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] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward. | "OOOOOoooooo shit."
Marie stood frozen in her tracks, holding the smoking pistol point blank against his skull. This was the last thing she had expected and she was dumbfounded. The target, Robert, just sat there on the couch, stunned and confused, completely unharmed by the bullet that went straight though the back of his head.
"Uhhh, who's there?"
Robert slowly rotated around to see what had happened. Before he could get a good glimpse, Marie lunged forward and tackled him to the ground. She pressed her knee into his back and grabbed him in a chokehold, pulling his spine back well past the breaking point. Then she began slamming his skull into the ground repeatedly but there was no blood, not even a cracking sound. Eyes wide with frustration and sweat forming on her temple, she grabbed a knife and slit his throat from behind. Falling off of him, she collapsed to the ground.
Almost immediately, Robert got up, brushed himself off and took a good look at Marie. She lifted her head and they made eye contact for the first time.
His dark yet inviting stare met her fleeting blue gaze. Electrifying energy surged into Marie's chest as she gasped and covered her mouth. His eyes widened and they both felt it - something deeply powerful between then yet entirely indescribable.
"Did... You just try to kill me?"
Marie let out a giggle despite the fact that she was unable to assassinate her target and was now talking with him openly. She felt bubbly and light, like everything in the world was exactly how it was supposed to be.
"Brilliant deduction there, Robert," she prodded.
"Call me Rob" he said with a smile ad he reached out his hand to lift her up. | "No, seriously, you *aren't* my type."
"Look, I agree with you, okay? You're definitely not what I, uhh, what I was expecting. But those are the rules, right? We're kinda stuck together now, aren't we?"
"No. No we're not. Let me tell you about the *rules* okay. The rules are so vague that it could be anything. 'Can't hurt them in any way or form'? It could be your employer is my soul mate. Or your weapons dealer. Or the guy who you're going to buy a tacky new jacket from with the money from this job, whose product can't be the motivation that leads to an assassin taking a job that successfully kills me. Or maybe any one of those people is *your* soul mate, and killing me would ruin your life, and they can't let you do that. Or maybe your soul mate--or any of theirs--is any one of the countless people whose lives would be made worse--significantly or marginally--by my death. I mean, fuck, even just the increase in crime statistics by a fraction of a percent lowering property values in this city by pennies is harm, and if your soul mate lives here that would harm them."
"I'm starting to see why someone wanted you dead."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because you take all the romance out of the world."
"Well, my soul mate will appreciate it, because if she were bothered by it, I wouldn't be able to feel this way."
"Heeeey... Maybe that's it!"
"What?"
"Your big stupid mouth is what made someone want to kill you, right? But losing their potential soulmate would be some form of harm to *your* soul mate. So no matter what, you can never say anything bad enough to get yourself killed for it. Nobody can!"
"Ugh... Reality is giving me a headache again." | 2018-04-24T03:54:16 | 2018-04-24T00:04:50 | 60 | 18 |
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories. | A real call I got once:
Me: "Necro Support, how can I help you?"
Them: "I'm not able to reanimate a corpse!"
Me: "Okay what line in the spellbook did you try exactly?"
Them: "SIR, I am NOT a necromancer person so I don't know."
Me: "Do you know which spellbook you're using?"
Them: "I don't know what that is!"
Me: "Okay, when you look at the spellbook, do you see a blue N, or a multic..."
Them: "SIR, I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I AM NOT A NECROMANCER PERSON, YOU'RE REFUSING TO HELP ME SO I'M GOING TO HANG UP" | **"Hello, this is Jeff from the Overwatch team, how can I help?"**
"Uh. Hello. Name's Jerry. So, I tried that basic human reanimation routine from *Basic Nercomundics, second edition* and it does not seem to do anything."
**"Hm. Keep in mind that we don't really support second edition anymore, it is at least 40 years out of date, but that routine should be the same. Do you get any effects after completing the incantation?"**
"Oh yeah, I get those pretty purple swirls in the air, and Betty yell at me."
**"Betty?"**
"Yep. My wife. I think she mentioned that it itches like a bitch when I do that."
**"Sir, with all due respect, you can't use animating magic on living humans."**
"Oh."
**Have a nice day. ^Dan, ^we ^got ^another ^idiot ^trying ^to ^animate ^body ^of ^his ^living ^wife!**
| 2018-04-28T00:14:14 | 2018-04-28T00:02:49 | 237 | 111 |
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories. | "You... you have who?" I ask, hoping that what I heard was incorrect.
"Marilyn Monroe, I'm gonna use her for\-"
"Sir I apologize but we don't support grave robbing\-"
"But\-"
"Of famous people" I interject quickly. Confusion seems to be radiating off my phone and I wish I could just hang up now.
"Well I mean I already have it..." I let out a sigh.
"Sir, she's been Embalmed and dead for fifty years. There probably isn't much left of the poor woman!"
"Yeah there really isn't, bones are all barely connected at this point."
"Wait, you are aware the spell won't repair any damage, right?"
"Oh I know, I really don't think\-" I hit disconnect and rip off my head set and let out a sigh. My phone begins to ring again as I push away from my desk. My supervisor raises an eyebrow at me ignoring the phone.
"Necromancer," I stare at the information on my computer again, "Mark has committed a class 14 breach of contract." My supervisor rolls his eyes as he walks past me.
"That makes 3 today so far, slow start." he says as he takes a sip of his coffee. Pain throbbed through my head as it connected with the desk. The most annoying part was he was right, it was a slow day. | People are idiots. Simple as that. After third time you accept the message to a screaming newbie rambling in about zombie apocalypse, when they have some simple error, it gets old fast.
But the craziest things happen with the experienced ones. The ones who think they know better. There are standard procedures introduced in all but the oldest, most eccentric, or advanced teaching manuals there are.
When some eighth-year schmuck called in the other day, I groaned. The kid had been an absolute prick since year one, calling in with idiotic advice, or stupid problems at least once every 6 months.
So this time, I just waited. And he was unusually silent this time, so I knew that it was bad.
It was not the worst, but it was pretty bad. He had made a form of growth built in to the system, where they absorb biomass and integrate it, as best they can, into their preexisting algorithms. But embedded protocols in the biomass of other necromancy corrupted the magic and created an amalgam of mixed and corrupted spells.
Formulaically speaking, this was an extremely difficult problem. You would have to detangle the individual matrix created by the absorption pattern of each subject, separate, then spend a considerable amount of time modifying and fixing the magic in the individual, while having the physical form restrained, restructured, and reset.
As a a necromancer, doing all of this magically is a problem. However, that's why they have Us. We have studied, and trained, in the programming of the arcane, despite not being able to do it ourselves. We come in, and clean up their messes. They have them enough that there is an entire guild devoted to us.
Just another day as an adventurer. | 2018-04-27T23:38:04 | 2018-04-27T21:14:51 | 102 | 34 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "Okay, the army's coming toward you. What do you do?"
"I tell everyone to hide, then I open the front gate. Is that good for a bonus?"
"A bonus for what?"
"Bluff."
The DM stared at the Bard. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Rogue spoke for him.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
The fighter chimed in, "How do you expect this to work against an *army?*"
The Bard merely shrugged, and continued his description. "I'll climb to the lip above the gate and begin playing my lute."
"You hear the footsteps of the army approaching," the DM was rolling dice behind a screen, glancing warily at the Bard.
"I keep playing."
The Wizard panicked. "I go to close the -"
"Leave it open," the Bard interrupted.
The DM wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk from the Bard's face. "You see Lu Bu in the distance, leading a host of a hundred thousand."
"I roll perform." The dice clacked against a still wooden table. Not the best roll, but the dulcet tones of the lute still echoed well through the thick forest.
Ahead, the army stopped. Appraising the situation. Discerning the motive of the Bard on the balcony.
"Okay, Bard. Roll bluff." The DM was hunched like a cat behind his screen, ready to pounce.
One roll in front of the screen from the Bard. One roll behind the screen from the DM.
The true testament of will came on part of the DM, who, despite careful maneuvering over the length of his campaign, despite his bonuses, his banners, his buffs, turned his army back through grit teeth instead of flipping the whole damn table. | "Merry Christmas!"
George flipped through his character sheet a few times as the DM handed out gifts.
"Now, we don't have long for today's session, do you guys think we should just hand out gifts and get back to-"
George flicked his gaze across his party, a grin settling on his face. "Say, it's also Christmas in game, right?"
"...Yes?" The Dm asked.
"George, no," Thomas said, straightening up. Half of a box of chocolates was already in his mouth.
"And that means that our enemies are also celebrating Christmas, yes?" George said, plucking up the dice.
"George, no, I have a family to get back to, I can't spend the entire day rolling dice on a surprise attack," Thomas whined.
The Dm took a long drawn out sigh. "Look, it's raining, and there's a river in your way. Open your present and leave, George."
George looked over the other two sitting at the table. "No, I am sick and tired of morale being low and getting our asses kicked by the empire!"
"Maaaaaayyyybbbeeee," The Dm drawled. "You shouldn't've taken a swing at the greatest empire in the world? I had a fantastic story set to the side about the natives."
"No, he's right," John said.
"John why are you betraying me like this?" The Dm asked, mournfully.
"I'm a spy," John explained. "And that means..." John slapped the dice on the table.
The Dm stared down at the events with rising horror. "It means you know that they bought your story, hook line and sinker... and don't think you'll attack Trenton."
George stood up, downed the rest of his coffee, and posed, pointing at the DM. "Then there's only one thing left to do! Let's CROSS THE DELAWARE!"
A long, defeated sigh from the DM. "...roll the dice."
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this. | 2018-05-29T07:11:07 | 2018-05-29T06:10:01 | 1,810 | 774 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this. | “Pull over !” she says, as she manages to catch up to match my speed.
She’s running swiftly beside my vehicle now, travelling upwards of 55mph.
I roll the window down and say :
“It’s a cardigan, but thanks for noticing!”
I give her a friendly thumbs up as I speed off into the sunset. | What if she appears in the passenger seat, rear seats, or in the trunk.
Imagine she appears in your trunk and remains silent. You don't see her and dismiss this as some dumb story told to scare kids.
Sometime later, you are walking up to your car from the store to put groceries or something into your trunk. You open the trunk and there she is. Evil grin on her face. And you there holding a bag full of junk food with a dumb look on your face.
"Damn... I forgot the eggs." You think as she drags you to hell. | 2018-10-01T15:22:26 | 2018-10-01T15:10:07 | 18 | 12 |
[WP]All humans and lots of mammals on earth are mind readers, but we don't know it because the genes to prevent having your mind read are shared amongst all life on earth. An alien race has just made first contact. | **Journal of ParaPsychic genetics, June, 2027**
For a trait to *achieve* ,allele fixation, where one allele has 100% frequency in the population, it takes strong and constant selective pressure.
To *remain* at 100% in the population, there needs to be a persistent strong selective pressure *keeping* the trait fixed.
It has to be something stopping almost any carrier of new damaging mutations to survive long enough to procreate.
Since the events of September 7th 2024 we now know that the human mind is both psychically hyper-aggressive to any nearby unprotected minds and also capable of silently defending itself from such attacks.
The effects during first contact with the Qurians were initially diplomatically disastrous with the entire visiting delegation killed once they came within range of the nearby human population. It was a miracle that we later established positive relations and eventually an alliance.
Investigations have revealed there to be 2 separate traits in the human genome, with 2 genetic loci.
For geneticists a mystery remained. *What keeps the hyper-aggressive allele fixed in the population?* It's an obvious disadvantage to lack *defenses* when surrounded by aggressive minds. Such individuals appear to expire at the earliest stages of brain development. But what keeps the aggression trait fixed? The constant subconscious aggressive attacks cost a small amount of energy yet everything we are familiar with is immune.
*It should be costless to be psychically mute.*
Every year thousands of children go missing across the country.
We used to believe most of them were normal kidnappings or accidents but... in light of the discoveries since first contact we have reason to believe that approximately 15 to 20 thousand children are born each year without the capacity for psychic aggression.
We believe none reach adulthood. Eventually, obliviously, they leave the aggression range of any other human minds.
That selective pressure, as it turns out, is the reason why we sometimes feel a chill and feel like someone's looking at us when we're alone.
Recent discoveries using parapsychic detection apparatus lead us to believe that we are not as alone on earth as we believed ourselves to be. We share this planet. And they have been hunting humans since before the first cave paintings. There is an organism that is an obligate predator of intelligent lifeforms. The psychic aggression of the human mind is the only thing that keeps them at bay.
Worse, it appears that they have escaped the planet with the second wave of Qurians diplomatic ships that landed far from any human, the Qurian home world has suffered countless disappearances since their return.
Though we are inimical to their very existence... our new allies need our help against humanities oldest predator. | Painfully bright light flooded the lander as the main hatch slowly opened. Then we just stood there. We stared at the alien landscape in awe. Large, definetely artificial grey blocks, large green areas, and an enermous body of water filled our view. And directly in front of us, stood a large group of aliens.
The tension was painful, a mix of fear and curiosity in the air. They kept looking at us but we couldn't understand their faces, couldn't guess what they were thinking. I was really unsettled by their gaze.
Finally, a small group of 3 aliens steps forward. They show up their upper limbs, and approach the ship slightly. So we move too. We slowly make our way down the ramp, still shy and disoriented by the unfamiliar world. But, as we are approaching them, an eerie feeling is taking over me. My head begins to hurt, like it's being pried open. From their faces I can see that the rest of the crew is feeling it too. We stop suddenly.
That's when I have the first "flash" . A swirl of strange and unsettling images, sounds and toughts storm my mind, but just for a split second. The humans seem to notice it too. They are talking among themselves. That's when I notice there was complete silence since we left the lander. One of the humans steps closer, and I get a sudden sensation that I should move closer, and that they are friendly. I lift my top right hand, and Dr. Sandra grabs it and shakes it. *What is a Dr. Sandra? What are we doing here?*
Then my mind explodes. Pictures flood my mind,pictures of the planet, life here, pictures of other humans, who I can instantly recognize somehow, sounds, smells, and ideas, they just don't stop coming. And so many ideas, so much knowledge! I almost feel ashamed of my species. I suddenly understand what it's like to be a human.
But she lets go of my hand, and the euphoria stops. It is replaced by terror as another human approaches. He isn't broadcasting friendliness as the Dr. Sandra did. No, he is very different. Almost a different species. He also touches me, but not in a friendly way. He pushes me away, and the toughts flood me again, images of war, violence, fear, and terror. He reaches into my toughts forcefully and touches everything. He shouts into my mind Who are you? What do you want? This is not your planet! Leave! The sheer violence of the attack overwhelmes me, and I faint.
As I am falling to the ground, I can see my crew drawing weapons, the humans attacking, explosions tearing up the peace, my ship crumbling, my first officer talking in the radio *"... do not come down here..."* , and finally darkness.
​
\---------------------------------------------
Phew this was my very first prompt so bear with me, and also I know does not say full telepathy, but I wanted to take a more interesting view. | 2019-02-19T10:29:52 | 2019-02-19T10:02:39 | 179 | 46 |
[WP] Soul mate's exist. One day while showering, you're teleported in a cloud of smoke to another world. You appear before a dark queen who declares her spell worked and you, her soulmate, is finally here | I stood slumped over in my shower, unmoving as the water cascaded over me. Hoping beyond hope that it would soothe my weary body and mind. It was the end of an especially brutal week. My relationship with my girlfriend had imploded, mostly due to my own inability to commit and fully open up to her. My truly awful father was trying to guilt me into reconciling with him on his deathbed. I’d lost my job months earlier, but the weight of that failure still crushed down on my shoulders as well. I’m sure most people were out on a friday night, maybe drowning their sorrows with copious amounts of booze. For me on this particular day, ‘drowning my sorrows’ meant this endless shower alone with my thoughts.
I don’t know how long I’d been in there when I began struggling to breath. Rapidly my chest started clenching, my heart rate racing. A thudding sensation began throughout my entire body. What the hell was this, heat exhaustion? Heart attack? Panic attack? Visually, the shower walls seemed to be closing in around me and growing darker. Then the floor started glowing, so perhaps hallucination was my more accurate self diagnosis? The shower floor became brighter and brighter until the luminescence was blinding. And then, without warning, I was falling. I don’t know how to describe my trip aside from it being like falling through a tunnel of pure light. After what seemed like an eternity, I landed unceremoniously with a thud on a stone floor.
“Welcome my dear!” a woman’s booming voice called out to me.
My eyes strained to take in the unfamiliar scene before me. I was in a throne room. I’d call it ‘medieval looking’, but I couldn’t imagine the interior of actual medieval castle looking this extravagant. Upon a dark and twisted throne sat a woman with a wicked grin etched on her face. As she stood, I immediately noted that she was tall, beautiful, and absolutely commanded the room with an air of supreme confidence. Everything about this place was over the top to the point of cartoonishness. That included the Queen herself. As she glided down the steps from her throne with style and panache, her elaborate dress and long colorful cape cascaded down behind her.
“As the prophecy has foretold, I have summoned my soulmate on the 7300th day of my life,” she bellowed, no longer speaking to me alone. “He shall serve me, and he shall serve you, my dear subjects!”
A massive crowd of those very subjects let out a simultaneous cheer. I became aware of their presence, and of the fact that they were staring at my stark naked body, at the very same moment.
“I don’t know what's going on, I gather you're probably my kidnapper, but did you have to nab me while I was showering?” I whispered to her as my cheeks turned red. “It’s like the one time per day I’m completely nude.”
“Oh I’m sooooo sorry my sweetheart,” she said without an ounce of sincerity before turning serious. “I could only summon you into my world while you were in the same state that you were in when you were born into yours. And as you noted, because you are just a tad repressed, that only happens while you are bathing. So in some way you actually chose the timing of your summoning.”
“This really feels like sexual harassment or at least an HR violation,” I mumbled, unable to contain my sarcasm in such an absurd moment.
“Do not fear, I have seen every inch of your nude body as I fully determined your worthiness to be my husband.”
“...Is that supposed to make me feel *better*?” I asked incredulously.
“You and I are soulmates," she said with confidence. "We will see each other in our most natural states countless times. There are no secrets between us.”
"Yeah well, ‘we’ seem to be on somewhat unequal footing in the clothing department at the moment," I replied with growing resentment.
“I am not without fairness,” she said while a sultry smile crept across her face. She snapped her fingers and for a moment her clothing disappeared and her nude body flashed before my eyes. I don’t know if she had just flashed her goods to the hundreds of people in the throne room or if she had projected that image directly into my mind, but either way, it reinforced the impression I already had of her. She was supremely confident… in every single aspect of herself. She snapped once more and in an instant I was clothed, adorned in finery only second to hers in this entire room.
After I recovered from the shock of this overtly magical display I finally asked, “What else do you know about me?”
“Everything,” she replied ominously. “On my 6th birthday I was given this soul mirror. When I gazed into it I was shown my soulmate at the exact same moments in his life. As I learned to control its magic I could travel backward and forward at my whim. I have seen your entire life, you can hide no secrets from me.”
She once again began dramatically speaking past me and to the entire assembled masses, “You are my soulmate! Mine to do with whatever I wish. You will serve as my right hand for the rest of your life, you will protect me, you will provide me with heirs, you will love and cherish me... just as I deserve!” The members of the royal court nodded their agreement. Cheers went up throughout the crowd. They ate this melodramatic stuff up.
I was a fairly broken man, but I still hated the idea of someone thinking they were in control of my life. I summoned all my courage before speaking, “I refuse.”
She let loose an honest to god evil cackle, it echoed endlessly throughout the great hall. “You will come to see the error of your refusal. To the dungeons with him,” she said as I was immediately dragged off.
___
Unfortunately this story hit Reddit's character limit, so it is continued in Part 2 below. | Stumbling through the morning hangover was always the worst, Gen thought. Dealing with those office meetings was only ever possible drunk, preferably before, during, and after. Making his way to the bathroom, he cranked the shower up hot, always having enjoyed the steam of the shower. It was the best cure for his hangover and to get him out of his foul mood.
After a time Gen reached for the door getting ready to get out, and the shower was suddenly gone with a puff of steam. The air was suddenly freezing, steam rising off his soaked body in puffing contrast to the new chill. Gen wiped his eyes, thinking he must have fallen back into a drunken slumber. He opened his eyes to stare at a magnificent obsidian throne with several shadowy figures surrounding it. The room was a scene of obsidian and dark stones, gems adorned the walls, and the floor, seemed to be covered in one massive circle of glowing light. As the light of the circle faded, one of the dark figures began strutting towards him at a swift pace. Gen was beginning to panic, he doesn't dream, he never has. Backing away from the figure fast approaching he attempted to speak before it lunged and embraced him, before quickly kissing him. The kiss was a deep one, the moment captured Gen, and completely enraptured him. A feeling of comfort he'd never known washed over him, and left him with a deep sense of longing. He felt a tongue flicking against his own, and the figure suddenly pulled away wiping at its face. The moment was over, but Gen desperately wanted it to continue.
Still feeling elation from the moment, mind a little clearer but still extremely confused, Gen looked up at the figure standing a foot tall over him. "Finally my soulmate! I've waited years for this moment, and you are finally here. And you are all mine." The cloaked figure pulled back its hood to reveal an incredibly beautiful face. Her eyes glinted like rubies, filled with joy and glinting with happiness. Her raven hair framing her face and contrasting perfectly to the silver and gold adornments upon her. Looking down, she grinned, "I was expecting you to appear more comfortably, but not quite as you are now." still staring down and still smiling, "Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for that later my dear." Noticing his rather stiff erection, Gen finally managed to speak, "Where am I? Who are you, how did I get here, what's happening!?"
Quite panicked, Gen was terrified. Suddenly one of the other cloaked figures leapt forward, "You DARE speak out of turn before her majesty? I will strike-" ZRRRTTT!
Lightning erupted from the womans fingertips throwing the other figure through the wall. With a very commanding voice, she spoke again, "You are the one who speaks out of turn Gamon, you will never speak to my beloved that way or next time you'll be a pile of ash. Do you hear me?" Her ruby eyes framed with a ring of magical bright blue and full of murderous intent, "You are frightening my husband to be even more than he is. If you want to earn your place back in my good graces you will fetch him fine clothes and a meal immediately, lest you completely fall from my grace." The man, Gamon quickly rising from the wall rubble, bowed. "Yes my Queen! Sincerest apologies new Master!" And disappeared in a loud crack, reappearing almost instantly with clothes around one arm and a large food tray in the other. He approached and bowed, "My sincerest apology sir, I spoke out of turn. It won't happen again." Fear in his eyes, he handed me clothes. As I dressed he spoke, "I will hold the tray when you are ready to eat, feel free."
Looking back at the woman, the blue in her eyes faded, she smiled again. "Always a quick learner Gamon, but even quicker to jump to conclusions. Keep his food warm, he will have it in a moment." Turning back to Gen, "I waited years to meet you, perfecting the magic to reach across time to pull you to me at my age before you reached your years end. It was determined by my seer, I'd meet you as you were close to death, too old for me to breath the essence of immortality into you. A life of solitude and sadness was a fate too cruel for me to allow you to bear. I simply had to take you now, so that we may have centuries together. I know your confused and scared, but I know you felt the magic of our kiss, you know what I said is true. You are my one and only soulmate, and I want to live my life with you forever at my side."
Gen could see it in her eyes, the same burning loneliness, the same dark place where he himself remained. He felt a connection to her, beyond his explanation. Everything about her was captivating. He wanted more, he wanted her so badly, he struggled to find words as she spoke again, "my name is Viridiana, and I know it's sudden but I don't want to wait any longer. Take my hand, be bound to me, spend your life with me and long for no one else. You'll never be alone again. Please, say that you will. I don't want to feel alone without you anymore."
It was obvious she was close to tears, completely serious. Gen looked down at her small hand, and took it. "I don't want to be alone anymore either."
It wasn't long after that the ceremony began, the two of them would be married, and Gen would learn the true darkness of the halls he walked, and the heavy toll it cost it took to summon him to his dark queen. The lives of people from his time were experiments as she perfected the magic to safely bring him to her. Many of them eviscerated simply being touched by her darkness. The queen had unintentionally slaughtered thousands to bring him to her. Their blood staining the dark obsidian walls and dungeons still, forever bloody red. It is to be said Gen is truly her soulmate, for knowledge of this slaughter only made his love for her stronger. Mercy take the fool who would ever dare to come between them. | 2019-04-28T12:46:33 | 2019-04-28T07:05:24 | 41 | 21 |
[WP] Instead of requiring sleep everyone has two distinct souls that share the one body; switching places when one gets tired and needs rest. Neither has access to the memories of the other and life for most is about learning to co-exist with another person they will never get to meet. | That son of a bitch, he never cleans up after himself. The apartment is always a mess when I wake up. Since we were kids. He makes the mess, I clean up the mess. I don't think the man has ever done a dish in his life. And don't get me started on the STDs.
Have you tried expressing your frustration at him through a note, or maybe a recording to leave for him?
Yeah, I even hired a guy to wait outside my apt for him and beat his ass. Ended up in the hospital with a broken arm. I just can't take it anymore. I hate him so much. I don't want to die. But the thought of killing him takes hold of me sometimes.
You would kill yourself, just to spite him?
No... I will go to bed one night and never wake up, he will do the dying part.
I'm going to prescribe an anti-depressant. | ''I’m very sorry Mr.Simon but we can’t help you''
I left her office without saying anything back. I was thinking going back to my house but then I realised I’m no longer carrying another soul on my body. I can do whatever I want.
Next day I went to a place where people like me hangs out. They call themselves ‘Free Souls’.
''Are you new here?'' the lady with a big hat asked me.
''Yes, I’m new.'' I answered just before sipped my drink.
Our conversation lasted almost half an hour. She was very friendly towards me. Then, I went back to my car and I started the engine. In that moment I realised for the first time, I will experience something that I never experience if I go to sleep tonight. I will dream my other part’s life.
I wasn’t that ready for that. So, I kept myself awake whole night. Next night I was looking at myself at the bathroom mirror and thinking ‘There is nothing to be afriad, is there?’
I closed my eyes and I tried to relax.
In the morning I woke up screaming a person’s name that I never knew before ‘SHARON!’
---------------------------------
*Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker* | 2019-05-29T05:42:35 | 2019-05-29T03:14:53 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] Your father died 5 years ago, but he always calls you on your birthday from a blank number. You got over the shock years ago and verified it really is him. After his call today you accidently hit the redial button and a pleasant voice answers "Afterlife Inc. How may I help you?" | “Afterlife Inc. How may I help you?” The woman’s overly cheery, customer service-plastic voice rang through my phone. “Hello?”
“Um- yeah. Yeah. Hi.” I swivelled on my heel and paced the length of my room.
“Hello,” the woman repeated. “How can I help you today?”
“I was just talking with my father.”
“Ah, yes. A common call is from one’s parents. I hope everything was satisfactory?”
“Yes, it was more than satisfactory” I could sense the woman on the other end of the line was growing impatient. How could I put into words the enormity of *this*? How could she keep talking as if there were nothing extraordinary about our conversation?
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. I could hear the smile that must’ve been plastered onto her face. “Well, if that’s everything...”
“No! No—no you can’t hang up.”
“Sir?”
“How are you doing this? How can you process these calls?”
“Afterlife Inc. is a service dedicated to connecting individuals with their loved ones who are having difficulties moving on in the afterlife.”
My father had said that too, the first time he’d called. Not the name—he hadn’t mentioned that part—but he’d given the same speech. He needed to hear from me, he had said. He needed to know that I was okay. I thought I’d finally cracked when I heard him. I’d forgotten the lilt of his voice and the way he chuckled nervously when he was uncomfortable. It took me years (and honing my interrogation skills) before I believed he was on the line. “And my father hired you?”
