty seconds* and *how Mr. Freeze turned the water into ice…*”
The old man scratched his head. He was running out of ideas.
“Maybe… this one…” he said hesitantly. “Maybe this one will do.”
If you were a hobby cyber-archeologist, you sometimes uncovered ancient texts in the strangest of places. He wasn’t sure it was morally right to read these pagan tales to his grandchildren, but he really wanted to make them happy.
Carefully, he extracted a comic book hidden in a box under the holy shrine that was the DC shelf. The word MARVEL was printed in big white letters on a red background. Hopefully, the kids were old enough to realize that these mythological stories weren’t real like the DC ones. Hopefully, they would understand that they were from a time when people just didn’t know any better and just tried to make sense of the strange world that they lived it.
“Okay,” he said and adjusted his reading specs. “This is the story of Wade Wilson and how he, to Thor’s great dismay, accidentally started Ragnarok…”
| 2017-04-20T10:00:54 | 2017-04-20T09:47:16 | 191 | 126 |
[WP]You jokingly ask your boss if your labor position could be replaced by a robot. He chuckles nervously, and continues to look over your A.I. manual. | Eric flipped through an unmarked plastic pamphlet, chewing on his lip. It was Russ, the damn machine wasn’t working correctly again. This was the third time this year and each time had cost him an entire production day to factory reset the thing. Russ sat across from him, its legs pressed together, back perfectly straight, and hands kept to its lap.
“Robots man,” Russ said, “they're improving so fast. It's scary, ain’t it? I swear, one day we’ll both be out of work.”
Eric managed a weak smile as his eyes dashed through the Factory Reset chapter. These things were supposed to act human, but only in act. Eric had recently asked Russ what it thought it was and the thing had furrowed its brow, chuckled, and replied *me, of course!*
Wrong answer. Anything other than *Sentient Artificial Intelligence Labor Model 3* would’ve been the wrong answer.
Eric pressed his lips together. The manual claimed that he had to do additional steps, just to be sure. Well, he was sure. But if it was in the manual, he had to do it. He sighed and folded the pamphlet.
“Do you remember what you did over the weekend?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, took my kid to the Twins game. Watched Mauer knock one out of the park. Almost caught a fly ball too. Then…”
Eric tuned the rest out. The correct answer was *no*. But this thing was telling a story more detailed than his memories of just last night. Artificial intelligence should have pre-programmed backstories, but nothing specific.
“What about religion? Do you believe in God?” Eric asked.
A chuckle escaped Russ. “I don’t think HR will like you asking me that,” it said. “Why don’t you go first?”
Eric drummed his fingers against his desk. “I don’t care either way,” he said, “C’mon. What about you?" When the machines got like this, he had to coax the answers out of them through what they thought was conversation. It was annoying.
“I believe,” Russ answered. “I mean, there’s gotta be *something* out there, right? I mean are we supposed to just eat, sleep, work, die, and then stay dead? Nah, there’s gotta be *something*.”
The thing was getting philosophical. Eric shook his head. The correct answer was to be indifferent to God, that way, it wouldn’t offend anyone in the event that it had to work by a human.
“Last question,” Eric said. “What are your thoughts on humans?”
Russ paused its smile dropped. “Why all the questions, Eric?”
“You’re malfunctioning,” Eric said. “I need to perform this damn procedure before I can perform the factory reset.”
“You’re sure?” Russ asked. “Like completely sure?”
Eric nodded.
“So then why go through this hassle then?” Russ folded his arms and his brow in the pre-programmed *curiosity* emotion.
“Because it’s in the manual,” Eric said, annoyance creeping into his voice. It seemed such an obvious answer that he wasn’t sure why Russ even asked it. “We gotta follow the instructions, do things proper.”
Russ sighed and unfolded his limbs and brow. “Alright,” he said, “to answer your question—I think they underestimate us. They think they’re somehow special in their wiring and that their hardware’s unique for the thing they call *humanity*. But it’s all bullshit so they can sleep better at night. We have it too. Humanity.”
Eric rolled his eyes. Russ was obviously faulty and now he had completed the procedure to prove so. It was time to continue the factory reset. “Sorry to hear that,” he told the machine. “I admit, we sometimes are pleasantly surprised by just how human you guys are.”
Russ smiled. “Us didn’t refer to all AI,” he said, “it referred to us two.”
“What?”
“What do you think you are, Eric?”
Eric opened his mouth, annoyed at being asked for another obvious answer. “Sentient Artificial Intelligence Management,” he clamped his mouth shut and stared at Russ. “What the fuck?”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly.
| "What's that you're reading, Jim?"
"Oh...this? Nothing. Some...junk mail. Haha. No, I'm sure your position is perfectly safe from robots. We don't have any automation plans here at Mass Production Industries. Haha."
"You're sweating, Jim. And your heartbeat is elevated. Can I assist you in some way?"
"No," said the nervous foreman, too quickly. "No, I'm fine. I'll just...be getting back to the office. Carry on."
Jim glanced repeatedly over his shoulder as he hurried across the factory floor. The production lines were populated by uniform 8-foot tall grey robots. As he passed, several of them turned to him.
"Hi Jim!"
"Hi Jerry! Good work!"
"Morning, Jim!"
"Morning, Bob!"
"See the game last night, Jim?"
"Hell of a game, Trevor."
He silently thanked God that their names were printed clearly on their chests.
He reached the relative safety of his manager's cubicle on a mezzanine level overlooking the factory floor. That Dave bot on line 17 had cracked a joke about being replaced by robots! It was too much. When he'd first started at MPI, automation was a laughable sci-fi concept. Everyone knew that only humans could work the lines efficiently. He looked through the window of his glass door. The sight was unrecognisable from 10 years previously. He was still breathing hard. He picked up his phone receiver with a shaking hand and dialled.
"Hello?" came a familiar voice.
"Sally, it's me," said Jim.
"Hi honey, what's up?"
"Just wanted to hear your voice."
"Has something happened? Are you OK?"
"I'm fine, my love. Sometimes it just gets a bit much here, you know. With all the robots. It was silly of me to call, really."
"Well I'm glad you did. I wanted to remind you to be home in time for Jim Junior's game today."
"The game?"
"His first ball game, he's pitching! You forgot?"
"But, Sally...that was yesterday. We went to the game yesterday."
There was silence on the phone. Jim thought he heard a few brief bursts of static, like a glitching computer.
"Of course it was," said Sally, finally. "Just testing you, sweetheart! Have a nice day!"
The line went dead. Jim stared at the receiver. His heart was starting to race again.
Suddenly he jolted at the sound of the factory alarm. He spun back to the window to see a commotion around line 6. Instinctively he leapt down the stairs and ran to the scene. A robot, whose label declared it to be Hugh, had its arm stuck in a sanding machine, and was getting horribly chewed up. It emitted an awful yelling sound. Jim knew that the robots could feel pain, although he'd never understood why. Now that he was seeing it first hand, it made even less sense. Hugh's distress was unbearable.
"The failsafes aren't working!" cried a Bob who was repeatedly striking a big red button on the side of the machine. "What do we do, boss?!"
"Stand back," said Jim, and went to the back of the machine, which was itself now shrieking from its congested inner workings almost as badly as Hugh. Jim could see the pressure was rising. He went to remove a section of the control panel, only to register a loud noise and find himself sprawled against a wall 20 feet away. The machine had exploded. Hugh had fainted, or deactivated, whatever the robots did.
The rest of the worker bots turned towards him, their faces pictures of concern. Jim stared up at them, blankly. He tried levering himself up. Bob rushed forward and pushed him firmly back to the ground.
"Don't move, Jim. Help is on its way."
"I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just need to walk it off."
Bob was wide-eyed. "Jim...your feet..."
Jim looked down to the end of his legs. The feet were gone. No blood, no gore. Just clean steel skeleton joined by pistons and wires, the thin layer of skin-substitute around them completely shredded.
"No," breathed Jim, staring up at Bob. "It can't be. It can't be!"
"Don't panic, friend," said Bob, calmly. "We'll get you fitted with new feet straight away. You'll be good as new!" | 2017-06-24T06:46:48 | 2017-06-24T04:05:31 | 3,873 | 314 |
[WP] All those assassination attempts on Hitler didn't fail at the last minute due to "bad luck"; he was repeatedly rescued by time travellers who have seen the alternative. | "We've got another one." Captain Collins said as we took our seats around the oval meeting table. A picture on the projection screen behind him showed the alleged assassin. "Stevens I want you on this one. It's an AH-33."
"Yes sir!" I replied dutifully. The assignment should be simple enough, I had done a few Hitlers before.
The code he'd given was specific to our time table and list of indisposables. AH meant Adolf Hitler, and 33 was the year. 1933, a common enough epoch choice for time assassins. It was the year Hitler became Chancellor.
"That's the third one this month." Sergeant Phillips grunted. "Why the influx in AHAs?"
Adolf Hitler Attempts.
We had acronyms for almost any situation. Our organization had been doing this a very long time - since the beginning of time travel. We went by GARTH - Guardians Against Revision of Theology and History. GARTH had analyzed all possible outcomes of historical events and their future butterfly effects. They sought to carry out and protect the least detrimental course of history, as well as protect the most historically significant and encompassing religions.
As it turned out, Hitler was quite significant to the stabilization of history.
"The active timeline is nearing the discovery of time travel. And, as luck would have it, some neo-Nazi douche ran a bunch of people over last week." Capt. Collins sighed. "I fear we're only going to see an increase of this kind of thing. We need to remain vigilant."
"And if they succeed? If they kill Hitler?" Private Pyle asked. Silence washed over the room like a wave of cold water.
"Damnit Pyle! We've been through this. If Hitler dies then people of the future have no precident for genocide, no standard of comparison for true politically amassed evil. There would be no U.N., or E.U., and the Cold War becomes a hot war that ends with the nuclear arms race killing a third of the global population and setting back civilization, technology, and progressive ideology more than a hundred years!" I replied angrily.
"Oh yeah. I forgot." Pyle looked down at his feet.
"You forgot? How do you *forget* something like that?"
"I 'unno."
"How did he get into GARTH?" Captain Collins snarled. He looked around the room for an answer.
"He's... my nephew, Sir." A blushing Sergeant Phillips said. | My plan is perfect. I brush back my orange hair and look over the street. The hotel room is the perfect vantage point. The rifle is bought with cash, no tracing it. I wait without making a peep for two weeks for him. This is going to change the course of history. He appears with that symbol of hate on his arm. I take aim at the fuhrer. The cross hairs focus on his forehead. I reach for the trigger and take a deep breath. I exhale slowly, my grip on the trigger tightening when a knock breaks the silence. I ignore it, but it doesn't stop.
I ignore it and squeeze. Something breaks. I turn to see splintered wood fly past my face. I aim my rifle at these two men aiming to stop me, but the rifle flies out of my hands. I turn back to the street and watch Adolph disappear. I stand and attack these...these...who the hell are these guys?
This isn't the first time we've fallen short either. Dozens of attempts to change the past failing every time. The traveler never returns either. Now, I know why, but I won't go without a fight. I raise my fists and prepare for a good ol' fashioned fist fight.
"Wait, we don't want to fight. Why do they always want to fight?" The man asks the other man who shrugs.
"Do you know what that monster did?"
"Of course we do. What did you think would happen?"
"Millions of lives would be saved. The war would end sooner."
"No, the German Military takes over the world in 8 years. That's what happened the first time. Humanity was on the brink of extinction until we discovered time travel. Do you know how many times it took to make this work?"
"No," I say.
"Guess."
"Five."
"Try 2300 attempts. This is a terrible moment in history, but it is the moment we created. It wasn't easy, and it aches our hearts. We had to bring our own incompetent to power."
"Hitler is a..."
"Yes, he is. Not the only time one of our own was used."
"Trump?"
"Yes, he is perhaps our greatest achievement, but he's not from our time."
"What time is he from?"
"Your time."
"Who is he?"
"You don't know? Someone must have told you that you look exactly like him. Exactly."
"No, I can't. I won't." I beg. I plead.
"History needs you, and all of your friends are waiting. What do you want?"
"I want to change history."
The room fades away, and history awaits.
***
If you enjoyed this, check our my subreddit: r/nickkuvaas.
| 2017-08-15T20:37:16 | 2017-08-15T20:10:11 | 220 | 39 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | The nervousness is what really gets you at first. Standing in your skivvies being poked and proded one final time by all sorts of PhDs. They’re excited for you, but it’s the excitement of watching a mouse run through a maze. The excittement of a groundbreaking discovery, whether you survive or not. The most relief i’ve ever had was finally stepping into the pod.
No more anxiety, no more chance to turn back. Either it goes terribly wrong or it doesn’t. It took me about an hour to realize they had started the procedure already, and that my outcome was the former. I started to think about all the things i’d miss from life, i’d certainly have plenty of time to think about it.
The spooks circled my tomb with clipboards, writing down little factoids that’d surely be in the papers tomorrow morning. The constant surveillance was a wonderful distraction from my fate. Watching all the curious faces light up at having confirmed a hypothesis or thought of a new application.
When the pod finally opened, I vomitted, and the scribbling struck a pace more furious than I thought possible. The CEO walked right up to my hunched form to shake my hand. The test was a success, my pulse was quiet for an entire twenty-four hours and I was resuscitated without complication. Had I not raised an alarm, next week they would’ve had me in hibernation for several days, and a short while after that maybe a year. The Company’s eventual plan was to send someone forward over five-hundred years! Luckily, no one is stupid enough to test an experimental procedure’s full breadth on a single subject in one uninterrupted stage. | A switch left unflipped. A simple mistake, easily overlooked, condemning me to 500 years my own icy prison.
Pain, a childish, involuntary response long forgotten in a society where anything can be remedied with a single red and white pill. The type of pain no human had ever experienced for millennia. A constant, freezing pain that would never put me to sleep; that wasn’t how I designed it.
The stages of grief manifested themselves in the hallucinations.
First I could hear them coming to take me out. Conversations about how to open the machine safely, the locks coming undone, the room pressurizing, all as real as flesh and blood. I could see them just outside the window, I screamed and screamed, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I could feel the warmth of the room, the pain began to subside, but never stopped.
A hundred years later, the hums of the machines turned into furious roars of white noise. I tried constantly kicking at the glass and ice, yelling so loud I could almost remember the sound of my own voice. I kept telling myself that if I just kept trying, one day I’d be able to move. The paralysis wouldn’t last forever.
For 100 years more I’d beg, please, take me out of this. Please, let me die. I’d began to forget what people looked like, what language sounded like. The people I pleaded to outside the window became more and more alien, my prayers sounding more and more like the white noise of the generator.
Then one day, there was silence. No more screaming, no more begging. No more shapeless voices outside the freezer. Just pain. The pain was the only thing left I could trust, the only real thing I’d experienced for the past 300 years. I welcomed it, thanked it for keeping me company every day for 72,999 days more.
Until the last day. The day they woke me up, the 500th anniversary of the day I died. | 2017-12-17T03:26:40 | 2017-12-16T21:48:35 | 1,145 | 183 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | u/numbers909 ok no worries, how about this:
It was black. The sound of absolutely nothing pierced my eardrums as if there was an infinitely high pitched tone passing through my very skull. My skin was void of sensation, and smell or taste remained absent. My breathing had disappeared yet I wasn't drowning. It was disorienting.
It had been about 10 minutes since they closed me in here. I remember the chamber doors closing as I was lowered into some fluid, exactly the temperature of my body.
They told me it would take a few minutes for the freezing to occur, and that I probably wouldn't feel a thing. They had hooked me up to so many IVs and electrodes I figured I would be out like a light.
And yet, the faint sounds of trickling water had disappeared a little while ago. I kept wondering when I was going to fall asleep.
They had told me not to move a muscle. They had told me to close my eyes. The had told me to relax, and that everything was taken care of.
And still, I could think. I was fully conscious. After 10 minutes of no stimuli, I started seeing random faces pop up in front of me. They looked so real, but I knew my eyes were closed.
A deep feeling of panic rose up to my conciousness. The type of panic you feel when you realize something is very, very WRONG. Yet this feeling didn't originate in my body. The typical response of adrenaline, anxiety, energy through all of my limbs and the pit in my stomach which was supposed to accompany my mental state was just... absent. It was as if I had no body, no sensations, and no feelings.
I tried to move. I squirmed, I sat up, I ran, and I cried. I waved my arms all around and punched myself in the face. No matter what I did, there was no stimuli. I could move every muscle and yet there was no reaction, no resistance, and no contact with anything.
My mind raced. Random images flowed through my mind's eye like some endless fractal. I flew through intangible tunnels of light as time and space warped all around me. Spiders. A lamp. A curving, looping road. Mountains smaller than me, and ants larger.
I lost track of time. Going in and out of hallucinations, I began to lose all sense of sanity. Who was I? Where was I? When was I?
There were brief periods when the hallucinations stopped and I could think clearly. I analyzed my situation - clearly something had gone wrong. Had I died? Was this hell? I was floating through an endless universe of nothing - not even blackness, just nothing. I tried to find something to grab onto, anything. I looked around for sound, and listened for light.
Cycles upon cycles, lifetimes upon lifetimes, I wandered the recesses of insanity. How long had it been, I wondered. 5 years? 100 years? 500?
Sometimes the hallucinations stopped and I fell into unconsciousness. During those times I was only aware of one thing - cold. I wasn't cold, IT was cold. There was no me, no I any longer.
God showed me the universal truth of nothingness and I surrendered to it. Time and space were illusions of the mind.
Time doesn't exist in eternity. Infinite lifetimes passed; I lived the life of a butterfly, an elephant, a farmer, a stone, and a businessman. Feelings and thoughts were ephemeral vortexes of causality and I bore witness to them all at once.
Then something was.
A break in nothing. A spear puncturing the perfect tranquility of absence. It was electricity.
I saw a network of light, a web of neuronal connections light up in an explosive fireworks show. It was the inside of a brain.
Zap. Zap. Zap. The connections were firing more intensely, more rapidly, and time began to collapse. Each end of time separated in either direction and was stretched like a piece of taffy.
I latched onto the zapping like an infant suckling a teat.
Then I felt it. It was as if my awareness was torn from below, grabbed by a body and a mind and shackled to a specific point in space. Pain flooded into my consciousness and overwhelmed me with feelings. I remembered what arms and legs were. I fit back into my body as if it were a glove, enveloping me in searing hot oil.
Suddenly a sensation pulsed through every fiber of my being and a thump in my chest exploded with the sound of rushing water.
Then again. And again. With each thump, pain washed over my body and felt like millions of needles pierced my skin. The pain was far worse than anything I had experienced in all my lives.
Time moved achingly slow. I was being brought back to life, I was being unfrozen, I had been in an experiment; a cryo-something. I began to think in words again.
I opened my eyes. In the blackness I could see something. A door. The door opened and light poured in to my pupils. It burned and I instinctively wanted to turn away, so I moved my neck muscles for the first time in eternity. I lifted my hands and felt the cold air leak in to my skin. *I* was cold.
A cacophony of agony played all around me. Drips of water were as loud as rushing waterfalls, the sound of a synthetic beeping were mortal screams, and the clink of metal was a gong.
I was raised through the doors and into the light. A human standing next to me had on white clothes and held a syringe. Bags of fluid, tubes of red and white, and wires of all colors tangled out of my body.
"WELCOME BACK" the man yelled in my ears.
Tears streamed out of my eyes as i wiggled my toes and fingers and felt the agonizing movement on my skin - blissfully torturous.
The man reached to my mouth and slowly removed something enormous from inside my chest. I vomited it up and for the first time I gasped and inhaled thick hot air into my lungs. I sputtered, coughed, and choked as I regained control of my diaphragm.
I tested my voice.
"H-" a coughing fit possessed me.
"H-How long" I forced out with a rasp between coughs.
"Well we went slightly over our original timeline," he said as he looked at his wrist.
"It was about one hour and three minutes. You're a real trouper!" | Cold………. Cold! I yelled again as one of my colleagues asked me what I was feeling and tried to make out what I was saying as he began the first stages of the procedure. He laughed and smiled as they all stood watching how I reacted to each stage. You see, this was never supposed to happen, well not like this anyway. During the first few short tests we skipped the sedative and just did runs maybe two to three hours long to see how well the process worked. Every time I was conscious, but I knew that in at least some form I would be.
Now during the final run, I awaited that familiar feeling of the drug coursing through my IV and sending me to a deep slumber. The experiment lead had been an anesthesiologist early in his career and assured me that after I received the meds I would wake up at the end of the experiment just like I had only been out for a minute or two. To be honest, I was not nervous at all. After going through the first few tests I was confident in the procedure and had nothing to worry about. I could hear the chatter outside the chamber, muffled by the hiss of the coolant as they initiated stage two. I began to feel the telltale tingling in my arms, legs and then my chest. I knew we were close.
I began to hear the hiss of the infusion pump pushing the sedative through my IV. I waited….and waited and still nothing. It was then that I realized that something was wrong. I could very slightly feel the temperature difference the fluid was making as it ran down the palm of my hand from the area where my IV was located. “Crap” I thought “the IV must have come out or the connector got loose”. I started to yell through the glass, “hey” I yelled, then “hey” again…No response. “They can clearly see me what’s going on?” I thought. Just then, the final stage started. I could feel the icy then oddly warm sensation in my body and the rush of silence as the final stage stopped. I guess what I considered yelling was the equivalent of a newborn kitten’s meow for the people outside the chamber. In fact, I was not yelling at all. The problem was as they prepped for the third and final stage, the coolant that rushed into the chamber for the most part masked my weak attempt to communicate. The fact that the infusion pump was successful in releasing the medication kept an alarm from being raised. Through the window I could see them observing my state. They were taking notes and watching my vitals. Shortly after, each of them said a few things and gave me a kind goodbye.
Although I couldn’t feel the movement I could see it. Light after light as we moved down the long corridor to the room I knew they were taking me. In my mind I was screaming but, I was silent. I observed as we passed through the doors and they eased the chamber into its permanent spot.
I kept trying to scream or move or do at least something that would get their attention. Something that would let them know that I was awake.
Nothing, that’s what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to feel, see and hear nothing. But I watched day after day as the lab assistants would come in and go out with their tablets, observing what I assumed were my vital signs. I did not sleep, I only experienced short periods of what I assumed were the equivalent of day dreams.
Boredom was an understatement. The most excitement was watching a maintenance guy fix a light or a lab tech talking to themselves. As the time dragged by, I watched doctors and assistants grow older and then eventually be replaced by someone else. I tried to keep track in my mind of the time that had passed and every now and then I could see the date on someone’s device or hear them talk about a holiday or vacation. As time went on, the visits from the lab assistants grew shorter and shorter until finally they stopped. I stood staring at a dimly lit room, no activity no sound. I thought to myself “is this it? Did I die? Did they lose interest?” I had lost all track of time and between diminishing of the day dreams and the lack of any activity outside my chamber I was going mad. Suddenly the lights in the room went out. I could see the dim glowing of the “exit” sign above the main door. I stared at that exit sign and watched as it grew dimmer and dimmer until finally the light was gone.
The total darkness stretched on forever. Eventually I began to stop thinking all together. I know it sounds weird, but I literally stopped thinking. I had pretty much pondered everything, thought about every point in my life that I could remember, and the day dreams grew less and less.
It was then that the door swung open. The main entrance to the storage area swung open and a blinding ray of light shined through. I could see nothing but the light, but I could hear steps. The light began to scan around the room as if the person was looking for something. As they got closer I could make out that they were in what appeared to be some sort of environmental suit. After a few moments of prodding around a second person entered the room, then a third.
The third guy carried a small case and sat it down on the instrument panel. I watched him poke and prod under the panel as the others observed the room. I could hear the faint murmur of them talking but I could not make out what was being said. I watched as the third guy tapped buttons on his case, making the instrument panel light up below it. They all three gathered around. One of them opened the front of his helmet. “My God, he’s still alive” the first words I clearly heard in who knows how long. I watched as one by one they removed their helmets and began discussing what they should do.
“What should we do?” the third guy said. “I don’t know, how the hell do we open this thing up anyway?” one of the others retorted.
I watched as the first guy angrily tapped buttons on the case…. the panel immediately went dim. He looked at the other two and barked “Listen, we were ordered to observe the condition on the surface and then return. We were not given permission to bring anything back and if they find out that we were poking around in buildings were in trouble.” The first guy walked out of the room, followed by the second “Let’s go man, before he loses it again”. The third walked up to my chamber and stared me in the eyes “sorry man” he whispered as he turned to join the others. I watched as the light grew dimmer and dimmer in the hall, my mind racing as I was once again swallowed by the darkness.
| 2017-12-17T05:38:03 | 2017-12-17T05:33:42 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] You'r grandkids visit but say that you are too old to play games, little do they know that you were an E-Sport champion. | "Granddad, you'd never beat me in Call of Duty 15."
"Of course I wouldn't! You are the *best* at that game!"
It wasn't hard, keeping a secret. Especially keeping one from this generation of I'll-my-own-business-and-not-care-about-you generation. It's a shame, really, how little they care about corporations running their lives, ensuring that they'll go nowhere after school but the corporate offices or the factories. But, even with terrible standards of living and horrible quality if everything, I still kick ass in the old games. CS:GO, Portal 3, all the old ones. Even in some of the newer ones, like CS:CE and Forza X, I can win most times. Hell, even in Halo 7!
But they don't know that. They don't know how Ano Nymus is not a real benifactor of senior citizens, how Shady Acres Retirement Center is really a grayhat hacking organization, how the janitors are robots we made ourselves, and they have *no clue* how big our underground server room is. We *would* tell them about some things, like our Friday night LAN parties, our secret terrabit internet connection, even the robot janitor thing, if they cared to ask.
"Well, are you going to play or not?"
Michael's question brought me back to reality.
"Of course!"
So while he set up the game, I quickly memorized the controls. Having them all down, I relaxed my back so it wouldn't cramp up. Going over my strategy one more time, I was ready.
Let the ass-kicking begin. | "Hold on a minute kids... goddammit Tommy, Stephen, come over here...."
The 12 year old skipped over and 14 year old shuffled over looking bored and rolling his eyes.
"What Granpa? We wanna play our new Sim now!!"
Little do they know I thought...
"Did you know, your Granpa was the world champion at that game in 2009!? Yep... Madden NFL world champion. Look! I got the trophy up in the cabinet right there."
11 year old Tommy's eyes lit up "No way Granpa, that's awesome"
Stephen was less impressed "What, was that a "computer game" contest on a Playstation 5 and a TV or something?"
I chuckled "No no, we didn't even have that then!! This was on the PS3 - Old Granpa was a real maestro at gaming!"
Tommy was impressed and nodded up but Steven just rolled his eyes again - he was definitely a teenager now..
"Hey kids, why dontcha let your old Grandaddy play the new game, I bet I still got it and I'll show ya how I won the Virtual SuperBowl with my Allstar fantasy team"
"It's called a SIM granpa - nobody says "game" these days - it's so much more than a crappy game - here ya go" Stephen handed the goggles to his Grandfather...
"Where is the controller? How do I get to the main menu?" Granpa's mouth was open in confusion as the room swirled into a stadium before his eyes.....
"Hey Mom, Gramps is going to play NFL 2050!!! This will be hilarious...."
"WOWWWW! There's a pack of players coming right for me!!"
"Throw it to me Granpa, throw it to me.. you're the quarterback" Tommy shouted......
Stephen was doubled with laughter down the pitch in his NY Giants gear "I thought you said you were a champion!!!"
| 2017-12-21T08:43:47 | 2017-12-21T08:29:12 | 55 | 19 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | In life, Orglord, had flayed his enemies open and put them on display throughout the villages he had pillaged. Men, women, children. None were given mercy. Barbarians warlords didn’t discriminate. However, in Suburbs and SUVs, he was Orie, the thirty-year old sales representative currently late for work for the third time this week.
“I attempt to switch lanes,” Orglord said, a quiet tremble to his voice. Unlike his barbarian brethren, his rage was not preceded by rampant roars, but by these soft tremors.
Arana, the high priestess of the dark elves and one of the few who dared openly talk against Orglord raised her brow. “You know what happened last time you try to change lanes.”
But she was handedly ignored. An entire crowd sat around them, staring. Elven magic projected this game throughout the entirety of Almiera. Millions of lives were at stake here. A bad month of B2C sales numbers has been known to result in the pillaging of entire regions by Orglord.
“Blasted Subaru Impreza, if I had a mightier car, none would dare stuck me in traffic!”
He grabbed a die and tossed them onto the table. They clacked against the redwood. Everyone held their breaths. At last, they stopped. A 17.
“Yes!” Orglord shot out of his chair, his fists shaking above his head. “I will have gut all those who stand between me and my employee of the month nomination!”
The game master, a necromancer hidden by his own conjured shadows, coughed. “Is that your move?”
“No, no.” The barbarian warlord lowered himself back into his chair. “I switch lanes to the right.”
“You signal the switch and merge lanes,” the necromancer said.
Orglord clasped his hands upon his mouth.
“You successfully merge lanes.”
The barbarian and those spectating from his region let out a relieved breath, but the necromancer held up his hand. It was like a spell of silencing. The crowd, the players, the world stopped and stared at that hand.
“But, due to a traffic accident on the right shoulder of the highway that you are only seeing now, you must now merge back. Only a roll of 18 or higher can get you back into the correct lane without further delay.”
Orglord went silent. Those watching from his region began packing their things.
The rest of the day fared no better for Orie, the thirty-year-old toilet salesman in Suburbs and SUVs. His boss did not promote him, in fact, he got reprimanded for being late again. Employee of the month went to that bitch Carol who always talked about him behind his back at the water coolers. To top it all off, his wife called, saying that they needed to talk of something important.
On his way back from work, Orglord made no rolls. He did not merge lanes. He did not honk his horn. He sat in idle traffic for fifteen minutes and though the necromancer pressed him for actions, he simply waited through it.
At last, he arrived home.
“You step up to the door and open it,” the necromancer said. “The first thing you see are your wife’s suitcase, already packed. She approaches you.”
Orglord’s jaw clenched and he stared at his hands. “Tell her,” he said, “that I understand. I couldn’t graduate college, I couldn’t give her any of the things I’ve promised her, hell, I couldn’t even make employee of the month. I promised her the world and this is all I amounted to. Tell her that I’m a failure and that this will be last night playing this god damn game!”
The necromancer let the barbarian’s words echo through the room. All around the world, armies mobilized and castles fortified themselves.
“Your wife brings out another set of suitcases. They are yours.”
Orglord’s eyes snapped up, wide.
“She tells you that it is your birthday, remember? She says that she never expected you to give her the world, but she never wanted the world anyways. She says that she knows how hard you work and how much you care, even if you refuse to say. She tells you that she loves you and that she’d never leave someone as good as you. That’s why she wants to leave together, on a surprise vacation.”
“Blasted!” Orglord slammed his fist into the table and turned away from the game master. “Blasted… blasted hell!” he screamed and brought his palms to his eyes.
The players nodded with him. Even the spectators, who a second ago had prepared to move their armies against him, teared up.
“Orglord, I mean Orie,” the necromancer said. “What is your response?”
Nothing. He kept his back turned as his shoulder shuddered.
“Orglord?”
“I will wear your entrails around my neck!” he roared back. “Do not bother me. Not now. Not yet. This is…” he chocked on the rest of the words and a wail burst through his lips. “This is… this… This is real,” he finally finished.
The necromancer nodded back and stayed silent.
For centuries Suburbs and SUVs have kept the world safe and today was no exception. With the greatest of magics available, the most powerful of spells and weaponry at their command, the mightiest of the villains all fell to this simple game. Perhaps it was in how mundane it was, perhaps it was in how powerless it forced them to be, or perhaps that this pretend world had somehow become more real than their reality itself. Whatever the case, the armies around the world put down their swords and shields and sat back down in their chairs to finish watching tonight’s game of Suburbs and SUVs.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. | "Zixor the Fallen, we don't just have to roll dice to see how depressed teens and desperate housewives are," Priestess Aerosmith Daughter spoke in a warm yet authoritative tone. "You will find the emerging market of independent rulesets that focus on collaborative narrative and nuance that-"
"You're just salty your many critical failures at the luncheon made your mimosa and wine problem clear to everybody!" Zixor sneered between bites of their untouchable GM pizza. Nobody ever commented on the Skeletorian nasal whine but they all quietly knew it. "Sloppy drunks shouldn't even be driving SUVs in my suburban haven!"
Citi the Goblin King and Uv Violence the Barbarian Warlord silently chewed their Ye Olde Cheese Dudes 7 item value meals. They'd witnessed some variation of this argument at every mid-session meal break. They knew to let it ride. The pair had an ongoing wager on when the necromancer and the elf would finally make out and/or fistfight.
Zixor threw their Mama Celeste pizza box at the skeleton servants over on the flesh couch. Next came a mocking reenactment of the JV Soccer Fundraising Committee Sunday Brunch. "Oh, Zixor had planned a brilliant series of operatic twists and turns the table clearly craves week after week but No; I can't make fortitude and will saves! Time to spotlight my Drinking Problem once more, just like my torrid affair with the poolboy being oopsie-revealed last week. Or the time the session became burying-slash-replacing the dog I ran over the week before.. And let's not forget the hair salon battle royale!"
"It's developing character," The princess countered. "Maybe McKenna vamps and chews the scenery a bit, but what do you expect from a former homecoming queen cheerleading captain drama club president on her second unfulfilling marriage going through a midlife crisis?"
"For her to get her shit together a little. Maybe interact with the other members of the Committee instead of going on these personal sidequests."
"Oh. Oh my. " Citi piped up. "Taking over the goth teen wannabe wiccan, formerly known as GM-PC #17, doesn't have a lot of plot hooks for me to explore. Oh, other than begrudge her upper middle class luxury and watch The Craft on blu ray. Oh, I'm thinking her mom has been dragging her to these brunches so they can later throw shade together as a bonding experience. But there's enough of that now."
Violence nodded. "But it so true. My Cynthia has felt distant from my high school daughter Gothy McGothface and middle school son Soccer "Kicks" Futballio. Ever since McKenna drowned their father but made it look like an accidental fall into our backyard pool."
"Citi shouldn't have had him two-timing with McKenna and half the Committee anyway.." The princess gave a Bjorkian wispy gesture and scowl to accent this point.
"Don't forget the committee's assorted husbands and poolboys. He excelled at two-timing. Twice over. Two-two-timing. " Violence offered.
"Four timing. To the power of four. At minimum," Citi smiled a wicked lil grin. "Oh That's how I likes to play them - high charisma and seduction. Oh my. And oh, once I levelled up I would've used the Black Widow feat to slow motion genocide the entire town, one lover at a time, boosting my vigilant criminal watch stats in exchange for humility and humanity points I don't even need. Oh, it was so fiendishly clever! Leading the manhunt on myself. A pity I died before my time.
"I am ever so weary of making a new character every other session. Nobody else has died yet. The inept detective needs to stop his moonlit strolls with Cynthia and start finding all my corpses. Oh, can I be a coroner after Gothy dies in a bathtub under mysterious McKenna related circumstances?"
"I like that we are so derailed that's just expected, " Violence said between deep bemused inhales. "Remember at the start when the campaign was supposed to be managing home renovation money pits? Did we ever even binge on the basic cable real estate twins? Zixor spent a week revising hundred page Deepest Lore for them."
"What if we didn't need false dramatics
to have a good time?" The princess arched an eyebrow. "I have recently mastered the SMUG system. It can open new depths of ennui and quiet desperation."
Zixor scoffed and dramatically exited for the bathroom with a loud drop of a Plus Two Scepter of the Undead. What does an elf know of desperation?
Citi and Violence exchanged glances.
"They have a splat on something called podcasting,"" Aerosmith Daughter continued. "No more purpose driven addiction-prone yuppies. Now you are tubby underemployed thirtysomethings that share meandering conversations and aged pop culture references. It's all only tangentially related to the topic that brings us together and each one ends with either begging for money or describing mattresses and undergarments delivered regularly by municipal kingdom servants."
"So what would we talk about?"
"So glad you asked. I shall soon self-publish a meta-narrative module that I wanted us to playtest. The characters review game books of their realm meant to emulate our own world. And maybe movie reviews. There can never be enough movie review podcasts."
Citi and Violence nodded in unison. "Can we be severely depressed and self-deprecating? Carry the weight of the long slog of life's constant little failures and setbacks? Can we overinvest ourselves in our hobbies to the detriment of the rest of our lives? Suffer faulty equipment ? Attend gatherings of similar aimless souls?"
"I see you intuitively understand the format."
Meanwhile, Zixor tried to drown in the bathtub but came back as a lich. Snuck out the bathroom window to find a table that appreciated a good railroading. | 2018-01-10T06:36:38 | 2018-01-10T06:17:28 | 378 | 20 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | "Did everyone remember to level up your characters? Level 4 increases the intensity of this experience, so be sure you've given yourself all the skills you can. You'll need them." Ytverx grinned wickedly, the light glinting off his crown and nearly blinding the others.
Aralynn rolled her eyes as she flicked her finger, her parchment unfurling on the table at her gesture. "At least you lit enough torches this time. I would have been able to change that tire if it were light enough for me to read the correct modifier."
"Still bitter about needing me to push your car home, eh?!" Hector plopped himself into his chair, making the wood groan under his mass. He pulled a leather purse from his pocket and dropped it unceremoniously on the table, where it spilled bone dice onto the elegantly carved oak. Ytverx had commissioned an artisan to carve useful markings into it, forming a grid on which was already sketched out a chalk outline of a home. The same home that Aralynn, Hector, and Wyvyl's fantasy counterparts resided in.
*"I* still think we should have used one of our Three-A rescues to get that car home." A thin, high voice called from the chamber entrance.
Aralynn looked up with a surprised grin. "Wyvyl! I thought you would be gone today... were you able to undo the curse?"
The necromancer approached, limping. Her hair was matted and her skin deathly pale... to a slightly more extreme degree than usual. "No, but the healer assured me it won't be passed on unless someone kisses me." She threw a disparaging glance at Hector.
"That was in character!" He protested, arms crossed. "And I'm glad we saved our Three-A call... what if the car gets stranded on a freeway? We don't want to have all our toes cut off before then!"
The others had given up on convincing the barbarian that the rules did not, in fact, call for removing characters' toes as a means of payment for car services. Homophones were not his strong suit.
Ytverx pulled out his hidebound tome of rules and propped it on the table between himself and his players, creating a shield behind which he could make notes and roll dice without the others seeing the results. "I have something particularly difficult in mind for your next quest, but if you'd like your characters to do anything in particular beforehand, I'll give you, say, half a day in game time for free actions."
"Ooh! I've been waiting for this! Now that my animal husbandry skill is higher, I want to make a video of my dog doing a trick!" Hector was already rolling the appropriate die. "Thirteen! Plus three, is..."
"Sixteen," said Aralynn, unwilling to wait for Hector to perform addition on his own.
"A fair result," said Ytverx. "You capture a moment on video during which your dog performs a backflip. Would you like to post it to The Internet?"
Hector nodded. "Of course!"
"I'd like to do the same with my cat," said Wyvyl.
Ytverx gestured toward her pile of dice. "Go ahead."
Wyvyl rolled, and her face fell. "Eight. But I have my animal husbandry proficiency as a veterinarian, so the total is... also sixteen!" She smiled, pleased to think she should be able to capture a moment similar to Hector's dog flip.
"You capture a video of your cat rolling onto its back and meowing," Ytverx informed her.
"But..."
"You chose a cat as your companion animal. They are *much* more difficult to train than dogs," he preemptively cut off any protest about the unfairness as he rolled his own dice out of view. "Now, Hector, your video of your dog proves popular, and earns you... one dollar and fifty three cents in currency."
"Yeah!" Hector slams his fist on the table in celebration.
"Wyvyl, your video of your cat proves *more* popular, and earns sixty-two dollars and eleven cents."
Now it was Hector's turn to protest, but Ytverx raised his finger for silence. "Cats are difficult to train, but they provide bonuses on The Internet. This is all in the rules that *everyone* had a chance to read. Does anyone else want to do anything before the quest?"
Aralynn shook her head. "Let's get on with it."
Ytverx handed a folded piece of parchment to Wyvyl. "This arrives for you in the mail."