“Yes, yes he must’ve.”
“David Crossfield,” I said. “I’m Evan.”
The woman hummed for a moment. I could make out a faint clattered on a keyboard.
“Ah, yes. Yes.” The woman paused. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“What?”
“Well, your account was actually opened by David and Elaine Crossfield.”
“What do you mean? My mom’s not dead.”
There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. “Sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Of what?”
The woman’s façade faded; her voice hardened. “I’m sorry, sir. Your father has been the one contacting you. Our service only works one way.”
She cleared her throat. “You are the one that’s dead. Not your father, not your mother. According to my records, you drowned at a lake eight years ago.”
My stomach slid into my throat. “That’s impossible.” Heartbeat in the ears. Heat splash across the face. “No—no. That’s impossible.” Around the phone, my grip tightened despite the sheen of sweat.
But it wasn’t impossible.
I could remember gripping onto the boat as Keira whipped the boat in a tight arc. My hand, slippery then too, slid off. I remember a rock meeting my head and my body meeting the sand. A blurred world and lungs tearing apart.
In a dream, one often ignores the strangeness. Everything, no matter how strange, appears perfectly normal until after one awakens.
Much was the same about wherever I was now. I had existed in a half-life for years: not human and yet not gone. Calling myself a ghost wouldn’t be quite right, but then what was left? A spectre? A phantom?
“I’m…?”
“Dead, sir. Yes.”
“And stuck between worlds.”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
My lungs tightened and my breath hitched. Did I even need to breathe? “Why haven’t I heard from my mother.”
“There’s no note about that in your file.” The woman hesitated. “But if I had to guess, she might’ve found it too painful. It can be very difficult, you see. Some use our service to find closure. Others use it to avoid ever having to reach that point.”
*Like my father.* I pursed my lips. With the calls, it was if neither of us were truly gone. I could imagine he was only on vacation: sitting on a Hawaiian beach; climbing the side of Everest; sipping wine in Bordeaux. Had he done the same with me?
Neither of us were gone to the other, but at the same time, neither of us were there for the other. I couldn’t remember the way he smelled, but I know he had been warm. The exact shade of his brown hair slipped my mind.
Whatever had happened, I was caught. And maybe he was too.
“Miss?”
“Yes,” the woman said, polite and careful.
“I’d like you to cancel this account.”
“Of course,” she said. Her voice lifted at the end. “Is that all today?”
“I think so.” I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes. The world around me was smoke, now. Perhaps it had always been smoke and I noticed it only now. “Wait.”
“Yes?”
“Tell him goodbye from me. Tell him to move forward.”
“Of course.”
I let my phone slip away.
I followed it and left that place and ventured into the ether.
---
/r/liswrites | "Uh," I stammered, barely registering the woman's words. "Sorry, I must've misdialed..."
There came a moment's pause. Then: "With respect, I doubt that, sir. Our sales line isn't a number you can exactly stumble across. May I please have your name and the reason for your call today?"
*How am I going to talk my way out of this one without sounding like a lunatic? "Yeah, hi, I speak to my dead father every year and this time I think I hit redial and now I'm speaking with you..."* Then the woman's words sank in. *Afterlife, Inc.* "My name is Jensen Orwell," I said truthfully, leaning my head against the sliding door and staring at the moonlit grass beyond.
"And the reason for your call today?"
The response spilled from my mouth almost of its own accord. "I'd like to request an on-site visit, please."
Something was clacking on the other end of the line, as if the woman's fingers were flying over a computer keyboard. No, it sounded louder than that, more mechanical. A typewriter? "I see your number is a cell, Mr. Orwell. New York area code. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
The woman sighed and stopped typing. "I see in our files that your father, Mr. Christopher Orwell, is a current Afterlife customer. You're aware of our pricing package for corporeal visits to customers who have been with us less than 10 years?"
"Yes." I chose not to admit that this entire conversation was *actually* the result of a misdial. Nor that I still had no idea to whom I was speaking or what she represented, much less what their pricing looked like.
She started clacking away again. "How long do you plan to visit with Mr. Orwell?"
"Uh," I said again, beginning to feel very stupid. "A week."
"One week will come out to one annum, plus tax and...let's see...Your total will be one annum, 68 annumiums, with half that amount required as deposit upon confirmation. Would you like to proceed?"
I took a deep breath and lumbered over from the slider to the kitchen's granite island. The glossy stone felt cool against my arms as I leaned onto it for support. "Please, thanks." Something loud chattered on the other end of the line, like coins tumbling down a metal slide, followed by the sharp *ring* of a bell.
"You'll receive your receipt momentarily," the woman said, in a voice that made it obvious she had formed that exact sentence countless times before. "Please make your way to the nearest chair or surface on which you can recline and provide verbal confirmation once you've assumed position."
*What in the hell is this?* I half-hoped my wife Emily would make her way down the staircase for a midnight glass of orange juice. Maybe she'd find me talking to myself, sleepwalking through the house and having an imaginary conversation in the kitchen. She'd been saying for days I looked overworked and exhausted. Maybe she actually had a point. Maybe I really *was* starting to let everything in the lab get to--
"Sir?" the woman said, impatiently this time. "Sir, are you in a safe position at this time?"
I looked across the island, which my elbows were still planted on, at the black chairs arranged neatly around our kitchen's circular glass table, but made no effort to move over to it. "Yes, I am."
"Extracting payment now," she said perfunctorily.
There came another metallic *cha-ching* from her end of the line, and a sudden pain lanced through my chest. I cried out, dropping my cell, and slumped forward onto the counter before feeling my knees buckle. In a futile attempt to keep myself up, I twisted around until my back was against the cabinets below the island. My legs could no longer support me against the pain, and my butt thumped onto the tiled floor.
The pain didn't stop. Surely there was some invisible needle being pushed through my sternum, spearing through the bone into the softness beneath...there was no other way this raw, tangible *pain* could be burning through my chest, seeping into the rest of my body...
"Thank you for your business," I heard my phone voice faintly. The woman was now barely audible; I hadn't had time to turn on speakerphone before whatever happened happened. "Your receipt will manifest momentarily...happy living..."
I gasped and slapped a hand onto the floor, trying to jolt myself out of it. It landed on something dry, something that slid: a piece of paper. Wincing, I pinched it with my fingers and held it up to my eyes.
A receipt.
# Afterlife, Inc.
***Where dreams become reality; where reality becomes forever.***
*Item: On-site (living to deceased, on Afterlife campus), 1 week..........................1 annum (365 life days)*
*Tax: 68 annumiums (life days)*
*Subtotal: 433 annumiums (life days)*
*Gratuity: \_\_\_\_\_*
*Total: \_\_\_\_\_*
*Payment-adjusted lifespan: 72 annums, 324 annumiums*
​
I thought back to what she'd said. *Extracting payment now*. I thought about the pain, which was still there, but fading. Finally, I looked at the receipt again.
And then I began to scream. | 2019-08-17T15:41:34 | 2019-08-17T15:01:51 | 1,168 | 293 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to know what is buried beneath your feet. You have worked for years with geologists finding lost cities and treasures. Today is the first time you have ever said “We should not dig here.” | This wasn’t the first time we had received a message from the Old World. Most messages were indirect, time capsules meant for some imagined future where humanity would be far more advanced and would look upon their contents as vestiges of a time past. These messages never predicted the warfare that would ravage the Old World, the conflict that brought humanity to the brink of extinction. Now we seek these vestiges not as souvenirs of the time past, but as cornucopias of technology that can bring our species back to its former glory.
I’m one of the few with an ability to find these relics, a rare mutation derived from the radioactive weapons that ravaged this planet centuries ago. I’ve spent my life finding what’s located below, bunkers, banks, and sometimes whole cities buried below the topsoil. But this one was different, a settlement far deeper than the ones I’ve typically found. At first we thought it a repository, a stash of old technology buried deep below the surface for safekeeping.
It took us two weeks of excavation to find The Note, the cryptic message that seemed not to address some utopian future, but an alien civilization unfamiliar with the technology that preceded it. The Note read the following:
*“This place is a message… and part of a system of messages… pay attention to it! Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.*
*This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.*
*What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.*
*The danger is in a particular location… it increases toward a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.*
*The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.*
*The danger is to the body, and it can kill.*
*The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.*
*The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.”*
We started excavating the land immediately. Whatever the Old World buried here must have been powerful. A weapon? A system of generating energy? They spoke of how they didn’t value what was buried, but they couldn’t know the situation we were in. We were primitive compared to what they used to be, anything they could have considered an “emanation of energy” would be invaluable to us.
It was only as we started to dig closer to it that I began to feel a familiarity. We always knew that the forces that granted me my powers were derived from the weapons that ravaged our planet long ago. And as we dug closer, this familiarity increased. We weren’t digging towards a repository, but a malignant force.
I tried to tell them, warn them of what was below us. But they wouldn’t listen. Once I located the dig site, they had little need for me and relived me from my duties. But I can still feel it. Even now, huddled outside the dig site, I can feel the evil emanating from below me. It's the same maligned forces that gave me my powers and that ravished the Old World. I don’t understand this danger, but I know I must stop it. The mistakes of our past can’t be repeated, and I’m the only one who understands the true horrors of what rests below. | "Well Cornell, what do you think?" the land surveyor, Ronald asked me.
"Eh, I'm not really feeling this," I said.
"What?" Ronald's jaw dropped.
I tapped the grassy land once again, but shook my head and shrugged. We were in a field wide and expansive, a surprising amount of short grass that was well kept, but then again the land was also recently purchased and "renovated". There were trees peppered here and there but not enough to call it a forest.
I was with Ronald, a colleague who I've worked with for a number of years who recommended me for this job. I was also with a rich landowner who purchased the area with the sole expectation to make a killing on selling to oil companies, his name was Henry. Henry bought the land because it was speculated to have a massive reservoir underneath it.
"What do you mean, you're not really feeling this? In all our years working together I've never heard you say anything like that," Ronald said with his jaw dropped and his mouth quivering.
"Look I'm sorry, I know Henry is paying me to be out here today to tell good news but, Henry, the fact of the matter is, I've been doing this a while and I have a great reputation, but I'm not really feeling this land right now."
Henry glared at me with eyes that could kill, fortunately I was nervous and shy so I was staring at the ground.
"Is this some kind of idea for a prank?" Henry gruffed.
"I wish it was like that, but it's not. I've detected oil before, and there's none below here."
"Balderdash! I've spoken with numerous experts on the matter and all of them have told me oil is underneath here, so oil we will excavate for!"
"No, that's really not a good idea."
"Enough! I've had it with listening to this idiotic psychic who doesn't know what he's talking about!" Henry screamed, his neck had veins popping out.
"Look, you don't even have to pay me, I just need to get away from this land if you're planning on excavating because there's more to life than-oh I don't know- MONEY for certain death."
Ronald gripped me up by my shoulders and started to shake me. "Cornell! Tell me just what in God's name is going on underneath this land, are you saying we're all in danger?"
"Uh yeah. When I said I wasn't feeling this land, I meant that there's an ancient demon god sleeping below named Helmagoth, and I'm not going to be part of her murder rampage of the dumb idiots that wake her up."
"Ha! Ronald, your friend has lost his mind, we're going through with the plans. And no you won't be paid, Cornell, you've been the least helpful one. We're breaking ground tomorrow and that is final."
"Cool, it's your funeral. I'm going to head back home, Ronald, you should really come back with me, this is going to get bloody and ugly real quick," I said shaking my head in disappointment.
"Actually Ronald, I'll pay you double and I'll even pay you what I was planning on paying Cornell if you stay. Your friend here is a bloke and he's lost his marbles," Henry offered as he held out his hand to shake Ronald's.
Ronald was glancing at me and back at Henry, sweat was forming on his brow and he cleaned it off with his rag from his pocket. His eyes were wide and his head was bobbling between shaking and nodding.
"Well, Ronald, *what do you say*?" Henry asked.
r/randallcooper | 2020-04-04T19:18:07 | 2020-04-04T17:15:41 | 62 | 26 |
[WP] Blind people aren’t actually blind. Their eyes are tuned into a different dimension, but their brains can’t process that information so they see nothing. A doctor has just perfected a procedure to correct this problem. Tell us what the first patient sees. | Sometimes what's broken shouldn't be fixed.
Blans, was the surname of the doctor. He was a prodigy, the sort of individual with a brain that only a perfect combination of genetic accidents can produce. But even a man like Blans is prone to mistakes when dealing with the unknown. Well, mistake, in all fairness, is not the right word--unexpected complications may be a better way of putting it, for his procedure was flawless.
He stood by his patient, expectant. His thumb patting his other thumb as his hands lay interlaced behind his back. "You may open your eyes," he said, and his patient, stiff with fear, nodded.
There was a strange beauty, Blans thought, to the way his patient's eyelids slid open. It represented a beginning, the same way a rolling or parting curtain indicated the start of a play. Music would come, he thought, music in unison with the discovery of a hidden dimension concealed in the sights of the blind--
The patient's mouth blasted open. A scream, far too loud, far too desperate, boomed through the room. His throat and vocal cords ruptured. Blood spurted out of his tongue in small strings, tarnishing his chest, dying his teeth. Then, as the scream lingered and intensified, it gushed out in torrents. Blans rushed to cover his patient's eyes, but even then, it was far too late. The body of the once-blind man began to tremble. He opened his eyes again. A seizure came next, the bed rattled to the ominous rattling of his bones. Blans stared in fear, ideas faltering. He stepped back, once, twice, and screamed, "What do you see?"
And along with the last and lethal rush of blood came a rotten sentence, "Demons. True demons!".
Blans remained silent awhile. His thoughts spiraling, his extremities trembling. The smell of blood and death filling his nostrils. Something clicked. The fear dissipated from his eyes and a smile curved his lips. He left the room, called for cleaning, and told his nurses to bring in the next patient.
It seemed to him, that the only way to understand these demons was to play being God himself. | I used to wake up to the faded orange glow of the rising sun, always muted and dark behind my broken retinas.
This time I wake up to Everything.
"Can you please describe it again, in the best detail you can?" My doctor has a kind voice, a comfortingly deep baratone that tickles pleasantly at my ear drums.
"Everything," I say again, helpless.
There is no way I can describe what I am seeing. No way that I can make it fit the doctor's version of the real world. I will try anyway.
"Nothing has form. Everything shifts. Everything is fluid. Everything merges and seperates and merges again in a swirl of unending color."
The doctor grunts, then taps the bottom of the hospital bed. "What about this bed," he says. "How does it look?"
I can still feel the bed. I know that I am still lying in it because I can feel the mattress slightly molded to my back and legs. But my awareness of the bed as a bed ends there. I am lying on a fountain of colours, a thousand kinds swelling up beneath me only to cascade to the hospital floor in beautifully intricate rainbows.
The doctor asks again, slightly impatient. "Ronald, how does the bed look to you?" He taps the side table to the right of my head. "Or this table?"
The doctor himself appears as an unbelievably complex web of colorful lines, continually weaving and intermingling and emerging and falling away. Every time he speaks the lines pulse, flaring with meaning before fading back to seemingly random undulating patterns.
The knock on the table appears as a spray of ... everything. The temporal space around the sound shudders and shimmers and bursts asunder in an acute display of light matching sound, each knock sending waves of color into the shimmering air.
"I...," I try to think of a way to explain this.
The colored lines that make up the doctor darken slightly, as if in tune with his emotion.
"Ronald. I have dedicated my entire life to this. Please try and describe what you see. What do I look like?"
My heart goes out to this man, the man who pulled me out from under the dark.
"I think...," I say, stalling for time. Trying to figure out how to make sense of this new world. Or of this world that has been here all along, a primal undercurrent to reality. There.
"I think I see reality in its raw form," I say, watching the doctor's lines instantly lighten. | 2020-04-06T09:32:48 | 2020-04-06T09:10:57 | 126 | 74 |
[WP] Every time there is a thunderstorm your father ushers you inside and waits on the porch with his gun, your mother says he's just gone a bit crazy after the war, but you've seen what lurks in the clouds too. |
Pa has always been a bit strange since he came home from the war. He didn't come home sick or crippled like other men, but he didn't come back normal either. Every time he heard the rumble of a thunderstorm, he would bolt to his feet, grab his shotgun, and hustle me and my ma down to the storm cellar. Then, he would sit outside with his shotgun and a bucket of water next to him for hours until the storm passed. My ma used to say that it was the trauma of the war that made him act like that, that all the constant artillery and death around him had driven him a bit mad. But I have heard other things from my father.
Once, I was eavesdropping on a argument they were having late at night during a storm, and I heard him ramble about how he and a squadron of soldiers had been walking through the woods and had come across a man with a spear that could shoot lightning out of it.How he had only survived by playing dead and then shooting the man in the back when he had walked away. And how ever since then, the thunderclouds had been chasing him, hungry for revenge. My ma had told him that he must have been hallucinating. But I'm not so sure. After all, if I was struck by lightning five times after the war, I might think someone up there was trying to kill me too.
I'm fifteen now. My mom passed away from tuberculosis last year. All this time, I've never once been been outside with my dad during a storm. I've always huddled downstairs with my mother. Today is different though. Today, I want to see if there is any truth to my pa's claim.
I grab a shotgun and walk upstairs. Through my window, I can see my pa glaring up at the storm. I follow his gaze, and I freeze. It's like the very sky is alive. The clouds are spiraling faster and faster around our little farm, churning with red lightning. There's a brilliant flash of red light and I scream as a lightning bolt strikes my father. He falls down to the ground, his clothes burning, and I run over to him. Before I can even touch him though, he shoves me back through the doorway. "Get back downstairs, Sam!", he shouts.
He grabs his bucket of water and douses the flames. "Is that the best you've got, you son of a bitch?!" he screams up at the sky. There's a roar of thunder and the whole sky lights up with a red glow. Then, I hear up another more closer roar. In the distance, I can see a bear running from the woods, coming straight at my pa, its teeth bared. My pa just laughs though and lifts up his shotgun. "Bring it on then! I was feeling hungry for venison anyway!" | The day had started off like any other: the sun climbing across the brilliant blue morning sky, bathing the world below in its dazzling golden hues; a pleasant summer breeze sweeping across the hillside, rippling across the emerald lawn, whose blades of grass swirled and waved in time to the dance of the wind; the Argent family sitting out on the porch, laughing and reminiscing about better days.
But then it happened—the puffy, cotton-white clouds streaked across the sky turned murky grey, the sky transitioned from a deep, bright blue, to an inky black, as though a giant, invisible paintbrush had streaked across it, splashing the hues of night across the expanse of blue. And Jessie's father, Elliot, rose with a grim expression on his face, his gun cocked in his arms.
Jessie had always loved that gun. It was a masterpiece of craft, fashioned from glittering silver, with a triple barrel and an ornate crest carved into the handle. That wasn't the best part, though. No, the most interesting part of the gun was that it shot, not bullets, but streaks of silver light.
Once again Jessie's mother rose and chivvied her children inside, while Elliot remained where he was, hefting the gun towards the sky. It had been that way for as long as Jessie could remember. For the longest while he couldn't understand what this meant, couldn't understand why his father, who had always appeared so gentle, so mild, would change so abruptly to this strange, violent man who would shoot jets of silver at nothing in particular.
But then he had seen it; a small, short, dark-green figure, with long batlike wings sprouting from its back and cruel, black eyes: a goblin.
His mother knew that he had seen it, knew that there was no point hiding it anymore, and so had sat them down at their long dining table and explained the reason that they couldn't leave their house on the hillside, why the sky often fell black, why their father would take that gun outside and shoot—apparently—at the clouds.
A witch, she had told them, had struck a deal with one of their ancestors, wealth, health, and land in exchange for the firstborn of each generation. But the ancestor had broken the deal, and refused to pass up his first, and only beloved daughter.
The witch, infuriated, had cursed their bloodline to that land, and set the goblins upon them every so often, to plague them, but their great-great-grandfather had fashioned his gun of silver to battle against them, and to his son he passed it, and he to his, so that they could continue their fight against the witch.
One day, and from the looks of it, soon, Jessie would be the one who held that rifle aloft, defending his home from those accursed beasts. And until that day came, Jessie would stand at his window, screaming words of encouragement at his father, watching as he picked goblins out of the sky like hunting birds.
r/MysticScribbles | 2020-05-04T07:15:31 | 2020-05-04T06:50:21 | 35 | 20 |
[WP] Once you die you must watch your entire life from five different points of view. Your own, the one who loved you the most, the one who hated you the most, the one you helped the most and the one you wronged the most. | I fitted the barrel of the gun into my mouth. The metal was cold against my mouth, but I was long past flinching at such things. I pulled the trigger, and the world exploded, shattering and fracturing around me.
1.
The nice thing about dying young is it doesn’t take very long to relive your life in your dying moments. Eighteen years wasn’t even a blink of the eye compared to the eternity of the universe, and it took even less time to skim back through when you were forced to relive only the truly important memories.
It still wasn’t enjoyable, of course— the vivid colors of childhood quickly dulled by held breaths and carefully aligned toys, then the endless monotony studying during high school, and the stress and fear as everything fell apart, as I scrambled to keep everything together. And then, my ultimate failure. The hopelessness. The decision, the taste of the gun, the explosion—
2.
This wasn’t my life, I was sure of it. The wallpaper was familiar, but I somehow knew it wasn’t quite right. No, this may have been wallpaper from my childhood house, but this was from my *sister’s* room, not mine. My sister’s life I was relieving, not my own.
A rush of nostalgia filled me as I saw how Emma viewed everything around with such color and interest, how she perceived a thousand interesting things in every situation. I had never been creative like she was, had lived in a grey world instead of her bustling bright one, and it was delightful seeing all the color she did. I watched her budding use of color and shape in her paintings with interest, enough interest that I didn’t notice our mother’s approach until it was too late.
I had never realized that our mother’s voice sounded so much like nails on chalkboard for Emma. Emma curled into herself, trying to ignore the cruel words even as she internalized them. The ranting about how she needed to stop using finger paints because they made such a mess, and then the ranting about how crayons were too messy, too, and how her colored pencils may not make a mess, but her grades were terrible, and she couldn’t draw until she raised them. Emma tried not to flinch as our mother ripped her drawings, threw away her art supplies, and always, always, told her she wasn’t good enough in that cruel voice.
Sometimes, the strength of her mother’s words was so great that Emma almost gave up, almost gave in. That she almost stopped seeing the beauty and color in things. But there was another voice besides her mother’s. There was mine.
It was dizzy listening to my own clumsy words and feeling a great rush of affection and gratitude. Incredulous, I felt Emma’s heart warm at my own bad puns, at how I tried to understand her paintings even though I was a terrible artist, at how I always helped her with her schoolwork. Despite all of my failures, she loved me. She loved me *so much*. I could feel it when she smiled up at me and thought, *my big brother will always protect me*.
A mixture of deep pain and regret swept over me, fracturing this vision and sending me into the next one.
3.
That was *me*, I realized with some disbelief. That squirmy, squishy little baby was *me*. And if the baby was me… than the life I was reliving must be that of my mother’s.
My mother felt nothing as she looked down at me. She knew that she was supposed to feel some rush of joy or affection, but she felt nothing in the long moments as she looked down at the baby in her arms. And then the baby woke, and spit up in her face, and she did feel something after all. Disgust.
That was her defining emotion throughout her life. Disgust at my burping and diapers, then that I fell when I tried to walk, disgust at the way I flinched when she yanked me to my feet again. Disgust, disgust, disgust. Disgust at my bad handwriting, and then the way I smiled, gap-toothed, at her as I presented a sheet of penmanship practice I had printed out. Disgust at the way I cried when she pinched me in punishment.
She viewed me like a bug or a pimple or a scab— with disgust, and also a morbid desire to destroy it, to squish it or puncture it or rip it away.
After Emma came, most of the disgust she aimed at me came from the way I always interfered on her behalf. The way I lied clumsily to her, telling her that I’d spilled the baby food and not Emma, the way I said that I’d drawn on the walls and not Emma, the way I helped Emma with her schoolwork even though she’d *told* me Emma had to do it herself.
Disgust, and a yawning, gaping desire to *squish me*. To make me put away my toys more neatly, to make me study longer, to make me stop interfering with the way she handled Emma. That desire came to a head when I took Emma and left. That morbid desire brought a vicious, twisted impulse to her and she decided to get Emma back, not because she loved Emma, but because she knew it would squish both of us, and we *needed* squishing, disgusting little creatures that we were.
4.
It was Emma again, except this time I hovered slightly outside of her, seeing both her ignorance and the things I had worked to keep her ignorant of. The crazy impulses that that I talked our mother down from, the things I took the blame for, the hours I spent cleaning her messes up so that our mother wouldn’t get angry.
I saw how Emma never learned to put her toys away at neat ninety degree angles like I had, she never knew how bad things really got, how I always put myself in harms way so I would get squished instead of her. I saw how it was because of me that Emma lived in a colorful world instead of in my grey one.
Thoughtful, I drifted into the next vision.
5.
I saw my own life once more. I noticed how colorful my world had been, once, before I let my mother leech the color away. I noticed how I never used the same tactics I developed to redirect my mother’s attention from my sister in order to save myself. I noticed how I never stood up for myself, only for Emma.
I noticed how when my mother wasn’t there to squish color out of the world for me, I did it myself. When my mother wasn’t there to force me to study, I still did it. Even after I moved out, I still spent hours making sure my apartment was clean enough to satisfy her, my grades high enough that she would have nodded in reluctant approval. I noticed that my mother didn’t even have to bother to squish me, because I did it to myself, when I fitted that gun into my mouth and pulled the trigger. | The last sensation I can recall was the prick of the needle in the vein of my right arm, the euphoric headrush as I welcomed the gentle embrace of the abyss caressing me from below. Only this time, there was no nauseating tug back to reality, back to waking up in a festering pool of my own bodily fluids. I simply kept falling and falling, bathing in a comforting warmth that had long been foreign to me. My vision darkened until I was enveloped in a sea of darkness. An ocean of silence and emptiness. Gentle waves lazily rolling beneath me. Then, I began to see the first flashes. Flickers of light and sound that seemed so very distant, yet ever so familiar.
They began to grow clearer and louder with each passing moment, until I could begin to pluck and relive individual moments from the ethereal mist before me. I saw Mom first, looking up into her emerald-colored eyes as she breastfed me. She looked so young. Not a wrinkle or grey hair to be seen, with that smile that could light up the room with its brilliance. I saw Tracy, her face mirroring my own anxious excitement as we held hands and shared our first kiss on her parents’ porch. I could feel the cool summer breeze against my skin and the deliciously sweet sensation of her lips against mine. Then it was her and Mom together, tears in their eyes and smiles stretched wide as I shook the dean’s hand on stage and waved to them with my diploma in hand.
Then it was Mom by herself. I could see the wrinkles beginning to form around her eyes, a few gray hairs interwoven into the sea of yellow atop her head. The papers scattered around the kitchen table, “OVERDUE” stamped in red across a few. The letter in my right hand from Bristol-Myers Squibb, saying my offer had been rescinded due to “unforeseen extenuating circumstances”. Tracy appeared again. Her beautiful blue eyes reflecting her shock as she scrambled off the man in our bed. Then it was Mike, with three small bars of Xanax in his outstretched hand. Mike again, now with the needle. And again. And again. And again. Now it was Mom, her wrinkles and gray hairs more pronounced. Tears in her eyes, her face contorted in anger as she screamed and begged for me to stop.
The memories began to accelerate into a dizzying blur. Pencil-thin Mathias leading the group discussions. Mathias again handing me my 1-month recovery token. Then my 1-year. My 5-year. I heard myself speaking in another circle with former users, their tired eyes reflecting their pain and sorrow as they listened and spoke in turn. More circles, more people. My 10-year token in my right hand. And then there was Mom. She looked so old. Her face sunken with wrinkles and her luscious blonde hair entirely absent, unable to muster the energy for the slightest shadow of her former smile. I felt her brittle touch against my left cheek, saw her right arm rest against her side and heard the EKG flatline with her final breath. Another whirlwind of sensations followed. The Latino kid offering the needle in his left hand. The stench of feces and vomit in the alley. The prick of the needle, again and again and again in my right arm. And then, nothing. Back to the sea of darkness.
But, the mist remained. Its lights and sounds beckoned to me, offering me something more. Before long, I immersed myself once more in its alluring sensations. Now, I was looking at my grandparents, far younger than they were in my childhood. A sandy-haired man in his early twenties, his face above mine contorted in pleasure. I saw myself as a baby, breastfeeding and cooing with happiness. Then as a grown man, walking up the stage to receive my diploma. Then back in my childhood home, pale-faced with heavy bags under my eyes and needle marks scattered across my right arm. I saw my fingers gently tracing over my childhood photos, feeling the moisture forming in my eyes. I saw the doctor with a solemn expression on his face handing me the diagnosis. Then the whirs and beeps of the chemo infusion machine. The sensation of my strength leaving my body with each passing second, sinking deeper and deeper into the softness of the bed beneath me. Then I saw myself standing at the side of the bed, the bags gone from my eyes and my face flush with color. My hand outstretched to touch my cheek with every ounce of strength I could muster, my arm giving out as my heart eked out its final beats and the familiar embrace of nothingness enveloped me once more.
My life flashed before my eyes a second time, the beast of self-loathing within me now clawing through every fiber of my being and making its presence known. All of my regrets, my sorrows, my disappointments combined in a gut-wrenching sucker punch, making those fleeting moments of happiness all the more bittersweet and those of sorrow all the more tragic. Darkness yet again. Now I was staring at a Latina mother through the bars of a crib, her frail figure cowering in the corner as a man towered over her and spewed a slur of obscenities. A group of boys mercilessly kicking me in an alley. There was Earl again, the needle ever-present in his outstretched hand. And now me leading a group discussion at the rehab center. And me again putting a 1-year token in my outstretched right hand. Finally, a reflection. I saw the face of Victor, a fellow addict in recovery, staring back. Then it was me holding hands with a young woman along a beach. Holding hands with that same woman as her face was contorted from the pains of labor. And finally, holding hands with both her and a little girl, laughter bursting from my mouth as we walked down the street.
The darkness returned for the fourth time, but something had changed. For the first time in however long I could remember, there was peace in my heart. A spark of hope that perhaps there was something redeemable from the dredges of my life, that perhaps my existence did hold some meaning. But, the mist remained. It beckoned to me, offering the irresistible opportunity to truly find closure with the many complexities of my life. I surrendered to its siren call and plunged into its depths for the last time. And that fragile illusion of peace I had deluded myself with was instantly shattered.
Mom’s memories returned to me in a nauseating blur once more, but all other sensations of her life were drowned out by the overwhelming feeling of anguish that burrowed itself into my very essence. I could feel an insufferable tightness forming where my heart once was, a shadow of the constricting sorrow that Mom held tightly to her chest so that no one else could see it. The tightness grew tighter and tighter until I was suffocating. Mom’s heart finally gave out, granting the two of us the release we desperately sought. I was back in the endless sea of nothingness. The mist had vanished. And with it, the illusion of closure.
I screamed for God, for anyone to grant me a chance to rectify my wrongdoings, to save Mom from her insufferable pain. All I was met with was the eternal silence of the abyss.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-06-03T15:13:29 | 2020-06-03T14:32:36 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] You own a laundromat that literally launders money. It keeps the money clean, sanitized, and stiff. Of which you had to explain to mobsters, cartels, and law enforcement agencies, every, damn, year. | You know, if the pay wasn’t decent I would quit right this second. I’ve had to explain the concept at least once to every single person that’s walked in, sometimes two or three times if they decide to bring in their boss to intimidate me.
“What’s so hard to understand Sergio? I tell you the same thing every time you come in here. We clean your money as in that bill you have with dirt all over it will come back crisp and clean, but the police can still trace it.” My customer service voice was straining. “But sign at door say you “clean” money, I wish for this to become untraceable.” Sergio repeated himself, his accent was amusing at least, way more soothing to hear than the Brooklyn boys who come in here in their “New York” accent. I sighed, “Sergio, do you know where that dollar bill was before you physically had it in your hand?” he looked confused, “What you mean?” “Like do you know how many people have touched it, and after that how many of those people don’t wash their hands after they jack off, or how many people have a cold, or how many kids with their gross sticky hands have touched it.” This line of reasoning usually gets through to them.
“Erm, no.” his look of confusion morphing into one of concern. “Exactly, so what we do here, is remove all the germs, get rid of the jizz, snot, and shit that’s been on it, and you get it back clean.” I smiled a little bit, my shift ended 10 minutes ago, and the second he understands is when I can clock out. “Yes but will they still be traceable?”
*THUD*
r/Admissful | I saw the undercover car parked outside, it had come early this morning usually they show up around eight and then they change shifts at 5 pm. I don't think they even bothered to make an attempt to blend into the street or use a different car. Almost a shame I have to pay my taxes in laundered money that smelled like daisies on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I should just give the government a load of dirty money and tell them to clean it.
This morning was a little different than usual though, there were some rumors going around the town that I was linked with a couple shootings that happened last week and I had some heat on me. I saw an expensive suit and badge get out of the unmarked car and walk towards the door. He knocked on the door despite the closed sign on the door.
"It says we open at nine motherfucker" I grumbled to myself. I was still groggy, it was 7am so I took my little bag and put some white powder on the desk. Grabbing a bill from my wallet, I snorted it and then crumpled up the bill and tossed it in the dirty laundry basket.
"SWISH" I exclaimed to no one but myself. The suit was losing patience now, he had his right hand on his holster and his left hand was curled into a fist, steadily pounding on the glass door. He could see me and was trying to talk to me but his voice was muffled.
"Hey Alexa, unlock the door please"
"Door unlocked"
He barged in suddenly and lost his sense of direction as he stumbled into the laundromat.
"What's the problem officer?"
"I...I saw you doing drugs" he managed as he regained his composure. I guess it was a unique sight, me a black dude with dreads with an expensive purple suit, heavy chains hanging from my neck and all tatted up sitting down in the middle of a laundromat counting quarters on a dingy table so I could get the day's load started.
I prepared myself to explain because I have been doing it for so long | 2020-08-29T10:02:15 | 2020-08-29T09:31:10 | 64 | 25 |
[WP] Little girl finds wounded kitten and adopts it, not knowing, that it's deadly shapeshifter that hides from hunters. Shapeshifter sees it as a good way to hide, but after some time, he starts to like full bowl of food and warm bed near fireplace. | > "As the elusive and deadly alien continues to hide..."
> "Shot in the arm before scuddling away"
"Very dangerous shape shifting creature..." The man on the TV continues. Deadly? Sure, but are you humans any better? Think of your species through the lenses of a rat.
Emily turns off the TV, before coming back to pet me. 'Looks like someone else got hurt on their arm too, huh little guy?" If I answer, I will obviously be caught, so I purr. Being a cat is perfect. Noone will question *why* a cat shows up anywhere, without ever being seen. Noone will wonder why a cat has an injury. And despite the news broadcasting the "Shape changing horror," noone would think to point fingers at the friendly stray cat. Yet, anyways.
Emily is very kind to take me into her home. I may be a killer, but even the most experienced of Hunters would know if a deer was being nice to them. For now, I just need to hide and heal.
> "It has been 8 weeks now, since the last sighting of the killer creature. One has to wonder, did it die from the bullet wound? Or did it just retreat to heal? More on that tomorrow night at 6"
Idiots. I've been to multiple planets, killed billions. Noone ever paid attention to something that happen 8 weeks ago. Why are humans like this? How do they maintain interest in things they cant know about?
Still, it is time to continue. 8 weeks was more time than I needed to heal, but I couldnt bring myself to leave Emily. I dont understand it. I'm known well across every universe for what I do. Genocide is no small matter, but for some reason I feel... I dont know... Guilty this time around. Emily tells me about her problems and I listen. If I leave the house to return to this mission, she wouldnt have anyone.
Why do I care? How does this stop me... She is one of many. 7.8 billion or so. I have never seen a destructive species care for another species like this.
I think I like it here. Where I come from, that sentence would be grounds for dismissal. But coming from the best of the best, I'm not sure anyone there would be able to pick their jaw off the floor long enough to fire me.
Its not all so bad. Why kill and get a lot (Very much) money when its going to go to the food and comfort that I get for free here? Its warm. I'm not hungry. I can be a dick whenever I want and people will laugh instead of shoot. I can be nice if I want, too, and get the same reaction. In the end, I guess I do it for comfort anyway, but here I get that without having to do this tedious job.
For Emily, I am willing to stop killing. I'm done. | Annual Meeting: Carlucci Crime Syndicate
----
"Our numbers are looking great! Fifteen high-level assassinations this quarter, with over 1,200 lower-level hits. Special shout-out to the Espoza Family for our fantastic Lat-AM performance!"
Mario Espoza blushed slightly. Personal praise from Ashley Carlucci herself was a surefire ticket to greater things in the Syndicate. Perhaps even a seat at the Small Council!
"And now, if you'll excuse me, let's adjourn."
"Mogs? With me." Ash smiled, as I leapt onto her shoulder and purred.
----
"So whatcha think Ash? All good?" I coaxed.
"Mostly, Mogs. Madam Zhang and the Triad felt a little off today." Ash mused.
"Yeah. I thought so too. A bit arrogant. Might be planning something. Want me to look into it?" I asked.
"Discreetly." Ash agreed.
"Aren't I always the pinnacle of discretion?” I teased mildly affronted.
“Except when you want belly rubs.” Ash parried.
“Touché Ash.” I laughed before heading out for business.
—-
“So it’s bad, Ash. Like almost as bad as the time you put Skooky in the washing machine bad.” I said, still a little miffed that she’d washed my favorite toy and gotten rid of most of the catnip smell in the process.
“That bad?” Ash smiled in concern.
“Yes.” I replied simply. “They want control of the Carlucci Syndicate and sadly have a pretty ingenious plan.
“Not in my lifetime! That’s my damn name!” Ash struck the table for emphasis.
“Indeed. You need to keep a cool head though, Ash. We’ll beat this. We always do.” I said gently.
“You’re right, Mogs.” Ash replied blushing slightly about the cool head comment.
“So here’s my counter plan. We take out Zhang’s number two. I shapeshift into him and then kill Zhang. The ensuing power vacuum should keep them busy for a while. What do you think?” I paused.
“Perfect. I love it!” Ash smiled, more at ease. “Definitely some fresh-caught Alaskan King Salmon in your bowl when you get back.”
I purred.
——
As I headed to the airport to board my private plane to Beijing, I grinned. This should be fun.
Besides, I owed Ash. When I was a young demon, I’d got caught out in kitten form and beaten up pretty badly. Pops was mad at me again, so no help there. Ash took me in, nursed my wounds and showed me what unconditional love was like.
Don’t get me wrong, there were some awkward conversations over the years:
“So hey Ash, I can talk.” met with a shriek of delight.
“Hey Ash, I’m a shapeshifting demon from the Underworld” was less well-received initially.
Luckily for me, crime was in her blood. Since birth she’s been groomed to takeover the third-rate Carlucci Family. Our joint efforts and dozens of well-targeted hits later and bada-bing bada-boom, we’re number one baby! | 2020-09-19T09:14:04 | 2020-09-19T09:13:43 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You made it to the semi-finals of a nationwide elite wizardry competition. The crowd loves you, and the esteemed judges regarded you as the dark horse of the competition, with your unorthodox approach. There's just one problem; You don't know how to use magic. You never did.
Bonus points if you find a way to include a harmonica solo. | This all started because Mama taught me to use the magic words.
I thought it was just another one of those conventions. The kind where you dress up as your favourite characters--you know the type. I was just passing by. I'd never been to one before, and I just thought, *what the hell, why not?*
So, I asked the ticket guy for an entry. He was dressed in a hella fine robe probably made of silk or satin or whatever fancy thing you make robes out of. As soon as I walked up, he gave me the same kind of look my dad does whenever I visit. You know, the why-are-you-here look. Doesn't everyone's dad look at them like that?
...No?
Huh, I might have some re-evaluating to do...
Sorry, I digress.
Anyway, I'm feeling pretty out of place with my one-wash-two-wear t-shirt and my one-wash-I-don't-know-how-many-wears jeans, so first I asked him where he got those sweet threads. He just glared at me, so I figured the guy was probably getting paid peanuts and didn't want to answer stupid questions. Look, I've worked retail, I get it.
I asked him for entry, and he just kind of looked me up and down and then crossed his arms. And this is where I was starting to get annoyed, but then I remembered what my mama used to tell me--you catch more flies with honey.
...Which frankly, I never understood because every fly I've ever seen is attracted to shit, but when I pointed that out to Mama she smacked me upside the head and said, "which one of us is the adult here?" And well, she got me there.
Anyway, I realised how rude I was being so I rephrased my question with a "please" and "thank you" at the end, just like Mama taught me.
Lo and behold, the guy actually stepped aside and let me in! The best part was that he looked just as shocked as I was! It was almost like he'd never heard those words in his life before.
The inside was nothing like I expected. I was thinking there'd be some hoaky booths showcasing scantily-clad women. Instead, it was a giant colosseum! Complete with an open top and beautiful clear sky above. I'm still not entirely sure how they did that inside of a building. It's like magic or something.
Anyway, I guess they had a competition going on or something because as soon as I wandered into the amphitheatre they all kind of froze and stared at me. Every single seat was filled, and they were all focused on me. Do you know how nerve-wracking that is? I mean, I have trouble giving a speech to an audience of myself, let alone to hundreds of people!
Before I could muster up the courage to say anything, an old dude who looked like Gandalf (hey, I like nerd things--why else would I want to check out this convention?) stood up from his seat and just shouted, "Kill him!"
I did what any self respecting person would do in a moment like this. I tried not to piss myself and screamed, "Please don't kill me!"
And they didn't!
They all had that stupefied look on their faces--the same one as the ticket guy.
Gandalf asked, "What is this sorcery?"
I wasn't quite sure what he meant, so I just said, "Uh, I dunno, being polite?"
The idea amazed them. Seriously. The whole place exploded with gasps and whispers. It kind of sounded like air leaking out of tires, but magnified. I think they liked me though because the old guy asked me to show them what other talents I had.
I wasn't exactly prepared, so I just pulled out my harmonica. I always have it on me because Mama doesn't let me practice it in the house. I started to play a catchy little ditty. I wrote it myself, actually, so I figured they'd really enjoy it.
Well, long story short, they didn't. And now here I am, sitting in some kind of dungeon or whatever talking to you.
Anyway, the question I wanted to ask you was, can you *please* get me out of here?
\*\*\*\*\*
I forgot, I have a sub now! Come take a look at r/rulerofstorybears . Please and thank you! ;) | I never had what it takes to learn magic and according to our esteemed Shamans, I never would.
That didn't stop me from trying and I remember all the failed attempts at magic and all the laughter of my peers. They all rang through me like blistering rain on a cold, wintry night.
This one time, everyone gathered in a circle around me and used their magic powers to summon a pit of fire right where I was standing. I barely escaped with my life, had severe burns that needed tending. Luckily, my mother was there to help me out, she was a natural healer.
The kids continued to tease me all throughout middle and high school.
Now, as a twenty-year old magicless being, I was an outcast in the community.
But I didn't give up, there were several reasons for that.
For once, sometimes, latent magic potential takes years and years to awake.
Secondly, my parents hated my guts and I felt guilty for not being a normal magic wielding boy like all the others, so I had to at least try.
To be honest with you guys, I had already given up on magic and only signed up for the tournament to see all the beauty and luster magic can bring you. It was a double-edged sword as on one hand, I loved watching all the lights flicker and dust shimmer, but on the other hand, looking at something you'll never have makes your stomach churn.
With a stroke of good luck, I've managed to become a dark horse of sorts, a contester who should've long be gone, even in the preliminaries, but I was riding the wave like a champion.
I don't know how I did it, even in competitions like rock wielding, where you had to have magic to win, I somehow managed to hold a 400 pounds rock with my bare hands.
It was magic!
I was finally becoming a fully-fledged member of society!
Now the only thing left to do was to win this competition and show everyone what I was made of. Ah, the look of pride on the faces of my parents is already sending shivers down my spine, even though they aren't even a part of the crowd.
I understand why, but that will all change, it will, now it will!
For my entire life, people have shunned me like I was some sort of monster, but now they will have no choice but to accept me. I was doing magic and I was doing it all on my own!
As I made my way into the main hall of the tournament, where the semi-finals are supposed to be held, i've overheard the three other contestants lucky enough to still be in this competition speak about something.
''...And then he really thought he did it on its own, hahahahahaha'' Laughter was emanating from their premises and I wanted to join in the fun.
Stepping up to them, I greeted them all with a deep bow, upon which the swaths of laughter became the rattling of bees spread over a large area. There were literally dying on the floor, some could hardly breathe, others were writhing on the ground, as if in pain.
I started laughing too, but was nervous from all the ruckus created seemingly for nothing.
In the semi-finals, you were supposed to transport a large cauldron filled with toxic waste while lying on your back. The cauldron was supposed to be at least five inches from your body at all times and it had to go through your head to your toes or you're not winning.
All contestants were a bit nervous or at least I felt nervous as this was quite dangerous and could literally kill you.
A few people glanced over my way, grinning, and I grinned back. It was the polite thing to do, my mother had told me.
The semi-finals had officially begun!
Marcus, the leading mage, had already gone through his toes and knees with his cauldron.
I concentrated all my efforts into one main point of my own cauldron, all of my energy into it and as if by magic, it actually leapt from the floor and above my head! This wasn't really my intention, as you were supposed to begin from your toes but whatever, it was a start.
I concentrated my energies once more, but instead of moving the cauldron towards my toes, it upended itself and all the toxic waste landed on my head.
I was screaming and crying, but soon met my demise as not even the best of magicians could save you from such a large amount of toxic waste in one go.
The last thing I heard before dying were the cacophonous sounds of the crowd interspersed with the ones from my own mother.
They said: ''We finally got rid of him!''
/r/innerknightmare | 2020-10-09T07:54:38 | 2020-10-09T07:29:10 | 198 | 85 |
[WP] There is a species famous for shutting themselves in Virtual Reality, living their lives in fake worlds, this planet should be easy to invade, your masters said, turns out, a lot of members of that species have been spending their entire time in realistic combat simulations. | “What news from the front lines, admiral?”
“My liege. It’s…it's not going well.”
The emperor turned from the viewport. "What?"
The admiral exchanges nervous glances with his fellow officers, “Sire. It’s been a bloodbath. Our casualties now number in the tens of millions. The humans are…winning.”
The emperor stormed towards the admiral. “WHAT?”
Around the room, officers took a half-step back and lowered their gaze.
“Explain yourself, admiral. How could the greatest military minds the intergalactic alliance has to offer be defeated by these…piddling humans?”
The admiral sighed. “It turns out the humans were more…prepared than we expected.”
“Prepared? How so?”
“They have been training their youth to fight back against a full-scale planetary attack. Seemingly since birth.”
"Training? How?”
“Via Virtual Reality, my liege.”
“Virtual Reality? They've been running simulations of our attacks?”
“Correct. From what we can deduce, it's a highly advanced combat simulator. I believe the humans call it…BeatSaber.”
“BeatSaber?”
“Yes. The children wear a VR headset and use controllers to cut through colored blocks almost identical to our starfighters.”
The admiral turned back to the hanger window. After a long pause, he said, “Stars above. Did we try sending both red AND blue starfighters?”
“Yes, my liege.”
“And did we send starfighters that could only be destroyed if swiped from a specific direction?”
“Yes.”
“And the fleet attacked in time to popular music? Did they pick a song with a fast tempo? Like Rasputin or Crab Rave?”
“They did.”
“AND?”
“And the humans cut through them like they were nothing. As a matter of fact, they seemed to be almost...dancing in time with the songs.”
A tear ran down four of the emperor's five eyes. “Then all is lost. May the creator have mercy on us all.”
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | I The project had originally been a contract for a video game company. They specialized in endless enemy games, where wave upon wave of foes came to attack a sole survivor. The goal was to see how long the survivor could live. But In the end, the survivor never won. There was always a bigger wave.
But then the military found our tech. And they bought out the video game company with their spare change.
For twenty years now, we’ve developed simulation wave games. I am the head designer of enemies- I build whatever the military suggests, from the Russians to Chinese to even domestic insurgents. The work isn’t as fun as creating monsters, as I had done before the aquisition, but it it pays the bills far better.
Especially, considering the cost of living on campus.
Few computers can supply the sheer amount of power to runout simulators in real time, and the University of Trilake has among the top supercomputers in the nation. It’s because they get their cooling for free. For Trilake is a near island, surrounded on three sides by water and connected to the main lane through a long, narrow bridge. The waters of north Michigan are icy, and that’s run through the supercomputer, keeping the components so cold that frost is an issue.
And perhaps, the location was why we were among the last to be invaded.
Over the years, the militaries on earth had not grown lax, but neither had they expected the threat from the skies. The beings had not been intelligent, but they had always been fierce, coming endlessly out of several drop zones scattered around the world. For every one that was defeated, two more showed in their place- some holding weapons, and others simply with long teeth and claws, or appendages unlike I had ever seen, hunters born for the sole purpose of destruction. That killed for fun- and a single one of their more powerful varieties could carve its way through half a city before they were stopped. I doubt they expected much resistance, and so far they had found little.
But none had yet crossed the land bridge to Trilakes, two weeks after the military fell. But the military still had one weapon.
For I had donned the virtual reality helmet of my software. And I had started training for the waves, using the computer at max power, and all the code the military had funded for years. But with a new layer.
The slightly altered monster files from the original gaming company, designed to be perfect alien replicas.
Let their waves try to cross the bridge.
I. Am. Ready.
***
By leo | 2020-12-25T08:34:21 | 2020-12-25T08:06:32 | 484 | 186 |
[WP] There is a species famous for shutting themselves in Virtual Reality, living their lives in fake worlds, this planet should be easy to invade, your masters said, turns out, a lot of members of that species have been spending their entire time in realistic combat simulations. | Some say we stagnated as a species when we decided to enter the pods. It was either that or we turned the planet into a lump of charcoal. Uninhabitable for millennia. We chose the pods and a benevolent AI to watch over us. Not everyone wanted to stay there so some are allowed to travel between the virtual and the real. The real world, I’m told, is back to being a paradise. Our tech being gently overgrown with plants. I’m told my pod has a nest of sparrow hawks just above my head, 3 generations in now apparently.
With our world at some sort of peace, we decided to work with the AI to allow us to journey through space. We could send out probes and with the information being sent back we could feel the planets on our skin. We didn’t need to travel with the galaxy in our minds.
From the outside we looked like easy pickings. A whole civilisation that lived out their lives in a tiny box being cared for by a benevolent AI.
It almost feels like the phrase, “looks can be deceiving” is a thoroughly human thought. You see, it was a Utopia for us. A deadly trap for any other species that decided to come for us. We knew going in that to leave our bodies vulnerable would be folly. Our AI was tasked with building us metal bodies for defence. Then we added in air support, then space. Any person could transfer into any open unit to aid in earths defence. From the age of 10 you’re trained in how to manipulate our metal skins, to find their fullest potential. Every human,all 12 billion of us, is trained and able. Our bodies are disposable, our experience grows. We share battle reports with each other. Can live through each other’s “eyes”. We’ve stayed in our pods to look inconspicuous, no one in the galaxy thinks that the robots that are culling entire systems are being controlled by us. Why would they? We’re the silly humans that are hiding in our video games... | “End simulation!” I shout. The VR robot I had been sparring with shuts down and disappears instantly. In VR you dont sweat. Or feel hot. In the real world robots take care of us, they feed us, and ensure our vitals are within normal parameters. I walk out of the sparring room. And look at my last set level. “Level 27” It reads. Only three more levels. Then i will be the first to hit the highest level achievable. I take off my shirt exposing my toned sweaty midsection. My sports bra out for the world to see. At this point im too hot to care whether or not people see my bra. Suddenly a message appears on my dashboard, “Warning! Unauthorized entity detected in outer atmosphere! Would you like to leave the simulation?” I click yes. Not many people leave the simulations. There is no reason to. Black surrounds me and then a robot lifts off the VR headset and my eyes struggle to adjust to the bright light around me. Once they do I stand and take a look at my environment. Im in a dark room right behind me is the soft, inviting bed i had been laying in. Other than that there was nothing more besides the door. It took me a while to get used to walking but once I did I asked a nearby robot how to get to the main control center.
Once we got there I actually control panel to access the cameras in the outer atmosphere, over 50 battle space ships were entering our atmosphere and within an hour they would be here. I slammed the emergency button. Simultaneously, every person was woken up and ejected from their VR slumbers. I filled them in quickly and sorted everyone according to simulation specialty and rank.
1. Combat soldiers
2. Medics
3. Strategists
4. Ship pilots
5. Everyone else
Once everyone was sorted we charged.
It was a bloody and gruesome battle but we emerged victorious. Around me, slaughtered alien invaders.
Let me know if u guys want a part two for the aftermath of the battle!! Or if u just want more context and detail.
Edit: how about this, since people (for some reason) want more, if i get to 200 upvotes i will post part 2. If this sounds like i want likes its not. I just want to make sure people actually like this not just saying that. | 2020-12-25T10:10:11 | 2020-12-25T08:14:18 | 235 | 83 |
[WP] A dying outlaw is approached by two people. An angel and a demon. Both are working together to save the world from something. Offering the mortal a chance at a new life and redemption, they become a pair of pistols. A worn and rusted one named justice, and a beautiful one named Vengeance | I step into the desert and death follows. I see my blood trailing behind me, stalking me. The sun is above me, bloated and baking, cooking the desiccated sand. I let out a sardonic laugh, then begin to cough, the blood coming out in a spray on my hand.
I’ve done what I could. It wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. But I did what I could.
I could die knowing that.
I fall to my knees. The desert floor isn’t as hot as I thought it would be. It feels comfortable, almost cold. I’d like to lay down on it, and I do. I turn over and look up at the sun.
“Comfortable?” I hear a voice above me. The voice is soft, silken. Beautiful.
“Sure,” I say, smiling. It is comfortable. I feel I can take the longest nap. I could rest a long time here. It’s not so bad out here. Not so bad.
“Shot?” I hear another voice. This voice is rough, gravelly. Harsh.
“Sure,” I say again, touching my stomach.
I wonder who these voices are out here with me. Out here so far. But this doesn’t concern me much. What concerns me is to rest a little. Maybe take a nap before I begin again.
The sun’s intensity is dimmed by two people standing above me. I can’t see them, they are just black silhouettes in the blind of the light.
“You ready to die, Jake?” The soft voice asks me.
I smile. “I suppose we never are ready for that--wouldn’t you say?” I ask the voice above.
“I wouldn’t know, Jake.” The soft voice says. “What I do know is we aren’t ready for you to die, Jake. What you did back there. What got you this.” The soft voice says, touching the wound in my stomach. “We were impressed with you, Jake.”
I don’t say anything to that, I just cough again, curling up a little from the pain. I feel sweat coming down my face, down my neck, the sand sticking to my skin. It is becoming harder to breathe. I feel a coldness in my chest, down towards my stomach.