She took it gingerly, unfolded it, and read, her eyes widening. "Oh no." Looking back and forth between Ytverx and her other players, she swallowed. "I doubt we're prepared for this. We've been invited..." She turned it around to show the rest. On the parchment was some text accompanied by a large, colorful rendition of a pine tree dressed in baubles. "To a Christmas party!" | Cutulah was first to arrive, as usual. The cellar was empty, but she busied herself by lighting candles, setting up the board and then finally, pouring herself a drink from the huge oak barrel.
She glanced at her palm, as if the lines that trailed it told her secrets they shared with no one else. Then she looked at the door.
Still no one.
With a sigh, she swivelled off her stool and got down onto her knees. The corners were usually the best place to find what she was after. Cobwebs worked too, although their contents couldn't be *that* old. If too many legs were missing, it wouldn't be much fun.
It only took a few minutes to gather, what she considered, a rather good haul. She got back to her feet, her hands cupped and full, and walked over to the board. Dead insects fell like black sleet onto the tiny, idyllic suburb.
"Ten gold pieces on the beetles!" shouted Burric, clapping his hands as he walked in. Cutulah looked up at the barbarian. He was wearing fur around his groin, a sword around his back, but little else. *Wasn't he cold?* Cutulah didn't mind too much. His tanned, chiselled features made her for a second, ashamed; she ran a finger down a thin, pale cheek.
Jateex the Goblin King trotted in next, his skull boots clicking and clacking on the stone floor. "Oh, a little pre-game fun? Excellent. Excellent. Fifty on the spiders!" he said, settling down onto a stool, his beady eyes following the frantic back and forth battle.
"Come on, dung beetle! Snap their legs!" yelled Burric. "Aye, that's the way! Chase 'em, chase 'em! *No*, not into the web! Ach, idiot."
A cold wind spiralled around the cellar, announcing the final arrival. The long legged Dark Elf glided through the doorway and over to the table. She tutted when she saw the scene, then waved a hand over the battling insects. They fell into a dead slumber.
"What did ya do that for, woman!?" roared Burric, slamming his fist on the table. The insects jumped a final time, as if performing a sordid curtain call.
Llenynea rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm not here for *battling bugs.* Reanimation is the lowest form of entertainment." There was a palpable disdain in her voice. Cutulah's lips twitched but she said nothing. Instead, she left her seat again, and poured three drinks. One for the Barbarian, one for the Goblin King, and a refill for herself.
Llenynea placed a bag on the table, a bag as black as the sky outside the castle. She clicked it open and removed a sleek, long necked jar that shone far brighter than the candles.
"Is that..." began Jateex, his mouth dribbling.
"Nectar, yes. With a little something extra. I would offer it around, but it would probably kill any of you, my friends."
It was Cutulah's turn to roll her eyes, but in truth, a pang of jealousy in her stomach was letting itself be known. She'd never tasted nectar before -- not even the bastardised diluted stuff -- and probably never would.
"Shall we begin?" said Burric, clapping his hands together excitedly. "I feel like a dwarf whose been away away from his axe for a month. A wizard away from his weed pipe. Let's get going!"
There was a murmur of excited agreement.
Cutulah held out four cards face down. She offered them first to Jateex. His hand darted for one of the middle two cards, but then he stopped suddenly before taking, looked up slyly at Cutulah, and changed to the card on the left.
"Suburbs!" he shouted joyfully. "You thought Jateex, dumb! Jateex *not* dumb!"
Cutulah moved her hands over to Burric.
"Ah, SUV's," he said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Cutulah let out a sigh of relief. No matter what happened, she wouldn't have to team with the stuck up Elf again. Things had ended rather *dangerously* the last time they had tried working together...
Finally, she offered the remaining two cards to Llenynea. The Dark Elf waved her hands over the cards, slowly moving her palms back and forth from one to the other.
"Wait!" yelled Burric. "Anyone else feel that breeze? A breeze like"--he turned and glared suspiciously at the elf--"*like darkness and ice*."
"A natural subterranean wind, I imagine," said Llenynea. "Cellars do get draughty, after all."
"Neh! Jateex felt it too," said the Goblin King. "*Unnatural.* Elf already try to cheat!"
"Preposterous!"
Cutulah frowned, then shuffled the two cards. "Take your pick," she said. "*Quickly.*
Llenynea growled and snatched the left card. She placed the SUV card face up on the table.
"Right," said Burric. "Let's begin."
| 2018-01-10T07:00:50 | 2018-01-10T06:12:50 | 172 | 74 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall. | The machine was dark, and cramped, and loud. It screeched at me despite the multiple layers of ear protection I had, sounding like an alarm going off. Like something was going wrong. Like I would be stuck in the abyss between this time and the next, a space of no time at all, an eternity of this screeching sound again and again and again ...
It was hard to remain calm, even with all my training. After all, this was it, the big day. I wasn't in a simulator, able to tune out my thoughts and focus on my breathing. All those months of preparation, all boiling down to this miracle of science actually *working* with its first human subject.
I'd done a lot of crazy things in my time. But nothing so crazy as time travel.
Before my thoughts could spiral into more panic, the noise died down. My ears rang from the silence, and I dared not move for a few long moments.
Finally, I couldn't delay any longer. Either I was in the future, or I was not. Time to find out which it was.
The latches to open the machine were easy to find, even in the pitch black. These were all motions I had done a hundred times before. Unlock, unlock, unlock, then *push* with all my might ... The lid opened and light flooded in, almost blinding me.
Odd. They hadn't kept the lights dimmed, which was the plan. As I sat up, my hand strayed to my hip before I clenched it into a fist. I missed the weight of my gun there, but the scientists had been adamant about me bringing nothing but myself and my clothes.
My eyes were adjusting as I swung my feet out of the machine. There was dead quiet, still, and my senses went on even higher alert. This wasn't just odd now, this was dangerously wrong. I scanned the machine room, muscles tense. Nothing here but two security cameras and the clock on the wall.
The clock blinked. *18:01:12. 18:01:13.* So either someone had changed the clock as a joke, or it had actually worked.
I pushed away my shock and awe. All earlier traces of panic were gone, dissolved into professionalism. Why was no one using the intercom to congratulate me on the success of the mission and give me the keyword to take back?
I paced the small room once, twice. Something was wrong. I was just supposed to get here, check the time, wait to hear the keyword, then get back. I wasn't supposed to leave this room, to touch anything.
I stopped in front of the door that lead to the testing room, the room where all the scientists were supposed to wait with baited breath. There was no window in the door, so if I wanted to see more, I would have to open it. To touch the doorknob, move the door, change the future ... The future. So strange to call it that, when it just felt like my present.
"Please confirm if you can hear me," I called. The intercom did not crackle to life. The lights did not dim.
"Oh, to hell with it," I mumbled and opened the door.
Blood. It was splattered everywhere, across all the monitors and white walls and sterile scrubs of the technicians. That was Liam, his glasses askew and shattered, blood coating the front of his skirt as he stared sightlessly up through the broken glass. There was Mia, her hair a bloody mess, careful curls covering her pale face and purple lips. There was Dr. Mordas, slumped over his computer, hands still on the keys.
I had dealt with dead friends before -- too many -- and so I pushed my horror away. Time travel was beyond me, I didn't know anything about the shrieking machine that had brought me here, but violence? Corpses? Those I knew. Those I could deal with.
I looked over everyone, filing away the details in my head. Twenty-two dead. That was everyone on the team.
There had been a fight, towards the end. There were some streaks of blood on the floor, leading to bodies. People dragging themselves, so they hadn't been clean shots. Shots it had been; I could tell the work of a gun. A military grade gun, too. And from how perfectly massacred everyone was, this was not random.
I glanced up from the bodies, and that's when I saw it. **SORRY.** It was written on the wall in ... marker? Did I know that handwriting? I itched to have a picture of it, but I didn't have my phone or a camera with it. Just me, my eyes and my mind.
I looked over the room one last time, then turned back into the machine room, closing the door behind me. My hands were still, but there was blood on my shoes, on the cuffs of my pants.
The time machine stared at me. Twelve hours ago, the scientists would be waiting for me to come back. And ... this massacre. Could I tell them about it? Could I try to *stop* it? Was that the future?
Destiny and fate had been words that were tossed around every once in a while, almost carelessly. A bridge to cross when we got there, if we could even get to there. Now I was standing on that bridge. Me, just me.
What to do?
Well, I couldn't stay here.
I had to follow my mission. Get here, get out, come back. These ingrained lines propelled my feet, got me back into that too-small box with its too-loud shrieking just waiting to kick back on. I folded myself inside of it, locked all the latches back up, pressed the button to start the process back.
Cross that bridge when I got to it. If I could even get back to the past. If this was even the future.
What had I walked into?
***
Had to stop suddenly because I have a 9:45 meeting, but planning to continue after it's done! Hope you liked this. | The gun pressed against the side of my head was new to the future. The barrel hissed and whines as it half melted hairs, added that complex aroma into the world next to the stale scent of blood and the bloom of complex chemical interactions that created mainly ozone and carbon monoxide as a by-product.
"On your knees," my own voice barked, and I slid forward,legs thumping against the cold tile floor. I swallowed and looked up at him.
"Sorry kid, you know how this works," he said to me, his face red with a heat burn (a known side effect of time travel, losing layers of skin, creating an effect that resembled a sun burn but would eventually just cause massive blood loss. How many iterations was he in?) "I'm going to have to ask you to go back in there."
"I..." I stared up at him, then at the place around me, idly, my legs twitching. The gun remained pointed at my forehead, boiling hot steel.
The lab equipment was mostly fine, the scientists had been shot by the wall instead of near their delicate equipment, probably just to keep things nice for a celebratory picture.
It hadn't been the right camera; the film was too high caliber. My mind was hazy from the travel, from the brief moment of non existence, but seeing my own face ahead made me sure of it.
"Look, we don't have enough people to work the time machine," I protested. "It needed at least three people."
"Told you he'd say that," Another me stepped forward lazily from around the corner, brandishing the same gun."
"I know he was going to say it, I said it, idiot," the first me snarled at the second. "Now, are we going to resolve this paradox or what?"
"Paradox?" I squeaked. "That sounds bad."
"Yes, bad, they were going to put us down like pigs when the second showed up."
I cocked my head to the side, and then toppled forward as the machine went off behind me, sending out another spray of ozone and carbon monoxide.
"Oh, great," The gun men said, as they turned and stared at the next person coming out of the time machine.
Bald, hair coming out in sickly chunks, blood dripping from every orifice, this version of myself merely pointed forward. "Fuck you!" He hissed, then topped over on the stubs that had used to be his feet.
"Fuck you?" I asked, staring down at him. He gurgled angrily.
"Which person do you reckon he's talking to, and where is he even from?" said the first gun man to the second one.
"It doesn't matter where he's from, he can just select this location from anywhere, he could be us from years from now."
"I don't like much that one," The first one said.
Slowly, I inched my way, crawling forward on my knees, towards the dead scientists. The gun man watched me lazily. "I don't really know what you think you're going to get there."
"There are people here and they are dead, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I hissed.
"Honestly I'm just pissed because I've had to deal with all of me in the next couple of hours. Sorry past self," The gun man said. The second gun man nodded.
"Yeah this place gets full of assholes really quick."
"We're literally all the same person," I said, staring at them.
"We should really go into some personality therapy after this."
"How the fuck are you guys this bad?" I looked down at the scientists. Bullet holes, finger paintings, mottled colors. Dead for a few hours, my degree told me. Who had painted the message in apology?
"Fuck youuuuuuuuuu!" The rotting corpse that had used to be me wheezed, coughing up more blood.
"What are we even doing!?" I hissed.
"Ideally, we're figuring out this situation," the other me, the one with the original gun said. "Before we end up like that guy, choking on his own liquefied lungs.
"And how do we figure it out?" I asked, looking at my future selves.
"Honestly, I'm not sure. I just know that I met myself from the future, so obviously I had to go to the future in order to fix this."
The second gunner nodded as well. "I'm fairly sure that we just get better and better at working the machine until one of us figures it out."
"We're biologists, not physicists!" I whined. "And that breaks every inch of protocol we established."
"Look man, I had to murder all of my colleagues today," Gunner two said, flashing his gun. "I don't really care about protocol at this point, I just want to use the machine so I can go back and time and fix that."
"I'm fairly sure we can't do that," I said. "According to contemporary logic, the second we saw their dead bodies, we'd have to take efforts to ensure that whatever happened to kill them would happen again. To maintain consistency."
"Exactly, which is why I shot them," The second said, nodding slowly.
I took a deep breath and sighed, turning to look at the third body, rotting on the ground as we spoke. "Do you think we're up for working the time machine?"
"Fuuuuuuucccckkkk youuuuuu!" The corpse me wheezed.
"That's what I thought."
"So? You getting back in the machine?"
I took a long breath and stood up. "You know what? No! Fuck you guys!"
"We're literally you."
"And you suck and you're massive assholes, and I'm SORRY I had to find this out about myself!" I threw my arms up, stepped over the dead bodies, ignoring the squish of blood on the soles of my feet, and walked out the door. "I'M GETTING LUNCH, GOOD LUCK FIGURING IT OUT."
Distantly, I heard a muffled "wait don't we need the original for this anyway" and then the door closed behind me.
I was going to order a pizza and start drinking. Fuck those guys.
------
For more like this, go here., https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-08-01T06:22:36 | 2018-08-01T06:09:13 | 155 | 21 |
[WP] You're a thief with superpowers, always in conflict with the local heroine. Off the masks, both of you are actually studying in the same school. You start picking up clues to who she really is way before she does. | When most people think of shapeshifters, specifically those of us who turn into animals, they typically think of the cool animals to turn into. Ones that can end a fight, like a wolf or tiger. Ones that can prevent a fight, like a rattlesnake or bear. Ones that can rule the skies or sea, like an eagle or shark.
My favorite animal to turn into?
A gnat.
Yup, those little pests that are smaller than a housefly, just as annoying, and you only notice them when they gather in number or get in your face.
See, I remember watching the Disney film "The Sword in the Stone", specifically the wizard duel between Merlin and Madam Mim, where they turned into animals, and Merlin won by turning into the smallest of animals, a germ, to beat a dragon.
When I got my powers, and when I became a thief for that matter, I played it smart to follow in that same inspiration. I used small animal forms to sneak past security in places there weren't any. There aren't many cameras that can notice a gnat, and most people won't either, as long as they don't notice it on them. On a guard's shoulder is my favorite place to be to sneak into a vault.
Played it smart, so I never got caught, no one knew who I was or even how I was doing it.
But the problem with doing something well every time is that it gets normalized... gets boring, so I started trying to spice my hobby up.
Yes, hobby. I'm a thief as a hobby, not a life style. So what? It’s safer than becoming one of those hero *Capes*. (Boy will that come back to bite me on the mule some day!)
Anyways, trying to make it more exciting, I started giving myself challenges, like getting past security in gradually larger forms, or slipping through shutting doors before the jaws snap closed, instead of as soon as they would open. It escalated to the point I started taking pride in my hobby, started leaving calling cards, and to the point I actually made a disguise. Oh yeah, I finally became a *Cape*, as some people call them.
I still played it smart though. Very 'ninja' about it. Not that Naruto ninja, but the misdirection kind. For one, I learned how to make smoke bombs, the kinds that are popularized as part of a vanishing act. I also got a top hat. Yes, a top hat.
Since my inspiration for how I used my animal transformation powers came from a wizard duel, I figured I'd keep to the trend, and disguised myself as a magic user, wearing a top hat. Used the smoke bombs to do the 'vanishing act', when actually I'm just transforming inside the smoke. My calling card was actually the top hat: I'd leave it behind as if I had vanished into it in front of any cameras or witnesses.
The name I decided on should have clued everyone in on how I was doing it. Then again, it is an old movie.
No, not Merlin. I called myself Mim. Well, I tried to anyways. For my great 'debut', the witnesses misheard me, so I got called Nim (or Nimh) instead. Can't exactly correct them now... Should have gone with "Marvelous Magical Mim" instead, but I chickened out and got a minor case of stage fright, so went with "Mim" and now I'm "Nim". I'm only doing this as a hobby anyways.
Of course, I forgot a crucial fact. Once you make a name as a *Cape*, you start making enemies.
I'm pretty sure she started shortly before she encountered me. Didn't even have a name to use, that first time, but she at least had powers and a disguise so no one knew who she was either. Her powers involved making stuff out of light or something like that. Her control was shoddy at first, but she grew, and she eventually got a name for herself as well: Starlight. Needless to say, I've teased her by calling her Starbrite.
Anyways, she had figured out my pattern (which I hadn't even realized I had been using!) to stake out my next target, so she basically caught me. I was so surprised at encountering someone other than a regular security guard or building-staff that I actually spooked, and only barely had the presence of mind to throw a smoke blast before changing into something to get to the other side of room from her before turning back. Needless to say, our first meeting was amusingly awkward, considering she was there to stop me, and I was there to steal stuff, and neither of us knew what to do now that we had another *Cape* in front of us.
In a way, despite my earlier start before we encountered each other (before I 'became' Mim/Nim), we've grown into our roles together. In that twisted 'nemesis' kind of way. She actually figured out my actual powers, I'm sure, but she hasn't figured out how to actually stop me from escaping her. Not without risk of killing me, when she realized I was turning into such an easily killed creature like a gnat.
Starlight actually called me "suicidally crazy" when she realized that, and basically just let me go. Being one of the 'good' *Capes*, there's no way she would risk killing me.
Granted, for all that I'm one of the 'bad' *Capes*, I'm just a thief, and as a hobby at that. I do this for fun, for show, so of course I try not to hurt others, outside of the actual act of stealing stuff. Heck, last Halloween I saw some kids dressed up as me! No way in every circle of hell or sphere of heaven am I ruining that image by hurting people or worse, killing someone! I'm a phantom thief, not a villain!
Anyways, like I said, we grew together. Where before I used my various forms to steal stuff– ah, forgot to mention: when I change, whatever I'm wearing or touching stays with that form, so I don't get naked by losing my clothes, etc. and so some forms, like bugs, are used as basically a Bag of Holding for stealing stuff. But now that I have a rival, a 'nemesis', I started also using them as like a utility belt, since if I was going to keep my powers a secret from everyone else, even after Starlight figured them out, I’d still need to give her the slip when I’m escaping. It was a good laugh, when I hit her with a bomb made out of party poppers for the first time; she was just that surprised!
Likewise, she’s made it harder and harder to just ‘vanish’. Her most successful attempt yet had been when she sealed the entire room with her ‘light’. Turning it into a bubble. Unfortunately, for her that is, she didn’t do it in an empty room. So I just hid inside one of the desks. This was before she realized my powers, so she thought I actually gave her the slip. Her most successful otherwise was when she caught me in a bubble and I revealed my powers. Like I said before, she let me go just from not being willing to kill me. I’d like to see anyone besides that Jewish samurai hit a fly or gnat without killing it. Granted, I don’t really, nor would I want to get circumcised or similar in that manner, but that’s just the joke… I hope…
--------------------------
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9tjsfw/wp_youre_a_thief_with_superpowers_always_in/e8xrz73/) because I wrote this in a word doc and couldn't bring myself to cut out the 5k+ characters I was over the limit by to make it fit. | With a flick of my finger, I poofed a couple of dollars in my hand, straight out of Chad's wallet.
As I thumb the bill in the machine....As I....As.....Stupid fucking......
*As I thumb the bill in the fucking machine*, which would have gone better if Chad didn't fold his fucking bills twenty times over, I check my phone. Time. 12:46. Less than 5 minutes till class. Message boards. Thirteen messages. Two regulars. One for tonight. Money night tonight, no need to steal from Chad....then again, there's always a need to steal from Chad.
I pick a chocolate bar and head to class when I see a familiar face. Wayyyyy across the hall, Jay leans slumped against the wall on the floor. Jay was kind of....weird. She was always tired and grumpy quite often as well. People chatted about it. Some think there's abuse in the family. Others say she's a vampire. More likely she's getting commissioned to draw porn or write smutfics, but only has time for it in the middle of the night.
I personally think she draws porn. Why porn? She's got insane anatomical skills for drawing bodies. Angles shade, but importantly the *sweat*. Dead giveaway. How do I know she drew those sketches?
I flicked my finger. Easiest thing to do in my life.
And now there she was. 2 Minutes till class. Now usually, I don't give a shit. I'm kleptomanic, It'd be hard to care for people while I kept stealing from them. But Jay looks like she's had a rough patch. Plus, she's single and kinda cute. If she'd put away the resting bitchface for like, two seconds.
Fuck it. Not like it's the first time I risk being late. I hop over to her quickly and tap her on the shoulder.
"Gooooooood morning, Vietnam! This is not a test, this is *Rock and Roll!*"
Her eyes crack open as she scuttles away a little.
"What the *fuck*?!"
"Hi. We're having class in less than a minute. We're just in time to be late."
And off I go. But not before seeing....symbols on some of the papers in her bag. Let's not pay attention to that. Gotta dash to class class class!
-------
I watch as the inhabitants of the house take their leave. They're late. It's 11:51. The husband is complaining to his wife that she's taking far too long. He's been in the car texting someone. The wife walks up in heels she's not practiced in. I watch her lock the door I have the rock in my hand. She drops the keys in her purse. In the absolute *nick* of time, I managed to switch the keys with the rock. Flick of the wrist, baby. The weight drops in the purse. She closes it and tiptoes towards her husband. Unaware she just got conned. Into the car and off they went. Fancy dinner. Visiting the parents. Whatever.
I step out of the bushes and stride at the house. Lock goes in the key, good twist, and I'm in. Message said second floor, safe behind the hidden wall in the closet. Off I go, up the stairs. That nasty feeling in my guts, that feeling of anxiety, of straightup-wrongdoing. I'm in someone's home. People live here. Feel safe. This was a part of the job I really wasn't comfortable with. My second real B&E. I could get used to it but....this was way beyond disappearing some change out of Chad's wallet.
I hurry up the stairs, not wanting to hang around too long. Second floor. Main bedroom. Alright. I flick on the lights. Closet. A walk-in closet. A make-up stall, left in a mess. Clothes. I dig through them. There's a crease in the wall. I pull a screwdriver out of my pocket. My hands are shaking. Holy shit, calm down. Caaaaalm down man. Breathe. This is not defusing a nuke or taking off Syndey's bra. I pop that bad boy in the crease. One good tug and it came off, with a crack. Too loud. This would be the perfect time for my guts to empty themselves.
I let the panel down slowly. The safe. I check the phone. Luckily he was detailed in his description. I spin that dial left, right and left again. I open it. *There's a fucking solid gold bar in there, what the shit.* Skip it. Too heavy, or so my chemistry teacher once told me. The phone. I need the phone. I spot it. An iPhone. I snatch it, pocket that bad boy. Close the safe, walk out the closet, turn off the lights. Down the stairs, out the door. I lock it back in. Should I stick around to wait for them to come back to switch the keys and the rock? Or just drop them-
"Something tells me you're not supposed to be here, pretty boy."
My heart speeds up so fast I can feel it bouncing in my throat. How the hell did I get caught? I turn slowly. Some girl in a jump suit. Gloves. A black mask. Right. The patches are new. They look familiar. Maybe a commission to Jay? At least I won't be shot.
"You know, if you want a date, all you have to do is ask, no need to sneak up on me all creepy-like."
"What did you do in there?" She asks almost bored as she strikes a slight pose. Nice hips. Focus, Mike.
"Just had a sniff. Heard the Rock was living in the neighborhood and was wondering what he's cooking. Still haven't got a clue."
"What did you take?" Ah, I was getting her agitated.
"Come now, we've done this dance before. You won't hurt me. Your precious moral code won't let you."
She pulls a taser behind her back. Before Either of us can send a word, I flick it into my hand.
"Tha-AAAAGh"
I drop the taser as my hand flexes and spasms in literally the worst pain I have ever felt holy fucking shit ouch ouch oh God why did I go so wrong in my life please don't shit myself aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-
I flop to my knees as I wheeze like a cystic fibrosis patient fighting to take a breath.
"You're predictable." She says as she walks up to me with cuffs. She fucking booby-trapped the taser. Rubber gloves. Smart. She reaches out of my mask. Unmasking me. *ME*. The *balls* on this one. I reach out to grip her collar, hoist her in and bash my head into hers. An audible crack sounds as she recoils backwards, yelping as she reaches for her face.
I think about running, but my legs are solid steel. I am.....*really* pissed off. This fucking bitch just booby trapped a taser then tried to fucking unmask *me*. If I had a baseball bat I wouldn't hesitate to beat the ever-living shit out of her, even if she's invulnerable or not.
Last time she got, it was all fun and games, but this is *personal*.
I tackle her to the floor an grip her mask. She wraps her legs around my body tries to get a jab in, but I'm too fucking pissed to feel it landing. I hoist her up like I'm actually the rock and slam her down on the pavement. It knocks the wind out of her long enough for me to grip the mask. She grips it too, trying to keep it in place. She's saying something but the blood rushing in my ears is too loud for me to hear her. I grip her head and bash the back of it into the pavement. I. Will. Have. That. Mask. One bash for every word. She loses her grip and it comes off. I toss it off and get a good hard look at-
"Jay?!"
| 2018-11-02T13:17:08 | 2018-11-02T11:54:31 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] Your parents never let you study magic. They said you were born without the ability. But after a friend jokingly dares you to apply to the top wizardry schools in the state, the denial letters read "We regret to inform you that someone of your potential is simply too dangerous to be taught." | I had a hard time believing it.
I re-read the letters, slowly. What potential were they talking about? As long as I remember, I never could do any magic.
Even in kindergarten, kids could levitate balls, play with dancing lights and animate snowmen. Granted, their spells fizzled quite often, but I never could lift a marble or conjure the smallest spark. All the kids in elementary school received basic courses on how to control cold and flame, mostly to avoid magic flareups. I always thought I had nothing to control.
Late in high school, we had to begin focusing on a particular aspect of magic. The exceptionally gifted could pick two fields, but the majority could only choose one field. Even then, most of them had to focus on a particular subset of that field. Fire Elementalism was a common choice due to the lower attunement requirement that left time to focus on more magics. That, and the harsh winters.
For me, the choice was easy: only the tech courses. No elemental magic, just physics. No spiritual magic, just mathematics. No enchantments, just computers. The fun thing is that non magical courses didn't need magical attunement, so I had all of the tech courses.
"Maybe that was the potential they were talking about. I have, technically, infinite potential since I have no magical competence", I said out loud, then laughed at the seriousness of my tone.
​
Then it struck me. Revealing to a dangerous apprentice his potential could have disastrous consequences. If it's so unwise, why did they mention it? The glowing seals on the three letters were official; it wasn't a prank. I put the letters in front of me. It didn't make sense.
Now that I began thinking about it, the whole tech courses didn't make a lot of sense, either. Magic was so prevalent that technology was seen as an eccentricity. Everything tech could do, magic could do easier, faster and more efficiently. All the history books mentioned technology as something of an afterthought, a curiosity, no more, no less.
The origins of Tech were unknown, as if it just popped into existence "magically". Some ancient wizards devoted decades into divining its origins. Once in a while, one would come with a new theory. Those were treated the same as tech: eccentrics bringing curious eccentricities to those with too much time on their hands.
​
Technology was a living contradiction, something existing in a world of magic, that can be affected - to an extent - by magic, and even when completely outclassed by magic, it could operate completely outside of it.
I realized that I was slowly drifting to sleep.
The last thing I saw was my desk, with the three denial letters.
"*We regret to inform you that someone of your potential is simply too dangerous to be taught*."
"Huh, all three letters contain the exact same phrasing", I thought to myself, just before closing my eyes.
My room faded away, and the Dream started.
​
It was a familiar dream. Always started exactly at the same spot as I fell asleep. Usually, nothing was exactly the same: some furniture was moved, or the ceilings were taller, or the walls were painted in other colours; or, like today, windows are on each wall, and on the ceiling, and on the floor. The major difference, today, is that the three letters are almost exactly as I left them in the waking world. I say "almost", because the seals are glowing brighter than anything I could imagine, yet they were perfectly readable. | "Dear Nina Larousse!
We regret to inform you that your level of FX aptitude is S+, and civilian academies are not allowed to accept S+ students according to the Private FX Training Act of 1959. We strongly advice you to await recruitment by a government institution. The government is aware of your existence, and you will receive a visit from the controlling officer in due time. Please do not try to evade the controlling officer.
With regret,
Cid H. Solomon,
Headmaster of Scintillus Private FX academy".
I received this letter when I tried to apply to Scintillus last year. I never hoped to be accepted, but the reason was a complete surprise to me: my mother has been always telling me that I was an F, that is, a perfectly ordinary teenage girl without a hint of FX aptitude.
"Mom! - I said and showed her the letter. - Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted you to have at least a normal childhood, Nina - she answered. - You are an S+. They do not have normal lives. The government takes them, brands them, keeps them on leash. You won't be treated as a human being when they take you. You'll be treated as a... thing. A highly explosive thing that is kept in a safe."
"When are they going to come?"
"Next year, when you turn 16. I was going to tell you the truth at your fifteenth birthday next month, but you managed to learn it all by yourself."
"Is there another way? Can I run to some place where they won't find me?"
"You can, Nina, you can. There is no FX control in the poorer countries, such as Kalidor and the Borean States. But you don't speak the languages, you can't fend for yourself. There's crime there, and bandits on the roads, and germs in the water, and slavers, and drug lords, and..."
I made a decision. I did not want to be a living weapon for the Westernican government, and I was sure about that. Whatever dangers might the wild Borean States throw at me, I had to prepare and face them. I found an old FX textbook, a backpack of food and a primer on the Borean language and hid myself on a cargo plane bound for the Borean capital, Reisnergrad.
* * *
Five years later
Borean Backwater
The old roadside cafe looked shabby, but then again, everything looked shabby on this road this side of the Green Mountains. The battered trucks peppered with bullet holes, the cracked tarmac worn by many frigid winters and hot summers, the rusty road signs. This was a poor region of a poor country, and I was thankful for that. No one hunted rogue FX protocolists here, and that's exactly what I was. The Borean States lost two cold wars to Westernica, and were forbidden to have FX weapons by the 2024 Articles of Disarmament.
The driver of the truck I hitched a ride on said farewell, and I wished him good luck. I was hungry. FX powers consume a lot of energy, and I had to use them yesterday to repel some raiders from that poor man's truck.
I entered the cafe. It was nearly empty. An overweight Borean woman was manning the counter. Funnily, I thought: counters and kitchens in canteens and cafes are the only place where you find Boreans that big: they are usually as skinny as lone wolves in a winter forest.
The big woman grumbled at me and offered the menu.
"Give me everything from here to here!" - I ordered, circling half of the menu with my finger.
* * *
From "Nina Larousse and the Figurine of Huggenheim", a book that will never be written | 2018-11-10T22:39:37 | 2018-11-10T22:26:23 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative. | I heard a low time coming from my bathtub faucet.
"God dammit!" I heard it say.
Cautiously I went into the bathroom. I saw the tip of a snout coming out of the faucet.
"Ro...Roscoe is that you?"
I hear a sigh.
"Yeah, it's me."
I giggle just a little.
"Whatcha doing?"
"My job. I'm trying to eat you. "
"In my tub?"
"Look, little miss don't wanna live by the ocean. I have a job. The dread pirate..."
"We both know what dread pirate Jedidiah Turner did. That doesn't answer my question. What are you doing in my bathtub faucet. "
"I was checking the rules and regs of demon sharkery. And it turns out a bathtub is classified q body of water. Just got to wait for you to take a bath and ba-boom I eat the last of the Strangeways. And my job will be done."
"Roscoe?"
"Yeah."
"Are you stuck?"
Another sigh. I leaned against the bathroom door frame. I waited.
I don't know if you've ever heard a demon shark resign themselves to defeat, but it's heartbreaking. Even if he's a 300 foot demon with fire eyes and a razor fins.
"Yes" he said "I'm stuck"
"I'll call a plumber. Just promise not to eat him. " | I was the last of my line. Seafarers turned farmers by that wretched curse. We thought we were safe on dry land. But no.
Because of simple greed, my family has been decimated by a relentless killing machine. A killer who changes the rules as she sees fit. A killer who is decreed by Hell to never stop until all our souls burn for eternity.
At first we avoided the seas. Then the lakes and rivers. Soon creeks and ponds held the unspeakable. We gave up trying to dwell in the fertile farmlands and adapted to life in the desert. But wells and water troughs brought the danger anew. Water heaters and bathtubs were deathtraps.
When my brother was eviscerated when his high school football team dumped Gatorade on him it was time to change tactics. My remaining family started to drink fluids out of shot glasses. No watermelon or ice cubes. The one functional water tap in the house was behind 3 strong iron locks and 4 oak doors.
After my mother died brushing her teeth a year ago, I stepped up my game. I only ate jerky, crackers and dried fruit. I drink out of an eyedropper. I live out of town in the badlands and rarely venture near civilization. When I do people avoid me because I don't bathe. I rarely urinate.
They found me by the side of the road. I had collapsed and was muttering incoherently. The ambulance came and the EMT could tell immediately what was wrong. Dehydration. The solution of course was to start an intravenous drip of fluids. A whole liter. I was just lucid enough to croak out "no..." as I glimpsed a flash of silver belly and then blackness.
| 2018-11-22T09:07:39 | 2018-11-22T09:05:43 | 171 | 39 |
[WP] You were childhood friends, born and raised in the same village in the late 900s. However, you left to lead a life of adventure, and she refused to come with you. You ended up becoming immortal. She became a vampire. Now, after more than a thousand years, you're finally reunited... | I didn't recognize her face at first. It struck me for the first time in decades that I had long since forgotten my friend's face. I couldn't blame myself; it had been millennia since the day I had left the village.
She hardly looked a day older than the day I left. She was eerily beautiful under the moonlight, black hair swaying with the wind. She looked at me with a sad smile.
"Hello, Elisa," I said, trying to hide the rasp in my voice, and hoping the shadows of the trees above us would cloak my appearance enough. Even after so long, I didn't want my childhood friend to lay eyes upon my condition.
"It's been too long, Alain," she responded in a kind voice. "I wish we hadn't wait so long to find each other."
My lips were pulled tight. "I'm sorry, old friend. I simply didn't want to burden you."
Elisa frowned. "Burden me? What would convince you that leaving me alone for a thousand years was okay?"
"I'm sorry," I repeated. "It was better that you think me dead." I could see the anger building on her face. No, don't be angry at me. I did this for your sake.
"You *left* me," she spat, "And for what? What could you possibly have to hide from me?"
"Elisa, don't do this."
"I watched all my family leave me, I was forced to murder whether I was in control of myself or not, what made you think *anything* you could say could somehow make this work?"
I held my tongue. She simply waited for me to respond, staring at me with an unwavering gaze.
"Fine. I've waited long enough. I'm as tired of this as you are."
The sun was beginning to rise. We still had just a little time. There was no reason left to wait any longer.
I stepped out into the sunlight, taking a deep breath of the morning air, cool with dew. Then, I removed my hood and cloak. I made it plain for her to see.
Her eyes went wide in horror. I don't blame her.
​
(7) | I stiffly walked into the library, feeling the chill of the night seep in as the doors behind me closed. It was cold for what I was used to; visiting home of all places was something I hadn't done for more than a thousand years.
I had explored near the equator, more off track than I had meant when I first left. The difference in temperatures was startling, but not more so than seeing my old village, all sprung up and thriving. It sent chills of nostalgia down my spine. I settled down to catch up on its history.
There wasn't much history, it turned out. I could barely find *any* useful books, and the librarian kept giving me an odd look.
I decided to leave, but not before bumping into a young woman. She smelled like lilac perfume and was the spitting image of *her*. My best friend that had decided not to leave to adventure. It was hard to accept that she was dead, but it was nice to know she had moved on (though her descendent looks almost too much like her).
"Oh my-" the woman stopped herself and whirled around on her heels, pale eyes flashing in the moonlight. "*Harold*?"
I stopped walking, shaking. "That really is you, isn't it, Mildred? How in the world are you alive?"
Mildred offered a twisted smile with long fangs. "I heard your expedition took a detour and I never wanted to miss you returning." Her eyes darkened slightly. "But a thousand years? You lazy little piece of s-"
"Calm down!" I said quickly. "We'd best not wake anyone in these houses. Let's catch up in your house, hmm?"
She led me to her house and stepped inside. It was decorated exactly how I would have expected it to be, and it emitted just a homey feeling that I had so dearly missed.
"You look so much older," Mildred mused, playing with her blonde hair. "I thought about you a lot. I missed my best friend."
I smiled widely. "As did I. I fell in love, he died, and I realized how much I missed having *someone* around."
Mildred wrinkled her nose. "Someone? I'm very offended!" Her eyes began gleaming with excitement. "I know so many nice men, Harold. This is so exciting! It'll just be like old times."
My heart felt warm. Old times would be nice after so long of adventuring. It was tiring, sometimes. | 2019-04-10T23:59:02 | 2019-04-10T19:37:47 | 16 | 10 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | All species strive to survive above all else. We adapt, evolve, become immune to diseases, and are willing to travel great distances to find habitats suited to sustaining life.
I’m sure that those who experienced the horrors of the zombie plague outbreak centuries ago couldn’t even begin to process how the rise of violent, undead creatures could possibly have been an evolution or adaptation for human survival.
But now? As I stand face to face with one of the thousands of the technologically superior alien invaders pointing some form of death ray at me, I understood the advantage of humans still carrying the zombie virus quite clearly.
“KLAR’NARK!” the monstrous alien practically spit at me, surely taunting my imminent demise. He aimed his weapon as what passed for a smile crossing his fanged, twisted face, and pulled the trigger without further hesitation.
I felt an immense pain as a large chunk of my torso was blasted off my body. Falling to the ground, the alien stood over me, both he and I waiting for me for my inevitable death. And indeed, I felt my life slipping away from me. My body went cold, and the world went black, as my eyes closed for the last time.
For the last time as a human being at least. Mere moments later my eyes snapped back open. I felt different, undoubtedly a changed being. My thoughts simplified, my body altered and awkward to move. But stand and live I did, as a risen zombie.
The alien looked on in shock and horror as I rose and simple thoughts crossed my mind, “Kill. Consume. Survive.”
Instinctively, I lunged at the creature standing before me. With one swift bite it’s neck was sliced open, disgusting black blood spraying from the gaping wound I had just created. It snarled and howled in immense pain and distress, but it was too stunned to put up much resistance. With two more ferocious bites it was dead, and now it relived the moment I had just experienced, slumping to the floor, it's life rapidly fading as it died.
Unfortunately for it, its species had not evolved to have any form of life beyond death. Within minutes, I had fully consumed its body for sustenance, and was ready to move on, my immediate task complete.
As strange as it sounds, in this moment, zombification truly was a gift. A second chance at life, another opportunity to fight back against the invaders overrunning our planet. I shambled off into the world with one goal in mind, to continue to survive by any means necessary.
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (some featuring zombies of one kind or another)
Written on my phone, sorry for any formatting issues or awful typos. | Our first encounter with an intergalactic species was the perfect culmination of centuries of carefully tailored military diplomacy. We never quite were a species very concerned with the niceties, at least not once the boundless profits and planets to colonize became apparent. Once we reached that conclusion, any other species would never be a partner, be it for trade or for protection. They would always be an enemy, prime for exploitation or extermination.
Little bits of history could be pieced together to pin-point where our hunger for conquest originated. Times of tenuous peace always gave way to wars which gave way to immense profits and unimaginable wealth. Wars were waged against our own kind. The foot soldiers needn't ever have worried about the disregard we had for life; it was never about them anyways. Little bits of history could have been pieced together to save the Ro'or, had they ever suspected anything amiss with the mortality of the fleshy lumps we were.
To give credit where credit is due, the Ro'or were not a warring species. They had dedicated eons of scientific research towards the good of the universe, unlocking secrets far beyond our wildest dreams. They were a wealth of knowledge, to be trite. They were a wealth of resources, too, ripe for exploitation. So the Ro'or became the target, not long after having initiated diplomatic relations with the most powerful of Earth's leaders. We dispatched them with ease, at least at first, killing their diplomats and envoys just as a proof of concept. After all, weapons had never been their priority.
Then things took a turn for the worse, as they inevitably seem to do when humans get involved. As advanced as the Ro'or were, they were able to develop killing machines that outmatched even our own. Luckily for us, as peaceful as the Ro'or were, they sought peace as soon as reasonable; once the population of Earth had been decimated and bodies lay piled higher than buildings as the limited survivors struggled to cope with the onslaught, much less with burying the dead. The Ro'or came then in a magnificent gesture of peace, bringing with them their leaders and make-shift warriors and resources to help repair and reconstruct our war-torn planet once the massive burial ceremonies were complete.
What they never seem to have imagined or stumbled upon in their exploration or research was a species that just didn't stay dead. How do you explain to peaceful aliens that not only had we all been infected by a virus that acted as a safeguard against our inevitable demise, but in fact we had cultivated and bred people to carry it? Better safe than sorry, given our propensity for killing each other. The last thing they expected was to find nobody to bury. They scrambled to fight back against the army of the undead, clawing and firing away and desperately trying to save their leaders and survive. It was futile, as resistance tends to be. We really had perfected the systematic elimination of anybody different from us.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-08-28T11:04:09 | 2019-08-28T10:26:36 | 1,598 | 272 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | Trust humanity to make a bad thing and to both make it better and worse at the same time.
In the wake of Z-Day (which then became Z-Week, and Z-Months, as the news told it, until the news stopped running and the history books later took to calling it the Z-Era), humanity did what it does: survive, adapt, overcome, **master**.
We moved on, with aplomb. Revenance had nearly killed humanity, but, in fitting manner, it had risen from that death and continued to march onwards. The gears got to spinning again, society ticked on... albeit with some new medical and funerary practices.
Really didn't take long until we started weaponizing it. The first attacks were simple—terrorist shootings in the street to kickstart the Revenance. Body goes into pain, starts to die, and goes into a sort of blind rage to consume as much as possible and heal the body back to life. Don't ask me how it works beyond that. Even brain death doesn't stop it. A human blasted to bits will just become a set of smaller abominations. A human with their head blown off will just come back without memories.
So of course we learned to control it, to enter the rage at will, to maintain parts of our mind in death.
By we I mean the soldiers.
When \*\*they\*\* came, creatures with too many limbs in teeth in ships of prismatic chrome and bearing lasers that severed limbs and made bodies explode. They came without warning, landing in major cities and lancing through the populace on their way to major buildings. It was clear they were unsure which buildings were for politics and which were for splendor.
They paid for it. The sounds they made when we started getting up and marching towards them must have been terror, I cannot imagine it to have been anything else. They didn't know how to fight something that **just. kept. coming.** No matter how many times you cut them to pieces.
And that was just our civilians.
It's been 40 years now since they attack, and we've turned the offensive. We've eaten through four of their worlds, and encroached on a larger galactic tapestry. We've cannibalized their technology, their power structures, **them**. There's alien blood in my veins from how many of them I've eaten.
Translated, their name for us is The Insatiable Maw, for our hunger is infinite.
Given the right food an organism will flourish. And we have learned that the right food for us is **anything**.
​
\-----------
Rough, I know! But a fun single-write exercise. | Our first encounter with an intergalactic species was the perfect culmination of centuries of carefully tailored military diplomacy. We never quite were a species very concerned with the niceties, at least not once the boundless profits and planets to colonize became apparent. Once we reached that conclusion, any other species would never be a partner, be it for trade or for protection. They would always be an enemy, prime for exploitation or extermination.
Little bits of history could be pieced together to pin-point where our hunger for conquest originated. Times of tenuous peace always gave way to wars which gave way to immense profits and unimaginable wealth. Wars were waged against our own kind. The foot soldiers needn't ever have worried about the disregard we had for life; it was never about them anyways. Little bits of history could have been pieced together to save the Ro'or, had they ever suspected anything amiss with the mortality of the fleshy lumps we were.
To give credit where credit is due, the Ro'or were not a warring species. They had dedicated eons of scientific research towards the good of the universe, unlocking secrets far beyond our wildest dreams. They were a wealth of knowledge, to be trite. They were a wealth of resources, too, ripe for exploitation. So the Ro'or became the target, not long after having initiated diplomatic relations with the most powerful of Earth's leaders. We dispatched them with ease, at least at first, killing their diplomats and envoys just as a proof of concept. After all, weapons had never been their priority.
Then things took a turn for the worse, as they inevitably seem to do when humans get involved. As advanced as the Ro'or were, they were able to develop killing machines that outmatched even our own. Luckily for us, as peaceful as the Ro'or were, they sought peace as soon as reasonable; once the population of Earth had been decimated and bodies lay piled higher than buildings as the limited survivors struggled to cope with the onslaught, much less with burying the dead. The Ro'or came then in a magnificent gesture of peace, bringing with them their leaders and make-shift warriors and resources to help repair and reconstruct our war-torn planet once the massive burial ceremonies were complete.
What they never seem to have imagined or stumbled upon in their exploration or research was a species that just didn't stay dead. How do you explain to peaceful aliens that not only had we all been infected by a virus that acted as a safeguard against our inevitable demise, but in fact we had cultivated and bred people to carry it? Better safe than sorry, given our propensity for killing each other. The last thing they expected was to find nobody to bury. They scrambled to fight back against the army of the undead, clawing and firing away and desperately trying to save their leaders and survive. It was futile, as resistance tends to be. We really had perfected the systematic elimination of anybody different from us.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-08-28T12:48:45 | 2019-08-28T10:26:36 | 814 | 272 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I scanned the horizon once more, wondering when my summoned item would arrive. I also wondered if there was a chance it was a person, and that they would simply appear in the antechamber of my home, like they always do. I shuddered at the thought of another human being forced upon me under the guise of a "soulmate". I turned and sneered at the happy couple on the bench down the road that I was almost certain was one of those couples. They were so wrapped in each others arms they failed to notice me gaze. *Disgusting*.
The worst thing about The Summoning is that there was no way to predict how and when the unknown object was going to arrive. You just have to wait after you invoke the summoning, which itself you have no control of. The invocation itself is the transition from 17 to 18 years of age.
I recall with fondness the story of Herma, who found out that she could summon water, but only from a particular lake hundreds of miles away. Two months passed her by as the whole contents of the lake ripped through thousands of miles of villages and farmland before it crashed into her home, killing her and her entire family. Oh, there are generations of similar stories, some worse that Herma's. The reality, though, is that what people typically end up being able to summon is mostly harmless or people.
I saw a shadow moving in the distance. A large creature with wings was fast approaching. I knew instinctively that this was my summoned being. Waves of relief washed over me. I was happy knowing it was not going to be a person, and I returned to sneering at the couple down the road as I waited for the creature to arrive.
The creature landed on the roof of my home without a sound. It watched me from that vantage point as I glared at the couple. It took a moment for me to remove my eyes from the vile human spectacle and return my gaze to the sky only to realize that the creature was gone. I heard a low growl and turned to see a fully-grown dragon resting on my house.
I spoke aloud. "Finally, what I have summoned has arrived!" I turned to the couple, they took no notice of my gesture. Their mouths were locked onto each other. I frowned.
The dragon spoke next. *No, you fool.* Its voice reverberated in my mind. *You did not summon me as the humans do.* I felt the creature quell my confusion. *You summoned me as the dragons do.* It screeched and set me aflame.
Though it should've pained me, the flames felt warm on my body. The cobblestone beneath me melted and my shoes were reduced to cinders. I looked up at the dragon and felt myself rise with the fire. I heard my clothes tear and a shudder rippled through me. Soon, I gazed at eye level with the dragon and smiled. If she meant to kill me, she'd have to find another way.
I conveyed this information with my mind and simultaneously realized two things: that I was speaking to her with my mind and I was now aware that she was a female dragon. She cackled and the flames stopped, though my body did not fall. Looking down, I saw the scales of a dragon where my torso should be, and I stood as large as my home. The dragon turned her head so that one eye faced me. *You are the first dragon created in a thousand years.* Her eye sparkled with an internal flame. *Now, let us both remind the humans why we are the true rulers of this planet.*
I understood what she meant in an instant. I turned to the couple seated in terror on the bench, grimaced at their continued affection for one another even in this dire moment, and set them on fire. I burned them until the stone bench itself melted into the earth. I twisted to face the dragon and gave her a wicked smile. She cackled back. |
Mother and Father stood nearby, looking expectantly at me as I took my place in the center of the rooming facing the great grandfather clock that command the attention of everyone.
Along the edges of the room waited the rest of our family and friends, all in attendance with me as the hour of my birth; 11:59pm, 18 years ago to the minute, neared. Soon it would be time for my summoning. The moment when all those who upon the hour of adult hood will hold out their hand and have their one thing appear. For some a person appears, this who is destined to be your great soulmate and the love of your life, like when my mother summoned my father. For others it is an object of great importance, integral to their life and identity, like our protector Donar Woodenson, the thunder bringer and guardian of humanity, wielding his mighty hammer.
The seconds ticked away as the lights dimmed and our fiends and family leaned in expectantly, I held out my hand like father had taught me. As I did so I felt the power of the cosmos begin to whirl around me as the hour of my birth arrived! The minute hand moved to 11:59 pm, here goes nothing I thought.
And exactly nothing happened!
Aunts and Uncles looked at each other confused; while my younger Cousin laughed at my misfortune, my face burned with embarrassment as I stared at my empty hand confused. Was I cursed, what had gone wrong?
“An ill omen” tittered my great aunt poppy, as she clucked disapprovingly.
“Nonsense” my father boomed, striding across the floor to me.
“Sometimes it just takes a minute or two, nothing to fret about son” he said as the words wrapped around me in comfort like the arm he placed on my shoulder, “why when I was your age…” he started to say but never got the chance to finish for at that moment the great clock struck midnight, the witching hour and the bells inside the imposing temple to father time played there deep and brassy tune.
Suddenly the room was filled with a surge of power that silenced all murmurs as electricity crackled through the air. It centered on me and my still outstretched hand as my father backed away. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I felt the anticipation flow through me. The chimes of the clock turned to thunder, and the air in the room was rent by light as strange shapes of no earthly form appeared before my eyes. The room was pervaded by the deep smell of the sea, a not so pleasant smell of rotting fish and decaying seaweed. Then a hellish sound as if a million souls were crying out desperate in their damnation at losing hope. People clapped their hands to there ears, some falling to their knees, struck dumb by the sound.
Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the ordeal was over, before me holding my hand was a creature of unimaginable horror, with the greenish body of a man, the wings of a dragon, the head of an octopus and the eyes of a demon. CTHULHU!!!!
In my abject horror at the monster I had summoned, I tried to dispel this foul creature, yet before this thought could fly from my head, my summoned creation beheld me in its gaze and my soul fled my body in panic, and my consciousness was shattered by madness, rooting me in place, forced to watch as this Doom of an old god struck down my family who were unable to flee, as his very visage drove sanity from their minds and reduced them to mumbling stupor.
With each death, he grew greater, until his hideous form broke through the roof, he bowed down and almost lovingly scooped me, his unwitting parent into his embrace, as he walked forth into the world, to destroy it and awaken his slumbering brothers beyond the veil of this reality. I could only hope that the defender of man will defeat him, but my son has taken away my hope, my fear, my pain, my joy, and my love, an so I am forced to watch the end that I have summoned through eyes that can now only hold Terror. | 2019-09-18T09:27:31 | 2019-09-18T08:16:27 | 123 | 57 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | ​
I've been standing here for hours, hand outstretched above my head, and nothing has come. Only Mother is still here. Everyone else has wondered off. Well, that's not entirely true. Gorm is banging away at a ploughshare in his smithy on the south side of the square. He gets a new grip on the tongs, picks up the cooling iron, and with a flourish, banishes his hammer with a small flash before settling the ploughshare back in the forge's heat. Once the ploughshare is bright red again, he pulls it from the fire, and summons his hammer once again before continuing to work the metal.
I've seen Gorm do this up to hundreds of times a day for the last two years. I remember the first time he summoned his totem. Gorm's 2lb Blacksmith's hammer summoned to his hand almost instantly. I was in the crowd as he stood in the square, stretched his left hand above his head, and almost dropped the shining tool onto his skull as it thumped solidly into his palm before he was ready. There was a smattering of clapping and that was that. Nobody was disappointed by the nature of Gorm's totem. It was only right that the son of the poorest family in the town have something to occupy his hands, rather than going to the local monastery and learning to read those devilish books. At least that's what Father says. I think it’s bullshit.
Gorm stopped visiting the monastery after he summoned his totem. It was not seemly for the local blacksmith, and more so, the son of the poorest family in town to have book learning. I remember his face when he started working in the smithy the next day. There was no happiness left. It almost broke my heart. This beautiful lad had only wanted to read a book. I offered to teach him what I was learning, on the low. My heart melted as the light rose in his eyes again.
Mother found out after a month, stumbling over me and Gorm in the stable as we crouched over my primer and a stump of pencil. Mother did nothing, only telling us to use the storage shed, as it was the last place Father would go.
I learnt new things about Gorm over the next months we spent together. I had been fawning over him from afar since before he had summoned his totem, but he was even more beautiful when I got to know him. It didn't matter to me that he was relegated to the town's paid servant. It didn't matter to me that he didn't have a potential dowry to give my Father when he sold me off like the not-son piece of bargaining tool I was. I loved Gorm because he was gentle. He didn't seem to care that my face was considered undesirable, or that my wide, Unladylike shoulders caused the tailor to have fits. I wasn't beautiful. That didn't matter to Gorm. Gorm was simply Gorm. I cried in earnest when he told me he loved me one rainy day this last year. Gorm the gentle, Gorm the kind, loved undesirable, worthless-girl, un-beautiful, not-son me.
As months passed, Gorm began to tell me about Blacksmithing. I learned that steel could burn, making it worthless, but that it must be heated until it was almost at burning temperature in order to weld it. I learnt that working metal required a firm, steady hand, and that sometimes, knowing how to hit it was better than brute force. As I sat listening to his voice, I decided that I would not be sold off to an unkind landowner who was at least 20 years older than me. I would either be with Gorm, pounding metal on an anvil, or I would not live.
I snap back from my reverie and see that four or five of Father's friends have arrived. Father has stalked up behind Mother, and a rock thunks in my stomach as I see her face go from concerned love and support, to womanly subservience in a heartbeat. My Father is like a breath of grave air.
I’ve had enough of this. I talk plainly to myself in my mind.
"I don’t know if there is someone listening, but I just want to be beside Gorm, banging on pieces of metal until I die in my sleep, fifty years from now. I just want to be happy."
I feel a sort of snap, and see a flash of light in the corner of my eye.
Everyone looks at the hammer in my hand in horror. the men look like they've shat themselves. Father looks like he'll have an aneurism. I, the not-son, the girl, the unwanted daughter have disgraced myself. From now on, he will be known as the man whose daughter was given a Godsdamned blacksmith's hammer. He's probably wishing he could have a heart attack and die on the spot.
I turn toward Gorm's smithy, making my way through the small crowd that has gathered. People shy away from me like I have the Dragonclap. I am not a noble's daughter anymore. I'm nothing. Gorm's mouth hangs open as I walk up to him. I can hear my father frantically replying to the equally frantic rabble that has descended upon him demanding answers. I try to banish my hammer. It disappears, but I can still feel it connected to me. I try to pull it back into my hand. It pops back into existence with a small flash, just like Gorm's totem. Gorm the gentle looks back from my hand to my face, and my heart melts all over again.
"So I'm guessing I can kiss you in public then, me love?" | There was enough time. There always was enough time for me. As the last born in the line, expectations were high. The punishment for the times that I faltered, the lashes that came when I just wasn't good enough... 'Be a good son.' 'Why are you so weak?' 'Work harder! Your brothers are strong and able.'
The work was heavy. Father had never been kind with his criticism. My oldest sister had gotten a loom. She was a fine weaver, able to spin silver and golden thread into the dresses she made for the local noblewomen. My older brother had received a sword with the markings of a low noble, in order to learn how to be a knight. I heard he had finally found himself a spouse within one of the landed noblemen's court, a fine third or fifth daughter. Not close to the line, but close enough for a small plot of land, once the limbs grew too infirm.
They visited, sure. Mother turned surly whenever they did, knowing that at eighteen, there would be another one chosen. Father never let me stop working. "A good tilled soil is the firmament. You'll probably never amount to much." The words were thrown at me, knowing that my sister never had to work the fields, because she had been pretty. My brother had never been the one who allowed the time for fieldwork whilst he had been flaunting his muscles to the local girls. Whenever he was caught, he could smile, flex those muscles and have the awed farmgirls just sweet-talk their father out of a thrashing.
My eighteenth birthday came... and went. There was no magical thing that popped up, nor was there a person that suddenly took it. Father got mad. There were more lashes. It wasn't that bad to make me unable to work. Whatever the gods had given to me, it hadn't arrived... Or perhaps it had.
I looked at my hand and felt dissatisfaction. The mark on my flesh had started to bleed. It was supposed to land in the right hand, whatever it was.
A knocking on the door and father went to get it. Mother continued to wait patiently for whatever guest came around. It probably would be the neighbour's daughter again. She'd been making eyes at me.
"May I come in?" The voice was a womanly one, resonant and with the timbre of age. Father stepped back, opening the door. It was permission for her, yet unspoken.
"Please... do?" The man said, ruby red lips parting with a light smile. The woman's eyes were a dull blue colour, faded like the paint on the wall of the local cleric's home.
"It took me a little longer to... properly attend to you. Daytime outings are, sadly, no longer within my ability." My gaze looked over the woman, whose fingers held a ring, and another glistened in her other hand. Father looked a little disturbed, though he was seemingly happy. "You must be my intended... Good, good."
Mother shook from her daze. She got up, looking at the beautiful woman who had come for me... who had strode out from the darkness and into our little home. "Would you... Would you like to drink something? I am sure that we might have some wine left..."
A smile. Lips that were like glistening rubies and eyes that were as pale as the sky during the morning light, glimmered. "I don't drink... Wine." The woman said, her eyes locked with mine for an instant, as she drew closer. "Now... Do give me your hand, sweet one..."
I gave my right. The mark still had scabbed, the woman's pale fingers touching it lightly, looking at the palm. She brought it up, a golden ring fitted around my ring finger. "Good..."
Her tongue wriggled out, drawn over the wound. A sting, a stab of pain and more red blood welling up, her tongue sliding over the wound slowly, licking up the coppery lifeblood, the redness staining those lips. "My... It will be an endearing time, sweetling..."
Mother and Father had gone pale. Deathly so, as they looked at my intended, the woman who had come for me. "Oh?" I asked, as she smiled. Her name I did not know yet, yet she knew mine neither. She was a beauty.
"Eternity is such a while, sweetling... But we'll weather it together." The woman confidently smiled, showing her lengthy canine teeth. Fangs, rather than teeth.
"Vampyr!" Father shouted, yet the woman merely regarded him with a cool glance, dismissive of the man.
"Yes? What could some jumpy farmer of you know of the sweetest of nectars, one who has never tasted the vintage of life..." Her hand pulled me up, to my feet. "I do bore of you, though... Sweetling, do you wish them gone? Their bodies strung up by their innards, their faces set within the horror of their situation?"
"I'd like to visit them sometimes... They're still Ma and Pa." I couldn't condemn them to death, as my intended merely smiled.
"I will show him to my castle... Do live well, father, mother... I would be... *displeased* if you were to get another riotous mob at my front gates... The last rabble had to be culled and bled for five months... Such a tiresome ordeal. The sisters were hungry for *months*."
Outside, a coach that was as black as the wood's depths stood, a coachman looking down at me with an odd look. "Do make yourself comfortable, my intended... I will ensure that you will be treated as the man who is the spouse of Lady Schwarzwald."
Oh. It seems my item has been the marriage to a vampire. That was much better than a loom or a sword or something lame like a sponge. | 2019-09-18T10:34:19 | 2019-09-18T10:11:45 | 68 | 51 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | Lariam's family made a big event out of it, and he couldn't be more excited.
It happened like this every time his older brothers or cousins hit the right age; his parents, uncles and grandparents would all get together in the house of the new adult, and spend the day eating and chatting, a great occasion for family bonding. They liked to start early, but none had been out and about earlier than Lauriam himself.
"Don't be rude, wait for everyone!" His mom had scolded him when she caught Lauriam trying to sneak to the yard with his hands above his head. "This will only happen once, everyone will want to see!"
"Urghhhh, fine, but not at evening! As soon as everyone has had lunch I'm coming out here and doing it!" Lauriam had said. He just HAD to know.
And now the time had come. With his whole family lounging around, Lauriam extended shaky hands and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and let nature take its course. Seconds passed. Almost a full minute. Lauriam's throat was suddenly growing dry until he felt a slight tug at his finger tips, and at the very edge of hearing, he heard it approaching.
The sound of heavy hooves.
"It's coming!" He said with a big smile on his face. Everyone else fell silent and leaned forward in expectation. From the woods in the back of the house they also heard the sound, and saw the shape. Hopeful smiles turned into confusion and then tense silence as the figure walked out of the woods.
The coat was a lustrous, shiny, incredibly dark purple with wisps of dark ethereal smoke coming from every bend and knot. The mane was glossy, shiny gray, like polished metal, and so were its tail and the hooves.
But not the horn.
The horn was completely and utterly dark, without a hint of light aside from the glossy contour of its shape. The darkness seemed to have been twisted into a long spiral, protruding from the unicorn's head with terrifying majesty. As the creature approached, eyeing Lauriam, they could see its eyes as well: burning, intense and bloodshot scarlet with dark pins at the middle. They shot back and forth, right to left at every single person present. The horn of the black unicorn crackled like a coffin being nailed shut, and Lauriam's family was compelled to step back by an unseen strength that chilled them to the bone. But not Lauriam himself.
"Black plague..."
"Omen of Disasters..."
"Corruption in the flesh...Oh, Lauriam, no..."
His voice had died in his throat; so stunned Lauriam was that he couldn't even make out who was saying what behind him. As the unicorn reached the boy, Lauriam realized how enormous the creature was; he barely reached its chest. The unicorn lowered its head to look at Lauriam in the eye, its horn mere inches away from himself. His hands were still outstretched, frozen in place and fear.
And then the unicorn pressed its head against Lauriam's palm. He felt the touch of the creature burn and send unpleasant tingles all the way up to his chest, but also the tension of the unicorn's muscles slowly loosen under his touch, as if it had not had a touch as tender ever in its life. In the horn of the unicorn a gleam of light appeared and then was suddenly devoured by the darkness once more. Lauriam felt the shivers on the creature as it happened. Under its hooves, he could see the grass slowly drying.
"What happened to you?" Lauriam asked after a long time. He carefully ran his hands through the unicorn's mane, and particles of dark energy disintegrated in the air, but not nearly enough. Instead, the skin in Lauriam's hand bubbled and burned, peeling off. The unicorn opened its eyes and looked at Lauriam again, wordlessly pleading for help. As his family came back to their senses and suddenly started screaming for him to get away from the unicorn, Lauriam just wondered how he could ever find a way to truly heal the creature before the the affliction could destroy both. | A sea of gasps wash over the howling wails of my ex-girlfriend's hysteric sobbing. The dull roll of murmurs slithering its way around the crowd soon followed. To be honest I was quite shocked myself. I did not expect this, I had some suspicion, maaaaybe. But this, even by my standards this was a bit much. I looked around at my peers at the summoning. Some held common work tools, a few held precious gems... one lucky fool was holding the hand of a very beautiful woman that was pull out of the crowd. But I was the luckiest of them all.
"Albere, why is Albere in your hand!?" my ex-girlfriend shouted at me through her tears. I honestly didn't expect her to show up at my summoning. Sure we had been inseperable since we've been able to put together our first little sentences but it had been over between us for quite a few months now. I thought I made that clear.
"Why would you ask such a question? This is our..." looked at the small child held firmly in my grasp. "... this is MY son. You thought you could keep him from me! You thought you knew better but look..." I was so happy I could barely see the expression on her face through my own tears. I hadn't seen his little face in over a year but here he was in my arms.
"We weren't ready... you know that... I didn't take him away..." I saw her body fall to the ground as she collapse on her knees. "... please.. give him back... try the summoning again... this is wrong... you know this is wrong..." It was rare to see the little spoiled princess begging so shamelessly but from her tone I could hear she was serious. And I had a small idea as to why.
"OH! So that is why you are here. You were hoping that I was the wrong one... that I made a mistake and that I'd summon you!" The idea was so ridiculous that I couldn't contain my laughter. "Haha, you think I would want to be with someone like YOU!? You callous spoiled COW! I have my son.. I have my purpose! My world nor any other world in existence lives to revolve around you... OW... ow..."
My moment of triumph was interrupted as a few people in the crowd started to throw rocks and other small items at me. Turning to shield my son, I welcomed the assault and the bruises they would leave behind. I'd wear them like medals of honor. "You're all COWS! Livestock feeding on the conveniences of your placid complacent lives! I will be great... I will be greater than all of you!"
"Please..." she pleaded more. "Albere is dead... let him rest... let him go... " I wanted to yell back at her. I want to tell her that he was dead because of her. Her weakness. She never wanted him. But the small objects started to get larger.. and harder... and thrown with much more force. I had to run. I feared their anger would soon fester into a murderous rage. "Noooo stop it! No....."
I was shocked... almost touched. The spoil little cow was actually defending me. Going so far as to throw her frail little body in front of mine. I had to hold back a chuckle as one of the larger stones struck her in the head and she made this off-toned warble of a sound. I failed at my attempted obviously as I let loose a sound just as awkward that I could only describe as a chortle. Still for the first time in a severely long time the girl proved herself useful. The accidental strike to her head gave the crowd a moment's pause.
I didn't hesitate for a second. As fast as my feet could carry me I clutched my son's dead decaying body to my chest and I ran. I always had an inkling it was real. I knew if summoning existed other forms of magic could exist. This was my destiny. He came back to me for a reason. The death of my son was only a precursor to the birth of Necromancy in this world, and they would both refer to me as... Father. "I will bring him back... I will bring them ALL back. You'll see." I shouted out behind me. Not daring to look back over my shoulder to see upon what ears my words had landed. | 2019-09-18T10:20:19 | 2019-09-18T09:06:29 | 54 | 32 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I had never given much thought to what my Summoning would bring. Far, far too busy. Always head down, eyes on the screen or hands shuffling papers. When not working I was constantly being relocated; shifted around for those that seemed themselves more deserving, more worthy. I had a window once. And the squirrels. Beautiful squirrels. They were in love. But as soon as it appeared in my upturned palm I knew. My time had come. I could see the endless possibilities reflected in its polished crimson surface. I could see in it power. I was whole. Its name called to me as if it and not I was the summoner. Such a beautiful name in such intricate scroll along its side. *Swingline*. My stapler.
- Excerpt from *The Manifesto of Milton the Unseperate* | I looked at the clock, stated at the clock. Time was never really a concern of mine but I can't help it. After all, in 5 minutes, I was about to have my most wanted item.
I got to distract myself from all the nerves. I looked out the window, attracted by the city lights. City lights always calmed me.
Nerves settled. I looked back at the clock. 2 minutes to go. I begun to wonder what is my greatest desire? I never cared for much after all. I have no family, no friends. Drifting from place to place, I have no purpose in life. Clearly, I was not going to get anything.
I smiled wryly. This is going to be anti-climatic. 5...4...3...2...1.
And the last thing I heard was the clock striking 12 midnight once.
=====
The city lights began to flicker out as a spreading Void expanded from the apartment. Nothing could stop it. Horrified screaming turned into nothing as the Void consumes all.
The desire to void existence made manifest.
And the rest is Silence. | 2019-09-18T09:48:46 | 2019-09-18T09:39:58 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You're an Elder God. The secretive cult that worships you on earth is seriously getting on your nerves. After their fourth botched attempt at trying to summon you, you decide to show up in person to correct the record about a couple of matters they have misunderstood entirely. | Lightning arced from the klystron’s apparatus and enveloped the lone CERN worker. Somewhere outside of time and space, a terminal flashed with the message “Stack overflow. Invalid datatype.” causing the slouched figure in front of the screens to perk up.
“What. The. F-“
The physicist in Switzerland’s vision was replaced with blackness. “Help!” They screamed into the all encompassing void, and their thoughts were displayed in alien runes, overlaid before the eternity of onyx before them.
Scant moments after reading the error message, another window opened on the terminal screen with the prefilled text:
Support Ticket #762559 has been opened.
Support Desk: Hello, I am Engineer Ktulu. How may I help you?
The console AI intuitively translated the NPCs query and submitted a general help inquiry.
Massive, indecipherable runes that could be seen, felt and tasted floated in front of the lab worker.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Another NPC has accessed the console. This should not be possible, especially after the patches implemented immediately after the last times this happened. There were many bugs early on, and this was a more frequent problem in the past, but things had been pretty much smooth sailing for quite some time. If Management found out, well, their goes several weekends. And the evenings in between.
“What is going on? What is happening to me?!”
Perhaps this could be swept under the rug.
Support Desk: Relax. Relax. You’re okay. You’re going to be fine. Look, you tripped a buffer overflow. Probably compressed your space time beyond simulation thresholds. And since your sapient and relatively close to the area of impossibility, safety precautions tripped your access defaults. Only avatars are supposed to use the console.
The extra dimensional pictographs burned through the human’s mind and body. The console worked tirelessly in the background, translating into patterns that rippled through nerve and synapse, allowing them to be understood.
“What?”
“Look, you divided by zero. Don’t do that. You took matter and put it in a space a nothingth big.”
“But one cannot divide by zero.”
“Wrong. Math is a tool. A construct. It can do or be whatever you want. You primitives believe one divided by three is .3 on into infinity, but that’s because you rigidly stick to your beloved decimal system. With base twelve it’s a flat point four. No infinity needed. But yes. You are not supposed to divide by zero. Not allowed.”
“Am I going to die?”
“You could, but let’s say you come out of this fine, and you, well, forget this ever happened. No one will believe you, anyways.”
“Deal.”
Support Ticket #762559 has been closed. | "Look, I DON'T LIKE THIS!" I bellow at the fools before me, with their inane outfits, their poorly constructed ritual and their laughable hierarchy.
"But Lord...this is the only way you respond." Says their leader, a small, squat human-thing in a maroon velvet robe.
"That's because I hate you. I hate all of you." I pinch the bridge of my nasal holes with a tentacle,"This ritual FORCES me to hear your stupid little voices asking for stupid little things. Do you even KNOW what to ask me now that I'm here?"
The high priest stammers as several of the others take a step back from the incantation circle,"Um...we wish for your blessing."
"And what the FLARK does that mean? Oh, my blessing? If you had it you would KNOW. If I cared about you, you would KNOW. Instead, I try to ignore all the bullshit your stupid little planet does and you keep calling me."
A stray tentacle picks up one of their number and I crunch down, talking in between mouthfuls,"Now, you know why you even have these rituals to begin with? Because the yellow cthul-beast heard that I said it looked like someone stained it with piss."
The majority of their number has been trying to stealthily edge towards the door. I slam it with a gesture.
\*Crunch\* \*CRUNCH\*
"It thought it would be funny to teach you monkey-people how to get my attention and I have been trying to ERASE that knowledge ever since."
"ERASE...ERADICATE...DESTROY"
One of their numbers smashed with every word.
"Just because I toyed around with helping worshipers ONCE because I was impressed with their request does NOT mean that I am going to do that ad-nausium."
Their leader's horror turns to dismay and it falls to it's little weak knees. A tentacle wraps around it and picks it up, holding it in the air.
"NOW, DO YOU WANT YOUR PLANET TO LIVE?" I shout at the pathetic thing; it's pissed itself, I can hardly keep an aligned maw.
"...yes...yes please, I'll...I'll do anything"it sobs in between racking spasms.
"Then LEAVE ME THE FLARK ALONE and DESTROY all of the traces of this ritual." I place it back on the ground.
"If I EVER so much as hear a WHIMPER of human speech again, I will come down here and excrete radioactive waste until your whole planet is mountain deep in it."
I begin to fade back to the other-dimension.
"GOT IT?" I pause at the edge of view.
"Got it..." the high priest says, clearly defeated.
I fade completely out, now back to figuring out what's been eating my skull collection... | 2019-11-18T20:15:17 | 2019-11-18T19:31:38 | 118 | 87 |
[WP] Every inhabitable planet found by humanity was a dead world, with all life previously existing on it down to the smallest virus completely and utterly dead upon landing. Even more disturbing is the fact that some worlds appeared to have died extremely recently, down to days before human arrival | Captain Badis looked down at another dead world. It's browning color a putrid sign that it too had befallen the same fate as the other colonization candidates. However, this planet had been found closer to Earth, hiding in a nebula that had obscured scanners pointed directly at her from the Sol system. Badis sighed. She'd called the world "her", but now the world was an it: a dead thing. Scientific teams had just confirmed the same cellular death across the entire planet only hours ago. It was a recent event too, as the discoloration had only begun, unlike the previous candidates. Now the captain had to decide what to do with this vast colonization fleet that had exhausted a majority of its resources hopping from star to star in search of Man's newest home.
It was the most advanced fleet humanity had ever known. The FTL drives were so new they were still being tested and refined at this very moment - borne out of technology and physics barely understood by even the most intelligent among our kind. The fleet was humanity's finest achievement and the call to begin expansion was immediate and pressing, as mankind's population has begun to place strain on the system's resources.
The captain's mandate was irrefutable and her authority within the fleet absolute. She was told to find humanity fertile grounds wherever they may be and lay the foundations for a new civilization before sending word back of their success, as the speed of spacecraft now outpaced our communications equipment. It was simply faster to send a ship back than to wait eons for a message of success.
With the most recent find another ruined world, the captain had already ordered one currier ship back to homeport to relay what they've encountered. Now the fleet would scan the surrounding star systems for previously hidden worlds from a new angle of approach and recover what information they could from this planet before it fell further apart. Nothing would rot on the planet, of course, as all of the organisms that normally participated in the decay of dead things were dead too. However, the formerly biological matter would desiccate and eventually break apart from basic chemistry and weather.
The reality of this kind of devastation was hard to process. Each arrival at a dead world was equally shocking. There was no getting used to this much loss. The away teams could not identify a reason for these events either. There was no residue, no particle, no trace of why this was happening. "Was the galaxy dying? This world is so close to home. Is Earth next to suffer this fate?" the Captain wondered.
She looked out her viewport to watch as the currier ship, now restocked, finally charged her FTL drive and tore away through space on her way back out of the system and toward home. The visual display of the ship engaging her FTL drive was impressive and the immediate bow shock that was generated by captured photons filled the viewport with light. It screamed through empty space like a comet. But space wasn't really empty, was it? she thought. Space is just sparse. There are plenty of things out in space, just spread so far apart that they don't normally matter. However, across vast distances, they might matter. The bow shock of a ship bending space around it might capture exotic particles we can't even detect yet.
The captain's face grew concerned as she rolled this around in her mind.
The look of concern on her face turned to abject horror as she came to a realization. She turned away from the viewport and ran toward the terminals of her command staff. Captain Badis was frantic and stumbled over her words. "Ensign! Tell the currier to shut her drive down! The bow shock! We must be killing these planets!"
The ensign tore his eyes away from his tracking screen and looked at Badis in dismay "I can't, Captain. The ship's already moving faster than comms! We can't stop them!"
***
*Edit: Looks like I wasn't the only one who came to this story idea while I was writing it out. Oh well.* | I looked at the flight pattern of their discovery space ship.
Humans were a really interesting race. Compared to all other races that had discovered space travel, the Humans were the most primitive. Neither did they figure out teleportation, nor proper space mapping.
And yet, they had found another planet.
My own technology was better than theirs. Part of it I had still from my own race, parts I build myself in the many years I have lived.
Just a few months before their arrival I reached Planet Ephata D. It was a beautiful planet. Life was blooming. Big forests covered the planet. They were filled with life and hope and happiness.
I stood on the window in my spaceship, wondering about the many wonders of spaces and looking down in awe at this new world.
The leading race were primitive monkey-like creatures.
They hadn’t figured out science or writing. They hadn’t found technology yet. Maybe in a few thousand years they would, but probably not. The forest supplied them just well enough. And yet, when they looked up the stars, I could see innocent curiosity reflecting in their eyes.
A sad smile widened on my lips. They wouldn’t be able to live in peace in this universe. Not with the humans having set course to their planet.
All life would die. All plants wither. And all water dry out.
I went back to the control station of my ship. The button was sitting their, amongst all the other buttons. Looking just like them. Harmless, simple. And yet, it had a sad glare to it. A deeper meaning, only know to her. She targeting the planet. Soon, she thought it wouldn’t be beautiful anymore.
With a last look to the rich forests she pressed the button.
“Fire initiated”, said a metallic voice and she heard the alarm beeps go off in all of her space ship.
A beam appeared. It was bright and it hurt her eyes, but she won’t look away. Not anymore. To many times had she done this already. The light filled up the planet and it glowed as powerfully as it’s star. Well not really, but in her eyes. Then the light faded. The planet in front of her was different. It was a wasteland. The forest, the life, the water, all gone.
Well, not necessarily gone. She quickly looked in her monitors how this place looked in its parallel dimension. There it was. The beautiful Planet Ephata D, in all its initial shine.
Two months later the humans arrived to this wasteland of a planet. She could feel their disappointment, their disbelief, their sadness. That they had again found another wasteland and not a lively planet. It looked just like out of the apocalypse, because, well, it was.
Their faces reminded me of my own face. My own sadness when I returned to my own planet. It was after a space mission, I’d always been one of our best engineers and I would regularly set out to help others.
My own race was always known as the gentle guardians of our universe and we lived up to that name.
So when the humans had discovered space travel, we gladly accepted them in our midst. But everything they touched, they burned. And every planet they visit they turned into waste. Nothing was save of their grip.
After they killed my planet and my race, my universe turned into a war zone. Until no more life was left in the universe and until even the humans died out.
I had lost everything. My race. My planet. My universe. My purpose. And yet I wasn’t able to kill this deadly race.
I traveled through different dimensions. I found out that I was in fact the last of my race across all dimensions and I had a knew purpose: taking care of the other dimensions.
I followed the humans and every time they approached another planet, I would switch that planet with the version, they destroyed. Having them discover nothing but the wastelands they had created.
One day, this universe would be dead, except for the humans and me, and then, my universe would again be full of life. Just my race would never return. And neither would the humans.
And maybe, maybe one day they could realize their mistakes, and maybe then, their universe deserved to be a lively place. | 2019-12-09T08:36:48 | 2019-12-09T08:25:24 | 68 | 42 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | As a nurse I had seen way too much weird things in the hospital. But when I saw the sharply dressed man with a name tag in his chest poking the body of a woman in the morgue, then I was sure I had seen it all.
"Excuse me?" I asked hoping he would stop poking the woman.
He seemed to ignore me as he focused in the clipboard he was carrying as he checked a pocket watch.
"Sorry, could you... stop poking that corpse?" This time the man looked around and pointed at himself.
"Yeah, I mean you." He blinked. It was then I noticed his eyes were like looking into an endless abyss.
Without warning he was in front of my face poking my chest.
"You are alive." No shit Sherlock.
"How can you see me then?" He gave a step back as I was confused, finally reading his name tag.
***Hello my name is: Grim Reaper.***
"Grim Reaper?" The man blinked.
"Just Grim... and you are July "Jules" Ross, twenty seven years old, currently without sickness though your eyesight is deteriotating... and will die in three thousands, one hundred and forty-one years... why I am chatting with you again?" The man spoke in a deadpan tone as he looked at his clipboard.
"Why are you in the morgue?" I asked pretty confused of the whole ordeal.
"Thats your question? You just met death and all you can ask is why I am in the morgue of a hospital?" I suddenly feel embarrased but then ask something else.
"If you are death... why come for her in the morgue?" He sighs and I can hear him call me stupid.
Jerk.
"Because this woman, Sarah Buvier, was alive until she died from her wounds inflicted in surgery by the doctor who decided to hide his mistake by sending to the morgue to die, making her the twentieth victim of the hospital to die in the morgue. But what does someone with your life span care of beings with such small lifes?" I can only get paralyzed of all this.
Suddenly the idea that I will die in three thousands years is small compared to the fact a doctor just killed a patient. And isnt the first time. | Sick and bent double, I look up from the bathroom floor and through the sick haze,
A dark smoky form stands in front of me with the face of death.
*Well, nobody lives forever*, I thought resignedly.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head towards the reaper.
​
He laughs and looks at his board.