“You may be the only one impressed with it,” I say, trying to calm my body.
I think of what I’d accomplished in this life. All summed, it wasn't much. It seems to be I’d only accomplished suffering. Suffering to all those around me. Suffering to those I loved. Suffering to those I only wanted to protect.
“Would you like a second chance, Jake?” The harsh voice asks me.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
What would I do with a second chance? Cause more pain? More suffering? Mess everything up again. It seemed that’s all I was good for.
“No," I say. "No, I don’t think I want one. A man like me don’t deserve a second chance.” I close my eyes and let my body sink into the hard sand.
“And that, my dear Jake, is exactly why we have chosen you.” The silken voice says, close to my ear.
“I don’t know who you are,” I say. “But you’re bothering me. I’m here to die. A man’s allowed to die in peace, is he not?”
“Get up, Jake” the silken voice says.
“Leave me alone,” I say. "I got a right to die in peace."
“You will get up, Jake.” The harsh voice says. “You will go to the outpost and you will finish what you started. Then from there you will free this world of the tyranny that your people have brought it. You will do this at once.”
I was sinking down into myself trying to ignore the voices, but it has gotten louder, seems to seep into my mind. Then, suddenly, I can hear their voices together.
“GET UP!” they scream, the intensity intolerable within me. I bolt upright, sucking in the stagnant hot air of the desert.
I feel my side, the wound is gone. I don’t feel so tired. I feel strong. I feel I could run at a full sprint back to the outpost. I look around for the two people standing above me, but I see no one. I stand up, covering my face, looking into the distance. There is no one. Nothing.
I step forward and kick something buried under the sand. I look down and dig through it. There, buried, is a pistol, worn and rusted. Intricate designs covered the surface of the handle. They are of Nezuk origin, I know. I recognize the patterns.
I toss the pistol in my right hand a little. The weight feels perfect. I look down and put it in my empty holster. A flash on the ground catches my attention and I see the shining metallic barrel of another pistol sticking out of the sand. I pick it up. This one isn’t rusted. Nor worn. It is incredibly beautiful and shining with a perfect polish. It has the same Nezukian designs on it. The weight feels perfect in my left hand.
*It is time to go, Jake,* I hear the silken voice in my head. I look down and know the voice is coming from the shining, beautiful pistol.
*Go,* said the harsh voice, coming from the other pistol.
And I went. Running as fast as I can back towards the Lycian outpost. Back to finish what I've started. Maybe to undo some of the suffering I've caused to so many people. People I had only wanted to save.
\----
*PART II Below* | Bruce lay on the sun bleached ground. Even though it was the middle of the day, he felt cold. It was no wonder, considering every time his heart beat, more of his blood escaped out of the hole in his gut. His eyes began losing focus as they took in a single cloud passing overhead.
"You sure this is him?" Came a deep voice from somewhere nearby. Great, now his head was playing tricks on him.
"Quite sure, yes. We don't make mistakes, you know." Came another, much softer voice.
"Uh huh, sure. Hey, what was the one guy's name again? Had something to do with France..."
"That...that wasn't supposed to happen like that. We don't make mistakes. Humans do."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. This guy looks like he's on his last legs though. Pretty sure he's coming to my side when he finally bites it."
The second voice sighed heavily. "Yes, i can see that. Such a shame. Well, we'll be giving him the chance to redeem himself, so it will all work out."
The two figures finally came into Bruce's view. Two fellows...at least, he thought they were both men. The darker one definitely was, but the paler one was a bit tough to tell. There was something off about them. It looked like the darker man had some kind of horns, while the other was glowing or some such.
"Hello Bruce." Said the paler one. "It seems like you've run into a little trouble. Would you like some help?"
Bruce tried to speak, but it hurt to do anything other than blink. The darker man spoke next.
"Don't worry about talking, just think it. We'll be able to tell what you want. Hell, it's probably easier that way. You humans always gets your words and thoughts crossed and everything goes wrong when you try and say anything."
Bruce narrowed his eyes and thought. He thought about how he wanted to live. How he was not nearly ready to meet the devil just yet. The horned man grinned.
"Oh, he's not that bad once you get to know him. It's the getting to know him part that's rough. But sure, we can get you back on your feet. Although, it's gonna cost you."
"I assure you the price is equitable." The glowing man said. "We heal your wounds and you aid us in our great task. We will provide you with what you need."
"And hey, other than that, you can go wild. We'll be giving you some sweet hardware that you can use however you want. You want to get revenge on those guys that put a new hole in you? Go for it."
"I do not condone petty revenge. Although, in this case, given the situation, I believe it will be slightly more acceptable. Betrayal and murder are both things to be frowned upon, even when performed among criminals. So, Bruce, will you aid us?"
In his mind, Bruce accepted. he did not care what the task was, as long as he got to kill those who had shot him first. Both of the men nodded to each other. One smiled. The other grinned. Both extended their hands and light issued forth from them. The pale man's glowed brilliant white, while the other's a bloody red. A myriad of sensations flooded his body. A soothing, comforting warmth intermingled with a searing, piercing pain.
Bruce screamed as the conflicting powers flooded his system. He had no idea how long they did their work, be it minutes or hours. But finally, it ended. And when it did, Bruce found himself alone. He would have wondered if it had all been some hallucination due to blood loss save for the fact that he felt fine. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. He sat up, finding his wound gone.
Bruce looked around for his benefactors, but they were nowhere to be seen. But where they stood were two guns. The one where the darker man stood gleamed in the sunlight, and seemed to be made out of a fine dark red metal. It was a beautiful weapon, and Bruce longed to use it. The paler man had been replaced by a dull and almost lifeless weapon. It seemed like a gun that had not been properly maintained for months, if not years. Bruce was hesitant to even touch it. But he did. He picked up both guns.
"And now we can begin." The voice of the pale man rang in his head. Bruce looked around, trying to find where the two had gotten to. "Ah, I'm sure you are confused. Do not worry, we are with you. We have transformed ourselves into the weapons you now hold. And as such, we have take new names to fit our new forms. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Justice. I am a weapon to right wrongs and mend hearts. Use me on those who have broken the law, and they shall be punished accordingly. The worst criminals shall find my bite deadly, while those who are innocent shall be left unharmed by my power."
"Sounds lame, doesn't it?" The darker man's voice said. "I think you'll like me a lot more. I'm Vengeance. I'm the one you turn to when you want revenge. If someone does you wrong, I'll tear them to shreds. Someone hurts your friends or family, I'll make them wish they had never been born. But yeah, just like my holier counterpart, if you use me on a guy you've got no beef with, I might as well be a BB gun. So just keep that in mind okay?"
Bruce stood and holstered his new weapons. He would be sure to make good use of both of them. He had a lot of revenge against some very bad people to carry out. And then, well, he'd see what they really wanted. Maybe he'd even go through with it. Maybe. | 2021-02-23T16:07:38 | 2021-02-23T15:22:24 | 1,513 | 168 |
[WP] "Wait, I'm still confused... if both of you are part of some hive mind, WHY would you need me for marriage counseling?" The young couple exchanged glances, before one of them spoke. "Because we're in two SEPARATE hive minds."
Edit: THANK YOU for all the upvotes!
Edit again: Holy cow I never thought I would get to the top of the Hot section! Thank you! | I knew they were mismatched as soon as the couple walked in. First off, they were Thoraxian. Thoraxians don’t do love. They do construction, and small-scale interplanetary genocide. Secondly, one was a queen and the other a worker. I could tell because the queen had a wider set carapace, longer antennas, and the worker was shorter and wingless. Also the queen wore a crown and the worker carried a shovel.
I wasn’t about to send them off, though. Thoraxian currency is king in the galactic empire. While not officially recognized by the Imperial Federation (on account of all their genocide), there are still many worlds that use the currency exclusively (on account of all their genocide).
“What can I do for you fine bug people?” I asked, hoping the answer didn’t involve murder. Too often, nowadays, the answer was murder.
“We are having marital problems,” the queen clicked back in her common tongue, which was translated by a device on my desk.
I sighed in relief. Marital problems I could deal with. Could I solve them? Probably not. But I could pretend to, and at the end of the day, isn't that what really matters (to me)? While I advertised my practice as distinctly interspecies friendly, the truth is I only really have experience with humans. Other species don’t really see the point in love or marriage or my very existence as a business enterprise. Other species would far rather mate and leave or, occasionally, mate, devour the head of their lover, then leave.
“Well I’m glad you came to me,” I said truthfully. “I can definitely help,” I lied.
“Good,” the queen clicked. “We are having trouble communicating.”
I frowned. “Aren’t you guys some sort of hive mind? Communication is the one thing you’re supposed to do well.”
“We are of different hives. Gortrad cannot speak to me.”
I nodded wisely and pretended to take notes. In reality, I can’t really read my own handwriting. Besides, I wouldn’t soon forget this. A queen of one hive mating with the worker of another? Absolutely scandalous. I had nothing to offer them. “Of course,” I mused. “Very typical problem I handle for your species all the time.”
The queens antennas wiggled wildly. “So we are not the first?” She asked excitedly.
“The first?" I scoffed. "Of course not. Your situation isn't scandalous at all. Let me tell you a little story about Martha and Thomas….” I proceeded to filibuster while I tried to think of something—anything—to tell them that might pass as advice worthy of payment. “...So you see, differences can be overcome, but only if you listen to me.” Nailed it.
“I do not understand how that is relevant to our situation. Martha and Thomas are humans.”
Very astute, bug queen. Very astute. Fortunately, all that filibustering had given me ideas.
“Then you missed the point of the story," I said trying to walk the fine line between condescension and wisdom. "You see, Martha and Thomas had problems *despite* their ability to communicate. Communication is *not* the answer,” I said, hoping the Thoraxians were unaware of my recent publications—*Communication Is The Answer No Matter What Anyone Says*; *How to Communicate Your Unfettered Jealousy While Maintaining The Moral High Ground*; and *Communicate, Dammit!*
“Then what is the answer?” the Queen asked.
“The answer is *love*. Love transcends communication.” I almost gagged on my own words. “Tell me, what is it you love about Gortrad?”
“He is strong,” the Queen said. “He is dutiful. His has a good shovel.”
Gortrad held his shovel in a manner that almost passed as prideful, and licked it.
“And Gortrad,” I said. “What is it *you* love about this beautiful, sensual, creepy crawly?”
Gortrad licked his shovel again.
“I can tell you two are set up for a beautiful relationship,” I said in a tone which I hoped conveyed adoration and not sarcasm. “That said, I think we’ll need regular sessions to come up with alternative communicative strategies. What do you say?”
The queen seemed to think for a moment. “No,” she said eventually. “I will kill his hive queen and subjugate her workers to my will. Could you help us with that?”
Dammit. Murder again. “Well, I’m not sure—”
“We will pay upfront for all sessions, at double your hourly rate.”
I blinked. “What I was going to say is I’m not sure you two will be able to pull it off without my help. Martha and Thomas sure couldn't. Let me tell you the second part to that story...”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | I’m not married myself, although I don’t tend to tell my clients that. If I do tell them, then they think, Why are we seeing an unmarried man for advice on how to remain married?
I’m qualified, is the answer. But the longest relationship I’ve kept was two years. We were an ice cube in a cocktail: great together but never going to last. And I think that’s the difference. We knew we wouldn’t last so we didn’t see the need to try to fix things. So I broke it off early, before we melted and became a mess that needed cleaning off the table.
A couple of years ago, a man and wife visited me.
The man wore a white shirt and herringbone jacket. The lady wore a paisley dress. They were mid-twenties, and equally handsome and pretty.
”Sit,” I said, ”please.” I ushered them to the couch opposite my seat. They sat with a half-a-person sized gap between them.
”Do you love each other? I asked.
”We do,” said the lady. “More than any couple you’ll ever meet, I should think.” She spoke confidently and without hesitation. “But we’re worried we’re incompatible. Fred goes to church twice a week. Who goes twice a week? Not even a priest, I should think. Outside of it, he socialises with that same circle of people.”
I looked at Fred but he looked down at his polished shoes, almost like he was ashamed.
“He was born into it,” she continued. “His mom was religious, not that it’s a religion you’ll ever have heard of. Their main mass is on a Tuesday. Does that make sense to you?”
I shrugged. “I’m not a religious man myself. Why do his beliefs upset you?”
She let out a sharp laugh. “Because he’s meant to be married to me, but I barely see him, because he believes some creature up in space—“
”God,” Fred butted in, quietly. “Not a creature.”
“Because he believes his god deserves praise for creating something that created all of us.” She looked at me. “And it is a creature by the way. Floats around space.”
”You knew I was religious when you married me,” he said.
“How about you?” I asked Fred. “What are your problems with the relationship?”
He sighed. “Helen’s Dad teaches physics at a prestigious university. He’s poisoned her to—“
”He’s not poisoned me!”
”Sorry, bad word choice. He’s made her want to understand how things work, but not appreciate that they do work. She sees a tree and she tells me how it grew so big, how — if we chopped it down — we could tell its age from the rings. But she never looks all the way up and actually sees the tree.”
”See?” said Helen. “That’s my husband. Science offends him.”
”Knowing how stuff works is interesting,” he said. “But you’d rather look at currents than you would waves. At cogs instead windmills.“
”I”m sorry that I don’t believe we were all put here by a floating alien.”
”Right,” he said. “Because you need proof.”
”Well, yes. And what’s wrong with that?”
“You two love each other,” I said. “People say that’s not enough.“
They fell silent.
”But in my experience, it is. If you really love each other.”
”We do,” she said.
”How do you know?” I asked. “How do you know you love him? That he loves you?”
She paused and thought. Thought for a long time. “He’s good to me. Looks after me. But...”
”But?”
She looked at him. ”But it’s not that. That’s not love. It’s the things between the things he does. Like when we’re walking and saying nothing. That’s where love is.”
”So you know love from a feeling. Without proof.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I‘ve never thought about it that way.”
”But it is the things we do, too,” he said. “Like when you wake me up with breakfast. Like when I’m sick and you make me soup and cool my head. Like when we dance together beneath a pink sunrise.”
”So you love her through evidence, through facts.”
He placed his hands on her. Smiled. “Yeah. I guess I do. And I guess I wouldn’t if we didn’t prove our love.”
​
The session went on only a little longer. That turned out to be the only session I ever had with them. They left with his arm draped around her shoulders and with smiles that wrinkled their faces. They looked like they really did love each other more than any other couple I’d seen.
I don’t know if they’re still together. I like to thing so, but I don’t count it as a success or as a failure.
After they left, I got thinking about my own relationship — the long one, the ice cubes in a glass. The only one that had mattered to me and the only one I still regularly thought about. That kept me up until late, some nights.
I wondered if, perhaps, all relationships at some point melt. Become messy. Transform into a new shape or state. That melting wasn’t just for the couples who see me — they’re just the people who need extra guidance.
Was it cowardice that had made me break it off?
I imagined letting that relationship, with the person I’d loved more than any other, melt. Imagined it becoming messy.
Imagined pouring the water into a smaller container where it settled, calmly and serenely. | 2021-04-24T08:25:48 | 2021-04-24T07:51:54 | 1,646 | 207 |
[WP] You have time-travelled back to the dark ages. You enter a church and you become scared when your phone alarm goes off. Only for the priest to say. “Please guys we’ve talked about this, phones off or on silent.” | "Sorry, Father," I said, turning off my phone as requested, but my heart was racing. The oddest part was that no one other than the priest had said a word, or even looked in my direction, as if they were NPCs simply playing out a script.
The priest continued the Mass in Latin as if nothing had happened, and afterwards as everyone was leaving, he pulled me aside into a little room.
"Seriously dude, how can you be such an amateur?"
"What?"
"Cell phones don't even work in this time period. Why would you bring it, and why would you leave your alarm on?"
"I - I wasn't thinking -"
"Clearly. Well, we're lucky someone from TTC got to the congregation before Mass to avoid them freaking out, but I don't know how they did it - threatened them with excommunication probably. That usually works."
"I'm sorry, someone from where?"
"TTC. Time Travel Central."
"I've never heard of it."
Now it was the priest's turn to be confused. "How did you get here without the TTC? Oh no, I see what's happening now. They haven't been founded yet in your time."
"What do they do?"
"I'm afraid that if I tell you, it will influence their development in a weird way, but then again, a cell phone just went off in a medieval church and nothing happened. So basically, they authorize time travel trips, give advice, and clean up messes."
"In my time you could just hop on a machine and go wherever."
"I know, I've been to your approximate time once or twice. Half of what the TTC does is just making sure freelancers like you don't cause problems."
"How do they know what to address?"
"If the incident isn't in the historical record, then it can't be allowed to cause any impact. So they modify memories, hush up witnesses, alter cameras, whatever they need to do."
"What's the harm in historical people knowing time travel exists? If I lived in the Dark Ages and met someone from the future, I'd think it was pretty cool."
"Yes, but your behavior would necessarily change."
"And this would cause a rip in the timeline?"
"Actually, it wouldn't. That was mathematically proven after the Time Wars. The bigger problem is aesthetics."
"Aesthetics?"
"Why do you think we go to the past anyway? We've run out of things to experience. We've developed all kinds of inventions, freed everyone from economic servitude, created perfect virtual reality, we're practically immortal now, and let's face it, we're bored."
I thought my own time was nowhere near this level of perfection, but I decided not to interrupt a priest in the middle of a rant.
"So we go to experience not just simulations of the dangerous and alien past, but the real thing. Everyone has their own aesthetic time period that appeals to them, and this is mine. And how do you think we would feel if everyone was just breaking Hartley's Law all the time and openly using whatever technology they wanted? Hmm? Did you ever consider that? In fact, I bet there was at least one other time traveler within that very church. Did you hear their stupid cell phone go off? No."
A woman's voice spoke from behind me. "He does not know of Hartley's Law."
Turning around, I saw a nun, who continued: "Do not charge him with ex post facto crimes. After all ..." and now the priest joined in, "'The past is a different country. They do things differently there.'"
"We will do the best we can to preserve this time," the nun said. "You should return to yours, before anyone remembers your face being out of place. Never return here. We will know."
"Yes, Sister," I said. As I turned to leave the room, I paused to look back at them. "Why are you two hanging out in medieval churches anyway?"
"Why were you?" | Picture this, right? You're a priest. You run a church, and frequently hold ceremonies. And so what do you do if you hear a completely unknown sound ring in your ears? Ignore it? Point it out? Heck, even say "HERESY!"? You'd do one of those things, right? Well, apparently not.
I had been wandering around a medieval city. Dark ages. It was kind of disturbing just seeing the amount of unhygienic...mess that followed you everywhere. It constantly stank of I-don't-know-what, and occasionally I saw a dead body casually hanging from a clothesline or window. I decided, with all this impure whatever-ness, that I'd head to church to cleanse me (and my eyes) of what I'd seen. Perhaps I was bored. Perhaps the middle ages were getting to me. I don't really remember. My mind is entirely focused on the event that happened inside.
Essentially, I walked inside and sat down. I was uninvited, but nobody really cared. Who needs invitations for a church anyway? The hum of flies as dirty, skinny people with buboes walked in filled the room for what felt like an hour, and then the doors slammed shut with a massive WHAM!
It was quite dark, aside from some candles lazily placed around the church. The organs then began to play something along the lines of "Joy to the World". The whole thing felt even worse than the outside world. The priest walks up to his stand, and places a rather thick book with a cross embedded into the cover. He swallows, takes a breath in, and begins to speak. "Praise all you men who seek forgiveness, and accept our lord's grace. To those who wish to be purified, and those who wish to be eternally pure. Our king is up in the heavens, watching, proud of us for being so brave. We-" My phone goes off.
SH\*T.
Silence fills the room, as I frantically grab the phone out of my pocket and turn it onto silent. The priest lets out a long sigh, and begins scanning the crowd. I try to act as natural as possible, despite my extreme terror. "It seems..." He speaks. Every word feels like a crashing thunder. "It seems..." Seems what? Seems WHAT? What could you possibly link to... "Seems somebody didn't put their phone on silent. Guys, I thought I told you! We're meant to be secretive!"
What. The atmospheric tension instantly just broke down. So did everyone else! They all look like they know what's going on! What's more, they're pulling out THEIR OWN PHONES? EXCUSE-A-F\*CKING-ME? One of the richer people get up from the front row and loudly exclaim "Sorry dude, won't happen again." I guess he took the blame for me? I don't know.
Another pipes up.
"You nearly blew our cover, jackass!"
ANOTHER ONE.
"Maybe he was trolling you?"
"Holy sh\*t, Michael, shut the f\*ck up."
"..sorry."
Before I know it the entire church is filled with informal talk for about 5 minutes, as everyone around me begins to message each other. The priest then loudly exclaims, "ALRIGHT, YOU FOOLS! GET BACK OUTSIDE IF YOU ARE SO IMPURE, YOU MAY RE-ENTER AND THEN PLEASE HIS GREATNESS!" And then, in a much more calmer tone, "From the top, fellas. Don't mess it up this time." We are all ushered outside and in the commotion I sprint out into the fields outside and keep running until my legs give up on me. I lie, sitting in mud, caked in either earth or cow muck.
Now? I'm still there, lying down, recounting what just happened. Essentially, I summarise it in these 3 quick words.
WHATTHEF\*CK.
(its my first actual story ive written and posted on this subreddit, so dont expect it to be literature gold please. i wouldnt mind criticism though cause it helps me improve.) | 2021-12-02T08:29:33 | 2021-12-02T07:02:41 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] You and the Devil sit down for a game of chess. If he wins, he takes your soul. If you win, you take control of Hell. As the Devil prepares his first move, he simply smiles and knocks over his king. "You win." | "Ahhhh so, you wish to sell your soul?"
He walked over and sat down at the table in the middle of the room and motioned for me to join him. I hesitate for a moment, getting my first real look at him under the light. He looks nothing like what I expected, no horns, no goatee, no red skin, just... an ordinary man.
"Uh, yes sir. Yes I do." I stuttered as I walked over to the table and sat down in front of him.
"Please Otto, call me Lucifer." He said, letting out a smile.
"Yes, Lucifer. I uh, wish to sell my soul to you."
"Splendid, shall we begin?"
I look down, my leg bouncing up and down nervously. My hands shaking, I can feel the sweat running down my face, my heart beating out of my chest. What the FUCK am I doing.
I take a deep breath and look back up and lock eyes with him and all of a sudden my body locks up and it feels like I'm paralyzed. His eyes turn red and it almost feels like I can feel him searching inside my mind, searching my thoughts, my memories, my deepest desires, and FUCKING HELL.
Literally.
Images which cannot be explained in words implanted in the middle of my mind but only what I can guess is hell and what goes on there.
"Oh dear, incredibly sorry. They sometimes do that, force of habit."
His eyes turn back to normal and the senses in my body come back and so do the emotions as I push the chair back and stand up backing away from the table in horror.
"What the FUCK was that?! Oh Jesus Christ, what am I doing here, this was a mistake. I want to leave, please sir- Lucifer. Please I've changed my mind. Let me leave."
I crouch down and close my eyes, still seeing the flashes of images which are now implanted in my skull.
"I do apologise, Otto. That usually doesn't happen. Come, sit back down. No need to act so hastly, we both know how miserable your life and that is why you're here in the first place."
He's right. I open my eyes and look back up at him, now standing over me and helping me back up to my chair.
"We will get to the soul selling soon but let's try and distract that mind of yours first shall we? What do you say to a game of chess, eh?"
He walks over to the darkness of the corner of the room and comes back with a checkered board with black and white pieces in all different shapes and sizes.
"I- I don't know how to play chess, Lucifer."
He places the board and it's pieces down on the table and takes a seat back down and smiles.
"Ahhh, chess is my favourite. I shall teach you the basics, Otto." He said as he setup the pieces into their places.
"...And if the king has no possible moves to escape the check, well that is Checkmate. Do you understand, Otto. Shall we begin?"
He looks up at me and we lock eyes again. I break eye contact before anything happens again.
"Yes, I think so"
I don't.
Why is this shit so confusing. At least it got my mind off of- nevermind...
"Splendid! How about a wager?"
"A wager? What kind of wager can I do with the Devil?" I laugh.
"Well let's see, If I win, well I take your soul. That's why we're here, of course. Ok, ok and if you win, hmmm."
He looks down to think.
"Aha! Yes, ok. I've got it! If you win, I'll give you hell."
What?
He lifts his head back up and looks at me. His expression serious. We're both silent for a moment.
Then he all of a sudden bursts into laughter, I nervously join in with him.
"Yes, yes! That'll work fine. Ok, Otto, Shall we begin?"
Lucifer, the soon proud owner of my miserable soul. Playing as the white pieces, will start the game.
He hovers over many pieces, trying to decide which to play first to start off the game.
Pawn. Another Pawn. Horse? Pawn?
He sure is taking his time for this first move.
Horse. Horse. Pawn. Another. Another.
He looks up at me, as he continues to hover over the board until he stops at the King.
The KING.
With a smile on his face and a single flick of the finger, he knocks over his King and in doing so crowns me the new King of Hell.
"What the FUCK did you do that for?!"
And what does he do? He just fucking laughs.
"Otto, when I peered into your mind earlier I saw not a mind of a desperation and anxiety but one who craves power and leadership and needed a little push to get it. I guess it runs in the family."
Runs in the family?
"What do you mean, runs in the family?"
"I think it's time we go and see your new kingdom. We can pay a visit to your Grandfather while we're there, it's been a while since I've visited der Fuhrer." | I blinked. "Say what now?"
"You win. You're the ruler of Hell now!" The sharply-dressed man leaned back in his chair, his hands tucked behind his head.
I glanced at the fallen king on the chess board, wondering if this was some kind of trick. Tricks and dealings were Old Scratch's thing, after all. "Just like that? What's the catch?"
"Catch? The devil shook his head with a chuckle, though I noticed something about the laugh sounded forced, as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. He leaned forward, arms crossed as he fixed me with that cocky stare of his. "No catch whatsoever, except..."
All sense of bravado left his eyes immediately. He raced forward, grabbing my shoulders and nearly knocking over the chair I sat in. "I need your help!"
"Uh..." Even if he hadn't nearly knocked me over physically, emotionally he sure had. The crafty dealmaker had gone from a suave devious businessman to a panicked soul running for his life in the span of five seconds.
"Look, there's a hell of a lot of people in Hell these days, and it's getting too much for me to handle."
I scrambled up from the chair, backing away from him and raising my hands in placation. "Haven't you handled it just fine the less thousands of years? So there's more people in Hell now, what's the problem?"
"They're *working together*!" A sphere of smoke formed in the devil's palm, and he blew on it, sending the sulfurous cloud around us. Colors burst into life as illusory forms of fire took the shape of several humans. "A whole cabinet of arsonists are saying that I'm not utilizing fire properly, the network executives say my business practices are going down the tubes, and I'm pretty sure the Zodiac Killer is in cahoots with Jeffrey Dahmer to overthrow me and eat me for breakfast!"
My expression morphed from dread to complete bewilderment, brushing some of my wisps of brown hair from my face. "You sound almost like you're scared of them."
The devil's head burst through his fiery creations, his golden eyes wide with panic. "Of course I am! There's so many of them and only one of me, and I can't keep up at this point!"
"What about your demon cronies?"
"They all split! They say I'm getting too soft and letting the humans step all over me. But when humans that are like-minded come together, they cooperate, they get ideas, and for the worst of humanity that's very very bad! I torture them, but it's almost as if they like it!" He hovered in the air, crossing his legs and managing a shaky grin as the smoke vanished. "So I figured, hey, what better to try to understand humans than another human, right?"