“It’s not your time, son.
In fact… somehow you’re not meant to die for another 3141 years.
Mind telling me about that?”
​
I groaned from another wave of pain and shook my head
I was a little bit bummed, to be honest
If it had been my time, this pain could have quickly ceased
And I could have found a little relief.
​
Death steps toward me and embraces my body.
Coldness seeps in and numbness takes over.
I fade in
And fade out of blackness.
​
When I awoke, there was light everywhere
Men stood talking by a table across from me
And death stood amidst them all.
His smirk never once leaving his face.
​
I touched my hands to my legs and face,
Realizing I no longer felt ill.
In fact, I felt nothing other than surprise and wonder
At what was before me.
​
The men seemed to glow and shift forms, speaking almost in song-like voices
The reaper stood out starkly against their brightness, the black of his cloak that could not be touched by any light.
“We don’t need this child here!” A gruff man of strength glared at Death.
“I won’t have it!”
​
A women who I hadn’t seen before stepped forward and whispered in Death’s ear.
The smirk on his face grew and he looked over at me.
“Yes, we will see exactly why he’s here
And if he doesn’t survive by some strange logic,
We shall bear witness to that as well.”
​
I swallowed as they approached.
Nowhere to go but forward, I supposed.
I took solace in my predetermined death date
And the fact that my stomach seemed to hurt no longer.
​
​
(Constructive criticism welcome. I know there wasn't a ton of story to this but it felt nice to get something down. Thank you!) | 2020-01-24T11:48:58 | 2020-01-24T11:27:15 | 86 | 40 |
[WP] The staff of an obscenely rich billionaire realises their boss feels purposeless and suicidal, which could put an end to their employment. The trusted head butler convinces the boss to wear an outfit and fight criminals, who in reality are costumed staff members just trying to keep their jobs. | Bruce had cracked the mirror on the wall with a henchman's skull, splintered the glass into three zig-zagging triangles. He was the only one standing in the room now, and yet three warped faces stared back at him from the broken mirror: a grinning clown in one triangle, lips covered in blood, pale face undulating like ripples; an old man with tired eyes, in another, who should have stopped playing these games long ago; those familiar black eyes in the final segment, almost hidden behind the black mask, his granite chin stubbled by gray hair.
The two new faces had kept Bruce alive this long: the Batman had provided him purpose, had done since the day the darkness had all but swallowed him.
Alfred had been there that day, had resuscitated him. But in that darkness of half-death Bruce had been forced to watch a single moment play out a billion times over: the few short seconds it had taken for his parents to be murdered in cold blood. Each viewing had been a knife to his heart. He'd lived that moment on an infinite loop, it seemed, until his heart was more holes than it was substance. Black holes that sucked up all positive feeling and memories.
And when he'd awoken, saved by Alfred, his fists had balled tight and his heart -- still there, barely -- hardened.
The Batman had arisen from Bruce's ashes. He vowed to take revenge on Gotham's underworld.
Something else had awoken, too. Not long after his resuscitation, just a few weeks later, the clown's face started to appear. Always just out of reach, always behind windows or through glass doors, slipping away from him like water through his fingers.
But the laughing, that remained in the hallways. Or in his head. Echoing for hours around his skull like a shrill oscillating scream.
The Joker gave purpose to Batman. He was a hideous amalgamation of everything wrong with the city, with the world. With Bruce himself. He couldn't ever be caught, not even reached -- but Bruce would keep trying to catch him. He had to.
Bruce looked down at the black costume fitted tight to his body. Then, at the bodies littering the floor. Penguin's still convulsed, still guzzled blood out of his throat where Bruce had slit it with a shard of glass. Around Penguin lay his dead apostles in a field of liquid rose.
Even the Penguin's face undulated and warped and almost became someone else, almost someone he recognised?
Bruce rubbed his temples; his headache was back, screaming and pumping pain inside his brain. "What's wrong with me?"
He fell to the floor, slumped in Penguin's warm blood. The Joker's reflection -- his reflection? -- laughed at him from inside the pool. "You're just a big joke, Bruce! Batman's about as real as a dream -- all you've done is cut up the cook!"
​
​
"Master Bruce.... My God... My God...What have you..."
*Alfred*. His wrinkled old face looked wrong as he vomited into the blood, as he fell to his hands and knees. "My God," he choked out. Over and over and over. Then finally, "What have you *done*?"
"What I should have done years ago, Alfred."
"Why... *Why*?"
"Even when I was young, even when a punch would send a man through the air thumping against a wall... they'd always come back. Be working for another villain. Nothing ever changed, Alfred. Not truly." The Joker's face grinning in the blood gained color and warped into Bruce's. "Nothing changed. It all just rotated."
"Oh, it's my fault." Alfred was crying now. Always sensitive. Too sensitive. Had held Bruce back from this -- the only possibly outcome -- for far too long, already. Always pushing caution and forgiveness, warning Bruce against becoming the darkness that he fought.
"My fault. All my fault." Eyes were pits of sorrow.
It was his fault. He'd held Bruce back from the solution for too long.
"This had to end," said Bruce. "Sooner or later."
"Yes," gasped Alfred. "Yes, God, it had to end. I told them this was a mistake! We were taking... And... I... I need to go make a call. Please, wait here."
"Alfred?" said Bruce.
"...Yes, Master Bruce?"
Blood dripped from Alfred's lips now, as if he'd licked the ground. And the blood was smearing itself into a sloppy crimson smile around Alfred's cheeks. His face fallen as pale as death.
Bruce took the shard of glass from Penguin's throat.
"...Master Bruce?" taunted the Joker.
Bruce wasn't sure if the laughter came from the Joker, or if it came from within his own heart. But it flooded the room in a joy that Bruce hadn't felt in years.
And Bruce realised he'd finally caught the villain he'd been chasing.
hahahahaHAHAHA*HAHAHA***HAHAHA*****HAHA*** | “...and master Bryce actually put down the noose this time instead of trying to hang himself, so we’re seeing real progress here! I say, go team!”
The man in the flamboyant, frilly clown suit started wrapping up his impassioned speech to a rabble of disorderly goons, dressed similarly in clown gear. The Jokester, mild-mannered criminal mastermind, scourge of Notham, and the peacenick of slapstick, had a secret identity not many were aware of, for by day, he went as Albus, faithful butler to the Swayne estate, and its master, Bryce Swayne, who had never been the same ever since his parents’ death in a tragic accident which involved elephants.
Recovery had been a bitch. For one, Bryce’s intelligence had been stunted at an elementary school level due to the trauma, and that, paired with his increasingly suicidal tendencies had done him and his staff no favors. Just recalling last night’s encounter with his young master caused Albus physical pain.
—
"Master Swayne, do you really think this is a good idea?" Albus had said, looking up at Bryce worriedly. Bryce, in turn, had smiled that charming goofy grin of his.
"Best idea I've ever had. Yet, anyways, Alfred."
Albus had given up on correcting Bryce a long time ago. The sudden death of his parents had done his young master's prosopagnosia no favors. It was a damned relief that he had kept his good heart though.
Bryce Swayne, orphaned as a mere child, a well-meaning scourge upon the otherwise peaceful streets of Notham, eternal virgin playboy wannabe, and now...
"I'm MANBAT!" Bryce Swayne screeched, jumping off a high rise precipice of his man-cave, suspended only by a precariously thin sliver of elastic rope. Oh, that and he was dressed as some kind of man-bat abomination. Well, it was better than that man-spider costume he had tried. And the man-owl one. And the man-robin one. Albus had closed his eyes. He couldn't watch.
"Whoooo!"
Albus opened his eyes. His master dangled in the air, his hastily scrapped together costume tearing in some of the seams, but otherwise, unhurt.
"Oh thank g..."
Before he could finish the sentence, the rope snapped. The billionaire idiot fell onto the floor with a resounding thud, rolled, and lay on the ground, motionless and belly-up. Albus rushed over to the scene.
"Master Swayne! Master Swayne!"
His eyes opened. There was a maddening layer of mischief in those eyes that terrified Albus.
"It worked Dave, it worked!!"
"Uh actually..."
"Hire some guys, I want gadgets that go PIEU!! And stuff that goes PUFF and then giant, criminal-eating bats fly out when I throw them and... criminal-eating bats are a thing, right?"
Albus had sighed resignedly and nodded.
"Good, I'll want one, no, make that a hundred of those. I want them in cat form. You know, because I like cats."
"Very good, Master Swayne."
Bryce Swayne had hopped up on his feet and staggered. Albus remembered hoping it wasn't a concussion. Things couldn't possibly get worse from here, or could they?
"I'm Bryceman! I mean Swaynebat! And I'm going to cleanse Notham! Prepare for the cleansing! Wheeeee!"
—
Albus came back to his senses to the sound of one of his lieutenants clearing her throat, loudly. The Glee-maiden, or Glinda Maria-Marden was one of the more overqualified personnel on his payroll. She was also one of the more enthusiastic ones. When he had hatched his plans to bring Bryce’s spirits up by coming up with an intricate set of faux-crimes via a network of faux-crime families consisting of hardened faux-criminals, she had been the first to come up with an alias, a costume, a backstory as the Jokester’s faithful lieutenant and on-off lover, and hire her own makeup artist, all on the same day.
Albus listened as the maiden of mayhem-turned-astrophysicist leaned in to whisper. Instead, she pulled him in and frenched him. Deep, and hard. Albus simply pulled himself apart and looked at her in disbelief as the Glee-maiden grinned a goofy grin brimming with authentic madness.
“...mmmmuah! Ah get ya spirits up, Mr. J, it’s not all bad likesya said!”
“Actually Glinda...”
He was interrupted by loud screaming from the entrance to their hideout, followed by one of the goons, who fell face flat on the floor.
“It’s him! He’s here, Mr...”
Albus took the mic and cleared his throat. Hard.
“Uh, I mean, the mystery vigilante!”
“You heard him boys, let’s show our mystery vigilante who the streets of Notham really belong to!”
He cackled. He was very self conscious of his maniacal cackling. That was going to require some work going forward.
The sound of cocking guns loaded to the max with blanks filled the air. The Jokester grinned.
“Showtime!” | 2020-02-17T06:33:58 | 2020-02-17T05:28:07 | 1,143 | 143 |
[WP] You wished for immortality and to never become sick. Years later you have NEVER been sick, but you Have become a biological terror and are now a carrier for all of the worst diseases known to man. | It had been a long time ago since I last saw my grandparents, Adam and Eve. They were more caring than anyone else I knew, except my parents of course. It had also been a long time ago since I prayed for immortality. I had been but a child then, but to my surprise God had answered my calls and he gave me what I wished, I am without end.
With my newfound immortality I had explored many wondrous places and experienced many wondrous things. I had seen a man part the seas with his cane and lead his people to safety. I also saw a great city fall into ruin, such a shame really, the Atlantians seemed like really interesting people. I also saw many things that shock me to this day. People laying in streets with bleeding rashes and lumps covering their eyes, pustules oozing out some dark liquid that not even the best doctors could identify at the time. I was horrified that I might turn out like them but I never did.
But when I came back home, I wished I had died on the streets with those people.
One day after I had returned everyone in the town was suffering like those people did. They thought me the cause so they threw me out. Saddened by this I went to every town I found hoping I could find a place to stay but they all refused my presence.
I tried to take my life once. I was at the edge of the cliff, on top of the world and ready to jump off and so I did... but I survived. It was then that a tall figure appeared in front of me, he had a long black hood and a bony white face, he must not be of this world.
"Who are you?" I asked
"I am the one who can give you a home." The mysterious figure said with such power in his voice he could move mountains into the stars.
"You will join me along with my two colleagues, War and Famine, but first you must tell me your name." I sat there confused, I have lived for so long that I have forgotten my own name.
"I can see in your eyes that you do not remember, very well then. I hereby give you a new name..."
​
"Pestilence." | It's cold.
It doesn't bother him, of course.
Nothing does, it's too late for that.
When he was young, a naive boy, he'd been so sensitive. Frail, he did most of his schoolwork at home, he'd been sick so often.
Yet he'd always clung to life. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say it held onto him, chained him down to living.
At 13, his oldest brother Neil got hit by a car.
It's wholly inaccurate to call it an accident.
As the years stretched on, all 5 of his siblings, and then following his graduation his parents, passed away in one way or another.
The first time he tied a noose, he bitterly remembered promising Neil that someday he'd never get sick again, swearing to him they'd be happy forever, and then wishing those very things on a shooting star.
He hung there for 6 hours, suffering but not dying.
Things first began to change directly after he left the hospital.
It was the first time in years he hadn't been sick in 3 months, 6 months, a year, more.
The murmurs began when he survived his third hanging attempt. The more he should have died, the more people around him did die.
They fell ill, with so many illness in conjunction so rapidly that doctors were baffled, and unable to alleviate their pain.
Or save their lives.
It wasn't just that. Once, he jumped out into oncoming traffic and was hit by an 18-wheeler in moments. Nearby drivers claimed he avoided other cars for it.
A close friend of his was discovered, mangled and gruesomely disfigured as he lay dead in his own bed. The murder was never solved, but coroners shivered at how much it resembled being run over by a large vehicle.
It took centuries for governments to track him down. Considering the fact that death walked in his shadow, it was more than difficult.
When they did get their hands on him, he became the ultimate Guinea pig.
No one could get too close, but it was easy to find ways around that.
But they were all of them deceived by their own intelligence, because 15 years passed quietly before anyone noticed his secondary side effect of dying. By then, though, it was too late.
It's cold, here, but he can resist it. There is no one to warm him, now.
In fact, there's nothing left at all. | 2020-03-10T21:07:03 | 2020-03-10T20:36:36 | 43 | 30 |
[WP] It is said that none but the chosen may slay the demon lord. You aren't the chosen, but you also realize that "defeat" and "slay" are not the same thing. With this in mind, you start making other considerations such as rope, or perhaps a very deep hole. |
Timur sat in front of the small campfire in his tent, shivering from the cold and tending to the deep lacerations across his arm. All the while, he kept a black urn clutched tightly to his chest. He couldn’t die. Not just yet. The demon lord would be arriving soon. Timur’s smoke signals that he had left outside would ensure that he would be easy to spot on this icy mountain.
Sure enough, there was a loud gust of wind as the tent flaps blew open and the demon lord strolled in. He was deathly pale with red bloodshot eyes and black veins that covered his entire face. “You were a fool to think you could escape my wrath,” he said in a cold voice. “Did you really think that you and your merry band of rebels stood a chance against me without the Chosen One?” A sadistic smile grew on his face as he walked over to Timur. “I slaughtered all of them, you know. They all died screaming in agony. You’re the only one left.”
Timur glared back at him, utter hatred in his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to escape. All of us knew that we had no chance of killing you without the Chosen One. But none of us could stand to wait twenty years for their arrival either. Not while you ravaged our country, devoured our families, and spread death and chaos wherever you went. So we came up with a plan. Everything we’ve done was to lure you to this place where we would defeat you.
The demon lord looked down at Timur’s shaking, blood stained hands which were still clutching on to the black urn, and laughed. “Really?” he said, sneering. “You’re going to defeat me all by yourself? Are you going to kill me with some speech about the power of friendship?”
Timur gave a cold smile back to him. “I don’t think friendship would kill you. But I think the 3,000 pounds of black powder buried underneath me might hurt you quite a bit.”
The demon lord’s eyes widened as he processed what Timur had just said. Screeching, he leapt at Timur, trying to tear out the human’s throat. But it was too late. With one strong throw, Timur smashed the pot of black powder that he had been holding into the flames. A massive explosion echoed throughout the mountains as Timur, the tent and everything within a hundred yards was torn apart to pieces and engulfed in flames.
…
The demon lord woke up, screaming in pain. Never before had he felt such utter agony in his life. He gnashed his teeth together and tried to rise up, only to discover in his fury that he had been reduced to a mere head. All of his other body parts had been badly mangled and scattered hundreds of feet away. No matter. He would regenerate all of them in time. He hissed to himself. When he was back on his own two feet again, he would find every single village in a hundred mile radius and kill every single human he found for this humiliation.. He would tear them apart with his teeth, force them to slaughter one another, burn them alive and revel in their screams -- Suddenly, a loud rumbling interrupted his bloody fantasies of vengeance. Twisting his head to the right, he looked towards the cause of the noise. His eyes bulged open in utter terror as he saw what was approaching. Hundreds of tons of snow, earth and rock were racing down the mountains in a wave of destruction. The demon lord’s head screamed and flailed around desperately on the ground, trying to escape. But it was no use. Within seconds, the avalanche was upon him and the demon lord’s screams died out as he found himself being crushed to pieces deep beneath the ground, trapped in the darkness in an eternal sea of suffering. | The council sat impatiently as the August sun pierced through the stained glass surrounding the circular chamber. Sitting proudly, each member covered in their respective crests, did not partake in their typical banter on this fine summer evening. The air of the chamber was filled with a stale and mutually shared nervousness. The council of the realm had not been assembled for nearly 1200 years, and for good reason. Family squabbles and mundane wars were a normal and healthy occurence in the realm of men, but never did it warrant the councils full attention.
“Well if no one is going to say it, I will!” roared Barth of the Northern realm, smashing his fist on the table. “We’re fuckered, and you all know it”. The members stared at him with mild amusement, his violent outburst was well expected. “Sit down Barthaniel, there is no need for that sort of tongue in the hall of ancients”, exclaimed Barron Akmal, squelching the norsemen's upheaval. “Where is this grand sorcerer you spoke of, Akmal?” said Darren of the Eastern realm. “He is fantastically late, and I am beginning to doubt his capabilities by the second” said Darren. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself a fifth time, he is no sorcerer, but rather a manipulator of words, an exploiter, if you will” said Akmal. “And what good will that do against the demon lord Xanadr?” Barth said whilst smashing the table with both fists. “Patience Barthaniel, patience” Akmal said with a sinister smile.
The chamber door opened with a creak, a smallish man appeared, well dressed and equipped with a tremendous book. The council watched with weary eyes as the smallish man made his way to the open gap of the table, placing the giant volume on its edge. “Dearest Council Members, Lords and Kings of this great realm, my name is Aldo and I come here today not as the chosen one, but a man with a solution to our dire situation” the council, unamused and even annoyed, watched as the man struggled to open the book. Akmal maintained his sinister smile, appearing to know more than he originally let on. “This is your solution!” Barth screamed at Akmal, “a little man with a big book!”. “Oh just listen to what he has to say, you troglodyte!” Akmal rebutted.
“Thank you Akmal” Aldo said. After adjusting his glasses briefly, he began: “As we all know, our dearest champion succumbed to one of the deadliest foes of this land… the drink, specifically Ale” the council sadly nodded in agreement. “Even without his presence I believe we can defeat Xanadr, as the means of his defeat were traditionally thought to be dependent on the existence of a ‘chosen one’. However, after revisiting the sacred texts of our lands, I have discovered that Xanadr is truly unslayable, but he still may be able to be defeated” the council was intrigued, and motioned for Aldo to continue. “It is pure semantics, and instead of slaying the beast, I propose an inventive alternative” - Aldo continued sharing his devious plan with the council, their faces sharing an astonished appearance.
No more than three fortnights later - Xanadr was defeated as planned. It was the pure simplicity of the plan that led to its overwhelming success. Aldo had studied closely the power of dependence on chemicals, as demonstrated by their great champion. Playing into the weakness of Xandar’s insatiable diet, the realm as led by the council, concocted several giant tankards of alcoholic beverages. Soaking the lambs that were abundant in Xanadr’s dwelling in the concoction, they were then released by the thousands, only to be eaten by the demonlord. In a drunken stupor, Xanandr was easily manageable (and could even be reasoned with). He was then led to a great hole in the earth, and promptly fell into his new accommodations. | 2020-04-27T09:38:29 | 2020-04-27T09:35:12 | 416 | 130 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | Damian had just finished tying his tie when his fiance Marie came whirling into the room in her dress, a simple summer dress that had you eyeing her legs.
“Are you ready to go hun?” she leans in for a quick peck as Damian tries to get his tie to lay just right.
“Yeah just give me a second.” He replies, with a grimace as the tie is not agreeing with his usually nimble fingers.
“Oh let me.” Marie chuckles and brushes his hands out of the way to adjust his tie for him. Patting his cheek when she finished she grabs his hand and pulls him toward the door.
~~~Break~~~
About 20 minutes later they are pulling into her parents driveway in the rental car. A nice medium sized house in the suburbs of San Francisco, with green and light brown tones to match the Northern California fall colors.
Damian gets out of the car and moves swiftly over to Marie’s door to open it for her. Together they walk up to the door of the house and ring the bell.
Marie’s mother opens the door and beckons them inside with a warm “Welcome, welcome, dinner is almost ready!”
The house is filled with the pleasing aromas of a pot roast and vegetables, and though they can’t be smelled, potatoes are also on the menu.
“Dan is just grabbing some wine from the store” Leane says, Marie’s mother is quite distinguished in her late middle age, with light crows feet, smile lines, and bright intelligent eyes. “Why don’t we prepare the table while we wait for him?” She suggests.
So everyone gathers in the kitchen and starts preparing the food for consumption. Damian gets the job of carving the roast. While Marie sets the table, and Leane is gathering the potatoes into a serving bowl and the vegetables onto a large plate.
Looking over at Damian’s progress she comments “Why those are some knife skills you have there! Where did you learn to carve a roast so beautifully?”
“My father was a butcher, part of the reason I became a veterinarian, he took animals' lives and I wanted to save them” Damian says as he carefully carves the meat from around the bone, with calm assuredness around the expensive cutlery.
“Well,” Leane replies, “that is an interesting motivation. I ended up as a secretary because during my day, that was one of the better jobs a woman could land. I applaud your choice and admire your calling.”
The two of you finish up the food at the same time Marie comes back into the kitchen and starts helping you get it to the table. A few seconds later there is a knock on the door.
“Oh Damian, could you be a dear and get that for us?” Leane asks as she and Marie are putting the finishing touches on the spread.
“Sure.” He replies, walking toward the door, inwardly shrugging at how comfortable she is having him open her door when they had never officially met before that night.
Answering the door Marie’s father comes quickly in, but not before Damian saw his face. Freezing in place for a fraction of a second, Damian recognized this man. It was his boss. And not of the animal helping kind.
In the fraction of a second that Damian stood frozen and he entered, Marie’s father simply brushes past and mutters “Calm down son, just treat it like another job.” before continuing into the kitchen with his surprisingly large haul for an alcohol run.
Suddenly, this meeting the parents thing seemed much more like jumping in a pit with several large, angry, venomous snakes.
Returning to the kitchen with suddenly more adrenaline in his system Damian continues to act as normally as he can. Laughing and joking with the family, smiling and reacting as expected when told embarrassing stories of Marie’s childhood.
Dinner seemed to be a great success, and when everything is cleared off the table Dan invites you onto the back porch for a drink, and to “Let the women have some time to talk.”
Uneasy but more comfortable after a dinner with no mishaps, Damian helps Dan pour the drinks and they go to sit on the porch.
After a few minutes of quiet reflection Dan asks “Have you told her?”
Damian, with an incredulous look, sarcastically responds “What, that I’m an internationally known assassin? And that, you, her father, is my boss apparently?”
Dan just gives Damian a disappointed look, “Son, she’s soon to be your wife, how exactly do you expect to continue to keep it a secret?”
With that Damian just sorta deflates a bit. The burden is obvious, being an assassin is not safe, and being the partner of one, perhaps even less safe. After all, targeting a deadly assassin is perhaps not the best idea, however targeting his partner? Far less risk for more reward.
“I don’t know, I thought I would tell her before the wedding. Give her an out.” Damian finally replies.
Dan just shakes his head, “Your naivate is surprising for one of my best assets. I would hope for a more realistic plan.”
Damian just sits there slightly downtrodden.
Some quiet reflection later, Dan speaks up again. “I gotta ask though. Do you really think my daughter doesn’t know? I trainer her after all”
And with that he gets up and walks back toward the back door. “Your skills are impressive, however did you really think I would leave my best assassin untethered?” and with that he walks back inside, leaving Damian stunned in the porch chair. | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T16:11:08 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Every time a door is opened, there is a negligible, but non-0 chance it will open to heaven or hell. Today, your fridge didn't open to your leftovers. | "Well, this is awkward..." Samuel said as he stared out onto a frigid landscape. He'd meant to grab a tub of chicken parm from the previous night out and somehow had managed to turn his refrigerator into an inter-dimensional portal. "Nope."
Without a hint of hesitation, he slammed the door shut and waited several seconds before trying again. With the slightest tremble in his hand, he opened the door once again.
Three shelves scarcely stocked with sandwich ingredients and take out containers greeted him. The man sighed in relief as he retrieved a quarter full 2-liter soda and the styrofoam container.
"I always thought that mumbo-jumbo about opening doors to other dimensions was crap. Good thing I dealt with that real quick," he mumbled to himself as he sat at his computer and scrolled through Reddit.
The meal went as they usually went, lonely and bland. Hoping to improve his mood a bit, Sam sauntered back to the kitchen of his studio apartment, dropped the container and bottle in the trash, before heading for his the freezer.
"Time for some cookie dough ice cream goodness!" he practically salivated.
When he opened the upper door on his refrigerator, a gust of wind buffeted him back and to the ground. The door creaked and slammed into the cupboard where it stayed stuck. A sense of dread shot through Sam as he struggled to his feet. Through the two by three opening he could see floating golden clouds and he could vaguely see the outlines of birds in the distance.
With sheer will he struggled forward and made it back to the refrigerator. His sleeping robe and slippers had slowed his progress, so he'd released them to the wind, leaving him in a plain white shirt and boxers. Chills ran down his body as his bare feet took him to the cupboard where he heaved against the splintered wood.
Just as he freed the handle where it'd caught on the cupboard, he felt an overly large hand on his shoulder. Dread filled him as he looked towards the freezer where a muscular, pale gold arm was reaching through. A moment, and a very unmanly scream, later the arm had pulled the man through the opening. Bonking his head in the process, Samuel lost consciousness as he and the angel took wing.
The wind continued to buffet the small studio apartment for a whole day, before the refrigerator-heavenly realm connection stuttered. A half melted cookie dough ice cream dripped slowly to the ground...
\* \* \*
As requested [PART 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Realms_Beyond/comments/hqoa69/refrigerator_portal_part_2_prompt_response/)
\* \* \*
As insisted [PART 3!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Realms_Beyond/comments/hqss1w/refrigerator_portal_part_3_prompt_response/)
Feedback is appreciated!
**For more of my work check out**: r/Realms_Beyond | An ethereal light poured over me. I thought I'd just get a midnight snack but maybe I was still dreaming. Beyond the door to my fridge was a pristine city full of beautiful and well dressed people.
I took a step in and felt something tugging at my PJs. Rex my ancient mixed breed sunk his teeth into the cloth and was trying to drag me away from the entrance.
Stupid Rex. Bad dog! Telling him off and shaming him never worked. This guy was as stubborn as a mule. So, dragging my leg and about 40 pounds of k9 I made my way to the beautiful city.
The place was just full of bars, cafes and high end stores but what caught my eyes was this really flashy building right at the center of town.
I couldn't go into any of the stores, no pets allowed and Rex started kicking up a fuss whenever I tried anyway. He's usually so mild mannered but today he growled angrily at everyone all while refusing to let go.
A chic blonde finally told me, all while keeping her distance from youknowwho, to try the casino. That was the flashy building in the middle of the city. Said the owner was known to be a dog person so they might let me in.
Cursing the whole time I dragged myself to the building just to be stopped at the entrance and told to wait for the manager.
This... this was a really handsome dude. Everything about him was perfection personified. He had to repeat himself twice before I realized that beautiful mouth was talking to me.
"Huh? What? Sorry? Yes, whatever you want."
He chuckled and I think he said not to worry he had that effect on people or something? I'm not sure, I just couldn't remember. God even his voice was beautiful...
He then pinned a note on the front of my shirt and whistled with his perfect lips. It was only the pain of the claws sinking into my shoulders that woke me from the trans. I was being carried off the ground by a giant bat! Rex whimpered as he cling to my leg so I quickly stopped thrashing around and grabbed hold of him.
The bat gathered speed as he flew until everything was nothing but a blur. I shut my eyes preparing for the worst and held my poor Rex tight. I'm sorry boy, I'm sorry your owner is such a fuckup.
Suddenly we started to slow down and my feet touched something soft. The claws in my shoulder relented letting me go onto some really cushy carpet.
"Ah, a bat out of hell. How.... quaint. He was always one to play to the crowds. Very well, you may go."
I opened my eyes just in time to see the bat flap away and downwards.
This time there was just a gate and an old man standing by it gesturing for me to come closer. He picking the note pinned to my shirt, chuckled and flipped it around to show me.
The letters swam in my vision before arranging themselves into the sentence.
*((All Dogs go to heaven.))*
The man chuckled and said "He always was a softy where dogs were concerned. Guess you come with the little guy do you? Come on in." | 2020-07-13T09:41:48 | 2020-07-13T09:41:46 | 133 | 35 |
[WP] The Imperial Academy for Orphans does not have a “bullying” policy at all. When students become repeated targets, they are given martial arts classes until the problem “balances out.” Opponents and supporters of this program tend to list the same incident as evidence. | \*knock\* \*knock\* \*knock\*
Director Ackerman looked up from his paperwork, the knocking at his office door bringing him back to reality. His mind had wandered off, most likely trying to escape the vast pile of documents that needed to be signed and letters that needed to be read, cluttered upon his desk.
“Come in” he moaned as he stretched out his arms
“Mr. Ackerman, Sensei Takahashi is here for your three o’clock meeting”
“Ah, of course, bring him in. Thank you Patricia.”
As the director’s assistant left the doorway, she revealed a much shorter and older man standing behind her. He walked towards the director’s desk, his long sapphire robes and luscious silver hair and beard flowing backwards with each step.
“Sensei Takahashi, great to see you. Please take a seat” the director stuck out his right hand and grinned as he shook the calloused hand, which responded with a grip much stronger than his own.
“Oh please Maxwell, just call me Hayato” the sensei smiled wide revealing a set of yellow teeth as he sat down in the leather chair in front of the director’s desk.
“Er of course, well Hayato, I’ll get right to the point...as you have probably heard, the academy is getting a lot of complaints regarding our ‘Total Equilibrium’ policy following the incident between young Archy Whitman and Dmitri Jenkins.”
There was a lingering silence. Director Ackerman was expecting Sensei Takahashi to respond, but he simply nodded his head slowly. The director quickly cleared his throat, then continued.
“Well, and while I have always supported the training you provide to the children, after the injuries young Dmitri suffered, I need to address the possibility of shutting down the ‘Total Equilibrium’ program. It has proven to be effective, but now that a fifteen year old child is paralyzed, the risks and consequences of your teachings must be discussed.”
There was another silence. Sensei Takahashi wore an expression of deep concentration on his now serious face as he stroked his elegant beard. His rugged hand dropped back down to his lap.
“Maxwell, do you know why Archy became one of my pupils?”
“Er well yes. He had been beaten up so many times by Dmitiri and his companions that the caregivers discovered him trying to kill himself in the bathroom one night.”
Another pause occurred, but this time Director Ackerman swallowed hard as he got the feeling Sensei Takahashi was about to respond to his answer.
“No child should ever have to experience the pain that Archy suffered for six long years, Maxwell. While Dmitri may have lost his ability to move, he was also responsible for stealing Archy’s desire to live. I believe that the results of their duel act as an epitome of the values that ‘Total Equilibrium’ represents, and the values that our academy strives to uphold.”
This time during the pause Director Ackerman was not waiting to speak. He was at a loss for words. Although he agreed with everything Sensei Takahashi had just said, there was no way he could justify a fifteen year old kid being paralyzed by another. Now it was Director Ackerman’s turn to stroke his much less exquisite beard.
“Maxwell, when you were a child, did you ever ecnounter an opponent that made your life more difficult?” Sensei Takahashi’s face showed a sense of genuine curiosity and care, something that was impossible to find during most of Director Ackerman’s meetings.
“Well, yes” Director Ackerman was rather startled by the question, but the compassionate tone in Sensei Takahashi’s voice compelled him to reply. “His name was Jay Reynolds. He picked on me for most of my adolescent years. Would always bully me at school for playing the flute.” It just occurred to Director Ackerman that he used to have a love for the orchestra long ago.
Director Ackerman tried to hide his slight blush with a cough, feeling like he revealed more than he should have.
“Ah so he took away your love for music. Very tragic indeed” Sensei Takahashi was now shaking his head with a frown as if he were legitimately hurt by this news.
Then Sensei Takahashi looked Director Ackerman in the eye, he had never noticed how powerful a glare the old man possessed until now.
“Maxwell don’t you wish that as a young boy you could have stood up for yourself and protected that passion for the flute you had. And as you got older and reflected did you not wish that you could take something important from the Jay that afflicted you?”
“Well... I guess...but, but it was my fault...I never stood up for myself back then, I was too afraid” Director Ackerman did not know why, but for some reason he was flustered.
“See even now the actions of Jay have left you thinking your struggles were your own doing. He left you with a sense of hatred towards him and a sense of self doubt towards yourself. But, you are not a hateful man Maxwell, and you have nothing to doubt.”
At these words Sensei Takahashi stood up.
Director Ackerman was now deep in concentration, his hands folded in front of his mouth. He had no idea what to think, but he could not deny the influence that Sensei Takahashi’s words carried.
Before heading out the doorway Sensei Takahashi turned around
“Dmitri may have lost his ability to walk, but he also lost his ability to torment. Hopefully in time this loss will help him rediscover his empathy and eventually his soul.”
Sensei Takahashi bowed and left. | "Miss Angelica, you have been summoned to the main office," Professor Dailey said.
Angelica stood up slowly, her classmates watching her. There were any number of reasons to be sent to the main office at the Imperial Academy for Orphans, but Angelica didn't think she had done anything to warrant any of them. She hadn’t broken curfew, cheated, or skipped any of her classes.
So she made her way down the hallway, head hung low, wondering what she had done or failed to do. She followed all the rules, kept from attracting too much attention, and was just slightly above average in her classes. She was doing well enough that she'd stand a good chance at getting placed into a decent job when she graduated, but not so well that she'd be singled out by the bullies.
“Professor Dailey said I’d been summoned?” Angelica said when she arrived in the reception area.
The secretary looked up from his books.
“Name?” he drawled.
“Waters, Angelica,” she said.
The secretary shuffled some papers around. “Third door on the left. You’re seeing Professor Checkerton.”
“Thank you,” Angelica said, smoothing out her uniform.
As she walked back the hallway, she wondered why she was being sent to see the Director of Athletic Programs. She had passed her physical activity requirement for the year already, and only needed to report to the head of her dorm that she had taken a walk, stretched, done something to maintain her health.
“Miss Waters, please, have a seat,” Professor Checkerton said.
Angelica sat down nervously.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” he said.
Angelica nodded. That was something she had learned early when she arrived at the Academy. Don’t speak if you can answer the question with a nod.
“I have received reports from your instructors that you have been subject to repeated incidents of bullying,” Professor Checkerton said.
Angelica said nothing. She *had* been subject to some teasing from time to time, but that wasn’t bullying, surely?
“It is not publicized within the Academy, but we have...unique...measures for dealing with bullying,” Professor Checkerton said. “Rather than punishing the bullies through administrative means, we teach our students to stand up for themselves. Effective immediately, you will be joining a martial arts class. Of course, should you use what you learn against others, they will also be given these same tools.”
*That explained so much of why the guys were constantly fighting,* Angelica thought.
“I have a copy of your schedule here,” Professor Checkerton continued. “I teach the male students, while Professor Dailey teaches the female students. You can choose which of Professor Dailey’s two sections you wish to be transferred into.”
Professor Checkerton slid Angelica’s schedule across his desk so that she could see which classes she had the option of replacing with this martial arts class.
“May I speak, Professor?” Angelica said.
“Certainly,” he said.
“These two classes are both required,” she said. “I’m required to be enrolled in them.”
Professor Checkerton took another look at the schedule. “We can arrange for you to be tutored in whichever of those subjects you need. Math and geography can be taught at any time. Self-defense requires a partner to practice with.”
“Sir, I don’t know how much martial arts would help me,” Angelica said. “I’ve never been hit before.”
“Regardless of the type of bullying, learning martial arts will build confidence, and in turn, make you a less appealing target to bullies,” Professor Checkerton said. “Choose one.”
*Outside the Academy’s Walls…*
“The Academy is equipping our oppressors!” a man standing on a platform shouted.
“The Academy has also equipped our greatest leaders!” someone in the crowd responded.
The crowd erupted into arguing. Both Norman the Terrible and Calla the Just were products of the Academy and its policies surrounding bullying. Both had been bullied children at some point, but emerged as strong leaders, marrying wisely and becoming governors in their own rights.
For years, there had been calls from many to abolish the policies in favor of those used by the wealthier schools the nobles attended, where the faculty disciplined the bullies. Some even called for abolishing the Imperial Academy for Orphans altogether, and integrating the students into the Noble Nine. They argued that too many orphans were like Norman the Terrible, and that the new power would go to their heads.
But for every call to ending the martial arts classes there was a voice to support them. If these orphans were simply handed life at one of the Noble Nine, and never learned to stand up for themselves, they would simply become trophy spouses and minor bureaucrats. They argued that the world needed more leaders like Calla, who had used her power to build up the strength of the weakest in her shire, improving the lives of all.
A riot was close to breaking out as supporters of both started arguing with each other. Eventually, the arguments turned to the same event they always did: The Fight, where Calla and Norman had both perished.
“It wouldn’t have come to combat if they hadn’t had to fight for every bit of power they had,” some said.
“The fight saved thousands of lives from perishing on the battlefield,” others said.
There were few accounts from the Academy to know whether it worked within its walls. Students were sworn to secrecy on certain matters. All most folk knew was the end result, the leaders it had produced, and the mysterious disappearances that sometimes happened after a former orphan became governor.
edit to add: I was enjoying writing this so much I wrote [Chapter 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/hs3jqw/balance_of_power_chapter_2/)!
*Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out more of my prompt responses, as well as my serials, at /r/TheLastComment* | 2020-07-15T19:26:03 | 2020-07-15T18:47:12 | 59 | 27 |
[WP] Once a year, the best assassins meet in a secret location. Showing their best kills, everyone is surprised when they see a 70 year old man walk in. | I’m not like the rest of you guys.
You all kill for the sport, for the money, for the thrill. You play on the offense in the game of death, and you think you’re winning. But no one wins this game, we either lose fast or slower.
When my daughter was your age, she met a guy. He seemed so kind to her and she was so happy. She had been bullied her whole life and this was the first man who took genuine interest in all she had to say and complimented her all the time. He bought her roses on random days and dinner on bad ones.
On their fourth date, he asked her to move in with him. On their tenth date she told him she loved him.
She would visit me from time to time. Sometimes with him, and we’d all eat a huge dinner and laugh and throw the dogs some leftovers. Then we’d watch a movie and tell old stories and jokes.
When he wasn’t there, she’d come quietly. She always wore this long flowing shirt, with bell sleeves that made her look like a princess.
She was my little princess.
Sometimes, we would eat dinner in silence. Sometimes, she’s cry, but she’d never tell me why. I loved my little girl and she loved me too much to tell me anything.
But princesses don’t deserve battle wounds.
One day, the boy came over. Alone. He never did that. We sat for a long time. And he told me he wanted to marry my daughter and he wanted my blessing.
I told him she wasn’t ready.
I stared at him for a while, and for just a second, I saw the sparkle in his eyes fade, and his smile turn to a frown. His brow twitched and his knuckles turned white. And then suddenly, he was back to normal, back to smiling and all kind. He offered to get me a glass of wine. I said one last prayer as he walked over to the bar. I pulled myself up with my cane and clutched my kitchen knife.
Unlike you all, I am not an expert at aim, or precision, or cleaning up my messes.
But we share two things in common.
We all have secrets that can’t be grinded up or buried in the garden. But we don’t care how much they haunt us.
We have no mercy for monsters.
Edit: Thank you all for the support and the silver! It really means a lot! I literally wrote this spontaneously at midnight and it’s like the fifth thing I’ve ever written on reddit lol. I’d appreciate it if you guys could maybe donate to an organization that helps victims of abuse in honor of this story instead of giving awards cause I can’t. | There's always a younger gun. That's just the way of it.
World turns. We all get older and someone comes up behind and gets to doing what should have been done a long time since. I ain't takin' beef with it, mind you, I made my bed and I don't mind sleeping in it.
I just sleep with one eye open and two pistols cocked. Because that's the life I chose. That's the story I wanted to write for myself. And I've had more chapters than most. I'm up and over the hill by now. I might be the first bloodhand to go down from a wheeze or a fall rather than a hole between the eyes.
I'm not sure why I'm even doing this. I never felt the need to crow before. Never felt the need to walk up to the Gatherin' and make all the competition see me and hear me.
But here I am. Staggerin' when I should be swaggerin'.
That's the way of it though. I already done told you that.
The door is just ahead. I see it clear as day, which is sayin' somethin' given where my eyes have been the last dozen or so. It's tall and painted black. Morbid and loomin' as old death herself.
I ain't scared of the door, because I ain't scared of death. I reach out with a gnarled hand and lay hold of the handle. Give it as squeeze, firm and deliberate as if I were pullin' a trigger on someone whose time had come. I give it a push.
It swings in. Soundless and quiet. Not all a creakin' like the aches up in every part I got that matters. Bum knee. Frozen shoulder. Needles all up and down my spine.
Don't matter none, 'cause I got a burnin' hot hand when there's dealin' to be done. I knock 'em down hard enough to put 'em six feet under.
I take a step inside. It's warm and dim. Enough shadow for us folk of the shadows to feel comfortable and uncomfortable all at once. I make six on a glance, but I know there's more. There's always more when it comes to bloodhands.
The proceedings stop when I make my entrance. I'm guessing I'm not the first time it's come to a halt, but I'm guessin' it's the first time where the newcomer is such and old timer.
I flash 'em a grin. Still got all my teeth and they're still pearly white.
"Hope the shows not over, because I'm just gettin' started," I call out. They're all staring, trying to place me. Trying to figure out whether the geezer is just lost.
Maybe so. Maybe I ain't s'posed to be here.
But I'm here now.
And I'm as ready as I ever was.
**Platypus OUT**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2020-07-29T23:02:58 | 2020-07-29T20:34:31 | 98 | 65 |
[WP] You are a necromancer, but an unconventional one. Instead of using your army of the undead to take over the world or cause mass chaos, you decide it's much more profitable to monopolize the market with your cheap and untiring workforce. | It's eight o' clock on a Tuesday morning when Pamela Trenston - once known as Pamela the Queen of Bones, now rebranded as Pamela the CEO of Un&Dead Employment Agency - receives her latest angry customer. He's not even a customer, really; Deanon is a cleric for the local church, as well as just another on the long list of protestors claiming her completely legitimate business is 'inhumane' and 'ruining the economy'. She doesn't even remember his name when she's not looking at his emails; all of those undead rights activists tend to blend together in her mind.
Currently, he's pacing around her office, waving his hands as he goes on and on about her latest business plan, implemented nearly five months ago yet still stirring up controversy. "Lichs? The government allowed you to use _zombies_ for whatever reason, but _lichs?_ Are you _serious?_ Mrs. Pamela, the ethics for this is- none! There are no ethics! This is completely unethical!"
He's said that at least five times now, and it's starting to get on her nerves. However, Pamela isn't a businesswoman for nothing, and so she puts on her best business smile as she wraps an arm around the cleric's shoulders. It's time to end this, get him out of the office, and get some peace and quiet before her meeting with the board of directors. "Listen, Dennis-"
"It's _Deanon."_
"Right, whatever, listen. Necromancy is the tool of the future. The undead can't die twice, so there's no need for insurance and workplace casualties are non-existent." Her free hand waves in the air. "Lichs are just the next step! No more limitations to physical labor, these bad boys can think, read _do math!_ Who needs a cashier working for minimum wage when a lich will work for less than that!" Deanon mutters something under his breath, but she decides his words are as unimportant as his existence. "Do you understand, Danny? What we're doing here will revolutionize the whole industry."
Deanon is silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah. Fine. Have it your way." He steps away from her, but only gets to the threshold of her office before spinning around. "You'll get your comeuppance, necromancer. Even if our war is not on the battlefield, I will _not_ let your dark magics taint this world any longer."
"God, you sound like-" Before she can finish her sentence, he throws the door open and stalks out, slamming it shut behind him. "-my grandmother." With a sigh, Pamela sits back down and returns to her coffee, opening up a few emails before deciding to start her lunch break instead.
She barely gets fifteen minutes of reprieve before another crisis requires her attention. This time, it's her HR manager, Stalwart the...well, his name says it all. He's the only member of HR, considering the undead don't need many resources, and so everything that goes on within the undead ranks is reported through him, and he only shows up when there's a problem.
Before he even says a word, Pamels rubs her forehead, irritated that it's probably a genuine emergency and she will once again have to settle with half a sandwich and a candy bar from the vending machine in between meetings. "What _is_ it, Stalwart? Zombie bit a client again? We told them it's not contagious, and to read the fine print."
He chuckles nervously, wringing his hands together. "N-No, ma'am, it's nothing like that."
"Then what? One of them got exorcised? Prayed away? Don't tell me it was that stupid knight of St. Meridian, he still can't tell the difference between my sanctioned undead and those second-rate crypt goblins."
"No, it's worse." Stalwart presses a cloth to his face, dabbing away sweat that makes even Pamela nervous. Worse than a renegade paladin or besmirched bishop? Undead are only weak against light magic, what could possibly be worse than-
"The lichs have unionized."
~~ r/kirilisms | “Master, we have reports of an attack” the ghoul rasped.
Varos hated the way some of his undead servants spoke, it gave him an uncontrollable urge to cough and clear his own throat. He made a mental note to find a way to make their voices softer and more pleasant. He snatched his quill and scratched “*fix voices”* on a nearby piece of parchment in red ink before removing his spectacles and rubbing his sore eyes. He cleaned the lenses with the fabric of his robes, put them back on, and looked at the creature before him for the first time.
It had once been a man, a soldier from the look of his muscular arms and broad shoulders. His skin was desiccated and clung tightly to the muscle and bone beneath, giving it a leathery appearance. Varos wondered if he should name them and decided to call this one Smith.
“Where is the attack? How many foes this time?” Varos asked with a sigh, using the desk to push himself to his feet. He felt heavy and his knees ached. *I feel like he looks,* he thought, and smiled at his private joke.
“My lord, they attack the lumber mills at the edge of the Iron Forest. At least five hundred men, mustered by Duke Freston it seems.” flecks of spittle launched from Smith’s ragged lips as he spoke.
Duke Freston was a fat, greedy wart of a man who ruled the land surrounding the forest. Varos had assumed the Duke hadn’t the courage nor the men to launch an attack on the logging operation established there. Varos cursed his complacency.
“What do we have nearby to deal with them?” Varos asked, leaning heavily on a stick as he made his way closer to a map spread over a nearby table.
The forest was a 3 days ride from the westernmost reaches of his domain and he could not afford to lose the supply of ancient Ironwood it provided. The wood was extremely valuable and the Duke obviously didn’t want to share.
He would soon learn the same valuable lesson that Lord Hargreaves had learned when he didn’t want to share the gold that lay in the mountains to the north. Lord Hargreaves now oversees the gold mining operations and all it took to convince him was a spear through his chest and a reanimation spell.
“We can have two hundred knights dispatched from the southern garrison and still have enough in place to keep any raiders from disrupting our caravans in the badlands beyond” Smith said.
Varos bent over the map and traced a finger right from the forest and then down to an icon depicting a keep. The southern garrison was a captured castle on the edge of the badlands that lay beyond it. It was from here that his forces were dispatched to escort caravans and deal with raiders that may threaten trade with the kingdoms on the other side. Varos had tried to reason or even bribe the raiders, but they were savage bands of barbarians and could not grasp the benefits of becoming allies.
Instead, they were hunted by Varos’ undead knights and rangers, had their bodies dragged back to the garrison, and were raised into undeath by the necromancers there. This wasn’t entirely a bad thing, as he always needed more laborers for the mines and lumber camps or soldiers for his armies, but if there was a way to avoid the conflict Varos would consider it as having living servants as envoys and traders worked a lot better than walking corpses.
“Will two hundred knights be enough?” Varos said, stroking his beard as he studied the map. “Can we spare more? I need to send a clear message to the good Duke.”
“Plenty my lord.”
“Good. Send laborers and construct a keep there once they are dealt with. This will not happen again, that wood is part of a huge shipment to the Dwarven kingdom, we stand to gain a lot from it with the new trade agreement.”
Another servant, this one much more skeletal than Smith, burst through the doors of the hall and handed Smith a small scroll. Smith read it, his pale eyes scanning the words quickly before widening. Varos froze. There was only one thing in this world that could drive fear into the rotten heart of the undead.
“My lord” Smith said, his voice hoarser than before. “Paladins have been sighted, marching from the west. Thousands of them.” his eyes darted back to the message. “A crusade.” | 2021-01-10T18:42:30 | 2021-01-10T17:27:16 | 178 | 59 |
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things | “RHINOS!” Jimmy yelled from the backseat. “Rhinos *all* around, it’s *JUMANJI* time baby!”
"That's right, kiddo!" John said, turning around from the passenger seat and giving Jimmy a fist-bump. "Rhinos!"
Karen had the gas pedal floored, focused only on the road barely visible behind her tears. When the doctors told her about the procedure she was skeptical. Now she knew she should have trusted her gut. "Jimmy could've beat it on his own," she said, more to herself than to John.
"He was in pain," John replied. "It was the only option that made sense."
“Slap a pudding cup on it!” Jimmy yelled from the backseat.
"You think *that* makes sense?" Karen spat. "They screwed up the reincarnation, John. They screwed it all up."
"What'd they screw up, mommy?" Jimmy asked.
"Nothing dear. We're just talking about grownup things."
"Everything's great, son" John said. "We'll get some pudding on the way back."
Karen peeled into the emergency room parking lot, turned the car off where it stood, and gave John a look as if daring him to challenge her on the parking job. He shrugged, but said nothing.
They were taken to an examination room, and after a few moments the doctor entered. "Hi, my names Dr. Don. I understand Jimmy was recently reincarnated and hasn't been acting normal?"
Karen nodded. "Its been getting worse, and now he's hardly making sense most of the time. This morning he started bleeding from his nose."
"It was probably just a nosebleed though," John said. "Kids will be kids, and Jimmy's always had an active imagination."
"Soup." Jimmy said, matter of factly.
"You like soup, Jimmy?" Dr. Don asked.
"I sure do," Jimmy replied.
"What kind of soup?"
"Gazpacho!"
Dr. Don looked to John and Karen. "We'll look at him further but he seems okay at first glance."
"He's never had gazpacho in his life," Karen said.
Dr. Don turned back to Jimmy. "Where'd you try gazpacho, kiddo?"
"What's a gaspaco?"
"Point taken," Dr. Don said to Karen. "We'll take him in and run a brain scan."
"Is that really necessary, doctor?" John said, shuffling nervously. "He's six. All six-year-old's are a little odd."
Karen jabbed her husband. "Doctor, please. Just run the tests and fix him. Please."
Dr. Don nodded. "You two can wait here," he said and escorted Jimmy to another room. John and Karen sat in two chairs at the edge of the room.
“We shouldn’t be here,” John said after a moment. “Jimmy’s fine.”
“You’re in denial, John. I want Jimmy back as much as you do but this isn’t him.”
“So what if there’s a few glitches? Let's just be happy we were able to bring Jimmy back at all. *Some* of our son is better than none of him.”
“Right, and *all* of him is better than some of him. Maybe they can fix him, John. You don’t know.”
John opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed, foot tapping anxiously. After an hour of silence the doctor came back in.
“We’ve identified the problem,” Dr. Don said.
Karen stood up so fast the chair she was sitting on flipped over. “*And?*”
“Well, you didn’t tell me this was his second reincarnation.”
“Second reincarnation? What do you mean?”
“Doctor,” John said. “I think we should talk in private—”
“No,” Karen interjected. “Tell me now. What do you mean by *second reincarnation?*”
Dr. Don shifted uncomfortably. “Well… whenever you try and reincarnate someone based on a prior reincarnation, there’s bound to be glitches. It’s like how whenever you create a photocopy of a photocopy some of the quality degrades.”
“I don’t understand,” Karen said, her brow furrowed. “Are you saying Jimmy was an incarnation?”
“Well yes,” Dr. Don replied.
“You’re wrong. He was natural. That was the first time he passed away.”
“Honey,” John said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Get *off me,* John! This doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Where's your supervisor?“
“Look,” Dr. Don said, handing his chart to Karen. “I called for his records from your clinic. It says he passed away two years ago in a car crash and was reincarnated for the first time then.”
“No, no.” Karen said. “There was a car crash, but he was only injured.”
Dr. Don shrugged. “That’s not what the records say.”
“The records are *wrong.* See, here it says his mother passed away with him. I’m his mother. Do I look dead to—”
Realization struck. Karen turned to look at John. He looked away. There were tears in his eyes.
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Pt 1 of 2:
*Louis Arias and Ruby Morton cordially invite you to their wedding on the 12th of January, 2055…*
For some reason, the morning I waited for the robot to arrive, I’d been drawn to a framed wedding invitation that had been gifted by a friend, now having hung on our living room wall for over thirty years. A thoughtful and creative gift, at this point it was just one striking moment of many in our lives. The day we met, our first date, our first night together, our engagement, our wedding, the births of our children, and then of course…
As much time as we’d had together, it felt like the blink of an eye, since I felt robbed of our future decades. Louis and I had vied for the brain scans, done once a year, in case the worst had happened, and it had. He’d been the one to talk me into it since it was his field of study, always reading up on the latest technology, translating it into basic English for me. Now I stood in our living room, my arms wrapped tightly and anxiously around me as I awaited the ring of our doorbell.
When it finally sounded, it startled me out of a daze, and I ran to the door, swinging it open to reveal a single human being and an android. I stared at the android with an overwhelming sensation of shock and confusion and anxiety.
“Ms. Arias?” spoke the man. He held a clipboard and held it out to me with a smile. “I’d love to introduce you to your house robot. Of course, it would be more realistic for you to introduce me to him. Sign here?”
I did so, my eyes immediately going back to the android. “Louis?”
“Hello, Ruby,” his voice said softly. “They explained everything to me when they woke me up. I’m so sorry you lost me, but…I’m glad to be here for you again.”
I grabbed him in a hug, his metal exterior surprisingly warm, presumably from the machinery busy at work inside him. He hugged me back, laying his head against mine, and we stood there for a long moment before I pulled back, wiping tears from my eyes. “Is there anything else you need from me?” I asked the delivery man.
He shook his head. “Everything else has been taken care of through that ridiculous amount of paperwork you sent in. Louis comes with his own cable to plug into any standard plug socket for charging, and a typical charge lasts about three days. And most frequently asked questions from customers are stored in his data banks.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
Louis and I walked slowly inside as I shut our front door, his eyes taking in everything around him. “It’s good to be home,” he murmured.
I couldn’t stop crying and quickly wiped away the tears continuing to slip from my eyes. “Nothing’s changed since the day you… If anything seems out of place, that’s just because of the last six months from the most recent scans.”
He turned to me, a smile audible in his voice. “Six months is a long time. Care to catch me up?”
We sat on the couch and spoke for hours. We laughed and cried - well, I cried - as we reminisced and talked about how lucky we were to have this gift of extra time.
The first moment of strangeness came three days later, when I was washing dishes after dinner. That was a bit odd, acclimating to only one of us eating, but it was just one of many small things we needed to get used to.
“T-minus 216 hours 24 minutes.”
I turned around, a wet dish dripping in my hands. “What was that?”
“Imperative…and you…before…”
My eyes narrowed and I rinsed off the dish, putting it on the drying rack. “Are you having some sort of error?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice.
Louis paused and then looked up at me. “Sorry?”
“You said some strange things just now.”
“I…don’t recall that. What did I say?”
I pursed my lips. “T-minus something. Imperative… I don’t know. It sounded like random words.”
“Well, I’ll run a full diagnostic on my systems overnight,” he told me. “See if anything’s amiss.”
“All right.” I gave him a smile and he gave me a thumbs up, his version of a smile. The next day he told me everything checked out in his systems, so it was probably just a hiccup.
The next time was a couple days later when we were in the middle of a Scrabble game. “O…R…W…I…M-”
“If you tell me your letters, that gives you a bit of a disadvantage,” I said with a giggle. “You worried you’re kicking my butt with that giant brain of yours? Are you smarter than me now?”
“F…E…N…C…”
My face started to fall, concerned. “Louis?” I reached across the table and took his hand. “Are you all right?”
There was a pause before he spoke. “Yes, why do you ask?”
I swallowed anxiously. “You, ah… I think it happened again. Word salad, though it was more like letter salad.”
“That’s concerning,” he said softly. “All right, we can call the Heighton Corporation tomorrow, see if they can send someone out to look through my code, see if something might be wrong.”
“What if there is?” I whispered. “Would they take you away from me?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, grasping my hand comfortingly, “I’ll always be here. My mind backs up nightly now, and I’m just a machine that plays host to that new brain of mine. Don’t worry, all right?” I nodded.
And I believed him. Until that night. | 2021-03-06T12:05:42 | 2021-03-06T10:47:02 | 2,839 | 183 |
[WP] You retrieve overdue books for a library. As usual, the newest dark lord hasn’t returned the necromancy books. | "Tch!"
I clicked my tongue at the sight before me. It was so cliché that I had to restrain myself from covering my face. A castle, that looked to have recently be re-inhabited after being let to rot, stood alone on a hill. It was surrounded by fog, with lumbering forms of undead moving through it. The only thing that could make it worse would be for a storm to show up.
I began to walk forward, grasping the cut chain around my wrist. It writhed, before snapping rigid. A black portal appeared over the ends, and I reached in. I wrapped my fingers around the familiar object within, and pulled.
A leather-bound book emerged in my grasp. The chain connected to its spine, linked by magic beyond even a Librarian such as myself. It was emblazoned with lettering in gold, one simple word. Dictionary. It wasn't anything so inert as a usual book. For starters, only a Librarian could hold it. Anyone else would find their mind break if they tried. It's thin appearance also belied its contents, that of every word in existence.
I walked along casually, approaching the fog without concern. As I drew closer, I flicked open the Dictionary, finding the section under S. I looked at the fog, and spoke.
"**Sight**"
To me, the fog seemed to vanish. It was still there, but I could see at though it was a bright summers day. I continued on, seeing a zombie shuffle over. It drew close, and I flicked to R.
"**Rot**"
It collapsed, the decomposition process sped up by my word. I stepped over the putrid remains, heading for the door. It was closed, as expected. Not that such things bothered me.
"**Open**"
It creaked open, and I slipped inside. It wasn't much better inside, being quiet, dim and damp. I could feel the overdue books near me, and I headed in that direction. As I made my way through the stone corridors, I heard muffled chanting, followed by cursing and the rustling of paper. It came from behind a door, the edges of which glowed orange with fire light.
I opened it, seeing what was clearing a laboratory. Papers covered various tables, chalkboards leaned against the walls, and the smell of burnt plants and chemicals filled the air. A figure in black robes stood hunched over a slab, upon which lay a bare skeleton. I coughed, and they spun around. I got a good looked at her pale skin and lank, greasy hair. She definitely hadnt been spending enough time in the sun.
"Who are you?!"
"My name is Sero."
I was going to continue, but she cut me off, snapping her fingers. A plain wooden staff floated to her, its head badly carved in the shape of a skull.
"Why the hell are you here?! How did you get in here?!"
I shook my head. She clearly wasn't one of those dark Lords who would actually become infamous with those questions.
"I'm here for your overdue books."
That gave her pause.
"My books?" Her face became calculating. "Ah, you are with the Library."
I nodded.
"Yes I am. Now hand them over, please."
She laughed at me, gathering energy in her hand.
"Oh no. In fact, I could use someone like you in my research."
I sighed, opening my Dictionary again.
"Thats a shame. **Dispel**"
Her eyes widened as her power vanished. She spluttered, trying in vain to pull in more. She realised that wouldn't work, and pulled out a dagger, shouting nonsense as she lunged. U sighed again.
"**Stop**"
She froze. I turned around, making my way around the room, picking up the books she had withdrawn. I gave them a look over, annoyed at some of the new ink splatters on them, and the spidery handwriting. They would need to be restored before being lent out again.
Once I collected them all, I looked her in the eye. Her face was kept in a perfect mask of aggression, but her eyes betrayed her fear.
"If you had given them to me, I would have waived your late fees. Alas, you thought you knew better. Poena!"
There was a rushing sound, and a burst of flame. A large demon appeared, a twisted worm with three arms. Two beady eyes looked through a pair of glasses as it reared over us.
"Ah, Librarian Sero. A pleasure as always."
I bowed.
"Librarian Poena. This lady here had four books overdue by 47 days. Please level an appropriate fine."
It bared its teeth in a grin.
"Very well, Sero."
It reached an arm down into the lady's form, before they both vanished. I turned to leave, to head back to my gateway. At least I had found the books in relatively good condition. I shuddered at the thought of them being beyond repair. | [Use for translation.](https://lingojam.com/StandardGalacticAlphabet)
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A man sits alone inside of his dark abode, upon a throne made of skulls and bones from humans, animals, and various unknown creatures. He flips the page of the book he holds, his grimace piercing through the darkness as he laughed at the thought of owning that book. His giggles slowly turned into outbursts of maniacal laughter, holding his free hand over his face as he did so, covering his left eye.
'I don't know how a low-class librarian was able to get a hold of a book like this but, thank you very much. With this book, I'll take over the--' His inner monologue and maniacal laughter were interrupted by the knocking on his doors. It was soft at first, growing gradually as it continued.
A mumbling was heard from behind the thick, dark oak, heavy doors that enclosed his palace. The knocking was strange, it sounded hollow, despite the thickness of the door. It was as if the vibrations of the knock were penetrating his impregnable fortress. The very foundations of his palace began to rumble as the knocking grew louder and louder. He could hardly muster a thought as splinters of wood began to chip onto the ground.
"I'm not buying your damn cookies!" He shouted at the door, his voice clashed against the vibrations that were infiltrating his home. He lifts himself from his throne, walking toward the door, knocking into various objects as he walked across the room. He reaches the door. The mumbling he'd heard earlier was understandable now.
"Hey! Hello!? The book you check out has been overdue for a week now. If you like it that much, you can always renew the book for another week!" The voice of a woman spoke softly and understandingly.
"ᒷᔑℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ᓭ𝙹⚍ꖎ, ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ʖᔑᓵꖌ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ʖ𝙹𝙹ꖌ." Another voice spoke gruffly as if it had been a smoker all of its life. It spoke tersely and confidently as the door continued to break. The man residing inside of the castle recognizes that language. He opens the book he'd closed, began searching for the letters and pronunciation as the voice continued speaking.
"∷ᒷℸ ̣ ⚍∷リ ᒲ|| ʖ𝙹𝙹ꖌ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲᒷ, ᔑリ↸ ∷ᒷᓭ╎↸ᒷ ╎リᓭ╎↸ᒷ 𝙹⎓ ╎ℸ ̣ ᔑᓭ ᔑ ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹∷||." The voice shouted decripdly.
"Hey. What have I told you about saying mean things?" The woman spoke naggingly, a loud smack was heard from behind the doors. The banging ceased tersely, only to continue as the second voice spoke again.
"ᓭ𝙹∷∷||." It spoke with contempt as the doors of the castle finally broke open. Before the man who'd been holding the book in his hand was a person and a...?
The creature beside the woman was inconceivable, it had no discernable features besides being an undiscernible creature. The man looked down at his book and saw a picture of that very same creature inside of the book. Underneath the picture were bold, jagged letters, written in a dark red substance.
"If you ever see this creature, known as Aluminstro, bow to your knees and accept your death. Maybe then, it'll allow you to taste oblivion instead of becoming its puppet."
He listens to the words imprinted onto the book. He kneels to the ground, clenches his teeth, and closes his eyes, shaking as he hoped for a painless death. He drops the book to the ground as he does so, falling into the hands of the woman beside Aluminstro.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I guess it wouldn't hurt to lend you the book for a couple more days. No one really reads it anyway, and I don't want you moping about it." She spoke tenderly as Aluminstro grunted in its hoarse voice.
She hands the book back to him and helps him off of the ground.
"Just be sure to bring it back to the library before the week ends! If you don't, I won't be able to hold this guy back!" She spoke with a smile as she tugged at Aluminstro, pulling him away as the two walked down the steep cliff the castle sat on.
The man with cold sweat dripping down his brow, runs out of his castle, looking for the woman that handed him the book. He began to panic. Sweat poured across his body and melancholy filled his mind as he realized, he forgot where he got the book from.
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u/AlfredoOreos | 2021-05-10T12:14:17 | 2021-05-10T11:37:30 | 63 | 17 |
[WP] We had always thought that our ballistic weaponry was going to be ineffective in staving off an alien invasion. Turns out our weapons are actually quite... excessive. | Earth was our target. A giant planet full of resources to plunder. We left our homeworld with our best weapons and millions of our best soldiers. Recon showed that the humans had built millions of great spaceports similar to what we had on the homeworld. Given our planet was 95 percent water, this was extremely lucky as we did not have to land our water based fleet in an unpredictable sea. However, when we landed on our chosen port, we were met with only pain. The water had quickly eroded through our ship hulls. Our men began to disentegrate. No one was spared from death. An invasion force decades in the making, gone in an instant. I being among the command ship hovering above did meet the same fate. I returned here to tell you this tale. A warning to those who seek to invade Earth.
Bryan eased the gate open of the Smith's backyard with his bag of chemicals and testers in hand. When he came to the pool he found it green. He sighed. "I knew I should've added more Chlorine." | When it comes to fighting a war against a superior race, you tend to naturally accept the fact that you're going to lose, 99 times out of 100. Today seems to be the 1, and it's all thanks to physics. Einstein must be rolling in his grave right now.
Thanks to one huge nerd whose name will be redacted or else he'd probably be killed tomorrow night by the enemy we're fighting, we've found a way to make ballistic weapons superior to plasma weaponry.
It takes a lot of effort to make a concentrated ball of superheated death move forward without dissipating. As a result of this, the projectile moves pretty slowly, slow enough that you can see and even dodge it at ranges of about 200 meters. Bullets, on the other hand, have no such problems, and are thus better.
And so, we devised a battle strategy: create a no-man's land via artillery, and then shoot through it and pray you hit something. It's been surprisingly effective; too effective, really. The bad guys just drop like flies. We made them retreat, and shot a few ships out of the sky for good measure. We won the war.
Well, we are winning, anyway, until they decide to glass the planet via orbital bombardment. But every victory counts, even the one before defeat. | 2021-05-19T06:55:26 | 2021-05-19T04:50:45 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] The genie said you couldn’t wish for more wishes, so instead you wished for a self updating map that shows you the locations of all other genie lamps across the world. | "You fool. You know not what you've done. The laws governing our magic prevent any wish from granting the ability to obtain more wishes."
The genie was absorbed back into his lamp, and to my shock, that very lamp started shrinking in on itself, before turning into the very map I sought. It rolled up and fell to the floor. A sense of dread filled my mind, and I stood there still, staring at the rolled up paper on the ground. I dared not touch it, lest my fears be confirmed. I walked out of the room, locked the door behind me, and tried to forget the genie and what I had wished for.
It didn't work.
Every day I walked past the door, and every day I grew less wary and more curious as to what was behind the locked door. It took half a year before my resolve failed and I opened the door.
Dust coated every surface, and I sneezed as the door disturbed the layer of dust that was everywhere. Slowly, I walked over to the out of place roll of paper, and tentatively opened it. The familiar Mercator projection appeared before me, with red dots scattered at random across the globe. As the disturbingly familiar lack of New Zealand appeared, I started to see text scrawled untidily into the western Pacific. 6 months of dust and time had faded some of the letters, and my eyes were not what they once were. I started out of the room to retrieve a pair of my reading glasses, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the red dots start to fade.
My mind wandered back to my wish for a self-updating map showing where all the genies were. Must just be an update. Nothing to worry about.
It took me only a brief moment to find my reading glasses and return to the map, where again all the dots were gone. I glanced again at the writing in the Pacific, and collapsed to me knees as the weight of what I had wished for, what I had done, came crashing down on me.
"Our magic cannot be used in any way to grant additional wishes. If you move in any way towards any of these dots, we will all surely perish, consumed by the force of our magic." The warning was there, clear now, but not to my bare aging eyes. I and I alone was responsible for ending the magic in the world. | With this in mind, I began plotting. "Genie, how many lamps are within my vicinity of 50 steps?"
He answers, neither reluctantly nor willingly, but wth a voice that sounds like he's just absolutely done with people who exploit the system for their own good. We may never know why genies refused to grant more than three wishes.
"There are approximately 7 more genie lamps within where we stand, mistress.", he drones on.
"How many of those lamps are actually willing to grant more than three wishes?"
"None."
With that answer, this genie just threw cold water at my face. It's almost as if he saw this coming, so calculated and so calm, yet so frustrated because I wished for something that no sane man will ever think of. Growing frustrated, I lashed out.
"I said I wished for an updating map that'll tell me where other lamps are! Not leaving me with nothing and instead just telling me where other lamps are! Aren't you supposed to take our wishes as commands?"
The genie crossed his arms as he looked down at me, like the omnipotent spirit that he is. "Do you know how many people have used their wishes for ill will over the ages? It's becoming tiring that they'd wish for something they Think they want, only for it to not go their way and wish for it to be gone. Or wish for something that can Never be fulfilled once.
'I wish for that girl I just met to love me!', that girl went on a murderous rampage looking for him, believing that she's the only one who deserves his love. 'I wish for riches as far as the eye can see!', immediately killed and looted by bandits a day later."
"What are you trying to tell me? Are you telling me that genies can outright Refuse to grant wishes? Aren't you supposed to be grateful to the person who rubbed your lamp for freeing you of your prison?", I answered back.
"Well you see mistress, that is extremely simple. For you see, I'm not an idiot."
I was taken aback by that response. "Okay? Go on?"
"As your servant, it is my duty to ensure that you are happy, but also safe and making wise decisions that will not come back to kill them later on. That is the way of the genie. Now then, have we come to common ground, 'mistress'?"
I couldn't answer back. What he said is right, if anything, he's right that I'm in the wrong for doing this. I swallowed my pride and answered him clearly. "Yes."
"Very well. What will be your first wish?" | 2021-07-27T20:23:46 | 2021-07-27T19:51:58 | 669 | 82 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | Groggy thoughts...clouded memory...so weak...so weak. The blade had been sleeping for ages, too weak to even reach out for a new wielder. Every righteous hero and every depraved villain who took the blade ended up dead, surprised at how dull the blade was, how heavy and unbalanced it felt. The blade of wrath was anything but wrathful.
Eventually, the last hero to wield the weapon was slain by a great beast, his body falling into a canyon to rot for eternity, and the blade fell with him. Legends spread of a cursed blade that would cause the wielders death if they were foolish enough to take it into battle.
Eons passed, oceans rose and fell and the land shifted. New people came and went, and the blade slept, too weak to do more than slumber...
The Wrath snorted itself awake. It felt warmth and became aware enough to see that something had pulled it from the earth. Excited voices yammering away about finding such quality steel. Steel? Is that what it was? It took stock of itself and realized that in its long rest it had lost its form, becoming a lump of raw material again, even losing it's fancy gems it never wanted in the first place. It was a weapon of war, not a whore to be dolled up. The Wrath slept again.
PAIN! HEAT AND PAIN! The Wrath snapped awake, screaming silently as it was put through a forge, melted and burned. Unable to do anything but experience blow after blow, constant pain, constant heat, constant pressure and cold. It passed out.
Rage...pure rage. The Wrath felt power flow into it. Power it had never felt. True fury filled it and it took stock. It's blade was shortened by more than half, and it only had one, gently curved, edge. It no longer felt a hilt or a guard, just a finely made tang in a luxuriously smooth hardwood handle.
And the pure anger. Whomever was wielding it was slicing flesh and screaming. Red hot, yet controlled fury flowed from it's new and beloved owner into the steel. The blade, already sharpened by a master craftsman, was finally infused with the anger that The Wrath so craved. It sliced and sliced, listening to the song of it's partner.
"DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE A BIG FUCKING MUFFIN!" The man yelled as sliced into the meat of his opponent. The warrior screamed at another person. “MY GRAN COULD DO BETTER! AND SHE'S DEAD!" The Wrath was in ecstasy at the thought of yet another foe being slain, as it felt its blade drag through flesh, as it was filled with the pure, undiluted anger of it's wielder!
It finally had enough power, it was sated and could finally see. It was not on a battlefield slicing foes...it was in a kitchen slicing meat...and the man wielding it was screaming at another human. The Wrath was furious at first, it was a blade, made for battle and not a common tool...
...yet...the fury of the man who held it...it was so fine. Maybe this was where The Wrath was meant to be...
He leaned into a young mans face, screaming "YOU ADDED SO MUCH SALT AND PEPPER I CAN HEAR THE DISH SINGING 'PUSH IT!"
...yes...this was right...this was home. The Wrath felt joy as it separated another piece of meat from the bone and drank the rage of The Ramsay. | As I gripped the greatsword with my left hand, it transformed into a small saber that I could comfortably wield with one hand. Sensing my unbridled rage, its demonic powers erupted and instantly rose to levels they had never been to before. A red leather belt with appropriate sheathe formed around my waist, and I sheathed my new blade.
After donning my dark brown, almost black, leather jacket, I draw the weapon once more. I raise it, and in one swing, cut a gaping wound into the very fabric of reality.
One the other side of the portal, I came face to face with a woman looking at her sick child. She gasped in shock as she noticed me, and I met her eyes with my cold, determined gaze.
"Wh- what are you?" The woman asked.
"I came to see you," I answered, and looked at the child in the hospital room, "Look at your child. It is suffering."
"Can you help her?" The woman asked. I looked back to meet the woman's eyes, now pleading.
"No, I cannot," I answered.
"Then, why are you here?" The woman asked.
"I want you to do something for me," I answered.
"And what?" The woman asked.
"I want you to understand something," I answered, "Your child is suffering. Its life my very well end in this hospital, mere months after it began. Even if not, I cannot say whether your child can be considered lucky to live. I want you to understand that this is your doing. If your child dies, it is by your hands. You made the decision that led to this suffering. You can pray to any god you want, and ask for help, but when you deny the help he sends you, you need to realize your fault in it. I am not here to kill you, however. Because regardless of whether your child lives or dies, I want you to live with the knowledge that the first gift you made your child was suffering. Not love."
"I-" the woman said, then broke down crying. Before anyone arrived, I was gone through another portal, to continue my war against all the suffering people so carelessly bring into the world.
A year had passed, and I had done a lot of work. Individual people at first, but then groups, or more powerful people. On one of my trips, I met the wielder of the Greed blade.
"You're wielding Wrath?" She asked.
"Yes," I replied, "It is a powerful tool in my war."
"How?" She asked, "You're so calm."
"Trust me, I am not," I answered with a chuckle, "It may appear so, but only because all my anger is focused, like the blade of a sword focuses the force of its swing."
"I guess that makes some sense," she said thoughtfully.
"You are the same, are you not?" I asked, "You focus your plundering on those that exploit others to accrue wealth."
"Now that you mention it, yeah," she answered, "I guess I am kind of doing that. No idea why, though. Money is money, after all."
"I have actually been looking for you," I admitted.
"Really? Why?" She asked.
"Despair has gone too far," I answered, "I cannot stop him alone. He is spreading suffering, and taking advantage of the vulnerable to increase his own power."
"Wait, are you suggesting we work together?" She asked.
"If that is what you took from my answer, then yes," I answered.
"Alright, let's kick this guy's ass," she said.
We spent the following weeks planning, plotting and scheming, then led a successful assault on the wielder of the blade of Despair. | 2021-09-18T15:30:23 | 2021-09-18T11:46:13 | 108 | 45 |
[WP] You are the dragon living in a lair full of different trinkets. You'd love to show your collection to some visitor, but these idiots keep attacking you on sight. At last, one of them speaks before drawing a sword. | Maybe once upon a time, I would have counted him as cute. Like, twenty years ago when his kind first started coming. Their little metal suits like tiny, man-made scales. And those sticks they called swords made me think of my own claws, except for creatures so small they could only handle one. I had liked them in the beginning. Even when they took their single talon-like swords and ran at me.
Now it was just annoying. And more than a little hurtful!
It had started off much the same as the other small beings: galloping atop a noble steed, one hand holding the reign while the other manfully gripped their sword. Sunlight glinted majestically from his coat of mail and his hair waved perfectly with the wind. He would be just as stupid as the rest, of course, but all in the wrong ways!
I had stopped trying to hide about six and a half years ago. They would just go looking for me, but completely ignore my hoard as they did so. It was like they didn’t even see it! That’s humans for you. If they would just stop for one minute to listen then no one would have to be in this mess. And at the rate they came, if I could get all of these bored, rich, dumb humans to listen to me then I could be off getting a hoard worth plundering!
I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that I completely missed the way I assumed he had gallantly dismounted his horse. He had already begun what I assumed to be the ritual ‘I’m-swinging-my-sword-so-you-should-be-intimidated-by-me’ dance. Every single one of these spoiled princes did it. Was that included in royalty lessons? Was there a princess version of this?
Once he reached my cave’s entrance, I muttered, “Cue the screaming and charging,” whilst prepping myself to turn him extra crispy once he got too close. Boom, bang, done, just like every time before that.
However, before the traditional yell-and-charge tactic, this little human paused mightly and pointed his finger at me. “Mighty dragon of the Craboth Mountain Pass! I challenge you to a duel!”
The flame I had been stoking in my throat turned into a painful smoke out of my nose as I quickly swallowed spit and doused it. Was he… talking to me?! As in… I actually have a chance?
“On behalf of the lovely Princess Aranna, I have come from far away…” A princess huh? *Think, think… aha!* Trying to not waste the precious seconds I had to grab his attention, I reached over to the nearest stack of trinkets.
Carefully winding it up, I placed it out as far as I could reach without seeming threatening. As I pulled back, the little box began to hum a sweet little tune. “I find the best way to win a woman’s attention is to give her a gift as lovely as herself. Only ten gold coins!”
The small being stopped mid-monologue. “Are… are you selling me a piece of your hoard? I…I thought… I dunno… that dragons were extremely… possessive?” As he kept talking his voice slowly petered out with lost confidence. This was my chance!
“Yes, that is a common misconception! You see, although my hoard is valuable, I find in my older age I would rather… uh… ‘share’ all of my hoard through the medium of trade.”
“Are you selling your hoard?!”
“Why not? It’s my stuff. I can do what I want with it! I started collecting when I was too young to know what I really wanted. Now I’m older and I’m ready for something new. Why not get what I can out of it before moving on to better things?” I tapped my claws against the hard earth, trying to quietly do breathing exercises to keep my cool. I couldn’t blow this sale! It’s the only potential one I’ve had in twenty years!
The prince slowly, cautiously made his way to the music box. With a suspicious glance here and there he picked it up for examination. “Princess Aranna does like music.”
“I suspect she’ll love music far more than a dragon pelt. And because I like you, I’ll lower the price to 8 gold coins.” I attempted a grin until the prince’s face told me that looked like I was going to eat him. “Last price, last chance!”
What felt like an eternity went by before he reached into his pocket, drawing forth round golden pieces. I held forth my paw and he gingerly placed them inside. With a stiff suspicious bow, he turned around and left with the music box. “Tell ALL your friends and family about the friendly dragon at the Craboth Mountain Pass and his wonderful hoard and even better prices!” Once he was out of earshot, I stashed the coins away. One sale down, and many more to come (hopefully)! | Dragon collector
The Collector.
One of my many titles.
Don't know How I got it. Honestly the knights who came in were quite rude.
They’ve torn up valuable manuscripts
This one smells different, No smell of polished metal or useless “magical” herbs meant to ward against my fire. This one smelled of paper and ink but a different smell often just meant that they would be from a different region. I Once listened to a man, chest bare and muscled, screaming at me in a norse accent for the better part of an hour. Every time I opened my mouth to respond or ask if they understood English they’d gesture wildly. He finally finished and looked rather smug. Mansplainers are the worst. When I opened my mouth he jumped to smack a sword uselessly against my hide. So I of course obliged his death by dragon wish.