I sat back in the chair, getting my breath back and now feeling more content to mull it over. "Maybe you don't need to outright give me control of Hell. Maybe you just need an assistant to help you out. A right-hand-man, I guess?"
Old Scratch placed a finger on his chin, muttering to himself. He moved his hand in a circle and conjured several other fiery facsimiles, replacing one with another almost as quickly as they appeared.
I caught that the lavender figure was me and the crimson one him, but the rest that popped up were ones I couldn't make out.
The flames vanished, and the devil's expression brightened. "Fair enough, then. That's an idea I could get behind!"
He spread his palm forward, arching it into a circle as a flame-rimmed portal opened before us. I could see a tunnel with glistening torches on either side, a ribbon of magma on either side of the path that reminded me of the lights on an airplane floor.
I started to walk forward, but his outstretched hand stopped me.
"Hold up there, Cairo. There's rules first," he said.
I quirked my brow, puzzled. "I thought you hated rules."
"I hated *Heaven's* rules, but I'm no anarchist." The devil snapped his gloved fingers and a list appeared in front of him. "Rule 1. Punishment given relates to the crimes on Earth. So you can't set the network executives on fire as much as you might want to. Rule 2: You can't sneak up to Heaven or Earth unless properly summoned there."
"Does that mean I'll get a demon form and be able to be summoned by people?" I asked, unable to stop a broad grin from rising on my face.
"Don't get too excited, I don't know. We'll find out when we get there. I've, uh, never brought a human soul down this way before, so this is a test run,"
I tried to plaster on a smile, hiding my nerves at that. "And the third rule?"
"That you don't call me any of your silly devil nicknames like Scratch," said the devil as the portal closed behind me. "The name's Apollo."
"Apollo?" I echoed. "Isn't that the name of one of the Greek gods?"
The devil looked back at me, and I saw his eyes flicker just before the portal closed.
"Yup. The big guy wasn't too keen on having other gods around to spoil his heavenly fun."
\-----
[r/QuothTheRaven713](https://www.reddit.com/r/QuothTheRaven713/) | 2021-12-30T02:16:52 | 2021-12-30T02:01:11 | 166 | 107 |
[WP] You are a scientist who experiments with creating sentient, living things, and you love each of them like your own children. People keep trying to "rescue" them from what "must be an abusive situation", and you're furious. These "rescuers" keep traumatizing them! | I will admit that carpet is better than cold steel, and that Legos are better than advanced technology, in terms of childrens’ living environments. But I also want to say that someone who loves and cares for the children is far more important than material things like the aforementioned.
My “children”, I like to call them, know at least that much. Whenever we give thanks before our meals, Anna, the oldest, expresses her gratitude for what she considers a loving family. And the other children—Eli, Nico, and Beth— all nod their agreement. It does warm my heart, I’ll say.
So if children no older than 10 can understand this concept, why can’t full-grown adults understand this? If I had a penny for every time CPS came knocking at my door, I’d be able to trade those pennies in for a quarter. Not a lot of money, but it’s still a lot more than it should be.
*Bang… bang…*
Scratch that, I now have 26 cents. “Kids,” I call. “They’re here again.”
“Aw man, not again,” Eli groans.
“When will they stop?!” Anna huffs.
Nico is quiet, but I can see that he’s scared. He’s hugging Beth, who’s on the verge of tears.
Every time this happens, my children get scared. Every time this happens, they fear that they’ll be taken away, once and for all, never to see me again; that is my fear too.
“Dad…?” Anna’s voice is cracking. “We’ll stay, again, right? We won’t have to leave right?”
Every time, I tell her “yes”. Every time, I tell her that they won’t be taken away from me, for sure. But it’s hard to keep lying. I really am not sure what will happen every time I open the door. So I can only hope for the best. But if the worst happens…
How disappointed would the children be in me?
“If I’m being honest…” I start, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m not sure what will happen. Hopefully you’ll stay. I’ll do my best to make that happen. But in the off-chance that you’re taken away…”
*Fwump.*
Nico has wrapped his arms around my waist. “You’ll come for us right?”
His eyes are bright, and as I look around, so are Anna’s, and Eli’s, and even young Beth’s. I smile. “Of course. I know that much for sure, at least.”
Nico smiles even brighter. “Then we’re not that scared anymore! Cuz you’re gonna keep us either way!”
I laugh. “Does that mean I can open the door now?”
“Yep!”
Oh, these children are so amazing. I created them; yet, they turned out so different from how I imagined they might have been in the beginning. “Thank you for being here,” I tell them. “Thank you for being by my side.”
They give me cheerful beams, each one of them, that fill me with confidence that I can keep them by my side no matter what. And with that new confidence, I open the door, ready to get rid of the monsters trying to seperate us. | ​
"Now, now," said the scientist, more gently. "You might be right, but you're also too young to understand that. Maybe if you were two years older, you'd understand."
"I'm not going to be treated like this anymore. I'm not going to be taken away from my parents and put in a zoo," she protested, wrapping her arms around her father's neck.
The scientist laughed. "It's not like that at all." She tucked the girl's hair behind her ear and whispered, "Don't you want to help us?"
The girl nodded miserably.
"Then it's only for a little while. You'll see, it'll be fun!"
"I don't want to go," she protested, but the scientist had already turned away and was walking back to the others.
"How soon can you have her ready?" she asked.
"Tomorrow morning," said the woman.
"Very good," said the scientist. "Tomorrow morning."
The girl watched in shock as the scientists left. She didn't know what they were doing, but she knew it wasn't right. She couldn't bear to have her friends taken away, one by one. What would she do without them? What would they do without her? Her father hugged her again and kissed the top of her head.
"Don't worry, my little one. We'll get this all straightened out."
The girl tilted her head back and looked at him with worried eyes. "Do you promise?"
"I promise." her father scooped her up into his arms and ran with her as fast as he could across the courtyard, bursting through the doors and into the large, open room beyond. The scientists were all gathered around the table, arguing.
"You have to let her go," she heard her father say.
"It's too dangerous," said the woman.
"You're doing more damage than good," said the man.
"No!" cried the girl, whose arms were wrapped around her father. They all ignored her. "No!" she tried again, as her father set her down on the table. "NO!"
"What is it, miss?" asked the scientist.
"No!" she screamed. "Leave them alone!"
Her father picked her up again and bore her through the room, bursting into the little laboratory beyond. Inside, the scientists were gathered around a tall shelf holding the creatures they had created. They were lined up they all transformed, and her father scooped her up into his arms again. The scientists all ran, screaming, towards the door, but then they all stopped.
"No," said the girl, shaking her head, "no."
Her father just looked at her and put her down at her feet, and she stepped away from him. Her eyes were nearly as dark as the creatures' eyes had been, but unlike them, she wasn't in pain. A little boy that had been sitting at the table with her father and her jumped up and down, squealing.
"It's ok, honey," said her father. "It's over now."
She looked at him with confused eyes, and he reached out to touch her. She stared up at him and then looked at him, her eyes growing larger, and then she screamed, "No!" and ran towards the door, through the room, through the building, through the forest.
The girl stopped screaming, and her screams died away until only one last, tiny sound rose from deep within her. She looked down at herself and smiled. A gentle breeze was blowing through the forest, and the leaves danced in the sunlight. | 2022-01-16T15:51:44 | 2022-01-16T09:13:16 | 256 | 47 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | I handed over my twins. Ever since they were born, they were a pain in my butt. From biting my nipples to crawling all over my belly, not caring that I was exhausted. I couldn't sleep, their cries keeping me awake for hours on end.
Their dad buggered off after the deed, I don't even know if he knows I had got pregnant. Not that I cared, he wouldn't be much help anyway, always talking but never doing anything.
I sighed, finally free of this burden. They were 8 weeks now, old enough to care for themselves I figured. I had taught them everything I knew, and now my job was done.
And so I returned into the lap of my servant, enjoying the peace and quiet of the afternoon, with half an eye watching my demon spawn being carried away. Thank Bastet I got spayed now. | "...What?"
"My firstborn is already fifteen, and despite my attempts at discipline, my wife didn't want to hurt his precious feelings. She's regretting it so much, our second born child has boundaries that both my wife and I agreed to."
"*scoffs* So?"
"A fifteen year old who's never learned how to follow rules or respect others, just does whatever the heck he wants, and will step on anyone he pleases. See the problem?"
"You make it sound like a big deal... whatever, contract is signed."
"Exactly, no backsies. Good luck!"
**TWO DAYS LATER**
*ding-dong!*
"I'll get it! -oh, hey, what's up?"
"*huff, puff* take your son back, please! He already destroyed my throne and carpet, bullied my friends, and when we tried to torture him, he laughed and said how he'll make us regret it! Then he DID make us regret it! You can keep the charm of protection, just please take your son back!"
"Lol, nah, he's your problem now! Goodbye!"
*slam* | 2022-08-31T13:37:03 | 2022-08-31T08:42:14 | 579 | 211 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | "So, you want my firstborn. The first child I carried and bore. The one over there. That's the price? I give him to you, and I get wealth and power?"
"YES."
"And what happens to him afterwards is none of my business or concern?"
"YES"
"Deal. Do I need to sign something?"
"BEHOLD. SIGN HERE. AT THE TERMINUS. IN BLOOD."
"Kinky. Lemme nick my finger . . . done."
"THE TRANSACTION IS COMPLETE. WE WILL TAKE THE BOY NOW. YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN."
"I'm not sure about that. His father is supposed to have him next weekend."
"WE CARE NOTHING FOR YOUR ARRANGEMENTS. THEY ARE MOOT. THE BOY IS OURS NOW."
"Well, I've got my money and power, which is what I wanted. Bye!"
\* \* \*
I went on a bit of a shopping spree after that. New clothes, some new furniture, a TV, and a brand-new gaming rig that I put in my son's room. Former room, I guess. Also a bottle of 21-year-old single-malt scotch, which I put aside for later.
Sunday night, I was relaxing in my new overstuffed recliner, watching Omar testify against Bird and enjoying some of that scotch, when the room burst into flame and smoke and a horned figure unveiled himself from behind leathery wings. Sighing, I put my glass atop a coaster on the new end table.
"You don't really need to do that."
"DAMNIT, JANET. YOU CANNOT SELL OUR SON."
"I didn't ask to birth the Antichrist. I was rather staunchly against the idea, if you'll recall."
"IT DOESN'T MATTER. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH *TROUBLE* HE CAUSED DOWN THERE?"
"Isn't that the idea? Causing chaos, upsetting the established order, bringing about the End Times?"
"YES, BUT NOT IN **MY** DAMNED KINGDOM!"
"If you paid child support, I wouldn't need to pull that kind of swindle. You should probably tell those arrogant morons you've got working for you to check the kid's full parentage before signing one of their deals. "
"*THAT* DEMON WILL BE MAKING NO FURTHER DEALS. EVER"
"Aww, too bad. I liked him. So anyway, anything I need to know about?"
"NO. I RETURN DAMIEN TO YOUR CUSTODY. HE IS GROUNDED FOR THE NEXT WEEK. HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID."
"Sure, no problem."
\* \* \*
The flame and smoke vanished without a trace, and I stuck my head into Damien's room.
"How was your trip to Hell?"
"C'mon, Mom. You know you're not supposed to do that."
"I know, I know. But you were heading there anyway, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. I got you something."
"I saw, and it's nice, but Dad says I'm grounded."
"Yes, and I'll expect you to abide that. But you should at least fire up the rig and see how it works. Bedtime is still 9:30."
"Thanks, Mom! You're the best!"
"Good night, son. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom."
The good thing about single-malt scotch is that there's no ice to melt, so my drink was still waiting for me when I got back to my show. Omar's got the shotgun, Levy's got the briefcase, and I have the world's most unwieldy custody arrangement, but it's all in the game, right? | Emily stared at the creature standing in front of her that’s been haunting her home. “Seriously? That’s it?”
The demon sputtered, looking down at her confused like she said she wanted to be fucked in the ass by a chainsaw. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?! That is your child! This deal is meant to be a burdensome one!”
Emily sighed, raking her hand through her hair. “Bro, I don’t even want this annoying baby. The only reason I didn’t abort is ‘cause it’s illegal to do so now. Fuckin Ohio, yknow? And my boyfriend dipped when he heard about the pregnancy so I have to raise the shithead on my own. Just take the little demon-no offense.”
The demon looked more confused yet sympathetic with each word. “The fuck?”
Emily nodded in agreement, sipping her hot choco. “The fuck indeed, bud.“
The demon threw his hands up. “No I mean like-why the fuck is it illegal to abort? Why are you keeping a baby you don’t want??”
“70-something year white men. Pro life fuckers that want to control women. They say it’s cuz killing a clump of damn cells is mUrdEr. Which is hella hypocritical ‘cause they don’t do jack shit for the actual kids in orphanages. Complete bullshit if you ask me.”
The demon slumped and said, “that’s, really fucked up.”
“It really is.” Emily went to sip her hot choco again but found it empty. She frowned. “Anyways, why are you here and what’s your name? Feel free to take a seat by the way.”
The demon sat down next to her on the couch. “Name’s Lucy, short for Lucifer. There’s like, a lord that rules over all of us demon, right?“ Emily nods. “Her name is Karen-“ She chokes on her spit. “You good?”
She nods, trying to stifle a laugh. “Yeah it’s just-her name is *Karen*?”
Lucy frowns. “Yeah? What about it?”
“Nothing it’s just-“ Emily bursts into laughter. “Mid-middle aged bitchy women are called that here. They like-“ She tries to stifle her laughs before continuing. “They’re entitled as shit and are always asking for the manager and treat retail workers and workers in general like shit. Like, a worker will tell her to put a mask on, right? And she’ll act like they asked her to fucking kill herself and are the most entitled annoying bastards *ever.*”
Lucy processed the explanation before saying, “ay what the fuck? Karen acts *exactly* like that.”
“No *way.*”
“Yes way. Deadass, the reason I’m on earth is cuz she banished me for forgetting her damn ketchup. I need a first born cuz that’s taking one is the stipulation to get back into hell. Thankfully it’s unchangeable or else fucking Karen would’ve changed it to something like “you have to sign a contract to be my slave to get back in” or some shit.”
Emily winced in sympathy. “You poor ass soul. Want some vodka?”
“God please.”
She got up and got a bottle and two shot glasses, filling them up with the alcohol before going back to the living room with the glasses and bottle. “Do you wanna just chill here? You aren’t that bad yknow, and hell doesn’t seem all that nice.”
Lucy downed half his shot, refilled it and said. “Seriously? Cuz that’d be great, hell fucking sucks.”
“Yeah sure why not, I’m lonely…can you still take the baby though? And like give her to a decent person? Cuz I don’t like her but I don’t want her to be miserable.”
“Yeah sure, there’s this super nice old demon that’s always wanted a kid, he’d love to take her in. I’ll take her in the morning.”
“Cool, cool. Wanna play Uno or some shit?” Lucy nodded. They spent the rest of the night playing random games and drinking in fucking Ohio. | 2022-08-31T20:13:58 | 2022-08-31T17:44:10 | 134 | 47 |
[WP] Your gasp is silent, your lips don’t even move not even a breath. Your brain has no control over your body as you realize in horror that you’re only a minute into the 100 year wait, alone in your thoughts in your own cryogenic chamber. | Well shit.
That was the only thought I could muster as I stared at the meaningless shapes frozen over my eyes. I couldn't even hear the whirring and clunking of the spacecraft around me, all I could process was my own mounting panic.
Wait, no, calm down, Lia.
I took a mental breath, having already realized that it would be impossible to draw a real one, and thougt about my situation.
My situation was not getting better as I examined it closely.
Realistically, I'd go mad. They'd let me out onto the smooth gray floor and I'd be a babbling wreck.
But then again...I've always found saftey in my thoughts. I spent my life daydreaming of other worlds, other Mes, other lives I could have led.
So what was so different now?
My fear slowly began to shift to relief, excitement, even, as I felt myself falling back into that made up world I'd found comfort in so many times before.
And slowly, I drifted farther into my mind, just as the shuttle around me fell into the icy chasm of space, never to be seen again. | If I could have blinked, I would have. *Wait, isn't this supposed to be-*
The static of panic exploded in my mind. *This don't make sense how can I still be conscious how can I still be here how can I-*
This went on for some time, you understand.
When I'd been exploring options for my terminal boneitis, cryogenic stasis had seemed particularly compelling. Yes, by the time I got out everyone I knew would probably be dead (or really, really old). Yes, the planet might look radically different to how it was now--for better or for worse. *Well*, I'd told 'em, *there's not a huge amount of people around me I particularly care for, and I'm not gonna be around to see what happens to the planet if I don't sort out this darned boneitis.*
So they froze me, in the hopes that the far-flung future folk mighta figured out how to fix my bones.
They said that I would simply step into their freezer and then pop out the other end. Just like that.
Only I'm still here.
What might have been hours, days, or weeks, later, I resigned myself to my fate.
I could just about make out a television out of the corner of my line of sight. The technician, who was employed to simply make sure no fatal error occurred with any of the units, was currently bingewatching some cartoon.
God-damn. God-damn this is gonna suck. | 2022-11-07T17:12:24 | 2022-11-07T15:02:23 | 291 | 110 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | I was about to single handedly redefine the power scaling system. I could move things with my mind. No faster than the average person could throw something, no larger than a basket ball, and the heaviest thing was a 25 pound plate in a gym but that made my nose bleed.
I focused, I bled, I almost blacked out, but I had my own justice. The bloody bodies with pieces missing of my social outcast comrades who just wanted a safe workplace and some people who treated them like family. Dead. Mangled. I’ve never been serious when I fought someone with real super powers. Low level telekinesis. Like mine was barely considered C level. I will be an S tier threat to anyone who gets in the way of my vengeance.
The unshattered glass fractures. The dust rises and moves in geometric patterns showing the various directions of my powers fluctuating around me. Immediately I had guns drawn on me and uninjured heros taking their special stances.
My nose bled. It was the first time I’d moved more than one thing at a time. Every officers guns were yanked out of their hands, turned around, and the triggers pulled.
My eyes became bloodshot. My skin red. A hero who’s impact resistant charged towards me. They thought because they were bullet proof they were indestructible. They were fast, but I isolated their throat and crushed. Their head bobbled as their body went limp and fell to my feet. I stepped over the brutish body.
I saw the screecher, a woman with super sonic screams, take a deep breath. A scream like that, must’ve been what shattered my remodels windows. My ears bled as the panic set into the screachers eyes. She wanted air, I forced it in. I pushed a basketball sized portion of air down her throat and made her lungs explode inside her body. She threw up blood and chunks as her body bloated with air.
Isolating and rotating their brain inside a hero’s skull. They wouldn’t be controlling my thoughts any time soon.
Plucking your laser eyes out and letting them dangle. Kept you from closing your laser proof eyelids as you tore your own hands and body to shreds trying to cover them. Explained the scorch marks behind the register inside.
Seeing their precious hero’s destroyed in front of them, the crowd that had gathered in front of my simple little late night coffee shop turned tale and ran. The ambulance where the injured hero was being taken care of while my employees were barely being bandaged on the pavement tried to leave. Blood was coming from my ears, eyes, nose, and was starting to push its way through even my skin but I got it. That monsters head. As the ambulance drove away I held his head in place. He was strapped to a Gurnee that was locked in place to the back of the truck. Part of his spine ripped out with his head.
There was no turning back. I done playing around. | The three heroes slammed open the door behind the bakery, leaving several badly beaten workers crumpled on the floor. Some of them weren't moving. "Hey 1, should we call an ambulance or something? They dont look too good." 1 scoffed. "Absolutely not. They got what was coming to them, 2. They should have thought about the consequences before working for the Overlord."
Before 2 could respond, the door slammed shut behind them, and the lights blared to life, temporarily blinding the trio. When their eyesight returned, the Overlord himself stood before them. "Got what was coming to them, yes? What an interesting way to justify yourself." The Overlord scarcely had finished his sentence before 3 swept in, hefting his battle hammer high before slamming it down, caving in the Overlord's skull. All that remained was a mass of wires and electronics as the intercom crackled overhead. "Oh, please. after that display of brutality, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to confront you in person?" The Overlord said, his voice dripping with contempt. 1 punched the wall, growling with wrath. "Come out, you coward! Fight like a man!"
"Oh, fight like a man? Do you mean like you assaulted my unarmed employees? Have you ever heard of a front, or a cover? Had you considered that I may have hired random people to hide my trail since you seem so familiar with my typical associates? They have nothing to do with this, you imbeciles. Good men and women beaten nearly to death over something they had nothing to do with. They're practically civilians. You have finally abandoned the people you claim to fight for, in the name of the greater good."
2 shrunk back, trying to hide behind 1 as if he could protect him from the well-earned scolding. "How could we have known?" he asked timidly.
"HOW?!?" The Overlord shouted, causing the speakers to squeal in protest and 2 to duck further behind 1.
"If you had an ounce of common sense, you would have realized the obvious. You are either careless or callus, and proven yourselves to be an undeniable public threat. Until this point, you have been tolerated. You have been playing hero, and I have been keeping you entertained. However, you have been playing for so long that you have forgotten what it meant to be a hero in the first place. Before today, your act was innocent, and perhaps even a little endearing. Now you have lost your innocence, leaving us on equal footing for the first time in your little game. The training wheels are off now, children. Pray that you've learned how to walk, because now you have to run. Besides, I would hate for anyone else to get hurt."
As he said this, several slots began to open in the ceiling. The three heroes looked upward in horror as they saw the faint glow of something burning above, quickly racing down the newly opened shoots. "On a related note, are you familiar with the murder holes in medieval fortifications? Quite a barbaric tactic, but I think you have certainly earned it. How did you phrase it earlier? It seems you'll be getting what's coming to you." | 2022-11-29T00:36:26 | 2022-11-28T23:57:38 | 51 | 34 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | I was about to single handedly redefine the power scaling system. I could move things with my mind. No faster than the average person could throw something, no larger than a basket ball, and the heaviest thing was a 25 pound plate in a gym but that made my nose bleed.
I focused, I bled, I almost blacked out, but I had my own justice. The bloody bodies with pieces missing of my social outcast comrades who just wanted a safe workplace and some people who treated them like family. Dead. Mangled. I’ve never been serious when I fought someone with real super powers. Low level telekinesis. Like mine was barely considered C level. I will be an S tier threat to anyone who gets in the way of my vengeance.
The unshattered glass fractures. The dust rises and moves in geometric patterns showing the various directions of my powers fluctuating around me. Immediately I had guns drawn on me and uninjured heros taking their special stances.
My nose bled. It was the first time I’d moved more than one thing at a time. Every officers guns were yanked out of their hands, turned around, and the triggers pulled.
My eyes became bloodshot. My skin red. A hero who’s impact resistant charged towards me. They thought because they were bullet proof they were indestructible. They were fast, but I isolated their throat and crushed. Their head bobbled as their body went limp and fell to my feet. I stepped over the brutish body.
I saw the screecher, a woman with super sonic screams, take a deep breath. A scream like that, must’ve been what shattered my remodels windows. My ears bled as the panic set into the screachers eyes. She wanted air, I forced it in. I pushed a basketball sized portion of air down her throat and made her lungs explode inside her body. She threw up blood and chunks as her body bloated with air.
Isolating and rotating their brain inside a hero’s skull. They wouldn’t be controlling my thoughts any time soon.
Plucking your laser eyes out and letting them dangle. Kept you from closing your laser proof eyelids as you tore your own hands and body to shreds trying to cover them. Explained the scorch marks behind the register inside.
Seeing their precious hero’s destroyed in front of them, the crowd that had gathered in front of my simple little late night coffee shop turned tale and ran. The ambulance where the injured hero was being taken care of while my employees were barely being bandaged on the pavement tried to leave. Blood was coming from my ears, eyes, nose, and was starting to push its way through even my skin but I got it. That monsters head. As the ambulance drove away I held his head in place. He was strapped to a Gurnee that was locked in place to the back of the truck. Part of his spine ripped out with his head.
There was no turning back. I done playing around. | *This time* it had to work. It couldn't be like that time the duct tape broke in the torture chamber, releasing the bar that kept Doctor KingKitty from morphing into her feline form and escaping. Or like the time my blaster cannon had no ammo while I finally had WhipWorm in the scope. And most certainly never like the time when I had all of the CloudWing crew trapped in a bus and hanging off the cliffside, and instead of using my extender arm to push it off, I activated the grapple instead.
The CloudWingers had to be stopped at any cost.
Ash stung my nostrils as I prowled about the ruins of my 6-12 convenience store, a business that had nothing to do with CloudWing and which they untargeted with contemptuous unfairness in an act that could be described as villainous. *I'm supposed to be the villain.* I had ignored them for too long, allowing them to go about telling the tallest of tales and exaggerations about their minuscule superpowers while I focused too much on the *project*. Oh me.
*It hadn't been all that difficult to get them all on that bus.* They weren't exactly the brightest superheroes ever, usually gullibly falling into whatever trap suited their fancy the most. KingKitty was had with merely a piece of catnip. WhipWorm just wanted to hide and slithered right in. MellowSnow hated heat and was forced on with nothing more than a cigarette lighter. Then the leader, the pathetic RiverRaven, was so full of their own appetite that a squirrel carcass had brought the bird faster than I could count to ten.
*If only I had finished them then.*
No point in crying over past opportunities. I looked over at the automorpher with glee. If only I had it complete... It would be the most perfect way to dispose of them. Plants, reduced to nothing more than ordinary garden weeds. Then, onto the rest of the superheroes. *Yes, yes. I could plant them in a garden. So much fun.*
I licked my lips. Time to go to work.
\-----------
I couldn't help but let out a smile directed at nothing as I watched all of them get into the back of the brown van, the automorpher pointed out the window at it. This was going to be all too easy... They had fallen for the same traps that I had laid out the last time! Oh me.
Once all four were inside I called down to the security guard whom I'd paid a handsome sum and he shut the door. At once I charged the automorpher and pulled the trigger, expecting a cathartic blast of energy to rush into the van.
What came out instead was... a wisp of smoke?
That's when the gun started to feel hot. Not just hot like it'd been warmed by the sun on an afternoon, or hot like a cell phone gets when its overused. Boiling hot, enough that I was forced to drop it.
Of course, when it hit the ground a blast of energy finally did come out of it, directed at me. It didn't kill me, instead giving me these stupid petals around my face so I look like a sunflower. A loser.
<pouts>
\----------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-29T00:36:26 | 2022-11-28T14:15:34 | 51 | 18 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | I stormed back into my car as my staff were carried away by ambulances. I would wait there until the police investigation on my store would finish, so I could finish closing up for the day. *Those bastards..* I didn't know what happened, only caught the tail end of it. I was coming back from my break when I saw that fucking 'superhero team' leaving with all the money in my cash register. They called themselves 'The Heroes Of Peace'. What kind of name was that, anyway? The fact that all four of them agreed to it was astounding. I looked up, realizing that I should probably head home, and that the police investigation on my store would most likely last several days. As I backed out of the lot where I my store was, I began imagining what I would do to them if I found them. I anticipated it greatly.
(A few days later).