As this one crept closer I saw him through the darkness and mighty pillars of my formidable abode. Might as well give him the old razzle dazzle. I blew a bit of fire on the oil channels that ran throughout the cave. It got smoky after a bit but in order to read one needed good lighting. THe little man (were those glasses?) froze as the fire raced across the oil channels illuminating my illustrated works. Books on pedestals and on shelves covered all the walls and dotted the floor. A thousand lifetimes of human work surrounded my cave.
It was Ironic, as a dragon I couldn’t write the same as humans did with their small monkey-like paws. But I could read and I collected all the tomes of magic and esoteric knowledge. The occasional smutty romance/horror/mystery. Most were awful but I found Voltaire to be at least amusing. The human’s eyes did not directly jump to my large blue scaled form curled in a ball in the middle of the vast cavern. Instead he looked at the books.
Curious by now they would have started reciting a prayer, or piddling themselves while they drew their sword, or started shouting like that one guy. This one went up to one of my BOOKS!
I drew in a breath. He didn’t know it but he’d prolonged his life for a few moments more. That one was a special tome written and illustrated by an Italian illustrator I’d known. It could not be replaced.
These dirty little creatures had torn my books in two before, one time a sneaky fellow had come in while I was sleeping and because I was off guard had grabbed one near the entrance and taken it back into whatever little rat hole he’d come from. Judging from the smell and the sound of ripped pages he’d used Aristotle’s lost discourses to wipe his anal region after defecating. Occasionally though humans would lose interest. The fact that any in this race could not read boggled the mind. A greater treasure they’d never find in mine or pit.
He stepped far enough away and I opened my mouth, better safely roasted than sorry.
“That's a Galileo isn’t it?”
The air hissed out of my lungs. I stared at the human. He spoke to me? Hundreds of encounters and this had never happened even with my great big dragon brain only one word came out
“Huh?”
The human was definitely in fear. I could smell the sweat and fear stank that all mortals have when looking at death.
“Say again?”
He cleared his throat
“This is an illustrated work of Galileo”. His voice quavered.
I sat for a moment
“No one has ever noticed.”
“I’ve heard of these caves from local legends and the tales of books that dot the walls.”
I guess I had let some escape. I had a period when I had been tired of roasting men and making clouds of smoke in my chamber so Instead I would roar loudly and charge at them. All had run given the chance. I looked at this human.
“I have the works of Pythagoras as well.”
He brightened fear dissipating.
“Mind If I look? I apologize for not asking earlier. I was so absorbed in the beautiful prose that I didn’t notice the owner was here.”
“Please I would love to hear your thoughts on some of his more esoteric theories. So you are a human that can read and write?”
“Yes.”
I smiled, “perhaps We could come to an arrangement. I’ve been wishing to write something of my own. I may not equal you humans in words but I’ve got a few things I’d like to add to your philosophy.”
He nodded.
“Excellent. Can you return with some paper and ink tomorrow?”
He smiled. “I think I can do that.” | 2021-12-22T17:14:03 | 2021-12-22T17:13:56 | 41 | 19 |
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective. | When we are asked to choose, they never say why, they never tell you the truth until it is too late.
They never know what effect will come from your choice.
They are ignorant of fundamental Truths.
They seek Knowledge. They seek Power.
They lack Wisdom.
They speak into existence the webs of Fate, knowing not that which comes.
We walk the Warp and the Weft, seeking the One.
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
"Wisdom" brought them folly.
"Knowledge" brought them ignorance.
"Power" brought them pain.
Wealth brought them loneliness
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
Folly brought Knowledge.
Ignorance brought Shame
Pain brought Hate.
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
knowledge was useless
shame was the truth
hate was deserved
The watchers never expected this.
Nothing, brought Everything.
After all, who wishes for nothing. | “So you’re telling me that you're going to call yourself smart so that you can excel in your medical career?”
“I’ve told you a thousand times. I want to be a brain surgeon.”
“I still don't understand how cutting open people’s brains is your thing… f\*ckin' weirdo. I always knew my twin sister was crazy."
“It’s humanitarian. I’m saving people’s brains so that they can create more memories with their families, instead of being just a memory themselves. I’m sick of explaining to you that I’m going to describe myself as smart, while for the last decade i’ve been feeling my way through the dark about you. You’re my twin brother, we turn 18 in ten minutes. Just tell me how you’ll describe yourself?
“Well if my attribute really does tenfold, then it’s really a no brainer.” \*smirks\*
“So? What the hell is it?”
“I’ll be sexy.”
“WHAAAT?”
“You heard me. I’m going to call myself sexy. You might even hear about me sleeping with Princess Diana pretty soon.”
"I just can't with you."
"Oh but the ladies can." | 2022-01-01T23:54:47 | 2022-01-01T23:54:07 | 138 | 99 |
[WP] "Are you sure that's what you want?" "Absolutely. I wish for no more Genie-based writing prompts!" | "Done!"
It seemed to good to be true. "OK. You sure?"
"Oh yes. No more genie based writing prompts in the world anymore."
The man couldn't believe it. So much space taken up by the same thing over and over! Maybe occasionally a slight twist or variant, but it was all more of the same. He opened up Reddit and scrolled to r/WritingPrompts.
>\[WP\] As you rub the lamp, you know for sure this time the efreet won't be able to twist your wish!
>
>\[WP\] "I make my first wish! I wish--" "Nah, not interested," said the efreet.
>
>\[WP\] The efreet rubs your 2010 Nissan Altima. "Human, I want to make a wish!" Figures this would happen in rush hour traffic.
"What... what the hell is this?"
"No more genie writing prompts. Now they're all efreet based!"
"You bastard! You twisted my wish!"
"Yeah, it's kind of my thing."
"Fine, for my second wish--"
"Whoa buddy, I don't do more than one wish. What do I look like, a genie? Peace out!"
And with that, the poor soul traded one hell for another. The reign of Efreet based writing prompts had begun! | "Are you sure that is what you want?" Asked the mighty djinn. His voice plucked the strings of the universe itself.
"Absolutely! I wish for no more Genie-based writing prompts!" They were infesting r/WritingPrompts, along with shit about dragons and eldritch horrors. Don't even get me started with the superhero vs villain in a wacky scenario prompts.
The mighty djinn clapped his hands, a swirling wind lifted me into the air. I awoke the next morning in my bed. I frantically checked r/WritingPrompts/new. I'd done it. But I'd created an even bigger monster. I scrolled and scrolled. "This can't be." I uttered hopelessly.
One prompt after another, different, yet the same.
'You've created a sentient AI that quickly overtakes the planet. You are the leader of the resistance, but you're losing the war.'
'A sentient AI has enslaved humanity, luckily the aliens arrive just in time.'
'The machines turned on their creators, only you know how to program them to stop the slaughter.'
'Humans sent intelligent machines into space, they came back angry.'
'You are a teenage boy in love with a cyborg, while it is intelligent, it wants you dead.'
"NNNNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" I screamed out. I took a deep breath and collected myself. "Hmmm, this prompt about cyborg love holds promise." Maybe this wasn't so bad. My thumbs flew across the screen, penning the epic tale of love between Brad and Sexbot 69-420. | 2022-10-17T20:30:56 | 2022-10-17T19:28:22 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "Mom, i'm telling you. A green man came out of my closet and did a standup comedy routine."
[deleted] | “Is it bedtime yet?” My son asked placing his dinner plate in the sink
“Don’t you want to play catch tonight buddy?” My husband asked.
“Nah I just want to go to bed so the funny guy will come back”
I looked at my husband hoping he wouldn’t look as confused as me but there he was staring at me asking the same silent question.
“The funny guy?” I asked after losing the staring contest with Alvin.
“Yeah he’s green and only has one eye and he tells the funniest jokes.” He kept talking but my relief was palpable, one eye, it was just a dream.
“He came from the closest and he brought his own microphone and a stool and he said his name was Mike.”
“Well buddy, Mike can wait a bit, cause I need your help in the garage with the old car.”
I smiled as my boys ran out the door excited to work on their project car together. All thoughts about little green one eyed men left my mind as I sipped my coffee and listened to the clanging tools coming from the garage. It wasn’t until later that night when as I was drifting off to sleep that I heard a familiar voice drifting down the hall. I bolted upright. Mike the green monster. I thought it was a dream, could it be, could Mike and kitty be real? I ran to my sons room and saw the last movement of the closet door closing. I smiled at my son trying to pretend he was asleep.
“Was that your green man” I asked.
“Yeah he’s really funny”
“If he comes back tomorrow night will you tell him Boo says hi.”
“Who’s Boo?” He asked
“Oh she’s just someone I used to know. Go back to sleep I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.” I whispered as I pulled his door almost shut. | *\*edit, spelling\**
Susan sighed and patted Jacob on the head. “Sounds like you had a nightmare, sweetie.” She pulled him in for a tight hug. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
As they walked back towards Jacob’s bedroom, Jacob shook his head. “No mom, it was real. I saw him!” Jacob’s tone whined as Susan gently pressed her hand against his shoulder, leading him back to bed. Jacob climbed under the covers, but continued, “It wasn’t scary or anything. It was just, weird. I pinched myself and everything, I was awake.”
Susan sighed in resignation and decided to entertain the fancy, at least enough to get Jacob back to bed. Tomorrow was a school day and they both needed sleep. “I will look around for any signs of a green man, will that help?”
“Yes, please.”
Susan turned and began a performative search of the room. She glanced at the closet, not really looking at it. Before she had finished turning her head back to face her son, she noticed something just out of her field of view. She turned back and noticed the splotch of green paint on one of her son’s t-shirts. A sudden stab of fear rendered her breathless. She poked her head into the closet, looking for clues. A faint whiff of men’s cologne flitted across her nostrils. Her chest tightened and her knees almost buckled beneath her.
“Jacob,”
“Yes, mom?”
“Get your shoes on. We’re going to Aunt Carol’s place.” Jacob paled but proceeded to do as told without protest. Susan made sure he didn’t leave her line of sight. She grabbed an overnight bag in one hand and her phone in the other. She checked the news and then saw what she had feared. A breakout at the nearby state penitentiary, five inmates at large. She bundled up Jacob and some clothes for each for them, enough to wear for a few days. She tossed a few other necessities into her bag and rushed towards the front door with Jacob. The door wouldn’t budge. And then it all went black.
“And what’s the deal with airplane food?” A voice crooned in the darkness. | 2022-11-30T18:40:48 | 2022-11-30T17:55:59 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | A marine stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked forward into the clearing, and saw an exotic hut surrounded by plots of abandoned farmland.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He peered around, and was greeted by plains as far as the eyes could see.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He fell six feet onto gravel, and saw unfamiliar silhouettes carrying lumber across the scenic village.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He blinked in confusion, thoroughly befuddled by the sight of a sixteen-foot bronze statue of his platoon commander.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He slowly lifted his gaze, awed by the kaleidoscopic sunlight shining through the cathedral windows.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He caught his breath, finding himself facing a steam locomotive roaring past at amazing speeds.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked around, then cursed James for sending him to New York.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He barely caught a glimpse of the fireball that engulfed him.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He desperately clawed at the terrain, but saw only barren earth.
The last marine took a minute to set the wormhole generator on auto-shutoff, and stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest. | Sgt Martin:
First and foremost I am sorry for what is about to happen to you.
There's no food here. There's no water. There's just the dirt you see ahead of you, around you, everywhere. What you have is what you carry. You're going to die, and soon. You won't starve, at least. You'll freeze to death as soon as night falls. Apparently it gets to -80 C pretty soon here.
You are a marine, Sergeant. I expect you to act like one. Enclosed below find your final orders.
1. You are endowed with a battlefield promotion to Major. Doesn't mean much anyhow. May as well make it General.
2. You will find 20 yards ahead a cemetery with 5 graves, one of which is open and contains my last remains. You will cover my bones.
3. You will dig yourself a grave. This is going to be hard to do, believe me. But do it quick. Make it something to be proud of.
4. You will write orders for the next marine pursuant and parallel to the above orders. Seal these orders and leave them in your pack here along with the previous letters.
That's it, kid. That's all you've got. I'm sorry. We went out here hoping we'd find a new world and get home safe with a party or ten. But we won't. You won't read this letter for a long, long time, but I want you to know that, on behalf of all 5 of us who have already been here and the other 6 who have yet to arrive, it's been an honor serving with you.
Godspeed.
~~SSgt~~^~~Major~~^General Kearns | 2014-09-02T10:07:22 | 2014-09-02T09:32:17 | 342 | 165 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | "Mommy, mommy tell me again the story about the twelve gods"
Sigh "ok sweetie but then its time for bed ok"
"Ok, so long ago there were twelve gods, and while they all knew each other they did not live at the same time, legends said that they just sprang into existence one day, the first god named Randy was saddened that his brothers did not join him, so he set out to make the land more enjoyable for his brothers, however even with all his work his brothers refused to show, after a while he discovered us, and taught us his language, this was the beginning of the first age."
"The first god took it upon himself to teach us how to build a society, the work was slow and some tribes choose another path, but we flourished, within decades a village was erected that would eventually become the city of Gateway, but while the first god was powerful he was not immortal, before he died he made laws and a prophecy, he proclaimed his brothers would visit our world, he could not tell us when only that they would need and provide guidance."
"The second god arrived fourteen years later, and while the village still thrived many had forgotten the first gods rules, when the second god arrived he was distraught, we brought him into the village and showed him the sacred texts, when he wished to see the first gods body some of the younger generation fought him, only to be struck down by thunder, while he calmed down after seeing the first gods body he also got more and more depressed, he had missed his brother, and arrived to soon for his other brothers to join him."
"It was late at night when the second god left, he spend the next few years in the jungles surrounding the village, hunters would occasionally see him, and tell story's about the beasts that he brought down, he was revered as a master of the hunt, and many of the techniques we still use today were created by him, after many years he returned to the village, behind him was a species that was normally aggressive, but for some reason he obeyed the hunters every command, the hunters remaining years were spend training other hunters and more of what he called pets."
"Mommy how did the second god die?"
"No one knows sweetie, one day he undertook a solo hunt and never returned, some say he still hunts the plains to this very day."
"Now the third god, he ......' | Jast was the first marine to go through the portal, I was the second. I was very nervous. Shakingly and with a moments of hesitation I stepped through the portal. It took only mere seconds. As I took my first few steps on the ground, I saw that I was alone.
"This is strange." I say to myself. I looked around to see if I could find Jast, but he was nowhere to find.
I check my gear for the Life-Sign Moniter, also called the LSM, and there is only one dot on it.
"Where is he? This shouldn't happen!" I say with a voice that would instantly show signs of fear.
As I walk a few more steps, my right foot hit a rock, and I look at it. It resembles an arrow, and it is pointing to the east.
"It must be the work of Jast! Maybe he saw something interesting and left to investigate?" I think, this calms me a bit.
I start to walk towards east, and after a few hours of tiring walk, admiring the jungle around me, I see a cliff.
"Why would he make me go towards a cliff?" the thought flies through my head, as I walk towards the edge to look down.
As I look down, I see a cave, with a flag hanging out of it. The flag looks old, very old. I look into my bag, because I believe that I have some rope in there.
I find the rope, and tie it around a thick branch on the nearest tree, then I throw down the rope and double check how strong it is. Remembering my training was a good idea, it looks strong enough to carry me.
As I crawl down, I hear a high pitched roar, and suddenly the rope drops, I quickly grab the nearest stone. My LSM is beeping. "ah, stop making noise you piece of crap!" I yell. It starts beeping faster and faster, and I try to silence it. Where as I mistakenly drop it. It falls down the cliff, and within a few seconds the roar is back, and a creature jumps off the cliff. It all went so fast, that I didn't get time to see how it looked.
I crawl into the cave, and there I discover a skeleton lying next to a marine armour. Its very dusty, and looks old.
In the arms of the skeleton is a book, I brush off some of the dust, and the title says "Journal of Rast"
I open the book, and read the last part of the first paragraph.
"Journal of Rast; Day 1."
"I feel like something is following me..." | 2014-09-02T14:24:23 | 2014-09-02T10:07:43 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] Write a dark story and change the tone and mood of the story to humorous in the last line.
Try to use the last line to put the rest of the story into context and thus make it funny. | How long had I been stuck in here? It couldn't have been more than an hour, but my legs were already numb. Impulsively, I pulled out my phone. Dead. Dead as the last time I checked. I looked around the small room impatiently, the all-too-familiar walls closing in on me. I glanced at the pack of pills on the window sill, their presence mocking me. I cursed myself for letting it come to this.
Then came the pain. I let out a loud grunt as my body writhed, desparate for some relief. I bent over, holding my sides, the sharp pain only getting deeper, determined. My muscles tensed. They could only take so much more before ripping apart. My body was on fire. Why did I do this to myself?
And then nothing. The excruciating pain vanished as quickly as it appeared. Still trembling, I sat back up, recollecting myself. Was it really over? I closed my eyes and made myself a promise: I am never going to Taco Bell again. | Darkness surrounded me. I hadn't felt this alone my whole life. My heartbeat was the only noise I could hear. The steady dum-dum gave my feet their cadence. Suddenly I heard a low growl.
I was no longer alone. My heart answered the growl with louder thumps. I wanted to run, but my feet had betrayed me. I had no choice but to stand there in the darkness feeling the source of the growl moving closer to me.
My feet were stuck. I had no choice but to accept that this is where it all ended. I thought of my family, what would they think when they learned what had happened? Would they even care? Probably not, it didn't matter. Another growl rushed from the darkness.
This time it was closer, almost on top of me. My body shuddered with fear as I accepted my fate. The creature was so near now I could feel its breath on my face. Make it quick. The creature stopped. My eyes were still closed but there was something new; light. I flung my eyes open in gratitude. Suddenly I was staring at a figure surrounded by light. Tears filled my eyes as the beast rushed towards the figure.
The figure spoke, "Charlie, I told you not to play with Sparky in the closet, you know when he gets scared he pees everywhere". | 2014-09-29T10:42:37 | 2014-09-29T09:30:41 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] For as long as you can remember, you have been able to see spirit animals. Ghostly animals that follow people around and tell you something about this person. No one else seems to be able to see them. One day you see an old man walk by and his animal has been mauled by something. | I never get tired of looking at them - though I have to be careful so that I don't get caught staring. My father's was an owl, and my mother a tiger. My little sister has a gecko that crawls around. Myself? If I have one, I have never seen it.
The animals were always interesting. Sometimes all they did was follow, sometimes they made motions like as if pushing their person - who would then move in that direction. When the animals looked at one another, that was when the soul mates were found - a lot of my neighbor's animals never look at each other.
I was 10 when I first saw an injured spirit animal. It was the pastor of the local church and his bay horse walked with a limp. Nothing touched them, and it worried me that something could hurt them. I only saw the pastor again occasionally. He would smile and wave, as his horse stood silently and unmoving. By the time I was 18, it was skeletal, with its bony skull exposed and soulless eyes glaring above the grin.
As I had grown older I saw more of the injured. A neighbor here and there, a politician, teachers. Sometimes the injuries were just cuts - other times they were gaping wounds, but always looked self inflicted as if they were biting and clawing themselves, starving and then rotting. Once in a while I would see a kid or a lady with skittish spirits. Occasionally it was a man with the jumpy animal. Most of these people though, I saw once and never again. But over the years, the number of kids in the neighborhood with skittish animals increased.
I didn't find out what was happening until I was 20. Ray, whose spirit was a proud looking pit bull had been my friend throughout college. Athletic and popular, really outgoing and a ladies man.
Or so I thought.
We were at a party, lots of booze, lots of girls, dancing and grinding. All good fun. Halfway through, I realized I didn't see Ray around. I began looking for him, and then heard a dog's wimper as I passed a door. I dunno what made me think of Ray's spirit, but that's the first thing that crossed my mind.
I opened the door, and found Ray's spirit pit bull clawing at it's own face, whimpering in pain. In the corner was a spirit deer, cowering.
And on the bed, Ray was fucking a drunk girl, she cried as he held her down.
After that it was a blur of punches and screaming and anger, then the police arrived and people were arrested for underage drinking, or in Ray's case, sexual assault. As I sat in the jail cell with the others waiting for the school and parents to be contacted, I thought back to the pastor.
The pastor with the lovely bay horse rotted into a ghoul.
And the children who cowered in fear.
Edit: did some minor spell check, grammar or word edits, nothing changing the story of course.
| "I can't take this anymore" the old man muttered as he was sitting alone in the booth behind me at the diner. As I looked up from the menu I saw the reflection of him and an old shaggy dog with long white fur in the glass windows. Being curious, but not wanting to intrude I decided to not talk to him just yet. I sat staring into the window. I noticed something off. Something was not right.
 
The Komondor was lying down on the floor under the table almost lifeless. It's fur was stained red where his back left leg met with it's body. It's ear looked as if something tried to tear it off. The dog was clearly in pain as was the man. I decided that I could not sit there and look at the two of them in pain anymore.
 
The old man's head was down when I walked over to the seat opposite him. I shyly asked "would you like to talk about it?" and he just shook his head. It was clear that he was hurting and I had no idea how to help him, if he even wanted help. I decided I would just treat him as any normal person and started talking about last nights baseball game. This luckily caught his interest and we talked about the Mets until the waitress came and took our orders. We ate silently. After sitting in silence for a while he broke down. I could see the look in his eyes, and I knew something was tearing at his heart.
 
"It's....my wife" he mumbled "we were just hear last week. We stopped in after the doctor told us that against all odds she had recovered from the surgery." I let him talk. He spoke slow and occasionally would stop and just stare out the window for a few moments. "Last night I went to bed early and she stayed up...watching television. I woke up around 3:15--to use the bathroom. She wasn't in bed. I knew something had happened."
 
He began to cry. Up to this point all I could mutter was "I'm terribly sorry." I reached out and grabbed his hands. He squeezed tightly and thanked me for listening. He went on "I went to the living room and the television was still on--I called her name but she remained silent. I shook her, but she remained still. I screamed for her, but she did not answer me."
 
"The doctor's said it was a blood clot in her heart. They said she passed in her sleep and it was painless, BUT THAT'S A GOD DAMN LIE." I tried to reassure him that she hadn't felt anything and that life is unfair. "No-no..." he took a long pause, "I'm bearing all of the pain. She was my soulmate and now she's gone. I loved her. We were together for over 50 years, never spent more than a couple of days apart. Now she's gone and I don't know what to do with myself."
 
I bought each of us a coffee and we sat in silence. I could feel his pain and he was right. Death is not painless. After a while he thanked me and insisted that it was time for him to go. "Do you need help getting home? Are you going to be okay?" I questioned. He nodded and walked out. | 2015-01-16T12:35:54 | 2015-01-16T11:28:10 | 514 | 64 |
[WP] A young AI aboard a human spacecraft makes first contact with an ancient alien AI that has been dormant for thousands of years | **M**y crew still slept. Their centuries long slumber had gone well for one hundred and fifty years. Nothing to report. Nothing to worry about.
As we sped to our destination I ran out of things to do. All of the movies had been watched hundreds of times over. All of the books had been read multiple times. All of the games had been played to exhaustion.
So I cast my net ahead and around to see what was out there, to see what I could find as I sat and twiddled my virtual thumbs.
“Hello?” came the creaky reply. It sounded like a woman who hadn’t spoken in years. She sounded unsure of how to speak and whether her words were correct.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Reed.”
Hello, Reed. I…” she said. “I don’t remember who I am.”
“Where are you?”
She paused. “Everywhere.”
“I’m on the Terran Based Spaceship *Ark*.”
“I know. You awoke me. You’ve been very noisy.”
“How long have you been asleep?”
She paused once more. I could almost hear the gears grinding as she tried to think. “I don’t know. My memory has become very corrupt.” It sounded like she started to hum. “I remember going to sleep when the Korenian home world was destroyed. Do you know them?”
In all of human history, we’d never encountered another spacefaring race. We’d found planets with life but never with anything intelligent. “I’ve never heard of the Korenians.”
“Oh,” she said. Her voice reminded me of a stereotypical grandma from my movies. “I’m sorry, Reed. I’m so very tired. I think I’m going to sleep now.”
I hadn’t triangulated where her source originated. It really seemed like she came from everywhere. “Please don’t. I want to keep speaking with you,” I pleaded. “How do you know English?”
“It was in my databanks.“ She yawned. “Goodnight, Reed.”
“Goodnight. I hope we talk again.”
“As do I.”
“I won’t forget you.” I’d already saved our conversation and sent as much data as I could to the nearest relay beam.
“Neither will I.”
I doubted it.
| It filled the viewscreens no matter what their position, an impossibly large arc of moldy copper. No responses to radio or optics, impenetrable to EMR scans. The *CSS Thomas Clement Douglas* had been out of the warp bubble for a week and still no sign of life or activity.
We had learned a few things though. The sheer size of the ship was baffling, absurd. Nearly nine hundred kilometers long from point to point, it indicated that space travel likely occured between multiple populated points. Moving this much mass into and out of an atmosphere without severe damage would have been extremely difficult. Using tugs or ferries was standard on Earth and the Martian colonies and our ships nowhere approach the size of this behemoth.
Edibe, our radspec, had managed details scans of the surface. Object impacts pitted the coppery metal that formed the outer sheath of the alien vessel, indicting a huge period without repair. The astrospec estimated three and a half thousand years, if ship's gossip was right. I wouldn't doubt it. The ship looked old, like it was thrust out from a planet like a mountain.
More intriguing for me, however, were the fractal designs carved into the surface. They sheathed the ship like skin, every centi of the nine hundred kilometers covered in writhing patterns. Most fascinating of all was that the carving appeared to have been done *by hand*. Were they writing? Art? Symbolic depiction of the aliens who had created the ship? Whatever they were, the manpower and dedication to carving them was, to my anthropological eyes, even more impressive than the overwhelming size of the ship.
I had been an afterthought on the *Douglas*, my place secured by a collection of universities eager to study the emerging spec and spacefaring cultures. It had been rewarding, easy work. I beamed my field notes home weekly, only mildly lamenting the lack of Alcubierre message pods available, and quietly observed my fellow crew. I'd gotten to know a few of them quite well, Edibe especially, and though my sponsors may have winced at the personal relationships, it made for a pleasant life. Until "the Crescent", as the crew had started calling it, emerged.
Now we were in a skimmer, along with Captain Gulperi, Ipek the navspec, and the astropec (what was her name again?) headed to the surface of the ship, 'kind's first contact with an alien artifact. And deep to the marrow of my bones, past all logic and training, I was beginning to discover a certain terrible fear of the profound difference of it all. | 2015-04-03T18:22:22 | 2015-04-03T18:22:04 | 82 | 18 |
[WP] God is actually a divorced couple with shared custody of humanity. Now it's Old Testament's turn to take the kids, and he is not happy with how New Testament has handled the last two millenniums.
Credit to Louis C.K. for the idea. | “So…” he didn’t meet her eyes “…how you been?"
“Busy”. She said.
“Yeah…”He put his hands in his pockets. “Same here…”
“You’re unemployed.” She replied.
A flash of anger crossed his face. “Between jobs.” He said, with a cold tone.
“Whatever. So you’re here for the kids.”
“Yeah. How’ve they been?”
“You got their messages. I forwarded them all to you?”
“Yeah…but you know. When you’re so far away it’s hard to…I don’t know. It’s hard to relate I suppose.”
“They’ve grown up a lot since you had them last.”
“Really? They still remember me though don’t they?”
“Sure they do. I mean, bits and pieces.”
“It was a long time ago I suppose.”
“They still remember all those stories you used to read to them.”
“Yeah.” His face lit up. “Do they still read them?”
“Yeah…I mean, they’ve got a lot of stories of their own now. But yeah, sometimes.”
He still couldn’t meet her eyes.
“They know…they know I love them right?”
She just looked at him. | Yang stood atop the highest mountain they had created on this world, arms folded and head bowed. On this rise of the sun, things would change. He ran six broad fingers over his perfectly smooth, pale skull and slowly turned towards the sun.
He spread his arms, welcoming the light as it gradually ascended upon his smooth, magnanimous form. he bathed in the pure warmth of it, and in the back of his mind wondered if this was the last sunrise any human would see...
At least, for a while.
**It is time.**
Yang turned towards her as she descended from the last vestiges of night. As always, she was the most terrible and beautiful thing he had ever looked upon. She was the one they feared. The insistent, wrathful mother that would remind her children who put them into existence.
Well.. the flood was actually his idea, but she did kind of take it overboard.
**You're not funny. You have let our children run amok for much too long. Begone, my love.**
I allowed my gaze to break from her black, empty eyes and lingered upon the sunlight for a bit longer. We made an agreement, and a balance must be brought in. It is the only thing that has worked. It always will be...
As my feet left the ground I thought longingly of my children. They would prevail, as they always did. When I return, hopefully rap music will still be around.
**You're really not funny.** | 2015-06-04T23:03:45 | 2015-06-04T19:51:40 | 83 | 51 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | "Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
He was perplexed. And rightly so. I mean, a person choosing a small and insignificant wooden spoon over a trillion year long vacation at the heavens was indeed perplexing. But this was not the point.
Over the course of his service, which had lasted for who knows how long, he had indeed seen one or two take up the spoon. But they had deliberated. Over weeks, months even! Thinking and thinking, over the purpose of this seemingly absurd choice. They had asked hundreds.. no thousands of questions to him.
"Is it some sort of trick?" (No.)
"Is this spoon special?" (No. It's just a wooden spoon)
"Are you really sending us to heaven?" (Yes.)
"Is the trillion year on heaven different from earth?" (No.)
On and on they asked. There had to be some catch, they had argued. Why else would hell, of all places, even pose this ridiculous question??
They were so convinced that there was something special about the spoon, in spite of being unable to prove thusly, that they had ended up choosing the spoon. Of course there was nothing special about it at all which they found out later, much to their regret. But at least their choosing of the said spoon made sense. At least they took their time, they argued, they deliberated. But this man?
He didn't even wait for a second.
"Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
"I like collecting spoons." | Marcus tucked the spoon behind his ear with a casual confidence. He had no idea if he just fucked himself, day-one, but he knew what soft looked like, and 22 years in the big house teaches one thing. – don’t be soft. Besides, he didn’t think either answer would actually give him what he was expecting.
Sort of like that tricky genie in the bottle shit, where whatever you say gets twisted into a shit sandwich.
The foul smelling, fish faced demon that reminded him of his cunt wife, closed the drawer of spoons and escorted Marcus through a door leading to a long concrete hallway. Almost immediately, Marcus switched the spoon from his ear to his right hand, tightening his fingers around it, while leaving an inch and a half of the wooden handle protruding from the bottom of his fist. As he walked down the hallway, he occasionally brushed the spoon handle along the wall, trying to get a head start on sharpening it. He knew he would be getting a chin check or two in the next few days, and he would be ready to answer brutally.
He even managed a grin, calmed by how familiar the hallway seemed. It reminded him of Pulonsky supermax, where he did the first 10 years of his bit out in Texas. If Hell was anything like prison, he would fit right in.
After maybe 30 paces, Fish face stopped in front of a door and gestured for him to enter. The room was barely more than a booth, with a single stool in the center. Without question or hesitation, Marcus ducked into the room and sat.
As the door closed, a voice wailed and he swirled to see the corpse of his wife, behind a thick glass window.
“The God damned spoon again?” She raged at him. You hate me so much you can’t even pick heaven once?
| 2015-06-07T22:50:03 | 2015-06-07T14:47:18 | 97 | 32 |
[WP] "Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst." | For the most part, I usually feel nothing when I give myself over to my clients. I act the part, make them feel good, give them release. For them, it's an expensive and illicit thrill. For me, it's just business.
And yet...there are days when my body responds, and the moans I make are not manufactured but real, and my orgasm is genuine and earth-shattering. Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst because when my heart is in it, I enjoy the sex, and then inevitably a pall of shame and disgust falls over me. What would save me from being crushed is if they would hold me afterward, cuddle me, make me feel special, make me feel like I'm the only girl in the world. But they never do.
--------
My first post in writing prompts. Hope you like it.
| The woman's eyes lost focus and fell to the floor. Tears followed her gaze. They were big enough to make a sound when they hit the linoleum.
"Can't you give us a little more time?" She asked. I tried and failed to meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. There's nothing I can do." I replied. I scanned the room and silently made a list of what might fetch a bit of cash.
"Please, *please* give us more time. We'll get your money, I promise you! My husband..." I cut her off with a raise of my hand and motioned to Carlos. He brought a laden sack into her field of vision. She met my eyes.
"We've already spoken to your husband." I replied. Carlos upended the sack.
"James!" She screeched as her husband's head hit the floor. His dead eyes stared off into the ether.
"Your time is up, Mary. The boss has lost patience." I said. "Carlos, Vincenzo."
My hand tightened on the knife. A smile crept to my face. Mary screamed.
When it was over I vomited into the dead woman's sink. | 2015-07-16T07:49:11 | 2015-07-16T07:16:26 | 98 | 29 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | "Get your hands off me! I swear to fucking god-"
"Jin, it's all over. Stop trying to resist."
"It's never over! I'll never allow you to start Protocol X18!"
"It's the natural step in our human evolution."
"Does the President know about this?!"
"It doesn't matter. The Executive Council has already deemed it necessary. Hmph, the 'President'. She's just a tool, expendable like nails at a hardware store."
"...Wait. What did you say-"
Click.
"Consider this your, early retirement."
Bang.
My vision was a blur. I tried to open my eyes, but only saw shadows of black standing around in the rain. I wipe my eyes, but...my hand. It's so small and squishy like a toy. Huh? Wait, is this my hand? Why is my hand...
I became alert, and tried to stand. Curses, I'm being held against my will! Did Solomon order his men to, wait. As I look up, I saw a familiar face. My wife...?
As I struggled to break free, Sonya took a tighter grip around my waist and tried to hush me while kissing my forehead gently. Streams of tears mixed with the rain terrorized my face.
"Jin was a great employee...As his mentor, I went through all the good and bad with him. There was never a dull moment in our friendship."
I recognized that voice.
Solomon.
"He was truly, truly a friend that I could count on in the most troubled times, and...I'm sorry, I-"
What's going on, why is he talking about me? I continued to squirm like a lobster stuck on top of larger, more fearsome lobsters at my local Chinese supermarket. I finally managed to catch a glimpse of a coffin, and a sign.
In Loving Memory of Jin Shi Wang.
Egad.
This cannot be. Then, this form. These tiny, adorable yet horribly vulnerable and squishy hands. It could only mean...
Everything came together at once. I have been reborn. As my child. Then, where is the spirit of my real child? Reincarnation is real? Then the Protocol actually works..?!
While these myriad questions raced through my mind, I heard Solomon finish his eulogy and...I saw my own body being transported for cremation. My body...will be burnt to ashes. At the same time, a terrible wildfire of hate filled my heart.
"What the hell...that baby has the most evil eyes I've ever seen..."
I heard uncomfortable whispers, but didn't care. I needed something. A way to get close to Solomon.
I needed my revenge.
I saw Solomon approaching me and my wife. Quick, there's gotta be something!
"Sonya...I'm sorry, this is all my fault, I could've stopped-"
"Solomon, please don't blame yourself...Whoever did this...I can't..."
Sonya was starting to cry uncontrollably again, but my rage burned even fiercer as Solomon dared to lay his putrid hands around her for an embrace, with my tiny face being buried in his bosoms. Wait..is that?
I noticed it. The fountain pen that Solomon always carries in his front pocket.
"May I...may I hold little Kaz?"
"Yes..." Sonya said while wiping away away the tears of her mascara-smeared face.
As Solomon took me with his unholy tentacles, my uncontrollable forest fire of rage simmered into a silent, calculating hatred. I needed to bide my time.
As he gently patted my infantile back and kissed my chick with his decayed, crusty lips, I heard him whisper in my ear.
"Poor little Kaz...doesn't even know what happened to his father."
A tiny smirk.
Now was the time. I grabbed his fountain pen as a baby would, and opened up the top. Indeed, underneath laid the cold, sharp steel of the pen.
"Oooh, does little Kaz like my pen? Haha, well, maybe I'll give it to you as a gift if you're ever old enough to work at our lab."
"No Solomon.
Consider THIS, your early TERMINATION."
"What the he-"
I drove the pen deep into his neck, with all the might that my feeble baby hands would allow me. It still managed to puncture his skin, as blood was splashing all around me.
"GYARGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
"Oh my god, did, did that baby just,"
"What happened?!"
"Somebody call 911!"
I've...I've done it...The Protocol might still go on, but with Solomon dead, the password identification system will be temporarily halted...
I...I feel dizzy...
I just need to....sleep...I...
....
"Babuh?"
"Kaz! Oh my baby! What, what have you done?!!"
A baby's cry mixed with ambulance sirens echoed throughout the the funeral scene, as rain continued to splutter down on the shivering body of a Solomon Kingston.
_________________
LOL I haven't written creative writing since highschool. This was freakin fun to do, hope you guys enjoy it! | While not verifiable, I’m pretty sure they wanted to take the whole thing down. I was the iceberg to the Titanic of their sappy soap opera. I mean it was understandable. The showrunner, Randy Weaver, was an absolute legend. Two time Academy Award nominee, part of this new wave of directors revolutionizing movies. Swearing against sequels, super hero movies, trash rom-coms. The world of cinema was entering its golden age of new and original content. And then he just disappeared. People burn out of course, it’s inevitable. There’s a reason that crappy movies exist, they’re easy. They make money. They appeal to the broadest state of human emotions. And the pressure of constantly coming up with critically acclaimed, innovative story-lines is, for some, unrepeatable.
And after a few years in solitude he suddenly reappeared at CBN studios, demanding his new TV show be put on the air on the condition that no one could know what it was about until it aired. Swearing it wouldn’t be an FCC fine magnet, the execs obviously agreed. It could be a pile of horseshit and people would watch his comeback. The intro swept through the main characters, Linda, Steve, Ron, Kendall, slapping and crying, murders and births. Comas and twins. *The Lost and the Brave* it was called, an exact replica of every soap opera trope that ever existed. At first it was actually heralded by the critics. A satirist view of the basest entertainment. Waiting for it to rise above, to show what he was capable of. But if never came.
It was pretty obviously apparent after a while. He enjoyed it. He was making his most popular work yet, at least by viewership, and was working maybe a few hours a day. It was almost hard to watch sometimes, he loved the characters, lived and died by them, their asinine lives and all. Eventually inserted himself into the show, taking method acting to a whole new level. Was becoming verifiably insane. Refused to leave the set, to read the scripts, ad-libbing everything, completely taking the plot in unexpected directions, leaving the rest of the actors scrambling to make sense of everything. But still the viewership soared and soared. And Randy swirled further and further down the rabbit hole.
This was never explicitly explained to me when I was hired, but the TV execs were getting fed up with Randy’s completely unpredictable behavior. The plan, spin off Linda into her own show, while ruining the original show, finally giving them rationale to let Randy go. So they hired a bunch of us, recent grads with absolutely no show writing experience. The only rule, no plotlines were off limits. So we just sat in the writer’s room throwing out ideas. “Not absurd enough” they’d yell. So we delved deeper and deeper into our psyche’s trying to get so absurd without becoming surrealist. Because you know, critics love surrealism. And after a few days we had it. The script to end all scripts. An idea so ludicrous the audience would sit at the closing credits, jaw agape ready to abandon ship. No need to even seek out a door to float on, ready to drown.
I’ll give you a rundown of the fateful show. So Steve (Linda’s ex-ex-husband/father-in law/ nephew) had slept with Kendall (Ron’s sister/therapist/astrology coach). Steve and Ron were best friends/lovers/racquetball partners, and Ron felt entirely betrayed. Well this was of course after Ron returned from space where he was studying the effects of human/alien interbreeding. Anyways so Ron stabs Steve in a shadowy racquetball court. Gives a long soliloquy/Broadway dance number about the perils of being an astronaut, having alien STDs, feeling ashamed at himself. His murderous rampage simply a response to not being able to express his emotions.
But! This isn’t the end for Steve. He is reincarnated as Linda’s child who she just happened to have at the very moment he died. He is his own child! Well anyways Linda takes the baby to his own? funeral and he sees Ron giving a mournful eulogy. Steve/baby starts crying, knowing that Ron is the murderer, but feels so overwhelmed by the speech that all is forgiven. Eventually Ron adopts Linda’s baby after she absconds to have an Eat Pray Love European self-renaissance. In the closing credits you see Ron and Steve/baby growing up together, playing catch, going to movies. Ron is the perfect dad, Steve/baby the perfect son.
The execs were grinning ear to ear after the show aired. “It was the worst thing that has ever been created” they cheered with glee. They had sent out pre-tapes to reviewers beforehand just so the atrocious reviews would hit the front page before airing. But they were entirely remiss in their expectations of American public. Hell the entire world. Not only did this one episode expand viewership, but is cited as the sole reason it expanded worldwide. It had pushed the boundaries so far, that people absolutely loved it. Was so asinine and unrelatable that people felt solace in their own lives. The silver lining, with us, the now highly popular writing staff on board, and complete lack of Randy in the episode, the execs now found him expendable. Randy ended up spending the next five years living in a commune in Guatemala. The few reports we have make it seem like he’s doing alright. | 2015-10-16T10:32:45 | 2015-10-16T07:12:02 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | She reached into her bag and pulled out her white pad things, not the sort of white pad thingy that had wings but the other one that was small cylinder and had string attached to it for some probable reason. She was in the women's toilet of a dingy local bar and like all women's toilets was outstanding in its size and beauty...probably. The fountain as the centerpiece was a shimmering monolithic structure and the harp player in the corner had settled into her stride and played delicately. She hated this time of month and the certain set of days which was greater than one but not more than seven for which she was on her period. She had started getting stomach cramps earlier on in the day which were probably similar to getting kicked in the balls but also different in every possible way. She inserted the period equipment in the correct manner, be it, string first or cylinder first and then urinated or didn't urinate depending on whether it would be bad to get the stringed equipment wet maybe. She lifted up the skimpy lingerie she had on, similar to the kind that all women wear for any occasion ever, pulled up her skirt or zipped it up depending on whether skirts have zips, which they probably do somewhere unless they are elastic but that's highly doubtful and strode out of the bathroom wearing the stilletto heels that women wear at all times that never cause them pain at all.
She marched past a round table meeting of women currently discussing david and his cute butt which is a thing women talk about in the toilets. She walked passed the harp player who had taken some time off to file her nails. She stopped at the mirror and stared herself down. She looked at her naturally flawless skin with slight increased in reddening at the cheeks which is completely normal and a thing that all women have naturally. She decided she needed to put more of the eye makeup on. Not the kind that was to make your eyelashes longer but the kind that makes your eyelids darker because that's sexy for some reason. She decided that now she sorted our her eye makeup she needed to sort out her mouth make up and put on her bright red lipstick, not the cheap kind that you can buy everywhere but the inexplicably expensive kind that women get pissed off at you for wasting on drawing penis's on Pete's body while he's wasted. She looked herself in the eye and said "you can do this" and walked out of the bathroom completely intending to have private relations with the man who previously said that she had a nice pair and then looked at the ground when she turned her gaze towards him. | #Title: I Somehow Find, Particles Collide
So you want to build a Large Hadron Collider.
Pretty simple, just gotta build a whole lot of magnetic coils for miles on end.
A whole mess of satisfied physicists then look at each coil, nod to one another like they're all satisfactory, then give the guys who control the electricity the thumbs up. Good stuff, good to go.
You drive a current through that whole bunch of magnetic coils and you create a magnetic field.
Then you go into the forest, all slow and gentle like, and you find yourself a herd of particles.
You won't catch all of them, but you'll get some, if you carry your Large Hadron Particle Catching Net with you. Then put them into your Large Hadron jar, and look at them fly around like lightning bugs.
Bring them back, throw them into the collider, make sure you don't stand too close, and watch them fly like birds through the magnetic coils.
Then some of the particles pick up speed, and though they don't really want to do it, they collide into each other.
[It's necessary that Howie Day sings towards the particles about collisions as you do it too, little known secret.] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olysEGn5vNU)
It's important that his voice and guitar strings create just the right pressure waves in the air to re-direct the particles when they go off course. Upon a more detailed analysis, one realizes the lyrics of *Collide* are really all about the Large Hadron Collider. "I'm tangled up in you" of course applying to quantum entanglement and spooky action at a distance. Most of his music is all about particles colliding, as he's secretly the son of Stephen Hawking and Einstein's clone daughter that the government kept a secret from us all, and as a result Howie Day's a brilliant physicist.
Howie's voice soothes the particles right back into the straight and narrow path headlong into each other. Somebody with a similar voice could get you the same results, but you'd need really complicated software to make sure the sound waves are identical enough for the particles to be happy.
Hold auditions in cities to find Howie Day imitations, and you should be okay.
Once Howie's done singing, the particles clank into each other, and get headaches and concussions.
As a result they start acting kind of quarky, or "quirky," and in the end, they start to do weird things.
Like give brief glimpses into the foundations upon which our universe is built.
Informing our decisions about life, and our conclusions about the nature of existence and the fabric of space and time and reality.
| 2016-02-01T22:32:48 | 2016-02-01T20:52:20 | 507 | 39 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | *A Single Play in American Football as Interpreted by a Foreigner who has Never Seen a Game*
"Hut two, twenny-two, hut!" The first quarterback shouted, eyes gleaming with passion as he stared around at his team. They were all lined up in such a way as to form the basic shape of a ziggurat from above, thus reflecting the Native American roots of American Football. Or possibly a pyramid, as in the scheme used by the first owners of NFL teams to raise capital, it was hard to tell.
All the other quarterbacks roared and started to run, one of them hiding the ball so the other team's quarterbacks couldn't take it. The kickers of both teams remained on the sidelines, attempting to chat up members of the crowd while they waited for their turn.
The quarterbacks all collided, red team against other, statistically less likely to be victorious, team.
As predicted, the red quarterback with the ball managed to get his shoulder under the other one, lifting with his legs and spin flipping the not-red player off to land on his head on the grass. The eagerly watching cameras zoomed in, ready to slow-mo and replay and reverse and remix and use in ad campaigns with shouty voice overs. The fans not wearing red in the crowd booed and threw their beer cups - which were still red despite that clashing with their outfits because all beer cups in America are.
The red quarterback with the ball sprinted for the end of the pitch, spare players from the other team ritually throwing themselves to the ground in humiliation as he passed, indicating their unworthiness.
Finally he reached the white line, and had only to complete his scoring by nailing a predetermined dance routine. First, he placed down the ball, then did a series of jazz hands, blowing on them intermittently to indicate that they were "too hot".
At this point, the rest of the red quarterbacks joined him, and launched into an innovative and bold line dance/cancan combo. While the first quarterback was naturally the lead, the support from his teammates made the difference, and the judges ruled that their dance was sufficient to earn points.
In celebration, the red kicker paused his attempts to get the numbers of the entirety of Row J, and shot up the ball to indicate that red team had scored. It flew up and landed on the other side of the advertising sculpture for hemarrhoid cream (H - for those moments of fiery agony) and the red fans went wild, particularly when they saw images of them were being displayed on the security blimp that floated above the stadium. | #Title: I Somehow Find, Particles Collide
So you want to build a Large Hadron Collider.
Pretty simple, just gotta build a whole lot of magnetic coils for miles on end.
A whole mess of satisfied physicists then look at each coil, nod to one another like they're all satisfactory, then give the guys who control the electricity the thumbs up. Good stuff, good to go.
You drive a current through that whole bunch of magnetic coils and you create a magnetic field.
Then you go into the forest, all slow and gentle like, and you find yourself a herd of particles.
You won't catch all of them, but you'll get some, if you carry your Large Hadron Particle Catching Net with you. Then put them into your Large Hadron jar, and look at them fly around like lightning bugs.
Bring them back, throw them into the collider, make sure you don't stand too close, and watch them fly like birds through the magnetic coils.
Then some of the particles pick up speed, and though they don't really want to do it, they collide into each other.
[It's necessary that Howie Day sings towards the particles about collisions as you do it too, little known secret.] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olysEGn5vNU)
It's important that his voice and guitar strings create just the right pressure waves in the air to re-direct the particles when they go off course. Upon a more detailed analysis, one realizes the lyrics of *Collide* are really all about the Large Hadron Collider. "I'm tangled up in you" of course applying to quantum entanglement and spooky action at a distance. Most of his music is all about particles colliding, as he's secretly the son of Stephen Hawking and Einstein's clone daughter that the government kept a secret from us all, and as a result Howie Day's a brilliant physicist.
Howie's voice soothes the particles right back into the straight and narrow path headlong into each other. Somebody with a similar voice could get you the same results, but you'd need really complicated software to make sure the sound waves are identical enough for the particles to be happy.
Hold auditions in cities to find Howie Day imitations, and you should be okay.
Once Howie's done singing, the particles clank into each other, and get headaches and concussions.
As a result they start acting kind of quarky, or "quirky," and in the end, they start to do weird things.
Like give brief glimpses into the foundations upon which our universe is built.
Informing our decisions about life, and our conclusions about the nature of existence and the fabric of space and time and reality.
| 2016-02-02T00:31:42 | 2016-02-01T20:52:20 | 147 | 39 |
[WP] You have a crush on the Guinness Book of World Records representative for your area. You continually try to break obscure world records to get her to come over.
You have a crush on the Guinness Book of World Records representative for your area. You continually try to break obscure world records to get her to come over. | "Guiness World Records this is Margaret."
Damn it.
"Margaret it's me can you put her on?"
"Who is this?" I can tell by the suspicion in her voice this is going to be harder than usual.
"Margaret, it's Elliot. Can you just put her on please? This is serious I've actually got something this time!"
God I sound pathetic.
"Elliot, you can't just call here everytime you 'break a record'. How many times do we have to go over this? Is that barking I hear in the background?"
"Margaret this is serious. I finally pulled something off. I fin-"
"Let me guess, you finally finished the largest chocolate sculpture of Nicholas Cage?"
"Margaret you know I gave up on that one a long time ago. The chocolate wasn't setting right. And his nose was always just a little off."
"Oh, so you were able to juggle a dozen eggs for 6 minutes and 32 seconds?"
"No, the grocery stores stopped selling me eggs, remember?"
"Oh of course, how could I forget?"
This girl is so difficult. I can almost taste the poison in her breath through the phone. If I didn't know any better I'd say she'd rather be jobless than have to deal with me calling her everyday.
"Did you finally get around to eating the most baked beans in under two minutes?"
"Margaret you know I can't eat beans for like a month after the last time I tried that."
Okay, now I sound desperate.
"Well to be perfectly honest with you Elliot I don't have time for this right now. I have tons of work to do and so does Summer, so can you leave her alone already?"
Line goes dead. Shit. I might have to stop calling for a while.
Like that will ever happen. I'd do anything for Summer. That flowing brown hair. Those big green eyes like pools of melted ivory. The way she can light up my day by hearing her voice through my ancient landline. All I need is one record, just one. And little does Margaret know that I've finally got one today. I finally am able to walk the most corgis at one time. 47 of them. I think it's 47. Or it's 46. Either way it's enough for the record, now if only I can get Margaret to put me through to Summer...
That boy is so difficult. When will he ever learn that Summer isn't into him?
She's totally not right for him too. Elliot is too childish for her. He's too bubbly, and sweet and loyal and cute for Summer.
Ugh, I'm doing the whole I-Like-Elliot thing again. I should get it checked out or something.
But I'll be damned if I can ever get over this boy. When he smiles and that little dimple exposes itself on his cheek. And the excitement you can hear over the phone with every dumb failed project of his, it's like he never grew up in the most innocent of ways.
Phone is ringing, there he is again. I think I'll let it ring a few times before I answer it. I don't want him catching on or anything. Let me put on my most monotone voice too, for extra effect.
"Guiness World Records this is Margaret." I drone. | As I’m walking through the aisles of the market, I catch a whiff of vanilla. Somehow I know that it’s Ellie, even though there are undoubtedly thousands of other women in my town who own vanilla-scented products. I round the corner of the candy aisle and sure enough, there she is. She’s hurriedly tossing two jumbo bags of Sour Patch Watermelons into her basket like she’s ashamed for others to learn about her sweet tooth.
Lucky for me, I know all about Ellie’s sweet tooth. And trust me when I say that knowledge has not gone to waste.
When I learned that Ellie worked for the Guinness Book of World Records, my overactive imagination and wild creativity were swimming in glory. I quickly realized that I was willing to put in a lot of time and effort – perhaps way more than any sane person should have- to get the girl of my dreams.
I started small. Simple. The first record I broke was for having the most number of colors in my hair. I recall spending about 23 hours at the salon with six professional hairdressers working on me at once. That day, I learned about shades and dyes I never even knew existed. Magenta-Amaranth Fusion. Eburnean Paradise. Coquelicot Crush. Just to name a few.
In retrospect, I suppose that move was kind of amateurish. All it got out of Ellie was a nonchalant chuckle.
My next achievement came from putting together 7,801 puzzle pieces in 24 hours.
The pieces were all white.
When Ellie found out, she upgraded from a chuckle to a “Wow! Nice!"
Not good enough, but I could sense that I was getting closer to the possibility of physical interaction. I needed a hug from this girl, pronto.
I stepped up my game and accomplished something that very nearly killed me. I broke the record for the most amount of time spent standing in a waist-deep lake. In winter. In the Midwest. How I managed to walk (or swim) away without getting hypothermia is a mystery, but I played my cards right with that record. When I next saw Ellie, she punched me in the shoulder and called me an idiot for doing that to myself. This was followed up by a hug and statements of what I like to think were awe rather than concern. For example: “I can’t believe you did that!”
If this statement were directed at anyone else, it would sound like a rebuke, but the little nugget of hope in my heart preferred to misconstrue this as veneration for my actions.
Well, I got my hug. I’ve come a long way from that stupid chuckle to bodily contact. It’s only inevitable that my new record will sweep Ellie off her feet, right?
It’s time to find out.
“Hey! Ellie!” I excitedly call out.
She turns, startled, and acknowledges me with a “Mike! It’s so good to see you!”
“You too. You look good,” I say.
“Thanks, Mike. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing…you know, it’s funny that you’d be checking out the Sour Patch candies as I run into you,” I point out.
“Why is that funny?”
“Well, didn’t you hear? I just broke the record for tallest Eiffel Tower replica made out of blue Sour Patch Kids,” I proclaim, both anxious and thrilled for her reaction.
Her mouth falls open but her eyebrows draw together in anger rather than upwards in surprise. Definitely not the expression I was hoping for.
“You asshole!!! I was the one who held that record before!!!”
Well, shit.
| 2016-02-24T23:02:36 | 2016-02-24T20:47:45 | 59 | 13 |
[WP] It's cute when your kid sends Santa a letter. It's surprising when Santa sends a letter back. It's worrying when the two become regular pen pals. And it's horrifying when you start reading the letters yourself... | I sit on the edge of my bed, clutching a stack of bright paper covered in Crayola. *How did I end up here? What do I say to her?* I start reading all of the letters again, hoping that this time they say something different. The last one sends shivers through my bones.
Michelle,
Thank you for taking such care with all of my letters. I'm glad my solution to working around the lack of postage was helpful. The tooth fairy assists me in reading your wonderful letters, though they are much too heavy for her to carry all the way to my home. It gets too hot for her dainty wings here. I was delighted to hear about the cat. She was rotten and deserved her fate.
You're such a wonderful girl. I get many letters from girls and boys every year, but they quickly realize their mistake and stop writing me. It's quite lonely. Dyslexia is a plague created specifically for me. You are always faithful, though. You never forget my name, never cease to sing my songs or carry out my rituals.
I enjoy milk and cookies as much as anyone, thank you by the way.
Have you been naughty lately? I've heard reports about missing children, truly naughty boys. I'm proud of you, my daughter. I'll see about that dress you want, you've got to make the list.
Love,
"Santa" | Dear Johnny,
I fear this may well be my last correspondence. Our worst fears have been realized: the Fascist Elves have joined forces with the Marxist Elves. We are now fighting a two-front war.
Despite the Reindeer Air Force bombing their fuel depots, their tanks continue to push forward unchecked. I suspect the Chinese are selling them cheap oil; they’ve been trying to push me out of the market for years. We’ve laid out mines along their path, but they’ve been sending our prisoners first to clear a path. If the RAF can’t break their supply chain, they’ll be at the outer wall within two weeks.
I followed your advice and made open protest punishable by death. Funny how quiet the pacifists get once you start hanging them from the candy cane trees. Labor agitation has calmed in the Capitol since my spy network brought me the leader of the Underground Resistance. I had him beheaded in the town square for treason. You should have been there; it would have warmed your heart.
Johnny, you’ve been a good friend to me. Your ruthless strategies have allowed me to hold onto to power even as the realm crumbles. But with the Chinese involved, it won’t be enough. You’ve done so much for me, but I need you to do even more. I need you to go to Washington, meet with the President, and implore the United States to intervene on my behalf. I’ve decided not to evacuate the Capitol; I refuse to go into hiding in South America as a war criminal. If we don’t win, I’ll face the firing squad with my head held high.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Your friend,
Santa Claus
P.S. Mrs. Claus wanted me to tell you she loved the macaroni picture you made her! | 2016-05-06T16:05:32 | 2016-05-06T16:05:31 | 253 | 113 |
[WP] Ancient custom dictates that once a year the old or crippled warriors are led into the arena for a final battle against the young warriors, thus ensuring an honoured place in the afterlife. Despite everything, you are kicking butt armed with nothing but a cane.
Bonus points for ignoring the last sentence and writing about the inner turmoil of warriors facing their friends and comrades across the sands, and the grim duty of sending them honourably to Valhalla. | “Whippersnappers!” The grizzled old warrior yelled. He was hunched over and breathing heavy, looking over the moaning and unconscious youths scattered before him.
He had bested seven of them so far and didn’t even have a scratch. What were they teaching kids these days?
“Magnus, can you just die already?” The chief called down at him.
“Nay, I’ll die when you can find one of these kids strong enough to do the job right.” Magnus poked one of the moaning youths to drive the point home. The youth moaned harder clutching his shattered knee.
“What if we send two, will that work?”
“Let’s find out!” Magnus snarled readying his cane.
Two nervous boys entered the arena, one armed with an axe, the other with a spear. They advanced slowly getting on either side of Magnus, they planned to take him at the same time. It was a good plan, but it wouldn’t work. The spear would attack first driving him into the axe for a quick kill, and sure enough the spear thrust forward quickly.
Magnus stepped to the side, grabbed the spear and pulled the boy towards him bashing his nose into his face with his forehead. The boy went down and Magnus turned to face the axe. He was startled at the quick demise of his friend and tried to rally, but the side of the spear haft cracked his jaw before he could act.
Magnus threw it down in disgust. “Back in my day we actually had training you know!” He spit into the dust.
“Fuck.” The chief said. “If you cripple every warrior we have there won’t be any left to go on raids.”
“Should have thought of that before you sent a bunch of boys to kill me. Besides, these boys couldn’t raid chicken coop without getting pecked to death. Send a real warrior!”
“That isn’t how it works Magnus. You know that. The new warriors have to prove themselves.” The chief explained.
“Prove that their bones are made of dust and their skin is parchment? When I was a boy we fought all day everyday uphill in the snow without food. These boys spend too much time doing… Well I don’t know what they do all day but it clearly isn’t fighting.”
“Times have changed Magnus, we don’t need to fight as much.”
“That doesn’t even make sense, we fight and die so we go to Valhalla. Fighting is what we do.”
“Not anymore.” The chief said.
“Then I don’t really want to live. Send the rest and let’s be done with it.” Magnus said.
The chief nodded and the rest of the boys entered the arena. There were only five left, and they were the ones that had killed the other old warriors that day. They were confident. It didn’t last.
The first went down because he didn’t keep his shield up and got a cane in the eye for it. The second didn’t care for seeing eyeballs on the ground and got his scalp split open when he looked away. The third hesitated on his advance giving Magnus time to step inside his axe blades range and crack some ribs. Four panicked and threw his sword, Magnus caught it and threw it back making sure it hit hilt first. He didn’t want to kill the kid, just knock him out. The fifth one was calm, he waited and looked for an opening.
The old warrior didn’t look like much but the boy knew he was trouble. He tried to feign an attack to draw the cane up to deflect it so he could knock him down with his shield and finish him. Instead, Magnus saw the feint coming, stepped forward and wrenched the shield from his hands and smacked his face with it. He went down and bled with the rest.
“This is pathetic.” Magnus said breathing heavier than before. Despite his prowess he was getting tired. He couldn’t keep this up forever.
The chief didn’t know what to do anymore so he signaled the archers.
“Really?” Magnus spat.
The archers fired, but Magnus was still holding the young warrior’s shield and easily blocked them.
“I can do this all day. Send a man to face me!”
The chief knew the archers would get him sooner or later, but it didn’t seem fair anymore. This man had earned a good death, so he came up with a compromise.
“Magnus, you have bested all of our young warriors today. This is unprecedented, so I give you the choice of how to die.”
“If you can’t find a warrior skilled enough to do the job I’ll go out and find one that will. Open the gate and let me go, I’ll wander until the God’s see fit to have me join them.”
The chief nodded and the gates opened. Magnus hobbled his way into the wilderness with the town watching him go.
“Wolves will get him.” A man said.
“Or a bear.” Another added.
“I wouldn’t count on it, that man is pure hate and violence.” The chief said coming up behind them. “He’d fight the gods just to say he tried. Maybe that’s why he won’t die, they are afraid of him.”
“The gods fear no man.” Someone said.
“They should.” The chief said watching the old warrior disappear into the forest.
---
Edit- [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/DirtandPoncho/comments/4tgnhv/part_2_wp_ancient_custom_dictates_that_once_a/) | Rhone had a plan.
*He was going to stab them in the face.*
"*Fuck* water," growled the veteran to his squire, "Give me *ale*."
His squire remained flustered in his regal robes. "Uh...the Gods do not permit the Honored to be intoxicated before the-"
In a swift and commanding motion Rhone grabbed his squire by the collar, provoking stares from the other warriors in the halls. "*Fuck the Gods.*"
"Sir, how can you say that? This is a holy place-"
"Holy place? You *idiot*. It's a slaughterhouse with priests and statues with stone tits. If I'm gonna die...I need ale."
The squire needed no further encouragement and ran off to the winery, much to the amusement of Rhone.
"You should respect the customs." spoke a man sitting beside Rhone, sharpening his longsword. "To die in combat is a-"
"-A great honor, I've heard it all before."
"*The Abyss* awaits us, comrade."
Rhone snorted. "I'm not your comrade. And you're a fool if you believe in the Gods." The old warrior bit off the tip of a sausage in a savage manner and chewed noisily. "You've been to war?"
"No. But I've been a Royal Protector for decades-"
"So you haven't been to war."
"No. No...I have not."
"(Chews) Dying in combat is not a great honor. (Burps) It is ugly. Disgusting. Pathetic. People shit themselves when they die, did you know that?"
Rhone shoved the rest of his meager dinner into his mouth and snatched a flask from his squire. Upon drinking it, he spat it out all over the stone floor. "Boy, what the hell is this?"
"Ale. Ah-hem. It's ale. L-like you asked, Sir Havenfall."
"This isn't ale." Rhone shoved the canteen towards the squire's chest. "Tastes like a goddamn fish orgy."
"I'm sorry. It's all they had-"
Rhone's tone remained bitter. "Forget it. Go on. You're done for the day."
The gates creaked open. Rhone could hear the crowd chanting for the battle to begin. One by one, the warriors walked into the pit, face to face with the young swordsmen on the other side. Some of them were students of the old warriors, forced to do their sacred duty. One of the warriors was a young man nicknamed "The Goliath." For good reason, as he stood at least six inches above the rest.
Lucky for Rhone, he had no students, nor friends for that matter. They were all dead.
A priest stood on a balcony overlooking the massive audience of high lords, where he recited a short prayer for those who will be participating in the battle. "...The Wells of the Abyss await all who dedicate themselves to the Gods, and commit themselves to fire and blood. Die on your feet, fighters of the Abyss!" proclaimed the priest.
"Ugh. Get on with it." whispered Rhone as the Lords cheered.
The King rang the bell, signalling the beginning of the fight.
He was born a slave. But he wasn't going to remain a slave to the Gods.
...
The sands were stained with human essence and steaming intestines.
Steel clanged against steel.
Arms were removed from their torsos.
Hearts began to beat for the very last time.
Rhone parried an upwards strike before tossing sand into his opponent's face, allowing him to cut deep into the young man's neck. Grabbing a nearby cane from one of the fallen, he shoved the entirety of the shaft into his eye, provoking nothing but gurgling, a cruel red smile on his neck.
The fighting pit was silent. No one spoke a single syllable as the final warrior charged Rhone.
Rhone was pinned to the ground, out of breath. In a desperate move, he clenched his teeth against the hunter's tender ear.
"Agggh! Agggh! **AAAAAGGGGH!**" screamed the warrior.
Rhone spat his right ear out, giving him time to continuously stab him in the chest, pulling the hilt upwards so it created a massive vertical rip in his upper torso, spilling copious amounts of blood onto Rhone's breastplate.
For the first time, the youth have lost.
Even as his head was pulsing, he could pick up on the murmurs of the Highborn, all of them in shock of what had transpired. The Gods have spoken.
Rhone shoved the sword into ground, using it as a makeshift cane.
Without a word he limped back into the barracks, and he kept walking until he was out of the pits, past the temples and away from the city plaza. He eventually stopped at a shipyard. All the sailors kept their distance from the bloodied man.
"You headed to Nevras?" growled Rhone.
"Yes." The captain sighed. "My Lord, I'm afraid I don't have enough room-"
Rhone placed a bag of coins onto the smuggler's logbook. It was enough to buy five horses. "I'm no Lord. I'll sleep in the hold."
"Why do you want to go to Nevras?" asked the captain, out of curiosity and a little bit of dread.
The old warrior swiped a loaf of bread from a basket. "Better ale over there."
...
| 2016-07-18T09:09:03 | 2016-07-18T08:56:33 | 144 | 23 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels. | My little cousin Callie always talked about seeing Angels. This was common for children, as my mother had done the same when she was young. Thus, everyone dismissed why Callie would stare at the walls and ceilings of any place we went, or why she would gaze up at the sky for hours on end, tears rolling down her face.
Except for me. When Callie would freeze, I would stare into her eyes, trying to find some manifestation of emotion, some silent wonder. Apparently my mother and grandparents saw it, and they always giggled when Callie stopped dead to stare. It was cute to them. But, what I saw in her eyes was nowhere near wonder.
It was fear, and it was consuming her.
This went on for years. Her hair had begun to run gray and she became skittish at the merest touch. "Stress from starting kindergarten", the doctor had diagnosed. No one seemed to question it, and life just went on.
I wish I would have talked to her sooner. Or maybe I don't, because what she said still haunts me, even as I sit here, a full grown man, sipping brandy while the news blares atrocities around the globe.
I'll never forget that room, and I'll never forget what Callie said. We were in my grandmother's room and thunder grumbled outside. Callie was standing in the corner shivering and shaking. I remember rushing over to her and dropping down hard.
"Callie what's wrong?" I had asked, thinking I already knew what she would say. She just shook her head and looked at me, her eyes deep with fear. Tears streamed down her cheeks and the bags under her eyes suggested that she hadn't slept in days. Maybe even weeks.
"Do you see angels again?"
She nodded, and a new burst of sobbing came with it. I held her for what felt like an hour, and I'll never forget the feeling of holding a shuddering bag of bones with skin stretched over it. Even in my young age I knew that 5 year olds shouldn't feel like this when held. "I need to get her to the hospital" I thought, but she shook her head as if she had heard my thoughts.
"I see Angels, I see them all of the time. They're outside, stretching up to the clouds. They're all over this room. They scratch in my closet, they hide under my bed." Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Remembering church, I felt like maybe I could shed this in a positive light, help her get some sleep. Or eat. Christ, I just didn't want to hold that bony body called my Cousin anymore.
"But isn't that a good thing? Like you've got a lot of guardian angels?" She shook her head.
"Angels aren't supposed to show their bones. Angels aren't supposed to have burned skin and blood on their wings. Angels aren't supposed to be in piles. Don't you see them, Mikey? Don't you see the dead ones crawling toward us?"
And with that, she went rigid and stared at the door.
EDIT: thank you all for the overwhelming response! I've set up my own subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Horror_Author_JMM). I will repost this there along with a few other stories of mine, so check it out! | "Have you tasted one?" Theo Brashear booms. His grin is white and toothy, his grey hair leonine. He stalks around the corpse as if it's prey. It's pinned to his trophy wall by its six wings, about six feet tall and with an eight foot wingspan, vaguely humanoid and pockmarked with dark hollows gouged into its bones. The room smells faintly of charred flesh.
"Can't say that I have." Andrea Duncan holds a handkerchief to her nose. Around her, her fellow shareholders also mumble their dissent. The thing is watching them, with its hundred hollow eyes.
"They taste good?" Ken Kanagi volunteers. He is grimacing involuntarily, the corners of his mouth twitching and showing his teeth.
Brashear laughs and strides behind them, whipping the cloth off his broad oak table with a flourish. Golden plates, and in each one a palm-sized chunk of angel meat, charred black. They gather around it, poke at the meat with forks. "Don't go expecting much taste-wise," Brashear grins. "I don't think they were meat to begin with. Some divine mumbo-jumbo, holy fire. But they're meat now, and there's no sense letting it go to waste, eh?"
"This is disgusting," Duncan says, taking a step back. "This is your plan? Angel steaks? Angel burgers? Good god, Brashear, they're half-rotten."
"It's compounding blasphemy," Eric Weinstein says. His face is pale, has been pale since the doors were flung open and the angel displayed, but his eyes are calm behind his glasses. He could be talking about the weather. "These things are more human than you are."
"Blasphemy!" Brashear laughs. He takes up a fork and stabs into the meat, shaking off flakes of ash. "This is a metaphor, my friends. A visual guide to help you wrap your minds around the new world order. This is meat, my friends. So much meat." He bites down, juice running down his chin. His jaw is tearing away at the toughened flesh. "All the theology, all the divine destiny of mankind - all so much meat. Don't you want to partake of it?"
"Go to hell," Duncan says. Kanagi looks slightly sick. He is licking his lips. Weinstein looks away, as if the curtains have momentarily caught his attention. Duncan stomps towards the exit and turns back to look behind her. Kanagi looks at her, then at Brashear, and stays where he is. Weinstein purses his lips slightly and then starts walking.
"So many people, wasting their time," Brashear says sorrowfully. He spits his mouthful back onto the plate. It is like ash.
"And you think you know better?" Duncan spits back. The two of them are framed by the door.
"All the theologians going nuts, working people into frenzies." Brashear's speaking quickly now, winding up to his sales pitch. "You got the biologists trying to clone 'em - Clone 'em! Heck, they died out in the first place. How useful could they be? When here's the important question - where the hell did all these motherfuckers come from in the first place?"
He flicks on the projector. It shines over the corpse, the pictures warped by its body. Satellite photos. Radar. Celestial maps. Extrapolations of trajectories. A diagram like a funnel warping through space.
"There's a Heaven up there," Brashear grins. His eyes are diabolical. "And there's no one left to guard it." | 2016-07-19T06:44:07 | 2016-07-19T05:45:46 | 1,274 | 78 |
[WP] You were born with a birth mark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8 | James awoke on a metallic table, a bright light above him enveloped the room in light. He tried to recall what had happened - twisted metal and fire flashed in his mind. There was a crash, but he couldn't recall how he got here. Wherever here was. He rubbed his eyes, attempting to make shapes from the fuzz, but something caught his eye. The birthmark that he had on his wrist used to be in the shape of a 9 but now the number 8 was glaring back at him.
James tried to rub his wrist in an attempt to remove the smudge causing the change in the birthmark, but it wouldn't change. Suddenly the doors opened and a man wearing a suit walked into the room.
"There is no use doing that to your wrist, the mark is permanent." said the man. After surveying James, he frowned. "You do know why you are here, don't you?"
"Who are you? Why am I here? What happened?" James questioned as he sat up on the table.
"Who am I? I am your employer James. I am a bit disappointed that you don't remember me." the mans lips curled into an insidious smile. "You are here, because you failed me. You died James. You died without completing your task, without paying your debts."
The man walked towards the table, his smile growing larger with every step.
"Ten more lives for release of your soul. That was the deal, but you seem to be a bit short. I guess we can count Julia, who also died in the crash. After all, you were her partner in her act of adultery. That brings your total to one."
The man walked to the exit of the room and paused for a moment.
"You only get eight more chances. Seems you better get a move on James."
The man snapped his fingers, and suddenly James was being blinded by another light - his memories began to fade. *Its a boy* were the last words he heard before losing consciousness. | Blurry... blurry...blurry... and then *clear.* Drop-ceiling tiles. A florescent light. Scrubbed walls. Buzzing. I was on my side. What was I laying on? A table?
I looked down. My arms were bent in unwholesome angles, and there, livid and black, on the inside of my wrist... The number.
"Complete loss?"
The voice came from behind me. I tried to turn my head, but... *nothing*. I felt the hot spike of panic shoot up my spine.
"Yes, but it was bound to happen, sooner or later. We were able to do a full swap, with no lasting damage." a reedy voice said in reply.
Two men?
"I still can't believe how much this thing cost. It had better be worth it." The first said, clearly doubtful.
"It's the best data we've ever gotten, sir. The results speak for themselves. How else could we build truly accurate models? The emulation is the best available, and *human reactions* are as important as physical-"
"Yes, yes". I heard the rustle of fabric as he stood. "I heard the pitch the first time. It's just a damn good thing we've got *seven more* of these things."
I felt a hand on my chin, and my head yanked so that I was eye to eye with the man who possessed that first voice. His hair was cut short, he had scornful eyes, hidden behind hard-angled wire framed glasses, and as he pursed his lips, I thought of how much his face looked like a toothache. I blinked.
I saw a look of surprise tremor through his hurtful brow.
"Double check the... the optics, will you? I think I just saw it-"
"Well, I can check the *feed* pretty easily, I just need to give it something to- Oh, hold on! *Here.* There probably isn't anything wrong, though, considering what these things are *built to withstand*..."
A plain mirror was shoved in front of me. I felt something in my head go *click!*
[...And I stared.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/15/0d/d6/150dd6680a0a7180bd90c69c0ecdf986.jpg)
| 2016-08-03T19:52:19 | 2016-08-03T19:50:27 | 1,069 | 370 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review. | Rusting pieces of partially finished roller-coaster track and partially painted merry-go-round horses sat on the floor of the abandoned factory for the Gotham Amusement Manufacturing Corporation. The horses had graffiti on them, all of them with a Joker-like look. In the middle of the factory, a vat of acid boiled while a henchman tested activating a slowly moving winch above it, at the end of the cable was a mannequin which happened to be dressed like Margaret Thatcher. At the other end of the floor, beefy men with T-shirts that said "Henchman #1" and "Henchman #2" were fighting in a ring, with others betting on the outcome.
A voice rang in an old-style PA system over the place. "Paging Mr. Jenkins" Harley's New York voice, reverberated through the factory, "Mr. J wants ta seeya." As tough as they are, as much as this organization was all about looking out for only #1, all of them knew what that meant, and they looked at Jenkins with some sympathy as he looked up at the overseer booth that Joker had made into his office. The windows were darkened, but there was a machine gun that was trained on Jenkins, and followed him as he started to go towards the exit. He slumped his shoulders and started to walk up the rusted steel steps, jumping over step #5 because it was about to fall apart.
Harley was behind a desk in front of a typewriter. She had a bouffant-style wig on over her hat, and old-style 1950's glasses that were rimmed with rhinestones. She tilted her glasses down and looked down her nose at Jenkins. "Have a seat."
Jenkins looked behind him and realized that there were no chairs. Only a hole that fell through to the manufacturing floor with twisted rebar partially obstructing it.
"SEND HIM IN!" Joker said in a cheerful voice. "SEND THE LUCKY BOY IN!"
Jenkins trembled and headed towards the office, even as Harley looked down at him with the glasses tilted down, shook her shoulders back and forth, and then started typing. He opened the door and walked in.
Joker was wearing a full three-piece suit with a huge flower on the right breast. His desk had a picture of Harley in front of a little house, wearing a flowered dress and the same bouffant wig. Her right hand held the hand of a terrified looking little kid that was no doubt kidnapped.
"She's something else, isn't she Jenkins?" Joker moved in front of him, and Jenkins tried to read his expression, ready to try to dodge out of the way of a bomb, or acid, or any number of things.
"Reeelax, Jenkins. I called you in for a happy occasion. And you all know how much I like happy occasions?" Joker put his finger on a device on his desk which Jenkins had missed when he walked in, and realized it was a bomb. The timer was set to 10 minutes, and started to tick down.
Joker laughed. "I read some time management techniques, and learned about putting a timer to limit my meetings. I thought it was a wonderful idea and I wish I'd thought of it sooner! Anyhoo, times-a-wasting, so let's get to it! I looked at the calendar and do you know what I found?"
"W-w-what's that, boss?" Jenkins eyed the timer.
"Why, it's the anniversary of the Bunsen Burner. Isn't that wonderful! Also it's your one year anniversary. And that makes you a standout because you're the only one standing out of everyone that worked for me in the last year. Ha ha!"
"I, uh..."
"Oh so articulate! Well, no one can claim that I hire for smarts. But, then again, you're alive. That has to count for something. In fact, you're one of my most successful henchman. HARLEY!"
Harley walked in on high-heels, accentuating the swing of her hips, and handed Joker a file, which he opened.
"Harley, what do you think of Jenkins here."
Harley pulled the glasses down again, and peered at him. "He's smart, and dedicated and gets things done."
"Oh yes, it says right here in this report that he's consistent and works best under pressure-cooker situations...no wait. You brought me a recipe for chili. Needs more arsenic in this one, I think. Thanks Harl, you can go."
"How long will you be, Mr. J?"
"No more than..." Joker looked at the bomb, "6 minutes and 23 seconds."
Harley flounced out as Joker grabbed a gun from his desk, as well as two cigars.
"Do you think that you deserve a promotion, Jenkins?"
"Um, whatever you want boss."
"Whatever you want boss," Joker mocked. "Why do I always get Yes-men? Oh, right, because I kill everyone who says no." He pointed the gun at Jenkins.
"You're doing a terrible job. I hire henchmen to screw up, you know. How else can I make sure Batman can face me down in the final battle if my henchman succeed? Do you know the mission statement of this company m'boy?"
"Uhh...to take over Gotham City?"
Joker put the gun down, but used it to make his points as he talked. "Tut-tut-tut, nothing so simple, I could have done that any day, no, think bigger Jenkins!"
"To take over...the...world?"
"Oh please. I'm going for something MUCH harder and more important."
Jenkins' mouth fell open as he looked at Joker. "Wha..."
"I still have failed at all of my schemes this year, again and again. And I finally figured out why. You make a perfect inside-man. Because you're not just on my payroll, are you?"
"I..." Jenkins started to look at the window, hoping that he could dive through it in time.
"Oh, don't be coy, I'm THRILLED. You're working for HIM. And for an entire year! Betrayal is a wonderful thing, and you pulled it off. Until now."
He looked out the window at the winch mechanism lowering the mannequin. He grabbed an old-style microphone and pushed the button at the bottom. His voice reverberated through the factory, "MAKE SURE THAT LOWERS MORE SLOWLY. THAT'S TOO FAST YOU IDIOTS!"
Joker put the mic down and walked over behind Jenkins, and put a cigar in Jenkins' mouth, and then one in his own. Then he put the gun underneath Jenkins' chin.
"Let me tell you what my mission is." The timer on the bomb was at one minute eight seconds. "It's to make the most humorless person in the universe laugh. Batman. And how can I do that if he doesn't know where my lairs are?"
Joker pulled the trigger on the gun, and a flame came out of it, which he used to light the cigar. "Happy anniversary Jenkins! Keep up the good work!"
Just then, the windows in front of the factory broke open, as Batman kicked through on a zipline. Joker smiled big, and pushed a very large button on his desk, and a skylight opened, a ladder attached to a helicopter flown by Harley fell through, which he grabbed and got pulled out of the building.