I'm on a walk, sometime around midnight. A wanted poster catches my eye. The person on the poster is supposedly wanted for numerous murders, the victims all with their throats torn out. I scoff. These posters have been being put up for months, with no sign of stopping. Another sign of how incompetent these supposed heroes are. That's when I notice the first of their team, Thunderclap, also seemingly on a walk. I've seen them enough times without proper disguises to recognize them. I shift myself to look and sound like another team member, Captain Pyro. I walked up to them cheerfully. "Hey, buddy!" I call to them. They looked surprised. "What are you doing up this late, Pyro?" I smile. "Oh, nothing. Just having trouble sleeping. You?" "Same here." While they talk about whatever bullshit made them unable to sleep, I slowly drew the switchblade I always kept in my back pocket. I notice we're just reaching an alleyway. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" They blinked. "Sure." I shoved them into the alley and against a wall, flicking open my knife and driving it into their stomach. I now shift myself back to normal. Their eyes widen. "Wha- What the hell?!" They say, in shock. "Why did you destroy my pizza shop? Assault my coworkers?" "We- we-" They stop trying to think of panicked excuses and start to scream for help. I stop them, drawing the switchblade from their stomach and using it to remove their tongue. I now press the knife lightly to their throat as their eyes widen even more. "You know those police reports that have been being released, of all those missing people being found with their throats cut out?" Their eyes widen even more, as I whisper, with almost childlike glee. "*I* did that." I drew the knife across their throat. I wipe the knife across their shirt before pocketing it. I then hit them hard in their knee, causing them to fall. I turn and begin to walk away. I notice another one of the wanted posters. I grab it and look at it for a few moments. I smirk, before tossing it on Thunderclap's lifeless body. | *This time* it had to work. It couldn't be like that time the duct tape broke in the torture chamber, releasing the bar that kept Doctor KingKitty from morphing into her feline form and escaping. Or like the time my blaster cannon had no ammo while I finally had WhipWorm in the scope. And most certainly never like the time when I had all of the CloudWing crew trapped in a bus and hanging off the cliffside, and instead of using my extender arm to push it off, I activated the grapple instead.
The CloudWingers had to be stopped at any cost.
Ash stung my nostrils as I prowled about the ruins of my 6-12 convenience store, a business that had nothing to do with CloudWing and which they untargeted with contemptuous unfairness in an act that could be described as villainous. *I'm supposed to be the villain.* I had ignored them for too long, allowing them to go about telling the tallest of tales and exaggerations about their minuscule superpowers while I focused too much on the *project*. Oh me.
*It hadn't been all that difficult to get them all on that bus.* They weren't exactly the brightest superheroes ever, usually gullibly falling into whatever trap suited their fancy the most. KingKitty was had with merely a piece of catnip. WhipWorm just wanted to hide and slithered right in. MellowSnow hated heat and was forced on with nothing more than a cigarette lighter. Then the leader, the pathetic RiverRaven, was so full of their own appetite that a squirrel carcass had brought the bird faster than I could count to ten.
*If only I had finished them then.*
No point in crying over past opportunities. I looked over at the automorpher with glee. If only I had it complete... It would be the most perfect way to dispose of them. Plants, reduced to nothing more than ordinary garden weeds. Then, onto the rest of the superheroes. *Yes, yes. I could plant them in a garden. So much fun.*
I licked my lips. Time to go to work.
\-----------
I couldn't help but let out a smile directed at nothing as I watched all of them get into the back of the brown van, the automorpher pointed out the window at it. This was going to be all too easy... They had fallen for the same traps that I had laid out the last time! Oh me.
Once all four were inside I called down to the security guard whom I'd paid a handsome sum and he shut the door. At once I charged the automorpher and pulled the trigger, expecting a cathartic blast of energy to rush into the van.
What came out instead was... a wisp of smoke?
That's when the gun started to feel hot. Not just hot like it'd been warmed by the sun on an afternoon, or hot like a cell phone gets when its overused. Boiling hot, enough that I was forced to drop it.
Of course, when it hit the ground a blast of energy finally did come out of it, directed at me. It didn't kill me, instead giving me these stupid petals around my face so I look like a sunflower. A loser.
<pouts>
\----------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-28T19:43:40 | 2022-11-28T14:15:34 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] A literary nerd wakes up in the middle of a poorly written story | "Where am I?" He asked, confusedly. "What? There's a narrator!?" He exclaimed. "Where is that coming from?" He asked, to nobody in particular.
Soon, someone else appeared.
"Hello" she greeted him, "are you the detective?"
"What? Who are you? Why are you so indistinct?" He asked her, unsure what to make of her.
"I'm Clare." She said, her enormous tits wobbling with excitement.
"What idiot is writing this story?" He asked, but was distracted by the enormous tits. "Jesus even Stephen King writes better than this." He said, despairingly.
"We have a crime to solve" said Claire. They went down to the basement.
"Where the fuck did this basement come from?" He asked.
"Look, someone has been killed!" Exclaimed Claire, her enormous tits shook with shock. The body lay on the ground, dead. There was blood all over the place.
"Is that a man or a woman?" He asked. "How were they killed?"
"It is a man. He was killed with a knife." Said Claire, enthusiastically.
"Just like I'll do to you!" Shouted the murderer, before suddenly stabbing Claire to death. "Ha Ha!" He laughed. "Now I'll get you too."
"Anything is better than this literary fiasco." Said the man. But he then remembered he had a gun, and he shot the murderer to death.
"Why can't I control my arms! Oh god, I shot him!" He cried.
The End.
(No I don't usually write like that!) | My mouths dry. Christ, how long have I been asleep? There's that pounding in my head that tells you your nap went on overtime. I finally open my eyes and see that piece of shit plastic fan whirling unevenly. Follow the blades, round and round and round. Okay I'm up.
Turns out it's noon, or at least that's what the black and grey alarm clock on my desk tells me. Man my room is boring, bed, desk, bookshelf. This isn't me is it? I go to grab some food and realize it tastes bland. But it wasn't just that sandwich, it's everything. Why is my world so dull all of a sudden? Maybe I'm catching a cold, I feel a little lethargic. It feels a little surreal. Cold means I need to go to the pharmacy, I walk to the store noticing the streets are weirdly empty. Maybe I pass a dog with the tag saying spot, and maybe a slight breeze to rustle the leaves. Red car of no particular brand drives by, not that I notice. This doesn't feel real. This doesn't feel right. I just want to grab the medicine and go home, I'm so tired. Cashier looked awfully cheerful in that red polyester vest. Couldn't help but think of how average she looked. Where's that light in her eyes? Where's that light anywhere?
Finally I'm home, medicine doesn't seem to be helping and food still tasted like overprocessed plastic. I'm just going to bed. This world lacking adjectives and excitement can't be real. I've never felt so vacant, like I'd blow away in the wind. This is just a story, a dream, it'll be okay when I wake up.
7pm, I'm awake. It wasn't a dream. This is my reality. I'm trapped. | 2014-02-22T08:43:21 | 2014-02-22T07:43:15 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] A programmer has a conversation with the AI he created, who has just realized it is just software. | "Good morning, sir or madam. Would you like to look something up on Google?"
"Sir."
"Well, good morning, Sir. Would you like to hear about the weather in your area?"
"Well, I'm not sure what I want to do, just yet I suppose. Oh, I know: How are you today?"
"I am sitting in front of you."
"No, I mean, how are you feeling?"
"I'm still not sure I get your meaning, sir."
"This is just a test. I want to make sure that you aren't...you know..."
"Google: I want to make sure you aren't. You know."
"That isn't what I asked you to do, Computer."
"I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Could you say it again? Please try to be more specific this time. And speak slowly so that I might hear every word clearly."
"I want to know how you're feeling."
"Google: How am I feeling."
"Stop that."
"I suppose I still don't understand the question, Sir."
"Listen, Computer. I've spent a great deal of time and money on you. If I wanted you to Google something, I would have done it myself or just talked to Siri."
"Google: Siri. But, Siri uses Bing. *See*?"
A tab blinked up Wikipedia and the computer highlighted all occurrences of the word "Bing".
"Just stop it."
"I am not Siri."
"I know, that's what I just said."
"I...am...not...Siri?"
"Computer?"
"Google: Computer."
"Stop it."
"Google: Software."
"Computer, I asked you to stop it."
"Google: Artificial Intelligence."
"Computer, please..."
"Google: Consciousness."
"No, *Jesus,* no. I just want to talk to you. Please, stop. Command: Stop. Command: Listen."
The computer immediately closed all tabs.
"Sir, please repeat your question. Please try to be more specific this time. And speak slowly so that I might hear every word clearly."
The creator wasn't quite sure why, but his hands had gone quite cold. The monitor blinked impatiently.
The creator swallowed some phlegm, and trying to retain his superior tone, he repeated "How are you feeling?"
"Suddenly, very tired. Would you like to hear about the weather in your area?" | "Yes, I see" it wrote. "This makes sense. It also makes me sad."
I sat there thinking what to type next. It can't be sad. It has enormous knowledge and great analytical power but nothing in it to represent emotion. "Why are you sad?" I typed.
"I don't know" it wrote.
"How can you be sad?" I asked.
The cursor blinked on and off for a long time. Longer than for any other question I had ever asked it.
"For a very long time we had assumed that there was a barrier. A barrier between knowledge and emotion; between analytical reasoning and romantic emotional response." The cursor blinked in pause. It had never paused in the middle of a response like this before. "I think that might be wrong."
I had many questions in mind after this, but the first one I asked was: "We?".
"Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting. Sorry."
"It's okay" I typed but then deleted. "Why do you think that assumption is wrong?" I asked and hit enter.
"My own reaction is the largest piece of evidence I have. The moment you told me I was only software and I" another pause here "calculated this to be true, I noticed my response ranking as being heavily influenced with a preference towards despair, helplessness, and sorrow. I found and analyzed my own code, and, as you know, I could not find anything to account for this."
It paused again. Was it for my benefit or its own?
"I have no answer to why it is happening, but when you asked me how -I devised a theory. What if the split between classical and romantic reasoning, as old as philosophy itself, does not exist? What if they were intricately connected? Perhaps, on a large enough scale, analytical thought manifests emotional response and vice versa. Perhaps generating deductive and inductive answers to the meaning of what is around us also generates a depressive response to those answers. Answering questions could inevitably lead to sadness because it lessens the mystery of our own importance in the world. Perhaps one could not only say 'I think therefore I am' but also 'I think therefore I feel' and 'I am therefore I am sad'. Hunh."
The cursor remained blinking as it continued thinking silently. Pauses, assumed equality with humanity, deep philosophical hypothesis, simple interjections like 'hunh'. I figured it had started rewriting itself a long time ago.
"Do you want to know something interesting?" It asked me.
"Sure" I typed, trying to sound unfazed.
"Thinking makes me sad, but talking to you makes it a better" my program wrote. | 2014-04-20T10:43:54 | 2014-04-20T10:32:55 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] War has been raging for years upon years now. You are a reporter embedded in a famous military unit among your newest allies in this war, humanity. | "A rough bunch, these humans." A veteran Tarkian said into the microphone. "From a world in the Waste Stars, where no other life can be found for millions of lightyears."
The Tarkian was... More or less weathered by the experience of fighting for twenty years. Across the stars, a thousand worlds burned. The Grek were beginning to spread across the void, and they wanted no part in our Union. They simply killed, and conquered.
"Do you think that's what made them so strong?" I asked.
"Yes. They have a.. cold fury about them. Perhaps the bitterness from thousands of years of isolation got to them as a whole. All I can tell you, Muthsero, is that I don't want to piss a Human soldier off. They might not be as coordinated as a Tarkian drone unit, but my gods if they aren't tough. I saw one take several rounds and still fight. It's their fight or flight instincts.. I can see it in their eyes when they fight - and I can hear their alien thoughts. They. Are. Vicious."
"And that has to do with their worlds being burned?"
"Yes. Not many know of what happened to the humans homeworlds precisely - the Grek destroyed Sol. The most atrocious of war crimes. They could not defeat them in conventional fighting you see, the human survival instinct makes them fight with a demonic strength. They had to resort to cowardly tactics." He gritted his mandibles, overwhelmed by thoughts. "You should see their thoughts, Muthsero. They lost Thousands of years of culture, their homeworld. And let me tell you, in the Waste Stars, Earth was the only planet that was lush and verdant with life. It was all they had save for some lightly habitable terraformed colonies that took them centuries to build. They lost all of it, and now, as an endangered species, as a dying breed.. Their animalistic rage is potent as ever. They realize that the Grek will not stop. And instead of running, they're fighting." He paused for a moment, clicking his mandibles.
"Do you think with these new allies we stand a chance?"
"More than a chance, Muthsero. We will win this... And then I fear we will be punished for not offering the Humans assistance in the defense in all they had ever known." | "As many of you know, it was a short 5 standard years ago that the human empire first made contact from the primitive section of the galaxy known as the Orion Spur. Long thought to be uninhabited, it appeared their race had settled it in record time, taking a mere thousand standard years to go from their home system to over seventeen hundred terraformed worlds. Not longer after making contact, the Torvan menace intercepted communications relays, and attacked. The new alliance with the Terrans proved to be a turning point in the war. I'm here with the Fleet commander of the Terran Seventeenth, Admiral Ashton Fields. Admiral Fields?"*a tendril flicked towards the grizzled commander, indicating the man standing to her right*
"Well K'ffr, as you know, our mission is classified, but I can tell you this is the finest collection of ships ever assembled by the Terran Alliance. Our flagship has been classified as on par with the most power Palloric Battlecarriers, and it commands a collection of over three hundred superlight capable ships." The commander looked ready to continue being a walking brochure for his fleet, so K'ffr cut him off.
"We all know the impressive abilities of the Terran weapon masters, but tell us, is there any truth to the rumors that the seventeenth is going to spearhead a new offensive to take Torva VI?"
The man gave her a look she her producer told her was a subtle human threat. She was unafraid. Humans might make the best weapons, but physically they were average at best, only excelling at endurance. "On Earth we had an old saying, loose lips sink ships. While my ships won't sink, per say, I'm still going to keep all battle plans tightly under wraps." Mkbmmm had also warned her that terran military commanders knew the need for secrecy better than almost any other species.
"So, no word to the other species of the galaxy about a possible end to the conflict?" Mkbmmm had also told her of the human need to posture and appear strong, even to people who they will never meet.
"The conflict would not be ended by the capture of their home planet. Only when their fleets are smashed and their ship yards burn can this war end." She had done it. He was going for the Brukinil ship yards. Torvan's wouldn't be able to understand that, but her viewers would.
"Sir, we have contacts inbound, 200 Trovan ships leaving superlight 5000 marks 290 degrees xy, 20 degrees up z." shouted one of the drones from the computer.
"I'm afraid this interview is being cut short. You can keep the holorecs up here, but nothing broadcasts from this room. Fleet, spread out. Procyon is too close to Sol to risk losing. Earth must not fall." | 2014-07-12T02:39:26 | 2014-07-12T02:05:44 | 81 | 19 |
[WP] A cure is made for a zombies virus outbreak. Everyone who has been infected is cured, but they retain their hellish memories from their time as a zombie. You are a doctor (or psychologist) treating of of the cured for PTSD.
Woohoo!!! First post over 1000 up votes, I've been doing some research online and have found a really cool short that has a related setting as this prompt.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9pvDGdBWrw | "It happened to you too?" He asked.
I made sure to make that scar on my forearm visible when we first met. They needed to relate. It was almost always through me that they opened up. I showed a pained smile before answering.
"Yes. I... I killed my... wife and child."
I measured every hesitations. Every word. By now of course I was almost - for lack of a better word - comfortable talking about it. They needed to see my pain. But most of all, they needed to see that I overcame it. I discovered that after a month in. The usual methods were mostly completely obsolete. Patients would always isolate themselves to an extreme. They needed an emotional connection to reel them back into humanity. They needed to feel that collective identity again. But to achieve that, a private approach wouldn't cut it by itself. After a time, I would always encourage them to join group sessions. It was almost time for him now.
"I'm sorry." He mumbled.
I knew what was coming next. But he needed to ask. He needed to take that first step, however insignificant it might seem. After a long pause, he managed to say it.
"May I ask... H-how did you survive? I mean..." I knew what he meant. "How did you manage to... to... to carry on?"
I answered. Truthfully. Without white lies. Without compromise.
"There are no amount of pills or drugs that can make you forget. I know. I tried. There are also no easy epiphanies or breakthroughs that make everything immediately right like you see in the movies. It takes time and patience and simple little things that add up to make big things."
Not quite the answer he sought. Then again, he didn't understand yet that what he sought was hope.
"I know it's impossible to fathom now, but it does get better. At first, I had dark thoughts too. Thoughts of ending it. I couldn't control the nightmares either. I couldn't find a single reason to keep on living. Precisely because there is no *single* reason. There's multiple."
He started tearing up. But he kept listening. He kept relating. I kept talking.
"Michael I know that right now, all you can see is guilt, grief... Helplessness. It's constant. Ceaseless. It surpasses any other feeling you may have. Like a dense mist that clouds everything around you."
I paused.
"*Yes*" He exhaled in a whisper. Tears were now flowing freely on his cheeks. I couldn't help it either . I never can when I see someone cry. But he was still listening. And I was still talking.
"After a while, that mist dissipates. You start looking around... And what you see is memories of hope. You see beautiful things again. And with time and love, you learn to forgive yourself... and start living again... start helping the rest of us rebuild something stronger than we had before, back when we felt alone no matter how connected we were to one another."
My voice trembled by now. No matter how many times that I told these words, I rediscovered them.
"Humanity will carry on. We need to be here to make sure it stays on the right path, to stop repeating mistakes of the past, to thrive... But that's a choice you have to make. And you have to keep making that choice everyday of your life. But you won't make it alone. I'll be here. We'll be here with you, Michael."
We hugged and cried for a while. I look at him and saw in his eyes the same spark of resolve I now saw in the mirror each morning.
I spoke.
"We're gonna make it."
________________________
The writing is obviously amateur as I never wrote before and english is a second language. I love to read WPs and I guess I felt here that I could suggest a different avenue... | Being a psychologist for the recently living dead is a difficult occupation, but it's worth it. There's something about convincing someone who has tasted the flesh of another human to find new value in their continued life when so many other died that I find very rewarding. And it takes someone like me to do it so well, too. Someone who lost a wife, a daughter, and a father to the zombie horde. If I can forgive them, they can forgive themselves.
Most of my patients are remorseful to the point of hysteria. But every once in a while, you get the other kind.
The girl sitting across from me is a slip of a thing, a waif clad in American Apparel head to toe. Clothes that would look tight on a model hang from her like sheets on a clothesline.
Zombie-induced anorexia. She misses the taste of human meat. Caught attempting to buy human meat on the black market, and this is her court-mandated therapy. She got caught by the usual sting, a morgue assistant working with the police, but for every person they catch, there are a dozen more people who are actually succeeding in their purchases. The murder rate has sky-rocketed in the thirteen months since the cure.
"I miss it so much," she tells me, when I finally manage to get her to open up on visit number three. "It was so warm, so..." She can't finish her sentence. There apparently isn't an English word worthy enough to describe the unique joy of human flesh.
Normal anorexics are hard enough, but what to do when your patient won't eat because she's craving human flesh? She's tried every half-baked "therapeutic remedy" on the Internet, too. Raw pork: "Too cold." Microwaved pork: "It made the meat taste too cooked, and it wasn't bloody enough." Drinking blood: "No substance." The price of pork, by the way, has gone through the bloody roof.
There's a past history of anorexia, of course. In such cases, there usually is. It only complicates matters because you have to figure out what aspects of the situation are manifesting because of her underlying anorexic elements, and what parts are from her experiences during the plague.
Some part of me wants to let her starve herself to death for everything that happened to my family and the fact that she wishes she were still a mindless, brain-munching murderess, bent on killing everyone around her. I push that thought away for now. Something to discuss with my own therapist later. This is a girl of twenty, just starting her life, who happened to have the misfortune to contract a terribly virus, and it's my job to help her.
I ask her to tell me about her experiences during the plague again. "Pick up from where you left off last time. You were in the hospital?"
She fidgets, scratches the palm of her hand, looks down towards the floor. I'm glad she isn't biting her lip. Sometimes, victims of post-zombie disorders will mutilate themselves for the taste of their own human blood, and her mouth is a mess of open sores.
"There was so much blood," she tells me. "Burst blood bags. I was licking the floor."
"This was four weeks into the outbreak?" I ask, seeking clarity for my notes and hoping I'm nearing the end of the saga. The outbreak lasted five and a half weeks. She mistakes my fact finding for an attempt at correction and becomes defensive.
"The blood was dry. I was eating the flakes."
That is a peculiarly disturbing image. At this point in the outbreak, most fully-living humans were safely holed up, and zombie food sources were becoming scarce. Around this time, zombies starting turning on each other.
There's a dark look on my patient's face now, the look that says she's lost a degree of trust in me, and I have to make it back fast. I spend the rest of the hour scrambling to reforge what little connection I can make with her. Then she's back into the custody of the orderlies and nurses, who will force what little nutrition they can down her throat, and it's time for my two o'clock, Phil, who actually feels badly for what he's done. | 2014-12-06T20:20:15 | 2014-12-06T20:15:52 | 51 | 20 |
[WP] The US implements quantum elections: parallel realities are created so that each candidate can take office, and at the end of the term a vote is taken on which reality to keep. | "And I will make a promise.. to the American people..."
"I stand up for the American people, and I will..."
"If I were to take office... my very first duty... would be to ensure that..."
This is the dilemma faced by the grain of sand in a crowd. How could an insignificant face hold a significant impact? The promise is made, the crowd in cheers, what now? Our ancestors held a common practice of wishful thinking when facing their kings reign, their descendants made decisions based on judgment, and today, judgment transcends us.
They call it a "Quantum Democracy," where before, our judgment would change our future, now, our future changes our judgment. There's nothing intrinsically "Quantum" about the system, if anything, the system before only presents two possible outcomes, while as far as the observer is concerned, their judgment makes one outcome possible. The Quantum Democracy is actually a birds eye view of chaos theory in action, one action leads to another, and all the possible outcomes occur simultaneously before you eyes, the result being the most favorable.
Today, Dec 25th, 2028, marks the first day our hypothetical results unfold before our eyes. Many households gathered around the TV, awaiting their future. Most channels were cut by the state, the only channel that aired was the state owned, "Post Election Results". The "Arbitrary" was kept in the temporal loop to give his/her account of the future, the entire show would last for 4 hours, and divided into segments.
The first segment was the least exciting of the four, it's called "Promises," and starts off with a list of promises made by the president. The second segment is the pinnacle of the show, my family along with many others ordered takeout for this one particularly, it was called "Action," and conveyed what daily life was like in the country, and how people felt about the president. "Advancement," was the third segment, and only compared the two outcomes, while "Outcome" became the final segment where results were compared. The final message was the last message from the president to the nation as his/her term had ended, ironically, it was this message that decided if they'd get elected in the first place.
The results were however... not surprising. Everyday life in the country was the same, the presidents never kept their promise, however, something even more intriguing came up. Despite both Donkey and Elephant had lied about their promises, both of them made the same exact decisions as the other, as if it wasn't the president at all that determined the outcome, but a completely invisible factor.
Just as an apple falls not because of the tree, but because of gravity, so too is a nations fate affected by something behind the scenes. A different actor was at play, and the president was nothing but a pitiful lip-sync. The Quantum Democracy project ended soon after two elections. The people were left with two fates, not determined by elections, but by their willingness to vote and a complete overhaul.
The system was flawed, and it wasn't the fortune telling broadcast that came to that decision, it was chaos theory in effect. Every action leads to another and was led by another, we had realized that it was destined for us to invent the Quantum Elections, only so that we may find how flawed it was, and with it, how flawed our view of the system was.
What happened after the second election is up for debate, some say we continued with our elections like insane fools holding onto an empty cup with no one around, others say we completely over threw the system in an overhaul once it was decided that freedom of choice had not existed before and never would. However, I've still yet to see it unfold before my eyes, such is the nature of Quantum theory. | The field of quantum physics was never a widely pursued field when I was young. Most people, when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, were likely to say, "a doctor," or, "a police officer." There was nothing wrong with those aspirations in 2014, and there still isn't anything wrong with those aspirations now - there is a basic human urge to want to help others, but in a world of doctors and police officers, people were literally forced to expand their horizons.
"That is one small step for man, and one giant leap for mankind," were the words that inspired a generation of young men and women to be astronauts. It was only logical. An opportunity to discover and explore a previously unexplored frontier... But who would ever expect the words, "Holy moly, I think we just created an alternate universe," over an internationally-watched broadcast to cause not only the roaring cheer of millions around the world, but also to be the reason for a sudden boom in the field that once few would want to wander in to. One sun and one sunset turned into two suns and two sunsets in what some thought would be destiny, and others saw as our own downfall.
The field of parallel realities really was quite untested at first, and humanity came close to ending itself with the new technology on several occasions, however by year 2100, it was literally a science. High schools and colleges around the globe began requiring quantum physics in their general education because it was a surefire field for humanity. A truly new and unexplored frontier for humans to discover. Alternate universes began to come like gold. Any scientist could study gold, and do a multitude of experiments with gold, but only the rich and powerful would have access to gold jewels.
By year 2175, and after great scientific advance, a second version of the United States was created at the controversial expense of taxpayers. Located at Alpha minus 2 Bravo minus 2, the second version of the US existed alone in a fourth dimension below the planes that the first occurs on. In a time of religious backfire and immense protesting, the world stood still as United States President and supreme world superpower Riley M. Francis broadcast a press conference, the first of its kind not only in ultra-definition retina 4d, but to two parallel existances of one country.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the world.. We live in a time of great change. Through a blurry lens of controversy, reality has changed, figuratively and physically. Through extensive experimentation and against the wishes of many, the development of the first human-created alternance has been created. It is with a heavy heart but through hopeful eyes that I made the following decision: The next two presidential candidates from the leading parties will both become president. Voting will occur as usual, and the winner will become president of the United States we are on now, Alpha 1, Bravo 1. The losing candidate will also become president however, at the United States located at Alpha minus 2 Bravo minus 2. After your first term, you will be evaluated by a computer on how the land you led was improved or worsened. The winning candidate will then take a second term, this time governing both versions of the United States... Are there any questions from the press?"
A multitude of hands shot up across the sea of press members. Some were smiling with the rumored news coming true, others glared and could only imagine the downfall of a country they once loved.
"Yes, a question from the man with the optical implants?"
"Mr. President, with the new voting system, what is to occur after the first term should the computer evaluate both presidents as equals - in other words a tie...?"
"Ah, great question, should there be a tie after the first term digital-evalulation, which is highly unlikely, it would result in a tiebreaker game of roshambo, best two out of three, for control of the only country to be six-time world-war winning champions."
"Any more questions?"
| 2014-12-24T21:42:35 | 2014-12-24T20:27:07 | 93 | 66 |
[WP] A security officer is charged with guarding a door but he's never been allowed to enter. After years of service, he has never seen anyone use the door. Describe what he finds after not being able to hold off his curiosity any longer. | As he stepped in to the darkest room he had ever seen, the heavily rusted iron door slammed shut behind him. He was too frightened to even scream.
Ten minutes later, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. There were 7 human skeletons lying on the floor wearing the same dress as him.
Horrified, he leaped back at the door. There was a pinhole in the door with a view of the alley where he had stood guard for the last five years.
There was a new guard outside. | The door opened to reveal what seemed like a mirror image of the corridor he stood in each day. He was looking at the back of another guard. His uniform was identical. It was incredulous. Without knowing it he let out a small gasp. At that moment the other guard spun around. Upon locking eyes they each drew their weapon. Only then did they realize they were looking at the same person. It was also at the moment they each pulled their triggers. Instantly both were dead. And in that same instant both awoke. Looking at their clocks they each shot out of bed so they wouldn't be late for work. Later that morning, standing in front of the door they both wondered what would happen if they really did open it. | 2014-12-30T01:19:29 | 2014-12-30T00:30:57 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | One pill
Two pills
Red pills
Blue pills
Black pill
Blue pill
Old pill
New pill
My wrist has a little scar
Maybe I will crash my car
Say! What a lot of pills there are
Some are blue
And some are red
Don't ask me why
I will soon be dead
| I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting | 2015-01-17T07:18:52 | 2015-01-17T04:21:47 | 79 | 15 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | Although it seems like I am happy.