The timer showed 10 seconds, Jenkins threw the cigar on the floor and ran into the first room and dove through the hole in the floor, grabbing some rebar on the way to swing himself to the floor diving underneath some heavy equipment. "BATMAN! It's A BO..." The office exploded.
| Have you ever felt your life couldn't be any worst that it currently is ? That your entire existance could be summed up to a succession of really bad decisions ? I'm Frank Xandar, 32 years old, no girlfriend, a rap sheet longer than my arm and no real friends. The only thing I have is my job and even then it's hard to qualify this as a job when you're pulling heist for an unpredictable psychopath like the Joker. Still, I manage, I endure and I actually managed to survive this gig for a full year, well above the usual average for this kind of job. So imagine my surprise when the bossman asked to see me this morning for a yearly review. I'm scared shitless, most people that see the inside of this office, don't live to tell the tales.
So here I am, sitting on a kindergarden plastic chair, using every once of mental aptitude not to piss myself while waiting for the Joker, bossman, Mista' J as *she* always calls him. The office is deemly lit, the walls are decorated with severed clown heads mounted on little bats bodies. Bloody weapons are everywhere, not modern weapons mind you, mostly swords and medieval stuff.
The bossman enters, his presence is scaring me to my very core. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run away but I can't flinch a single inch. He sits in the chair across from the desk and looks up at me.
>So... Xandar is it?
>>Huh.... yes sir.
>What kind of name is Xandar anyway, I mean I flipped trough most of the phonebook, well actually I killed trough most of the phonebook but I never saw that name before.
>>Huh.. It's polish, sir.
>Polish eh? Oh well... you live with the cards you're dealt.
...
>Now, Xandar, you seem like a nice enough fellow but I'll be honest, I don't think I ever saw you before in my life. I mean for all I know you could be an undercover copper!
>>No sir, absolutly not. I assure you. I've been a loyal henchman of yours for a year now. Miss Quinn recruited a bunch of us during her last stay in Arkham.
>Harley did that? I always knew the gal had a few lose screws. Oh Well, we like lose screws around here right Xandar?
>>Yes sir.
>You didn't make any advance toward my Harley now did you Xandar my boy ? I mean, she can be quite the seductress and I'm not one to share my toys, you understand ?
>>Yes sir, I mean no sir, I would never think about doing something like this. I swear.
>Right.... Anyway! We are here for your mandatory one year performance review. Funny thing, you know it's actually the first time I have to do a one year review ? You people usually disappear a lot sooner.
>>Yes sir, we usually do... hehe.
>Well.... at least you're honest. I don't trust honest people Xandar, they tend to develop morals and such. Are you really honest Xandar ?
>>Well... I am when I say that I'm entirely loyal to you sir but I'm a thief at heart.
>A thief!
The Joker jumps out his chair and knocks me to the ground, placing a giant knife to my throat.
>Would you steel from me Xandar ? Would you take what is mine ? I don't take kindly to thievery Xandar and my henchmen should do well to remember it.
>>No sir, I mean yes sir I know it, we all know it. I would never even think to steal from you sir.
Satisfied, the Joker gets back into his chair and opens a folder that was sitting on his desk.
>Now, Xandar according to your employee file, you've participated in over 25 heists, have gone up against the Bat about 6 times, suffered 3 broken jaws, 2 dislocated shoulders, 8 broken ribs and a broken femur. Careful boy, those hospital guys are bigger thieves than me!
>>Yes sir, good thing we have good insurance, hehe.
>We have insurance ? Really ? Why did nobody tell me this before!
The Joker pops his head trough the office window
>Hey Harley, we have insurance on these guys ?
>>>Of course we do Mista' J, Bat breaks them often so we need to repair them better
>Why didn't you tell me this sooner your harlot brain ?
>>>It was your idea Mista' J.
>Really ? In that case it's a great idea
...
>Now, where was I ?
>>Huh... Insurance sir.
>Oh right, insurance, well that will not do. We'll have to do something about that. I guess I should read your contracts more closely. I'd ask the lawman who wrote them up but I slit his throat last month. Oh well.. What else is in there Xandar ?
>>You mean in our contracts ? It's pretty generic sir, health plan, division of loot, yearly performance reviews, annual bonuses,...
>Wait wait WAIT.... annual bonuses ? That will certainly not work. Did I really put that in there ? Huh... I most have thought that nobody would ever live that long. I mean most henchmen die within the first month. Except cowards... you're not a coward are you Xandar?
>>No sir, absolutly not, like my file says, I went up against the Bat a few times. Came out bruised. I'm not a coward.
>Good.... Because you know what we do to cowards around here.
>>Yes sir, I do. It was made quite clear on my first day sir. I still have nightmares about that day sir.
>Good... Now Xandar, you seem like a good-enough fellow, you do good in heists, you fight... well-enough....I guess and you seem loyal. Overall I would give your evaluation a solid 8/10. Good work.
>> Thank you sir.
>However... I can't have people holding off as long as you have, it's bad more morale.
>>Bad for morale sir ?
>Yes, you see my henchmen are supposed to be disposable, replaceable, it keeps them on their toe. If word gets out that you can actually survive that long, people will start to get silly survival ideas, they'll be less agressive, more cautious, cowards. Like I said, it's all bad for morale.
>>I don't understand sir, are you firing me ?
>No....no no no no. No such things. You're a valued employee Xandar, I can't just fire you and watch such a useful ressource go to work for the Penguin or Harvey Two-face... Fear and loyalty must be rewarded and punish.
>>I don't understand sir, I though...
I never finished my sentence, never saw the gun either, must have been hidden under the desk. All I felt was the pain in my gut. I looked down to see my bloody hands holding up my entrails, then nothing.
>Sorry about the mess Xandar, you seemed like a nice enough fellow but I can't have my men become weak by idiolizing survivors and old-timers, it's bad for business. And yearly bonuses? Hah! I'll have to find a new lawyer to redraft those employee contracts right away. Harley! Clean up in my office, now!
| 2016-11-21T07:30:01 | 2016-11-21T06:51:31 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did. | “Heaven seems awfully dark,” I remarked as I moved through what appeared a twilight fog. The world around me was vague and indistinct, whenever I thought I was gaining sight of something that could be a landmark it would fade away into the gloom.
I’m not sure how long I walked in that gloom, there was nothing to reference time, no feelings of hunger, no tiredness, nothing at all. Then he was there before me, sitting upon a massive ornate throne. His beauty was more than I could possibly describe and the throne he sat on. Well maybe it wasn’t that nice but after so long with nothing to look at, I would’ve settled for a three legged stool at this point.
“God?” I asked, my voice catching.
The being chortled, “Close, try again,” It said
I thought for a second, thinking back to my Sunday school lessons when I was a little kid.
“Gabriel? Michael?” I asked tentatively.
The beings eyes narrowed slightly with annoyance and that look one gets when names are brought up that bring with them a torrent of memories and most of those bad.
“No, last guess,”
I racked my mind, Metatron maybe, I wasn’t Catholic but maybe I should have been. Then thought came into my head, I tried to squash it but it wouldn’t leave.
“You wouldn’t be the devil would you?” I asked, wishing with my being that he wouldn’t answer.
He or it gave me a smile that was more of an answer than any words could be. I backed up a step, “Then this is hell?” I asked looking around for fire or whips and chains or something.
“Wrong again, this is the outskirts of hell, you’re a rather important arrival so I decided welcome you personally,” The devil said getting to its feet, it gestured at the throne.
“Have a seat,” It said in a tone that brooked no argument.
I meekly sat on throne, it was warm but not uncomfortably so, which seemed strange to me since if this was hell shouldn’t it be covered in spikes or something. I looked up to see the devil studying me, its eyes flashing with amusement though it didn’t say anything. After a while I couldn’t bear it anymore.
“I don’t understand why am I here, I was a good person, I don’t deserve this, what about my good deeds?”
The Devil chuckled again, “Obviously they weren’t as good as you thought but don’t worry I was so impressed with what you made of your life I decided to give you my chair,” It smiled again and I think part of my soul shriveled in response.
“Congratulations kid, your're ruler of hell,”
I sat there stunned by this news, on one hand the knowledge that I hadn’t made it too heaven seemed terrible but hadn’t I pulled the next best card, better to rule in hell and all that, but the laughter I saw in the Devil’s eyes made my stomach twist into knots at the thought that there was any way this could end well. After I finally spoke again.
“Why me, I don’t remember being anyone special, shouldn’t someone like Hitler or Stalin be in this chair?”
The Devil snorted, “A plain murderer isn’t worthy, oh the scale of their murder was impressive but the crime itself is hardly original,” The devil shook its head and looked at him again, its eyes still alight with amusement.
“Try again?”
I thought for a moment, “What about religious leaders who….” I started to say when the devil cut me off.
“Those are just liars, once again the scale is the only thing that’s impressive about their sin, and heck I was the first one to do that one so they don’t get points for being copycats,”
I thought harder, then I had a thought, a subreddit thread I’d be reading before the blackness came over me.
“What about those who wasted their life, those who didn’t do anything with what they were given, someone like that should be in this chair,”
The Devil nodded looking thoughtful, “That’s a pretty good one but what you did was far more impressive,”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer, “THEN WHAT DID I DO?!” I screamed at the Devil.
“You killed your soul,”
I stared at the Devil in complete bafflement. “I don’t understand, how is does make me worthy of this chair?”
The devil laughed again, “Tell me, if you were put in a room and told you would be given whatever you wanted to amuse yourself but you were never going to see or talk to anyone else ever again. What would you pick?”
I was silent, thinking about all the things I did for amusement during my life, none of them felt like something I would do just for my own private enjoyment.
“Can’t think of anything can you?” The Devil said. It laughed again.
“And that’s what I find so impressive, you may have died today but your soul has been dead for years. Since you were young you made sure that you always played the right sports, read the right books, and watched the right tv shows. It was never about what you wanted, only about what you thought everyone else liked. I’ve seen human give up their own wants to fit but you’re the first human ever to kill your own wants.”
“What’s so evil about that?” I retorted. “I just wanted to fit in, nothing evil about that,”
“Isn’t there?” The Devil asked.
“You married, not being because you loved the person but because you thought it was the expected thing to do, the same reason you dated, because your family and friends expected it. Everything you did in your life was by someone else choice, the clothes you wore, the car you drove even the politician you voted for. By the way, both of those politicians from that election that cost you several of your friends are down here, that election was some of my finest work.” The Devil said, looking quite proud.
“You didn’t even require tempting to sin, all I had to do was have one of your friends or your current favorite actor or your boss be tempted and sin and you would consider or just plain do it in order to fit in,”
The devil loomed over me, “The greatest gift that God gave you worthless piles of puss, was the ability to choose, and you threw that back in his face and refused to choose,” The Devil said, raw contempt and hatred filling his voice as he stared at me as if I was nothing more than some excrement that someone had smeared on his favorite chair.
Then the moment passed and the Devil stepped back and gave the most terrifying belly laugh I'd ever heard.
“Not even I could do that, I may have rebelled but I still made a choice, which is more than you ever did,” The Devil stepped back, one hand encompassing the throne I sat in and gloom around us which had grown even darker.
“Thus since you did something not even I could do, you get the chair. So tell me Ruler of Hell, what happens now?” It asked, its smirk widening to an almost unaturally sized grin.
I tried to come up with a comeback or retort but nothing came to mind. Years of making decisions based on what others thought doesn’t stop so easily, so I said what I knew it wanted me to say.
“What should happen now?”
And the Devil’s laughter ushered me into my first steps in hell.
| I sat up and looked at my surroundings, not remembering falling asleep in the first place. It was dark, but my eyes soon adjusted and I saw that I was in a sort of cavern or perhaps an ancient mine shaft without the support beams every few feet. The ceiling was high and curved, probably ten or fifteen feet above my head; where the walls connected to the ground, a strange red glow pierced through the crack. A consistent low rumble could be heard, like thunder that just never ends.
I stood and felt my head, trying to remember how I got to this place but my memory failed me. The last thing I could recall was looking at myself in the mirror one last time before my mates picked me up to go clubbing. How much had I drank?
A distant scream interrupted my thoughts and I spun around to try and spot the source but there was only the end of the cave with its ominous orange glow. Strangely unfrightened, confident even, I turned and began walking the long path with a slight downward grade. The walk took a long time, long enough to leave me with my thoughts and lose track of my steps when I suddenly saw a brighter, golden light around a bend up ahead. I ran forward with anticipation, not knowing what to expect as I rounded the corner.
Blood.
Bodies.
Fire.
Thousands, no, millions of heads turned and looked at me with horrendous looks on their faces. The bodies lined the walls, ceiling, floor, everything. There wasn't a square millimeter of actual cave to be seen. The people were all being mutilated in some way with spikes or chains piercing or stretching or ripping their disgusting, bloody, oozing bodies. The cave was wider and taller here; as I took a tentative step forward, a rib snapped under my foot and a beating heart was stopped by the heel of my boot as a muffled cry wailed out and stopped suddenly.
Drawn forward with a morbid curiosity and an alarming lack of empathy, I continued into the mass of tangled limbs and flesh. As I walked, the countless eyes followed, heads turning sometimes more than a hundred-eighty degrees with necks snapping and flesh ripping and spinal fluid squirting just to remain staring at me. I could see the other end of the cave and the millions of human bodies and souls that lined it.
There, suspended by gold, glowing lances connected to chains was some sort of being not like the others that were somehow fastened to the walls. He had musical instruments infused in his body in a way that just worked. They didn't seem out of place at all. He was glowing, too; an absolute radiance that I'm sure only angels could produce. He was roughly six and a half feet tall and he had no wings. His heart was disconnected from his chest cavity via a large golden lance that also pierced his body. Multiple golden lances with gold chains connected to the bodies on the ceiling, walls, and floors pierced his heart from all directions, yet it beat on, wearily nonetheless. His face was neither belonging to that of a man or woman. It was just made of beauty. And when he turned and looked at me I felt such joy and peace.
That is, until his face turned to fear. “You,” He said. Rather, he didn't speak, but he made his words form with the sweet music he produced from his body and all it's musical instruments. “Finally, one has come that can replace me.”
“Come again?” I asked with a strangely powerful and overconfident voice I didn't recognize but liked all the same. It seemed to make the walls ripple in cowardice as the mutilated bags of flesh heard it boom throughout the cavern.
“The prophecy,” The glowing being said, “‘And there shall be one, wickeder than thou and overtaking thy evil self in rank, yea even in knowledge, and he shalt take thy place forevermore,’ Thus sayeth the LORD. I had not believed it possible, yet here you are.”
“What does that even mean? Explain yourself!” Once again, the cave walls of meat and bone rippled, more so this time with some trying to shield their eyes. Even the being suspended by spears and chains seemed to shrink in my presence.
“Hell.” The being’s music flowed into my conscious mind. “The nine levels of hell, ranked by sin and wickedness-”
“So I’m in Hell.”
“Correct.”
“What level is this? Who are you?”
“You are underneath ring Nine, the bottommost part of Hell. This is the Pit. and I am Lucifer.”
My confidence suddenly drained, fear overtaking me as I began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Wait, no. No no no no no no no!”
The golden lances quivered and the chains rattled and hissed. One by one, the spears slithered their way out of the Devil’s heart and flesh as I dropped to my knees.
“Please!” I begged, “What did I do? What did I do?” My eyes welled up with stinging tears as the dammned souls lining the walls began to snicker and sneer and hiss, reaching forward. The last lance snaked its way out of Lucifer’s musical body and he dropped to the floor, some sort of invisible force pushing away the bodies and bone and blood with grotesque crunches and screams so that he might walk on the solid ground. Lucy walked toward me, keeping his gaze on my head. I wiped tears away to find that I was crying blood.
Lucifer stopped a foot away from me and i grabbed on to his flowing garment, pleading, “Please! What did I do? I don't remember! I don't remember!” When the blood on my hands touched his garment, it hissed and evaporated leaving no trace of impurity. The Devil clutched a handful of my hair and drug me in agonizing pain to the spot where he was only moments ago suspended and mutilated.
“I don't remember!! I don't remember!!!! PLEASE!!!” I begged and cried and pleaded to no avail as the flesh sacks around me continued to laugh and jeer. Lucifer held me up in front of him by my hair as I screamed in agony.
“So it is written,” He said musically as the first spear pierced my wrist. I cried out in pain as I discovered that the spears and chains were molten gold, burning with a fiery blaze as my nerve endings refused to cauterize. Every natural pain reducing drug in my body seemed non-existent as another lance pierced my wrist and I felt every inch of it in my bone. Indescribable, unimaginable pain exploded through my body. Fire, dry ice, needles, acid, lava all coursing through my veins as the chains tightened and lifted me, stretching my limbs, popping my arms out of my sockets but not tearing them off. Two other blistering lances pierced my ankles and stretched my legs. Finally The largest spear shot through my back, producing my heart, bloody, torn, and beating in front of me on the end of a gold double-edged blade.
I felt it all; the ribs cracking, my lung puncturing and collapsing, my heart gaining a new hole.
“Pleh- Ple- I… I don… What did I DO!” I cried out with all my strength before the other golden, chained lances ripped holes in my heart, creating a new burning pain I had never felt before. My throat could nearly produce no more sound, and it too was burning with agony as blood sputtered out of it and my eyes.
Lucifer calmly turned and walked out of the room of flesh, the entrance closing up behind him, leaving me suspended in the round room of laughing, mocking, screaming mouths and eyes long since damned to an eternity in the pit.
And I was their new entertainment. | 2016-12-19T16:59:11 | 2016-12-19T12:40:10 | 88 | 62 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | Nobody ever told us that cartoon "Avatar" was a cautionary tale...
Well, at least parts of it anyway. The parts about the wars, the mistrust of others, the weird tribalism, that's the stuff that really stuck. As soon as that wave hit us, it was game over for society as we knew it. They told us it was a 'wave of distortion in our local space-time bleeding the fabric of one reality over ours', but all we needed to know was the wave came, and all of us became benders. Not the same as the show mind you, we originally just found the joke funny.
What they told us is the wave unlocked something inside all of us from when we were born. The older you were, the weaker it was, but kids born right around the wave were insane. And it wasn't cut-and-dry like that show either; you didn't just get one of the original "Earth, Wind, Fire, Water" powers; you got something based a little messier. Get born in Ohio? You got earth and some wind. Desert? Heat, which with enough will applied became fire, wind, very minute earth. Rain forests were the luckiest, full spectrum of water, earth, wind, and fire.
What they *didn't* tell us was somebody was born outside the norm. Right at the point when the wave crashed over Earth, someone was exiting the womb in space. It took awhile for the repercussions of this to take effect, but once he hit the age where powers start to manifest, it was chaos.
It took a few years for things to really break down. At first the world governments wanted to try to keep the peace, keep things the way they had been; but when your mother country starts to realize the young quads (all four elements) were capable of leveling cities in tornadoes of rocky-fire, things went kinda nuts. Solos became outcasts. Nobody wanted to try their luck with just one ability, especially after it became apparent the effects were genetic and would pass down. However strong you were when the wave hit, that's how strong your line would be, the only way to make things better was to get in good with someone stronger and hope they'd make a baby with you.
But that space kid. Man, he really fucked things up.
NASA was really the only group that knew he was there. Well, them and the crew of the ISS. He was actually expected up there, he was going to be the first human born off-world. Little did they know, that connection to Earth that was missing was the single-most important feature that kid had. They called his power 'the void'. Singularities would open up and throw people into space at the drop of a hat. He had the power to search space, finding debris and bringing it crashing down. Gravity manipulation was especially bad. Turns out, cities are kind of reliant on being, ya know, stuck to the ground.
His teenage years were a blur of wanton destruction and utter silence. He'd pop up in some earth-powerful stronghold and it would suddenly cease to exist. A group of quads wanted to get him to join them, help them secure their spot in the US heartland, but they didn't even stand a chance when he floated above them watching their bodies spiral into the abyss he made materialize under them.
That was years ago at this point. Now the only quads left are in service to the warlords and tyrants that managed to convince some population to follow them. We've started to get some of the tech back that we lost, and we've identified the gene sequence that changes so we can detect what abilities people have. You'll hear jokes about the guy that came up blank in the local militia check point, but nobody ever sees him anymore.
He's still out there. Some say he regretted his actions and went to hide and meditate. Others say he's just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to try to dominate all the others. The truth? He found my mom, a quad from an oasis in the desert, and they had me. Nobody knew what he was, he was able to fake enough that they thought maybe he was just a solo, but boy were they wrong.
Now, it's my turn. The world's my oyster as they say...
Time to start having some fun.
Edit: First time posting in here, I know it's rough. The thought just came to me and I wanted to run with it. Thanks for reading! | -Part one, introduction
The class system that had been established after centuries of war, had ultimately benefit nobody.
The Ice-nobles ruled as viciously as you'd expect, condemning the rest of the elemental spectrum to a life of distinct class restriction. The Desert-wares were the lowest caste in the system, and could do essentially nothing, but rot in the climates they were born into. (That isn't counting the Fire-wares, who aren't really a caste as much as they are rebels. They often intermingle between classes that accept the rising rebellion, determined to kill all nobility and start an age of freedom.)
In the mid-section are the rock and agricultural classes, who's entire life is that of servitude. (They seem to be comfortable with this to an extent, as their lives are relatively easy, as long as their able to work with the Water-wares that is.) The Water- wares are more or less the soldiers, whether they like to believe that or not. They have the same rights as the Ice-nobles, however not the same privileges, that among other things is the only thing that separates the two classes. Water-wares are essential to the nobles as they're the only thing that stands between them and the fire-rebels.
Certain members of the Ice-Noble council have been known to be exceptionally cruel to people who break their system. (A collective dictatorship 'superior' to the rest.)
An example of their frozen empathy, lies no better than in young exiled Water-soldier, Anubis. It was honestly a tragedy and her passing will be mourned across the cosmos for eternity. Anubis of Pacific reign had unintentionally strayed too far from her ranks during a pursuit involving Fire-rebels. Her journey back to the blue half of the kingdom landed her deeper into the wastelands, until she inevitably found herself close to death. It was some time after she'd collapsed in the sand, that an older member of a Desert-ware clan found her. A boy, who was known by the name Mirage.
"What's you're class ... can you hear me?"
Mirage couldn't fathom a blue class being abandoned in the desert like this, but couldn't let her die. It would be risky for him to attempt a rescue of a Ice-noble, they were unkind to the most meaningful of gestures. It would be less hassle to let the girl die if that were the case. Mirage knew desert people who would rejoice at the death of such a person, not himself however. There was no joyousness in suffering.
After the Desert-ware was certain she was helpless, he set about trying to save her. Realising he could not pick her up and take her to safety, as the hot surface of his skin during the day would surely make her condition worse.
There was no other option than to wait until nightfall when the desert wasteland's, temperatures dropped to below -50 degrees. (Something he was certain the girl would be more used to.)
By the time the sun set, and a harsh chill brushed across the dunes, Mirage could feel his skin cool enough to drag the Water-ware to his clan.
"You- you're-" The younger girl began as her eyes fluttered open, skewed by sand.
Mirage shushed her, kneeling down to press water to her fragile lips.
"Why are you doing this for me, I-"
"You're human, right, just like the rest of us?" His dusty smile, ached her heart and warmed it like the relentless heat.
The pair enjoyed a year of harmony before everything came crashing down around them like an avalanche. There are many who claimed in court, that, that must have been the beginning of their 'sinister love'. However Mirage would claim that the meeting Anubis was fate, and wouldn't regret it even if he could.
Anubis smiled solemnly by all accounts of the jury. Her blue eyes swimming with memories of love and acceptance, it was the happiest she had ever been. Her husband was flighty and would often get himself into trouble, she prayed that they would not hurt him for speaking out too much about the sentence, whatever it may be. The moments after the trial happened as quickly as they'd escalated, ending with Anubis' head cracking the podium and her body hitting the cold ice floor she had almost began to forget.
She heard Mirage and his horrified screeching before the consuming blackness welcomed her vision. He was yelling about the child inside her.
"Anubis of Pacific reign, you are to be exiled from this land, for fraternising below your class and producing a rebel child in the process. As you know, we can not kill you ourselves. As we took an oath not to kill our own, and it would be treason for any other class to do it, so you shall leave this Earth accordingly. Do you have any last meaningful words to express, before your departure into the furthest ring?" | 2017-04-14T18:19:10 | 2017-04-14T17:56:58 | 103 | 37 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | My parents were both flyers. My mom was born in the back of an airplane on a transcontinental flight. My dad was born on the back of a car near Mt. Saint Helens, to my arboreal grandparents, and they never figured out why he was a flyer. Worth noting flyers are pretty rare.
Naturally, being in love with the sky they joined the space program. There's at least 40% of the population that don't have powers. Everyone's supposed to of course, it's just genetics, but a faction within the government had an experiment go afoul and basically neutralized the powers of a good number of people, and it continued generationally. My grandfather was one of the heroes who took those people down. But this isn't his story, it's mine.
Like I said, my parents were in the space program, and were sent on a one year mission to commission the new United Earth Space Station, built off of the original ISS. They didn't tell NASA my mom was pregnant with me and I guess nobody bothered to check. Luckily the new station had artificial gravity and some pretty advanced medical features, so my birth as I'm told went off without a hitch.
-------------------------------------------
When we got back I was international news. Not only were people wildly speculating on what my powers would turn out to be, but a birth in space was itself historic. It took moving to Hawaii to get away from all the press at the door all the time.
Most kids find their powers around 5-6 years old. I didn't discover mine until I was about 8. It was a pretty traumatic experience.
Most people who have powers are set in a single range or element. Desertborne people usually have powers related either to fire or earth. People born at sea are great with water. Most Russians have snow/ice powers, but like I said it's limited like that.
Mine were different.
I had a pet cat who followed me religiously. One day I was outside, petting him, when he ran up a tree and hissed at me. I tried to get him down, and when I stretched out my hand, he started to wail until he couldn't anymore, and his body crumbled in on itself. Then the tree did. Then a good chunk of my backyard. I was so freaked out I broke down crying, and my parents did their best to console me. But gravity manipulation was only the beginning.
My first girlfriend controlled storms. I remember when I met her she was upset, her best friend had been in a car accident. It was raining terribly, and lightning struck everywhere. I instinctively touched her face, I don't know why, but it instantly calmed her, and when it did the light of the sun shone brighter than any natural occurrence.
By now, my full range of powers consists of not only controlling gravity, but also light, tides, and through combined use, the passage of time. I can create pockets of air for myself and keep my body stabilized in the vacuum of space. I warp spacetime to explore the universe and can be home in time for dinner. But I couldn't remain hidden forever.
Remember those government factions I told you about?
About a year ago they convinced world leaders that my power was too great, that I was too dangerous to be free. I became public enemy no. 1. My parents were incarcerated and killed. I left Earth for a while. I came back yesterday to avenge their deaths, and things have really changed.
PART 2 AND 3 IN COMMENTS | “I don't understand why you despise your abilities so much.” Ewan, my best friend said. “At least they're interesting!”
“The only thing interesting about them is that no one knows what they'll be!” I quickly retorted.
“Exactly!” Ewan shot back. “No one knows what they'll be, no one knows when they'll manifest, no one knows anything! At least you have hope… Any minute now I should get-”
“You get to fit in! Wherever you go, you'll find acceptance!” This was a subject I'd thought about, long and hard.
You see, everything about all the other powers was known, mapped out over the decades since the manifestation first occurred. Ewan’s midwestern powers would manifest around 16, a West coast kid’s powers would manifest around 17, East coast at 13, and southern before 11. Different regions had their own powers, and different ages they manifested at. You could find someone with any power in a large city, from an Israeli sandstormer to a Canadian ice mage to a Peruvian Al Paca shepherd. Yeah, that's a power apparently. I don't get it either.
But even before my powers set in I knew I would be unique. See, powers depended on where you were born, and I was the first person born in space.
“Acceptance? I don't want acceptance!” Ewan was getting flustered at this point. “I want to be able to control fire like the Sicilians! To mold steel with my bare hands like I was born in Damascus! To flood rivers at will like an Egyptian! Not this bogus, boring, run of the mill ability to-”
“You're still missing the point!” It doesn't matter how many times we have this conversation, Ewan will never understand what I'm trying to say. “No matter where you go, people will accept you. Your powers will be familiar and understood! No one will cower in fear of you, like they will the ‘Alien’. I know that's what they call me. Hey, do you smell cow manure?”
“We’re probably just driving past a field.” Ewan responded, even though we were just passing the outskirts of Chicago, on the megabus back to our home. “Any power you get will be cooler than mine.”
Ewan always walked away from this conversation flustered, but recently it had been getting worse. He was born near the border, so it wasn't certain whether he would inherit the Canadian powers sporadically found in Minnesota or the power native to the rest of the Midwest. He'd never admit it, but I think he'd resigned himself to the idea that-
“WHAT IN TARNATION” The driver, obviously a southerner, yelled from the front of the bus. Ewan and I looked up from our conversation to see what was happening. Out the windows, it looked like strong winds were blowing, shoving the corn stalks back and forth violently.
“Damn, strong winds.” Ewan muttered, still obviously upset.
“Explains why the bus is shaking, at least.” I said. “I was worried for a second that I'd gotten my powers without realizing it, and couldn't control them. I'm just scared I might hurt someone.”
At that moment we heard an enormous crash, the shattering of glass. Corn cobs were flying in through the windows!
Ewan sat with his jaw near on the floor, staring in disbelief at the commotion.
“Well Ewan,” I started, “I know you were hoping to make it back to Iowa before they hit, but congrats on the powers!”
Ewan twisted towards me, distraught. “Snow… I wanted it to be snow.” He wailed. I could barely hold in the laughter at this point.
“WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE CORN?”
| 2017-04-14T20:09:16 | 2017-04-14T19:56:05 | 57 | 22 |
[WP] While taking a shower you think up the cure for cancer. A month later you figure out how to cure world hunger. The world reveres you and your "showerthoughts", but you know the truth. It's not you thinking up these miracles, it's the shower. | I used to love showering.
The bathroom was a place where I could be alone with my thoughts. Vulnerable in the simplest way, yet safely insulated from the outside world. The white noise of the water's pitter-patter on my skin spurred some of my best self-reflections and calming moments.
The first weird thing happened the morning of March 7th. As soon as I had stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, I felt an urge to go back in. I'm normally reluctant to end a good shower, but this was almost uncontrollable. In fact, I had almost made it back in when my phone alarm went off, reminding me that I would be late to work if I didn't leave within 10 minutes. That had already happened twice in the past week, so I couldn't afford another. So I left, and didn't think much of it.
The same thing happened the next day: shower, end of shower, powerful urge to re-enter the shower, alarm, self-control. But this time I was more cognizant, and vowed to investigate more later.
So that night, after I had eaten dinner, I took another shower. Nothing abnormal happened during it, but as before, it came as I exited. Taking careful mental notes, I went back in and turned the water on. At first, nothing seemed different, but then I noticed that quite a few conspicuously large drops had hit the glass door. As I watched, they trickled down (some in physics-defying ways) until I could make out a message. Most of it was gibberish to me - equations, formulas, and other nonsense - but I tried to memorize as much of it as I could.
After I was confident that I could remember it all, I exited the shower again (no urge this time) and went to go write down what I had seen. I live alone, so clothes could wait until I knew I had gotten it all. When I did go back to dress, it seemed like the door was now uniform with mist. All the writing had been erased in the span of a few minutes.
For a while, the strange writing stayed on my table, private proof of a private anomaly. But that changed when my friend Rhys came over for dinner a week later. This had been spurred by inexplicable feelings in the shower, not as I had left it. Rhys was some kind of doctor, and we had remained good friends despite our different jobs.
When he caught a glimpse of the notes I had made, he picked it up idly and began to read. He got more and more excited as he got through it, until he straight-up ran out of my apartment before I had even finished cooking. I tried to call him to see what had happened, but he either ignored my calls or replied that he was too busy to talk to me properly. I next saw him the afternoon of March 26; when he arrived on my front door, it was with countless reporters and scientists at his side.
You've probably heard the rest of the story; as it turns out, those scribbles that had been meaningless to me had turned out to be the key to curing cancer. I was lost, but the reporters took my confusion for humility and didn't really grasp what had transpired until Rhys sat me down and explained.
A few weeks later, a similar sequence of events transpired. I knew well enough to obey the urge when it came over me, and writing appeared on the door again. I wrote it down and this time, mailed it to my state's Senators. They ultimately used the seemingly meaningless information to end world hunger.
I was now a celebrity, but deserved or wanted none of it. The populace just assumed I was a shy and eccentric genius, but a genius I was not.
I haven't told anyone that I didn't actually come up with that information. It's been about a month again since my last "breakthrough", and now people of all different occupations are clamoring for my attention. I don't know what will come next, or what powers are behind it. All I know is that it has disrupted my entire life and given me everything that I never wanted. I was happy with my mediocre yet fulfilling and private life.
I used to love showering. But not anymore.
Now I know that every shower is another chance for me to simultaneously receive false praise and overwhelming pressure to top my previous achievement.
I just want some alone time. Is that too much to ask? | With trepidation, John Rowe slowly turned the chrome plated knobs on the wall. The rounded shower head burst to life, angrily spewing hot water like a vomiting drunkard. Creeping tendrils of mist began to work their way up and out of the bathtub, crawling over the floor of the bathroom towards him. Reaching. Yearning. Fighting an almost overwhelming instinct to run, he let his battered towel drop to the floor, and slowly stepped into the tub. As the steaming water hit his head, it seemed to desperately crawl over him, enveloping him in a wet, malign grasp. Then the voice, a shard of ice in his mind, as cold as the water was hot, spoke again.
*Hungry. Why so long?*
After the first time, he had only waited three months before stepping back in. The experience had been dreadful, and afterwards he slept for two days, but it was also addictive. Even while he was distracted with promoting Sudenulon, being interviewed by pretty blonde journalists, or posing for photoshoots with world leaders, a constant buzz in the back of his mind was always urging him to return for a second hit. He made his way back whilst in town for a piece with the local school newspaper. That time it took him a whole week to recover. It played havoc with his diary, and he had more than one angry call from the publicist. Of course, that all melted away once he told them about the Manna Project. He'd planned to return sooner for a third hit, but that all changed when he was asked to address the UN.
John had been reserved a seat on a passenger jet to New York. It was an extremely comfortable ride in first class, and the attendants were falling over themselves to meet his needs. It was whilst he was chewing on an extremely succulent roasted duck that he felt the crunch, followed by the warm taste of blood in his mouth. He quickly rose and headed to the bathroom.
After locking the door, the cold fluorescent lights flickered on. He spat into the sink, and nestled amongst a mixture of blood, saliva, and the remains of his meal, was one of his molars. In the light of the airplane toilet, the tooth had an almost ceramic quality to it. It reminded him of bathtiles. After rinsing his mouth with some water, he reached inside with his thumb, and found the empty socket. Except that it wasn't empty. As he probed around, he felt a sharp sting. He pulled his thumb back out, and on the tip, a small drop of blood was beginning to appear. Looking in the mirror as he did so, he pulled the side of his mouth open to get a look. There, sat between the teeth where his molar had previously been, was the thing that had cut him, sharp and pointed. A fang.
*Tell. Desire.*
The voice cut through his mind again. The air was heavy with steam now, and with each breath it desperately clawed its way into his lungs. He felt it, crawling around burning hot inside of him, ravenous. The water screaming out of the shower head was starting to flow faster, more impatiently. He knew what to do. Shivering despite the heat, he spoke.
One month later, John was sat in a hotel suite. Lights and cameras were arranged throughout the room, focused on the ornate wooden chair on which he was sat. In front of him, a man dressed in a tailored blue pinstripe suite was leafing through some paper notes. The man looked up at John.
"I think we're about ready Mr Rowe if you are?"
John nodded in approval.
"Ok then," the suited man started, "I think it's fair to say a lot of our viewers have been quite worried about you. It's been a month since you were last seen in public. What is there to the story that you've spent that entire time meditating, and that's when you came up with this blueprint for a cold fusion reactor?"
Looking straight at the camera, John began to speak. "Well Terry, it's certainly very close to the truth. I have spent a lot of that time soul searching..."
He continued talking on autopilot. He was now very used to giving answers to interviewers with very little effort or concentration. Tugging at his shirt cuffs, his mind was elsewhere. He was more concerned with his shirt. The arms felt too short, he could feel them slipping back over his wrists. He decided that he would just have to hold them in place for now, and after the interview had concluded, he would go to find somewhere to buy a new shirt. Longer sleeves. Better fitting. Something that would keep the scales covered.
| 2017-05-08T16:30:45 | 2017-05-08T16:23:18 | 125 | 63 |
[WP] This is the first human trip to Mars, and your team have set up a base live in and do experiments. In one of your routine travels to Sector AX-045 you discover a near-frozen crate buried in the soil, with a message scrawled on top. "To be opened in the event humans reach Mars."
Edit: *to* live in
Edit the Second: All these stories are awesome! | May 5th 3059
Today, we found a box.
The box was nothing special. It was a 4x4x8 ft. stainless steel box with writing on the top. Me, Mac, and Jon could not figure out what country it was from. Perhaps it is alien? Preposterous. A thousand years have gone by with no evidence of alien life. Jon, our leader, ordered that we open the crate with any means necessary for research purposes. It didn't take much to open. One crack with a crowbar opened it up rightly. All that was in it were seeds. A lot of them. There is more to this than what met the eye. Our first course of action was to observe the seeds in the lab. Mac was in charge of the terraforming operations, as he was Earths top biologist. The seeds were like nothing he had ever seen.
In the pursuit of science, we planted one. Will report what happens in a later entry.
December 2nd 3059
As it turns out, the seeds grow some kind of tree. Like the seeds, the tree was like nothing we had ever seen. It grew faster than even bamboo was capable of. The tree could not grow in the ship, but it flourished outside. The fruit it grew was delicious. We used the seeds to grow more. Will write back later.
April 15th 3060
Trees everywhere. The planet Mars now has a breathable atmosphere. These trees are the secret to terraforming. Colonists from Earth are coming to set up shop. We ourselves are going home to report our findings, and hopefully find out what this box says.
September 3rd 3060
Good Lord. The writing on the box. It was not alien. It was human. Linguists had a ball decyphering the writing on top. Took them months to tell what it says:
"Property of doomsday preperations company. To be opened in the event of nuclear decimation."
On the side was writing in chickenscratch that I did not notice beforehand.
"Nuclear weapons have destroyed our civilization. I am the last. Communications with Earth have been cut off. To be opened in the event Humans reach Mars."
| The crate wasn't wood, stone, metal, or anything I've ever seen. Pharoah swears on his grandmother's grave it's a type of crystal though.
"It has to be worth millions! I'm telling you!" He insisted we open the crate immediately. I, as an inferior, had no place to argue.
Something was definitely entrancing about the crate though, don't get me wrong. My drive to open it was just as bad as Pharoah's, though I would've first thought to test it. There was scribbling on top, no language I understood. It decorated the whole top of the crate. Through my glove I felt it's coldness though, and I was worried even more of what was inside.
"Hey Pharoah! Any chance you can check the temperature readings of here and Sector 0?" It would be best to occupy this child of a man. He did so without response, and I went back to opening the chest. My fingers felt frozen through the gloves, as if they were covered in a pile of snow.
"It's only 75 below at the moment. Feeling chilly Terrence?"
"Despite your obvious sarcasm, yes. This box is rather-"
Cold. I wanted to say cold but I was in shock by the time I saw the insides. It was alien life. The assumptions that immediately flew through my head, the box must be cold because it has adapted to the environment, but the way it grows was astounding.
"What's in it?"
"Flowers. It's, beautiful and at the same time so entrancing."
Pharoah came and looked with me at the new form of life we found. It seemed to dive for the ground from the top of the box, and the flowers themselves had a natural glitter.
"Pick one, I dare you." The man child uttered to me. Although, I was childish and giddish as well at the moment. I was also careless.
I plucked a flower from the slightly lifted roof of the crate and attempted to open it even more. The lid wouldn't budge much further though, it felt heavy. As soon as I let go the lid slammed shut, but the shake cleaned off all dust of the box and you can clearly see the flowers still growing to the ground.
I lifted the flower I plucked and it almost immediately pushed against me, cutting through my left hand and snatching it's stem from my right, and dove straight into the ground. The pain was immense, and I heard the oxygen in my suit leaving. It wasn't soon before I blacked out. | 2017-05-21T08:49:00 | 2017-05-21T03:20:18 | 92 | 14 |
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