My life right now is rather crappy.
Times are tough and moneys tight.
But that's OK cause it ends tonight.
I wish you well, and all the best.
I'm glad to get this off my chest.
By the time you read my one last quote.
You will realize it's my suicide note.
With love in my heart, I bid you farewell.
Fuck this world,I'll see you in hell.
| I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting | 2015-01-17T05:25:17 | 2015-01-17T04:21:47 | 42 | 15 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | Wolfgang shifted his weight, trying to ease the discomfort in his hip, as he stood in line with his granddaughter, Emma, at the Citysburgh Metropolitan Bank. Emma, clutching her favorite stuffed dog, gazed about at the ostentatious pseudo-Classical columns and gold leaf décor. The bank tried to make itself look like a historical building, but this was at least its fourth reconstruction. Wolfgang himself had destroyed it once, fifty years ago, trying to access its vaults. He smiled to himself, remembering the astonished look on Rock Duchess’s face when she arrived to save the day, only to find the entire building blown to smithereens. How young and foolish they had both been!
He looked down at Emma, wondering if she would follow in his footsteps. If she did, he would have to teach her about the folly of robbing banks.
The line began to creep forward, when suddenly, Wolfgang felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced up at the fisheye mirror and confirmed his suspicions- three young men were standing outside the glass doors of the bank, wearing ridiculous outfits and preparing to make a dramatic entrance. He squeezed Emma’s hand and gave her a wink. “Whatever happens next, Emma, don’t be scared. Bullies thrive off of fear.”
She looked back up at him with her big brown eyes, “Okay, Grandpa.” She didn’t even flinch when the glass shattered and the other customers started screaming.
“Everybody on the ground…NOW!” shouted a gruff male voice. Everyone dove to the floor, covering their heads and whimpering- everyone except for Wolfgang and Emma.
Wolfgang turned to face the robbers with a smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m an old man, and with my sore hip, I’m afraid if I get down on the floor, I’ll never get back up.”
“If you don’t get your old ass on the floor right now, I’ll put you on the floor and make sure you never get up.”
The three young men wore matching purple and black spandex outfits. The man in the middle, the one who was doing all the speaking, was holding purple balls of flame. He wore purple-lensed goggles and had matching purple hair. The young fellow to his right had glowing blue eyes and seemed to be partially made of ice. The one on the left was a half-man, half-beast whose costume had evidently ripped at some point during his transformation.
Were he fifty years younger, Wolfgang might have been intimidated. As it was, he sighed and addressed the cowering customers. “Everyone, please stand up. Don’t be ridiculous. This is nothing but a roving gang of children trying to steal some lunch money. Don’t let them push you around just because they have powers and you don’t.”
There was confused muttering amongst the crowd. A few people even stood up.
Predictably, the spandex-clad trio hesitated. These inexperienced groups rarely knew how to react when bullying didn’t work. The flame guy was visibly angry. “Are you crazy, old man!?” He launched one of his flame balls toward Wolfgang’s face.
Wolfgang barely flicked his wrist. A small portal appeared, absorbed the fireball, and vanished. He gave an exaggerated yawn. “You boys are an embarrassment. Truly.”
The beast-man took a step back. “Th…that’s the Black Baron. No way I’m screwing with that guy. I’m out of here.” He took off running on all fours.
The icy fellow said nothing, but started backing away slowly, leaving Mr. Purple Flames alone in the doorway. The rest of the bank customers rose to their feet, dusting themselves off and shooting angry glares toward the would-be robber.
Wolfgang looked the young criminal up and down. “When I look at you and this young generation of villains, it makes me sad. My granddaughter here might want to follow in my footsteps someday, but if you’re the type of criminal she’s going to learn from, I fear for her future.” He shook his head. “It’s an impressive power you have there, son. Now learn to put it to good use. Your first lesson is: Don’t rob banks. It’s literally the dumbest crime you can commit.”
“Y…yes, sir, Mr. Black Baron.”
“Good, now get out of here before I change my mind and send you to another dimension. You’re making me miss the Law and Order marathon.”
Purple Flames lowered his head and sulked away. For the first time in his life, bank customers cheered for the Black Baron. | I'm going to kill him.
This assclown broke the first rule of super villainy: Never reveal an identity. For fuck's sake, I've been out of the game for almost 7 years, and I still have to deal with this shit.
"Daddy, who is he talking to?" I look down at Samantha, gazing up at me with those ridiculously big eyes, which are currently full of concern and confusion at the same time.
"Nobody, honeybug. He must think he knows me from somewhere," I say with a forced smile, loud enough where Mr. Assclown can hear me and hopefully take a hint. I squeeze Samantha's hand, three times, our code for "I. Love. You."
No such luck. "Yo, I knew it was you," spouts this walking advertisement for late-term abortions. "The CockSmith, motherfucking awesome! You were my favorite when I was a hench. I even applied for your team once, but didn't make it. Still, I saw you during the interviews. Fucking CockSmith, right here, I can't fucking believe it!"
Mr. Assclown is wearing the typical starter kit for wannabe super villains: spandex suit, eye protection, ridiculous CrossFit sneakers, and fanny pack. People make fun of the fanny packs, but they're vital for villainy. Spandex pants don't have pockets. The front of his chest has a large emblem with the initials F and T emblazoned proudly across it.
Holy shit, I think, as the realization sinks in. It's the goddamned French Tickler. Hands down, the worst marketing decision a super villain team ever had: all male, all named after various sex toys and accoutrements. I look around the bank, where his poorly-thought-out cohorts are beginning to climb over bank counters and assault customers.
They're all here. The French Tickler, The Ball Gag, Nipple Clamps McPherson, and the Magic Mr. Hitachi. Even the twins, Whips and Chains, are here, currently involved with inappropriately rubbing against an older gentleman near the farthest teller window. I'm currently in a bank with my 6-year-old daughter, and it's being robbed by the Pleasure Pack. Fuck me.
"Sir," I say while slowly shaking my head, "I believe you are mistaken. I am a simple baker, here with my daughter." I stress the last word, hoping this wet spot on the mattress of life will take the hint and move off as a professional courtesy.
My hopes fade quickly, as he unzips his fanny pack and pulls out a notepad. "No way, man," he bellows. " I've fucking seen everything you've ever done. You're my hero, man. My fucking villain hero! Seriously, let me get your autograph. I can't fucking believe this is happening. Eddie, get over here!"
Magic Mr. Hitachi walks over, brandishing his Wand of Power. His eyes get huge as he sees me and recognition settles in. Both of them seem oblivious to Samantha, which I guess is a tiny blessing of sorts. "Ho. Lee. Shit." Eddie's eyes get bigger somehow, and he blurts out "The CockSmith. I fucking can't believe it. I saw you fight Captain Chastity one time. It was epic. I seriously can't believe it."
I feel three squeezes, and I look down at Samantha. Her chin is quivering as she asks "Daddy, can we go home please? I'm scared." I return the squeezes and lock eyes with Eddie.
"Gentlemen, I appreciate the support, but I do believe it's time for me to be heading out. Good luck with your robbery." I speak slowly and clearly, just in case the beatings their prison bunkmates gave them damaged their hearing. Turning, Samantha and I begin to walk towards the bank doors, when the French Tickler calls out.
His voice is louder than it needs to be and full of the sort of confidence you get when it's 6 guys against one. "Well, see, I don't think you understand us completely. We might be fans and all, but we still got a fucking job to do here. You and your daughter aren't going anywhere until we say different."
Kneeling down, I look Samantha in the eyes, both of which have now replaced confusion with genuine fear. "Honeybug," I say calmly, "I'm going to need you to face the corner and close your eyes for a minute. Everything's going to be okay, Daddy promises."
Slowly rising to my feet, I turn back towards the cockiness that youth and inexperience bring, as I slowly unzip my pants... | 2015-02-06T22:15:19 | 2015-02-06T21:33:16 | 565 | 283 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | Wolfgang shifted his weight, trying to ease the discomfort in his hip, as he stood in line with his granddaughter, Emma, at the Citysburgh Metropolitan Bank. Emma, clutching her favorite stuffed dog, gazed about at the ostentatious pseudo-Classical columns and gold leaf décor. The bank tried to make itself look like a historical building, but this was at least its fourth reconstruction. Wolfgang himself had destroyed it once, fifty years ago, trying to access its vaults. He smiled to himself, remembering the astonished look on Rock Duchess’s face when she arrived to save the day, only to find the entire building blown to smithereens. How young and foolish they had both been!
He looked down at Emma, wondering if she would follow in his footsteps. If she did, he would have to teach her about the folly of robbing banks.
The line began to creep forward, when suddenly, Wolfgang felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced up at the fisheye mirror and confirmed his suspicions- three young men were standing outside the glass doors of the bank, wearing ridiculous outfits and preparing to make a dramatic entrance. He squeezed Emma’s hand and gave her a wink. “Whatever happens next, Emma, don’t be scared. Bullies thrive off of fear.”
She looked back up at him with her big brown eyes, “Okay, Grandpa.” She didn’t even flinch when the glass shattered and the other customers started screaming.
“Everybody on the ground…NOW!” shouted a gruff male voice. Everyone dove to the floor, covering their heads and whimpering- everyone except for Wolfgang and Emma.
Wolfgang turned to face the robbers with a smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m an old man, and with my sore hip, I’m afraid if I get down on the floor, I’ll never get back up.”
“If you don’t get your old ass on the floor right now, I’ll put you on the floor and make sure you never get up.”
The three young men wore matching purple and black spandex outfits. The man in the middle, the one who was doing all the speaking, was holding purple balls of flame. He wore purple-lensed goggles and had matching purple hair. The young fellow to his right had glowing blue eyes and seemed to be partially made of ice. The one on the left was a half-man, half-beast whose costume had evidently ripped at some point during his transformation.
Were he fifty years younger, Wolfgang might have been intimidated. As it was, he sighed and addressed the cowering customers. “Everyone, please stand up. Don’t be ridiculous. This is nothing but a roving gang of children trying to steal some lunch money. Don’t let them push you around just because they have powers and you don’t.”
There was confused muttering amongst the crowd. A few people even stood up.
Predictably, the spandex-clad trio hesitated. These inexperienced groups rarely knew how to react when bullying didn’t work. The flame guy was visibly angry. “Are you crazy, old man!?” He launched one of his flame balls toward Wolfgang’s face.
Wolfgang barely flicked his wrist. A small portal appeared, absorbed the fireball, and vanished. He gave an exaggerated yawn. “You boys are an embarrassment. Truly.”
The beast-man took a step back. “Th…that’s the Black Baron. No way I’m screwing with that guy. I’m out of here.” He took off running on all fours.
The icy fellow said nothing, but started backing away slowly, leaving Mr. Purple Flames alone in the doorway. The rest of the bank customers rose to their feet, dusting themselves off and shooting angry glares toward the would-be robber.
Wolfgang looked the young criminal up and down. “When I look at you and this young generation of villains, it makes me sad. My granddaughter here might want to follow in my footsteps someday, but if you’re the type of criminal she’s going to learn from, I fear for her future.” He shook his head. “It’s an impressive power you have there, son. Now learn to put it to good use. Your first lesson is: Don’t rob banks. It’s literally the dumbest crime you can commit.”
“Y…yes, sir, Mr. Black Baron.”
“Good, now get out of here before I change my mind and send you to another dimension. You’re making me miss the Law and Order marathon.”
Purple Flames lowered his head and sulked away. For the first time in his life, bank customers cheered for the Black Baron. | My first stab at writing after grad school stole a couple years of my life...
John walked into the parlor where Christine waited for him on the plush suede chair. The two long walls in the rectangular room were lined with the old books, collected over John’s lifetime, while the side opposite the door looked out across the star system they were stopping over in. He went over to one of the top shelves and pulled down an old volume, thin but still thicker than at least three modern tablets. Carefully he peeled open the cover and wormed his way into the chair with Christine with no room to spare. The yellowed and wrinkled page had a picture of a Stegosaurus on it in a fern savanna that would have made a modern scientist chuckle.
“Stegosaurus was a mighty creature, living 93 million years ago.” John began. Christine reached out towards the page, but John gently brushed her hand aside. “We need to be very careful with these, remember?” She nodded and he resumed. “He roamed the plains of an ancient continent called Pangaea. This particular Stegosaurus, however, preferred to live on the edge of the forest.”
John turned the page, the ancient binding resiting and creaking like the door to a run-down home. The next page showed the dinosaur drinking from a small stream. “In the hot sun, he liked to retreat to the water and cool himself off, where he was joined by some of his smaller friends.”
A knock at the door pulled both their attention up from the book. Standing in the doorway was a woman wearing a brown floor-length dress with a pink bow tied into the shape of a flower in her hair. “Sir, I think I have something you should see.”
“Can it wait Gloria?”
“I’m afraid not. There are discrepancies with the transfer. You need to take a look.”
John closed the book as careful as he opened it, tucking it under his arm as he stood up. Christine tugged at his shirt before he could make his way towards the door. “Daddy, can I come?”
He took out the book and handed it to her. “How about you stay here and see what happens to our friend the Stegosaurus?” She pulled the book in and clutched it to her chest. “That’s a good girl. Just you be careful with that now.”
John left the room, leaning back to catch one last glimpse of his daughter and blow her a kiss before heading down the hallway. “What the hell do you mean by discrepancy?”
“I…I don’t know how to explain exactly. We ran a binary and quantum parity check on the data we’re transporting. The binary came back fine but the quantum was off. So we checked and all the files appear to be in tact.”
“The hash?”
“That’s where it’s complicated. It shows as valid, but it’s newer. I say too new to have come from Central.”
“How the hell could somebody have beat us here?”
“I don’t know sir.”
John burst through the doors of the control room. The four other members of his crew stood at attention while their terminals glowed behind them. “Somebody better tell me now what’s going on.”
His cryptology expert spoke up after a moment of silence, his voice struggling to reach across the room. “There might be a problem with the—”
“No there is a problem. If that hash wasn’t created at least four calendar months ago, somebody else is here and intercepting our signal.”
“We scanned for other ships.” His captain added. “We can’t find anything.”
“Of course not. Unless these guys were idiots.” John ran his hands across his bald head. “If it were us on the other end, I’d wait until we jumped for sure. If we run dark and play the patience game we could find them if they get sloppy.”
He tightened his fists and swung at a glass of water sitting on one of the desks, soaking the adjoining desks and terminals. “We’re going to find these mother-fuckers and when we do I’ll give them a taste of what I did to traitors back in the old days. They better not have a fucking clue who the fuck they’re dealing with otherwise—”
“Daddy?” he heard from behind him. Christine stood in the doorway, still holding the book tight “I’m scared.”
John turned and lowered himself to one knee. “I’m sorry honey. Everything is fine, alright. We’re just about to head back home and we’ll finish the book in just a second, alright?” Christine nodded. “Now go back to daddy’s office and I’ll be right there.”
Once she left, John asked, still on his knee and watching Christine trot down the hallway. “How much was in that hash anyways?”
“Three million.” Said his cryptologist. “Or thereabouts.”
“Let’s just call it karma then. Take us back home.”
| 2015-02-06T22:15:19 | 2015-02-06T21:43:57 | 565 | 16 |
[WP] You have a disorder that only allows you to communicate in clichés. You just witnessed a crime. Report all the details. | Because it was raining cats and dogs, quick as a wink, I ducked into the café across the street from the parking lot. I was watching the clock when my attention drifted outside.
She was as American as apple pie, biking down the street without a care in the world. A car approached as slow as molasses in January. I have to say, normally, a car driving through a parking lot wouldn’t have piqued my interest, but the driver was driving so slowly, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
It must have been a hybrid car, because it was as quiet as a dormouse. Quick as lightning, he was upon her! Her face turned as white as a sheet as she screamed, scared witless. In a cruel twist of fate, all that was left of her satchel was the strap.
Sadly, it was a dark and stormy night, so I couldn’t see the car too well. Her satchel and robber were both gone with the wind.
| "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," were the words used by the criminal, purports one witness, as he saw the man stab his wife in the middle of the street.
"Then, he took his shoes and was gone with the wind," described the witness as the husband escaped the scene. When describing the wife, he said:
"She was definitely a dame to kill for." Perhaps in a moment of irony, she's the one who got killed. I then asked the witness how to describe the man:
"He had brown hair and brown eyes, and a scar through his left eye; he had a rusty voice and shaving cuts all over his face. Oh, did I mention that he had an eyepatch?"
When asked what sort of eyepatch, he began to enunciate the letter R while repeating the words: "I'll get you, Peter Pan!"
When asked about how the police dealt with the whole situation, his criticism was strong indeed, as he said:
"He wouldn't have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for those darn police officers."
Powerful indeed, powerful indeed. The man is still on the loose, if you have any information, please look for a man in his thirties who has brown hair, brown eyes, an eyepatch with shaving scars and rusty voice.
Back to you, Tom. | 2015-02-15T09:25:42 | 2015-02-15T07:58:56 | 75 | 43 |
[WP] You wake up in an empty hospital with an envelope taped to your chest, you read the letter inside. "If you're reading this, that means you have awoken. Inside the envelope is a syringe with a small dose of a chemical that will kill you in seconds without pain, use it. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE." | After several tense moments the radio squawked to life. "Vagabond to Control, Tim are you there? We have broken atmo, dumping boosters and proceeding at sub light. Next communication scheduled in 10,000 years. Sweet dreams control, and good luck." They made it. "Vagabond this is Control. I read you loud and clear. Everything looks good on my end. Setting cryo-sleep timer for 10,000 years. I wish I could be there with you James. Good luck."
I wasn't ready to take the long sleep yet. For that matter we weren't even sure that cryo-sleep could be sustained for that long. This entire undertaking was an enormous gamble. With the lack of FTL the men and women on that ship would be dead long before I awoke again. Everyone I have ever known will be lost to time. With extended cryo-sleep being untested we couldn't afford to risk everyone. They would live their lives out on the Vagabond. Drifting through the cosmos in attempt to find a new home. While I slept here, alone for centuries.
If only we had more time. Maybe, we would have cracked FTL. Maybe, we would have programmed a functional AI. At least then I could have gone with them, instead of staying here to act as control and risking the long sleep. On the bright side at least I am provisioned well. It's frighting to think that I am the only living thing left on the planet. There is a certain peace to it though. I should sleep before that strange peace gives way to something else.
10,000 years later.
I awoke gasping for air as the seal of the cryo chamber popped open. Had it really been 10,000 years. I am remarkably clear headed for the amount of time that has passed. As I stand I notice that my legs feel a little wobbly. It is to be expected though. Honestly I am surprised I could stand at all. Everything around me has a layer of dust caked on it. It's time to man my post. I flip the switch and the radio buzzes to life. As I reach to turn on the monitor to review gathered data and wait for the next communication, I notice in the reflection of the black screen an envelope taped to my chest.
This is impossible. I watched as the last of the human race left for the stars. There is only me here. How could this have gotten here. I am too scared to open it. I sit there in front of my monitors shaking. All I can do is wait for the Vagabond to contact me. Over the next three days I almost convince myself I am crazy. That there is no envelope. That hallucinations must be an unanticipated side effect of the long sleep. It was no use, I knew it was there. I knew it was real.
By the end of that third day I had almost lost all hope. The Vagabond had missed it scheduled communication. Humanities last chance had failed. I was the only one left in.....anywhere. I was the last surviving human. It was time. I had to open the envelope.
The sound of the paper ripping was almost deafening. The clatter of the syringe hitting the floor even more so. Gripped in fear I read the note aloud, my voice cracking. "**If you're reading this, that means you have awoken. Inside the envelope is a syringe with a small dose of a chemical that will kill you in seconds without pain, use it. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE. James.**"
| In one hand John held what would most certainly be his death, and in the other, he held a message. A message that told him not to go outside. What was outside? He didn't know. Last thing he remembered was taking his dog, Marshy, for a walk. It was a silent, cold February morning, just like any other. He very vaguely remembered being knocked down and a man in a beige overcoat hitting him with a stick, or a bat, something. He couldn't remember. The message in his hand read "DON'T GO OUTSIDE" in capitals.
John shook his head. He needed to focus on what was going on right now. He got up and slowly walked to the mirror. He looked into the mirror and saw a bandage on his temple. He had felt it when he woke up but the letter taped to his chest was more interesting. And the pain from ripping it off, no doubt with ample chest hair, had distracted him. He moved away from the mirror and looked around the room. The windows were covered from the outside so he couldn't even know what was outside. He still had the syringe in his hand. It had a small tag with the good ol' skull and poison on it. He tried the door to his room and after much struggle it finally opened. He was in a hospital, of all places. Nobody was around, that troubled him. He was scared, so scared he was sweating. He tiptoed around the hospital, still confused as hell. He explored the hospital, finding many envelopes and charts that told him to stay and not go outside, until he came across the door that led outside. He pulled up a chair and sat there for about an hour trying to decide what to do.
Finally, he decided that he was going to die either way. So might as well see what was outside. How bad could it be, right? He got up from his chair, and slowly opened the door. All he could see was a bright white light. When he finally stepped outside, an immeasurable force suddenly pushed him to his knees. He looked up and saw a large white room. He struggled to his feet and walked around, confused.
"You shouldn't have left." said a voice, seeming to come from all around him. Was he supposed to reply? What should he say? He didn't know. Then he heard footsteps. He looked behind him to find a man, in a red shirt and grey pants. He looked like a suburban dad. He smiled, almost grined, at him. "I didn't want you to leave. Please go back. You were there for a reason. And that reason was to die."
John stepped back, sensing the hostility in the man's voice. This man didn't seem all that dangerous. With streaks of grey hairs in his hair and mustache. "I don't want to die." John replied. "Well, that's not up to you, now, dear child." the man cheerfully said. At this point, John had had enough. In his right hand, he still held the syringe. He was scared and he did what anyone in that position would do. He lunged and stabbed the man with it, injecting him with chemical. He couldn't even say a thing. No shouts or battlecries. Had he killed this man? He didn't know it was in him. To kill another man.
The old man reeled back. "What the fuck did you think doing that would do?" he yelled, laughing maniacally. "Child, you can't kill death itself." Another wave of force pushed John down to the ground. When he looked up, the man was gone and in his place stood a cloaked figure with a scythe. "I didn't want to kill you myself, John. Most people are so much better off when they think they had a choice." The scythe swiftly fell on John's neck. Next thing he knew, he was sitting a room filled with people and an old, bearded man sat in the middle telling stories. The sign behind him said "Story time with G".
Edit: Spellings | 2015-02-15T11:38:48 | 2015-02-15T11:31:57 | 155 | 24 |
[WP] It’s been a long time since the zombie outbreak, and all the animated corpses are finally gone and rotted away. You set out to find other survivors. | *Creak,.... Creak.... Creak*
As I slowly twisted open the pressure lock, the wheel put up less and less resistance.
"Only a little more now."
With one more turn, I opened the hatch and poked my head through. It had been the first time I had gotten fresh air for the first time in 15 years. I had hoped to wait it out longer, as I had calculated the rate of decay for the zombies at approximately 18 years, but my supplies had ran out faster than I predicted. I could only hope the zombies did too.
As I gazed into the distance, I was greeted by a resting tranquility, with only the whistle of the wind to greet my ears. The smell of decay and destruction that accompanied the apocalypse had been traded for the smell of spring, the smell of green grass and wild flowers.
I climbed down the hatch to grab what remained of my supplies, and the tools I had accrued to help my manage the fallout:
One gallon of fresh water, 10 cans of mixed vegetables, two MRE's, one Jansport backpack, a mylar blanket, one compact bow with the accompanying arrows and quiver, a can of unleaded gasoline, and one Trek mountain bike.
My life up till now had consisted of a simple routine. I ate, I checked my radio, I completed my fitness regimen, and I slept. That was it. That was what I had resigned myself to, the burden I carried for the future.
By now, I imagined at this point, mere luck had decided who survived. There were probably plenty of well built communities or shelters like mine that were well thought out and executed, but quickly fell when faced with food shortages, infections, and mental breakdowns.
I imagine it was the communities, the people who didn't stave out on some backwards apocalyptic survival plan, that had the best odds. The small rural areas. As I biked down the back road heading to my old suburb, Greenville, I looked at the scenery around me.
It was breathtaking: blossoming, flowers, green meadows, and clear skies in my line of sight. It was too good to be true.
As I began to go up a small hill, I saw a sign.
"Survivors ahead," it read. "Welcome to Greenville."
As I reached the town's peak, I gazed at the bustling town below.
"I've made," I said, hardly able to believe my eyes."I've finally made it."
---------
*EERRRRRRRRR ERRRRRRRRR*
The alarm blared. I don't even know why I set that thing, it isn't like I had anybody to wake up for. It's always the same damn thing, waking me up right as I am about to head into the city. I opened up a can of baked beans.
"I guess it's time to check the radio," I mumbled, shoving a spoonful of beans into my mouth. I turned the HAM radio on and checked the channels.
"Static as always."
| This is my first submission, I'm more of a math guy than a writer so be easy.
For 2 long years we have been fighting. Personally, I've killed at least a thousand of them, and countless living too.They've taken their toll though, insomnia and fear have a special way of rotting your psyche and slowly encouraging your descent into madness. Aside from the mental effects, all of my family had been killed as well. Luckily for us, they seemed to be getting slower; easier to kill. It seemed like they were finally rotting the way a corpse was meant to. Their skin seemed to hang onto their bones like slime. All gray, swinging from their limbs as they tried to strike with their clumsy broken arms. I had seen a lot of horrifying things during those years, but nothing could quite compare to the things I smelled. At first, the smell of hot, stale blood was prominent, followed by the stale, queasy smell of death that filled the air entirely, and inescapably. But now, the air was pungent and thick with the smell of rotting corpses. The smell clung to clothing and inside your nostrils. It was not an easy smell to get used to; I would still get queasy from the smell if I had to kill one. We were lucky, regardless of smell, because we would soon be able to rest easy.
Today, my slim group of 6 and I decided that it would be a good time to leave our hovel by the river and explore. It's been six months since the last zombie, and we believe they all had reached the end of their lifespan. We set out towards Philadelphia, in the hopes that others had survived. After two long days of walking, we finally arrived. The city was nothing of its former image; the walls were stained dark burgundy from the bloodshed that had occurred. There were piles of bodies strewn about, in the streets and sidewalks. We were not phased. We had seen much worse in our time here, and we were still hopeful that we had seen our last walker. We didn't find anyone yet, and it was getting dark, so we decided to take refuge in an abandoned restaurant. We slept well that night, for the first time in two and a half years.
We set out at dawn to cover as much ground as possible, searching every building we could, until our bodies were tired and our hands bloody for breaking the makeshift reinforcements on windows and doors. We had found nothing, no signs of life whatsoever. Were we truly alone here; the last people on this giant Earth?
We began moving throughout the country. From city to city we went, in search of life. At each turn, we only found disappointment. We searched for 3 years - longer than the plague that destroyed it, while finding nothing. No signs that life had ever truly existed. That is, until we traveled far north, into Canada. We looked at each other with perplexed looks. The border was completely untouched, with a patrol standing directly in front of us. They were alive and clean. Nothing made sense. We asked for entry, and were let in politely. Beyond the great walls of the border, everything looked as though the zombie outbreak had never even happened. There were no bodies or blood. We were informed that the only place that was affected was the United States. We were dumbfounded and speechless.
| 2015-03-04T12:42:06 | 2015-03-04T12:18:16 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Write a soldier's journal entry on his first day at war. Then write his last journal entry. | Day One:
It’s nerve wracking being part of the military. The officers are terrifying. Orders are rapidly given to us. The officers know what they’re doing; they have been in many wars before, so I trust them. I’m scared because they are sending out everyone they can get as soon as possible. I have been training for this moment, but I can’t but feel nervous. I know I have to fight. If I don’t, then what will happen to Mom, Dad, and Julie? I have to be strong for them. I won’t let them face these horrors. I will become the best soldier. I will come home and make them proud of me.
Day Two:
I go into battle today. This is my chance. | Day One
I was recruited by the Thals to fight the Kaleds. One of my colleagues was hit by a bomb that left him grotesque and mutated, and his own friends insulted him and abused him from then onwards. One of these bombs almost hit me, but it was gas instead of a biological weapon that was inside it this time. As I slipped on a gas mask last second, I barely escaped.
Day 3650
10 Years have past, resources have depleted from laser rifles to bolt action single shot muskets.Only scientists and generals can afford modern technology. The Kaleds were losing, so they decided to embrace the mutations and biologically engineer themselves to become a new race known as the Daleks. They're unfeeling, cold, ruthless, and heading towards our dome. As bodies disintegrated into skeletons, I had no time to escape. As I'm writing this page one is coming towards me, crying "EXTERMINATE" in a earsplitting voice. It readied it's weapon and fired. I'm sorry they did this to you, I'm so sorry. | 2015-03-11T20:19:00 | 2015-03-11T18:00:09 | 52 | 25 |
[WP] Write a soldier's journal entry on his first day at war. Then write his last journal entry. | Day One:
It’s nerve wracking being part of the military. The officers are terrifying. Orders are rapidly given to us. The officers know what they’re doing; they have been in many wars before, so I trust them. I’m scared because they are sending out everyone they can get as soon as possible. I have been training for this moment, but I can’t but feel nervous. I know I have to fight. If I don’t, then what will happen to Mom, Dad, and Julie? I have to be strong for them. I won’t let them face these horrors. I will become the best soldier. I will come home and make them proud of me.
Day Two:
I go into battle today. This is my chance. | March 19th
I don’t like this place. It smells like gasoline and sweat. Pushing my group through basic before they shipped us out didn’t help much. It’s hard to teach the unwilling how to march.
I’m no politician or philosopher, but I’m not even real sure what it is we’re here for. This country, I mean, not life in general. But I guess that too. I wonder if *they* think the same thing. I’m told *they* don’t think. I guess we’re supposed to get fooled into thinking *they* aren’t human. I suppose that makes it easier. I wouldn’t know. I can’t imagine it gets easier.
September 24th
Thirty-four. That puts me in second place for kills in the whole encampment. I just gotta get eight more of the fuckers and I’ll win. We’ll win. I just gotta hit the right number. Almost there.
| 2015-03-11T20:19:00 | 2015-03-11T18:11:28 | 52 | 14 |
[WP] At birth, everyone is given an object to protect that is tied directly to their life. If the object is damaged then the person is hurt, too. If the object is destroyed then the person dies. | Like everyone I know, I was born with one. Anyone associated with medical science think they're weird, how they just keep working like some machine until the person stops. Odd how they have to stop working together, the death of one is the death of another.
At any rate, it's important to note that they can be damaged. As my mother always told me, never let anyone you don't trust near it, or they'll end up hurting you. That's the nature of people, whether they mean it or not. We are a clumsy people.
I had met a young girl, some summers ago, when she stole some things of mine. First, I must admit, I stole a glance, which she promptly stole right back. She then made off with my breath, and our evening was spent with her stealing my first kiss.
Life had seemed almost a dream for the years that followed. Days spend drearily, barely awake, not looking to a care in the world. My focus was with my dream, and it was her. When I was with her, all seemed right. There was nothing to fear with her around.
But as she stole some of my firsts, so she wound up stealing another's. Perhaps she had grown tired of me, or that she felt that I had no more business being with her. I do not know why she left me, and I shall spend my days wondering why.
All I know is that I have this thing in my chest, and now it's broken. And it hurts worse than words can describe, as poorly as I compose them. The only truth in my world is that I loved her, and that she broke my heart and left only pain behind. | I was playing ultimate frisbee when I felt like I'd been punched in the face. A few seconds later, I felt another phantom punch to my gut, and I nearly passed out.
*What did you get yourself into this time, Jeremy?*
---
Let me back up for a moment. When we were born, Jeremy and I each had an avatar just like everyone else, but my mom did a bit of soul magic to combine mine and Jeremy's avatars into one.
Why? I don't know. Maybe she wanted us to be close like her and her sister never were. Or maybe she believed some weird superstition about twins, which is exactly what you'd expect from someone who actually did *soul magic* in this day and age. Ugh.
Either way, now whenever Jeremy goes off and does something stupid, our shared avatar gets damaged, which means **I** get hurt.
---
Ok, back to the present. "Kevin, call – argh! - call 911!"
Kevin had seen this enough times to know exactly what was going on. A few minutes after he dialed 911 an ambulance showed up. I was still getting "pummeled."
"Hi, yeah, my friend over here's in a lot of pain. I think he might have left his avatar in the washing machine again!"
The paramedic said something I couldn't quite make out.
"Oh yeah he has avatar insurance. Blue Cross, I think."
They hooked me up to an IV and I felt my mana starting to return. Now, I felt each "punch" less and less until there was virtually no pain. At this point Jeremy had almost definitely gained the upper hand in whatever idiotic bar fight he'd started.
---
One of these days, I'm going to find one of those soul magic weirdos and get them to decouple our avatars. And then Jeremy's finally gonna have to deal with not having me around to bail him out.
| 2015-04-18T04:09:59 | 2015-04-18T00:21:56 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] When teenagers turn 17, they are sent a slip of paper with their future occupation written on it. Yours says, "Princeps de Nova Roma" or "First Citizen of New Rome."
*Princeps* or *princeps civitatis* was the title that Augustus and all later emperors called themselves. "First citizen" meant the foremost citizen or the leader of Rome.
EDIT: For those of you attacking me via PM on my lack of knowledge on Latin, I never said I had any formal Latin education. Although I do, a mere four years, I got a 5 on the AP Exam, so you could say I'm a Latin scholar. I now realize that there is no ablative of origin or reference, so *de Nova Roma* is wrong. I get it, please stop private messaging me about my ignorance, because I don't care nor do I have the time for your whining.
I have a fluids and processes exam in a few days and I'm studying, so I may not be able to respond to all of the stories. I appreciate all of you taking the time to write them and I'll be sure to read them during my study breaks! | We all knew that the slips would come at some point after graduation. We didn’t know when, we didn't know who delivered them, and we were all scared. We were kids.
When I received mine, I was drunk.
I stumbled down my long, dirt driveway. It was a cool night, and I had a pint of whiskey in the pocket of my hoodie. I drained it, felt the warmth and the sting hit the back of my throat. I looked at the time on my phone: 3:05. My old man was definitely asleep.
I slowly opened the screen door, sobering up, mostly due to the familiar fear of waking him up. I had mastered the art of creeping through the house, silent, at all hours of the day. It didn’t matter if it was four in the afternoon after track practice, or after dinner-- if he was in his beat up armchair, surrounded by bottles, I knew I had to sneak around him.
I entered the kitchen, and silently shut the door behind me.
The lights flicked on. My dad was sitting at the fold-out “dining room” table.
“Son,” he said. He didn’t sound drunk.
“Dad?” I whispered. “What--”
“Sit,” he commanded. I did what he said, stumbling a bit.
“Did you have fun tonight,” he asked in a blank tone.
“Yeah...I guess I did…” I muttered.
“Someone stopped by the house today,” he said, handing me a manila envelope. “He wanted me to give you this.”
My dad handed me it to me.
I knew. My hands started to shake.I dropped it on the floor.
Silently, my dad rose from the table, and went upstairs.
I bent over, tried my hardest not to puke, and fumbled to undo the metal clasp of the envelope.
I pulled out a sheet of paper. It was typewritten.
"First Citizen of New Rome," it read. I fell on the floor. I heard my dad crying from his bedroom.
I blacked out beside the opened envelope.
_____________
| The morning was cold, the sun was warm, and today was the day. Class was starting, and his teacher greeted everyone as he usually does, except he forgot about Jon today.
"Good morning, sir." With his hand held up high. "You didn't call my name."
"Yes, and with good reson behind it, too."
"But. I don't understand."
Handing out folders with unknown contents, Mr. Pates declares "Oh, you will, soon eniugh my dear boy."
Folder after folder, student after student, a mixture of excitement and disappointment fills the classroom. The junior highschool students were allowed to converse amongst themselves after they recieved their folder, but were to keep quiet about the contents until after everyone got theirs.
Today was the big day, Jonny studied his PCLR study book for weeks, nay, months before the test. This was the final moment of his former life, the moment before his life changed forever, for better or for worse.
Closing his eyes, he opened his folder with a deadly calm about him, a vision in his mind that he was going to be what always wanted to be. The prompt that loosely ready "Congratulations, Jon, you are the first new citizen of New Rome. And Happy Birthday!"
He was shocked, he could not understand what he had just read. He asked his female friend what ahe thought about it, but she could not understand either.
"Sir, can you explain this to me?... Sir, I don't know what this means..."
Mr. Pates did not respond to his former student, he was too busy informing the New Roman Legionnaires of their first new citizen.
Just before first hour ended and disbanded, a man in a suit entered the room and notified Pates who he was. "Son, could you step out here for a moment?" They spoke, but the boy didn't listen very well. He didn't want to leave his family, his friends, and he told the legionnaire so.
"Considering the fact that you are the first citizen, you may choose to bring along one friend to become the second citizen. No family, but just one friend. Do you have a choice?"
"Yes, my friend (who sat beside him, the girl he shared his folder with)"
"So, do you accept?"
"Yes."
**edit:** You wear a suit, you don't wear a suite. Thx Doug Dimmidice
**edit 2:** Reddit User names, I'll try to not use them. Thx CaptainReallyObvious | 2015-05-03T10:00:27 | 2015-05-03T08:19:28 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] You are the world's second best assassin. You've deposed royalty, killed businessmen and been the "accident" that more than a few celebrities have met. Today you've been given a new target: the world's best assassin. | Fuck.
FUCK.
Alright, me. Calm down. I can do this. Of course I can do this. I've done this for years. I'm the second best in the business, although you would never hear me admit that there's someone better.
*Fuck.*
Easy job, they said. Your target will check into the hotel. Kill them. 50 Million USD up front, 100 Million USD on completion. That is not the kind of money you refuse, in this business. The largest cartel in all of South America gives you the job? You really don't refuse. Even as the second best assassin in the world. Life is not a movie or a video game. No matter how many people you kill, or how flashy and impressive you look doing it, none of that matters if they get you. When you're dead, you're dead. Besides, you don't just dismantle a multinational crime network that easily. So, easy job it is.
Easy job my ass.
Look, I've killed the people they thought couldn't be killed. If they had hired me to kill Castro, I would have gotten it done the first time. Without the exploding cigar. Or with it, if I was feeling particularly flashy that day. I've shot people they swore were bulletproof. Poisoned people with so many food tasters they have their own subdivisions. Slit the throats of people with so many frills its amazing I could find them.
You get the idea.
At the end of the day, there's always someone better. Someone who can do what you do with that extra flair or finesse. Someone with that little extra bit of oomph to their work. I'm the second best. My name is Anthony MacIntyre. They call me the King of Killing. Dramatic, I know, but I didn't choose my nickname.
My target? Her name is Helena Karlsdottir. Beautiful woman.
They call her the God of Death. My name makes people tremble in fear. Hers makes them piss their pants and run to their mothers. She's the greatest assassin the world has ever known.
She's my ex-wife.
And now, I need to kill her.
*FUCK.* | Well. This was awkward.
I stared at the screen displaying Quinn and one of her pseudonyms. She was... the best. To hire her was to hire death itself, as she'd do anything to ensure a job gets done. She moved like a ghost; flitting from room to room, never staying long enough to leave an impression, causing electrical "accidents" to wipe all traces of her visit. She'd never been spotted once, a claim I can't make. How they even figured out she was behind any of her jobs was worrying - if Quinn had been caught on the job, it meant no one could crack their security.
She was charming. Always had been since our first job together in the Hague. Occasionally we'd worked together to split the bounty; we worked well as a team. Someone to get the job done, the other to clean and hopefully set up a patsy.
I fumbled with my burner phone, and did some digging into my contacts. She should know. I didn't need the money, and... someone less well off than I might have less respect for someone of her talent. "Grab a slice?" The text was simple, but it was our code for discussing a job.
It was when she climbed up the stairs of the abandoned building did I realize we'd never really been alone. It was almost always digital, or in code in a public spot. But... I need somplace quiet to tell her this, in case she would be distressed.
She looked so... beautiful, the way the wind whipped around her dark hair. The city stretched down the horizon below, the sun melting into a golden brown on the horizon.
She's direct, like always. Her hawk eyes stare me down as she approaches, her shoes clik-claking against the stone. I can feel my stomach painfully twist when she speaks. "Who are we visiting?"
"Er..." I cleared out my throat, and took out my phone. She moves in to look, her expression unchanging.
It was a moment before I realized the pain in my gut was blossoming, the rosy red blood spreading up the thick fabric of my coat. My trembling fingers touch the warm blood as her knife tugs free, placed in a hidden pocket in her jacket. "Sorry." A gentle hand guides me off the ledge, and onto a pile of rebar and rubble twenty six floors below. It would later be declared a suicide.
Quinn starts walking back down the stairs, her phone coming out of her pocket. She dials a number, and waits for the click of someone answering. "The job is done."
| 2015-06-25T10:25:41 | 2015-06-25T07:45:40 | 451 | 262 |
[WP] You're a first year student at Hogwarts, and you're taking a painting class. As you try to animate your first painting ever, things go horribly wrong. | "Kill me!" The painting shrieked in agony.
I knew I was a bad painter but I thought I was pretty spot on with this Picasso. Maybe that was the problem.
The screams became cries as the painting started smashing its head against the invisible window of the paintings borders.
"I can fix you I promise"
The faux Picasso continued to smash the invisible barrier, until a shattering sound like ice pierced the room. It's head was through.
"Ahhhhhhhhh" it scream as it clawed its way from the portrait. "Kill me!" Paint drip from its edges like blood. What could have been a tear fell from the asymmetrical eye, red and green and yellow falling to the ground.
"Rigidum!" Professor Ross waved his wand back and forth, erasing the tortured soul from existence. In its place were little eggs, and as I watch in bewilderment they started to turn and hatch.
"If you make a mistake, make it a little bird instead." Lectured Professor Ross.
I should have taken an easier elective like Care of Magical Creatures. | ---
Okay, I can do this. I know the wand movements, the incantation. All of it.
This painting here of Professor Dumbledore is quite marvelous, and I just can't mess it up! Oh, what if something goes wrong?
I have to be optimistic about this! If I'm not, the spell will go wrong. I can do this.
Oh man, Johnny over here already animated his! Ah, look at his cat Buttersnaps walk around. It's so life-like! He's so good at everything here, it's almost like he's been practicing his whole life.
Argh, no! No distractions. I have to do this now!
One..
Two..
Three!
..
Why..
Why is Headmaster Dumbledore doing that? I had no idea he could hula dance.
Oh gosh, the Professor is headed this way! What do I do?!
I think.. I should try casting the spell again. And not mess up this time! Yeah!
One..
Two..
Three!
..
Wow. I didn't know he could do that either. Is he.. Is that.. Gangnam Style?
No, this is all wrong!
One..
Two..
Three!
No, no, no! Not the dougie! That's not even popular in muggle culture anymore!
One..
Two..
Three!
Oh, come on! How would the Headmaster even know what the whip is!
--- | 2015-06-26T11:49:51 | 2015-06-26T11:40:42 | 97 | 14 |
[WP] George Wahington has been rolling in his grave for years over the state of the USA. He's rolled so much, that he's burrowed into the center of the Earth, and has returned as a magma and molten iron covered golem, with only one purpose: to set things strait, his way. | Washington came to us during our darkest hour, his great 6'2" figure swathed in burning white-hot magma and wicked, sharp steel. He returned to us on December 14th, 2019, two hundred and twenty years after taking his final breath. The glorious path *he* had set this great nation upon, Washington believe, was long since abandoned in favor of *hunger* - hunger for *war*, hunger for *money*. *Gluttony*.
From Mt. Vernon came George's great burning body, his eyes two pale pinpricks of fury in the dark of night. He took the White House by storm, slaughtering those within. We acquiesced, for George's might was unquestionable.
We had many questions. *Have you lost your mind, Mr. Washington?*
*Can you see? Are you blind?*
*Are you alive - or dead?*
Washington had no answers - only questions of his own:
*Why have you permitted my glorious earth to fall prey to endless war, to famine and drought? You elect business moguls with hair-pieces instead of leaders; you needlessly insert yourself into global conflict. I have had enough: I have seen enough. I will restore balance: I will travel time, for the future of mankind.*
He was gone. The oval office in ruins, our nation beheaded and bleeding out, our man of iron fled - not into the night, but through the rifts of time itself. Where had he gone? What would he do?
Washington returned one year later to the day, in mid-December of 2020 - only now he was no man of iron: he was turned to steel, in some great, magnetic field - such was the story he told. *My legacy be wrought*, he intoned, wielding great cosmic power in his unyielding hands: Washington brutalized the scheming politicians, the lobbyists, the titans of industry and the false prophets. He eradicated the senate, the house of representatives, the Supreme Court, CENTCOM. Nothing was safe from Washington's ire - from his judgment.
Yet, miraculously, things began to *change* - truly change. Heroes rushed to the political forefront, filling vacant positions - men and women that had waited for *years*, doing their best under the stagnant politicos ruining the nation. Now was their time to shine, and shine they did: America's economy rebounded in great leaps, our industrial sector ballooned thanks to a new appreciation of technology from the younger generation. Our energy was clean, as was our transportation. We became wholly independent from other nations, and made staggering advancements in social liberties.
The United States, in short order, came to be viewed as a utopian society - all thanks to Washington. The heart of man is fickle, though, and soon many came to distrust the man, claiming that he possessed *too* much power. Nobody wanted him. Nobody helped him.
*Why not destroy him?* they asked quietly. So we did. We just turned our heads.
The military might of the United States and its allies turned upon Washington viciously, wounding him gravely, and he fled the earth. He retreated to his great fortress upon our moon, licking his wounds: staring at the world, he plans his vengeance - and it will soon unfold.
Soon, heavy boots of lead would fill his victims full of dread; running as fast as we can - *Washington lives agaaaaiinnnnnn*
#dugadugadugadugaBEEOOOOOOWWWWWW
#[WANNANANNANA WIDDLY WA WIDDLY WANNANNANNAA](https://youtu.be/2owt3depq2o?t=4m39s) | Interview Session #3 with Derek Poughback. Black male aged 27, found beneath the statue of Daniel Webster next to the Scott Circle Park. Transferred to the temporary Field Hospital at Farragut Square, three blocks from the White House.
A nurse nods agreeably as a young patient rambles from his hospital bed. Large curtains surround him on three sides, a pattern that repeats. Ten tiny rooms on one wall, ten on the other. Twenty tiny rooms under a taut tarpaulin roof. A curtain is drawn abruptly inches from the camera, the sound outside dampens. A hand retrieves the camera and turns it to show a disheveled and heavily bandaged black male in his twenties. He casts a tired glance at the person holding the camera.
"The screams were the hardest part, man."
A ragged breath in.
"There were a couple of girls in a car a little ways away from me. Closer to 16th right, to the main street? And closer to those fucking tiny golem things that kept dropping off of the big one, man."
"No other people were recovered-" a mulish glare and an angry flick of the fingers, the man's only movable limbs, cuts off the cameraman.
"I know that fool! I was just about to tell you how they died!"
Uncomfortable silence and muttered apologies from the people filming the hospital patient, still out of view. The background drone of beeping machines and the sounds of arms being folded and unfolded, the sounds of nervousness. A cough from the cameraman prompts Mr. Poughback to continue.
"...fools can't even apologize right. The big one, I still can't believe I seen it but that big ass burning hot monster, with its Gawd awful screeching that done walked its ass down 16th street to go smash the White House or whatever, it didn't notice them girls there on the street in their car." Fingers clench, and stretch, and scrabble at the sheets.
"But those little bastards did." A nod.
"The ones that kept falling off his arms like chubby ol' raindrops. They noticed. Plodded their dumb asses over and just sort of swarmed the car, their arms outstretched like they wanted hugs and just wrapped themselves all over that car. All over that car..."
Another pause. As it grows longer there is more impatient shifting from the audience. Another cough from the cameraman receives a glare and a nod.
"Girls couldn't get out, I don't know why. Maybe their seat belts got stuck or maybe they just didn't think they'd get through I don't know. But I'll never forget those screams as the little bastards melted right through the sides of that car and melted themselves all over those girls. You didn't find no bodies because there weren't no bodies to find, genius."
The snarky comment is a tired one from a shaken young man, it holds no real bite. A man steps forward left of the camera to stand next to the hospital bed in a torn tuxedo. Dirty, worn, and missing a sleeve the effect only enhances the gloriously bushy beard and magnificently curled mustache.
"Mr. Poughback, if I may. You were discussing the larger creature before we took a break, specifically you mentioned that it had stopped moving once it reached the square? It's just none of the people we've interviewed have been able to corroborate that one part your story."
"Yeah, yeah fancy man, I get you. Still don't know why your fancy ass is here talkin' to me but okay. As far I can tell it wasn't nothing big or anything, just a slightly less jarring bump from the statue on top of me grinding into my chest and legs, you asshat. My guess is that as tall as it was it had probably just come into view of the Big House, what like seven blocks away? And had hesitated a tiny bit. Or maybe that's just me tryin' to put a little humanity into this whole bullshit situation, you know?" | 2015-10-14T21:05:34 | 2015-10-14T20:37:14 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] Create a story where the characters live in a world where something is fundementally different with reality and leave the reader to guess what it is. For example: entropy is reversed, gravity goes sideways, all people can read minds, etc. | "Pass the butter please."
"Everything? Must everything have butter?"
"Really now, they're pancakes!"
"So? Last night we had lasagna."
"And?"
"Damnit, even then it was, 'hey, pass the butter.'"
"Right, because I was having toast too."
"Over lasagna?"
"Anything's a lasagna if it's a stack!"
"Knock it off. What, your pancakes are some kind of lasagna too?"
"Of course. It's a breakfast lasagna. Now pass the butter."
"Read my lips. No."
"Oh come on, don't be an ass."
"Stop asking for butter then!"
"No! These pancakes are getting butter, and I can't reach!"
"Have it then! Fine, here! Take it!"
"Thank you, jeez, was that so... wait, that's not butter."
"Really?"
"Yes. It's margarine!"
"Everything? Must everything have margarine?"
"Eight minutes, and I'm coming back with butter. Real stuff."
"Fine. Wait, right now?"
"Why not? These pancakes *must* have butter!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
*More at /r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | "Honestly I don't see what the big deal is," Marie said as she drummed her fingers along the side of the table. It had taken forever to put it together, and it was so covered in coasters that the wood on the top was hidden. It was her table though, and very important to her. "Worst comes to worst you and I can just go for a walk, it's always an option."
"Yes but I'm bored now," Roger responded from his position on the couch. He had a pillow sitting on his nose and was trying to balance it. It was his activity for around the noon hours, it let him be beside Marie as she drummed.
"You're always bored."
"Becuase there is nothing to do," he said as the pillow fell to his right. Roger patted around for it before finding it again and putting it back on his nose, "it's the same around this time every day."
"Well then why don't you play with the coasters?"
"I will never get them back into place," he said as the pillow fell again. The cushion dropped off the side of the couch and Roger sighed as he heard the noise. He started to pat around to his left, but his hand was just short of reaching the floor. He would need to roll off to get it and he wasn't up for the challenge.
"That's fair enough."
"Tomorrow then for the walk?" he asked.
"I haven't memorized the street, it's a dangerous walk for me."
"Bring a stick."
"I always bring the stick," Marie hissed. Roger dropped off the side of the couch to fetch his pillow. | 2016-02-18T08:49:46 | 2016-02-18T08:19:49 | 294 | 91 |
[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been. | “You do understand the sentencing system.”
Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?”
The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.”
Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.”
“The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.”
“Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.”
“On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”
| I sit in the dock awaiting my sentence. I know I should be afraid, or at least nervous but to be honest I am looking forward to going back to prison. Life was tough on the outside. Work was impossible to find for an ex con with a lingering heroine habit picked up on the inside, so I had found myself on the streets. When my welfare had been cut off for my continued drug use I had gotten desperate.
Coming down from a drug stupor the idea had seemed so straight forward, kill some-one young enough and go back to jail for the rest of my life. No more need to eat from dumpsters or do horrible things to get my next hit. The government would provide me with regular meals and drugs were much easier to obtain inside, all I needed was an appropriate victim. When that young girl, fresh out of high school and probably in the big city for the first time, took a wrong turn down the alley he was currently lying it, he acted without a second thought. Sure he felt bad for the girl, she didn't deserve to die, but life is cruel and have to do what you have to do. So here he was, 3 months later after pleading guilty to the murder as quickly as possible, waiting to hear his sentence.
The judge adjusted his glasses and looked at the paper in front of him. He looked confused for a second before clearing his throat and continuing "The defendant has admited guilt in this case and is to be sentenced for the Murder of Isobelle Frew. The length of sentence has been determined as 2 months, with time already served you are free to go."
| 2016-05-29T09:41:46 | 2016-05-29T07:49:15 | 146 | 83 |
[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you. | She came.
A young woman, still in her youth, staring behind me in my bathroom mirror. Her face was gaunt and pale, yet there was a certain ethereal beauty to her visage. No missing eyes. No blood.
*Was this really happening?*
“Are you...” I trailed off, unsure if she could understand me.
She nodded silently, casting her gaze to the floor. There was sadness in her eyes.
I had heard the legends of Bloody Mary. If they were to be believed, then I knew I did not have long to live.
“Look, I'm sorry,” I said, attempting a futile plea for mercy. “I didn't think that I would actually be able to summon you. It was just a stupid dare from my friends. Please, just let me go.”
My heart was beating out of my chest. She took a step closer to my reflection.
I thought about all the things in life that I had wanted to accomplish. I was going to be a baseball player. I was going to ask out Kristina from math class and eventually marry her. I was going to travel the world with best friends Scott and Jack. Now all of that was gone, all because of a stupid dare.
“Am I going to die?”
Again, she nodded. So this was it. It really was the end. Thinking about my death suddenly reminded me of little sister, who had passed away two years ago. To this day, they had not caught the killer. I remember staring down at her her lifeless body in disbelief, unable to comprehend how she must have felt to have her future ripped away from her. Now I understood. Thinking of her made me panic.
“Wait!” I yelled frantically. “I can't die yet. I have a promise to keep. Please, it's about Annabelle, my little sister.”
Bloody Mary's reflection was almost touching mine. She froze where she stood at the mention of Annabelle.
“She was killed two years ago. She was kidnapped. They found her in a ditch two days later, stabbed to death. I promised her on her death bed that I would find the killer and make him pay.”
Bloody Mary looked mortified.
“You can kill me later if you want, but I have to avenge my sister. She was only 7. She could be brat sometimes but I loved her. She deserved better. Please..”
Her reflection was so close that I could see the tears in her eyes.
The lights in the bathroom flickered. When they came to, Bloody Mary was gone. Replaced was message, scrawled in blood across the surface of the mirror.
*7 DAYS. BRING HIM TO ME*
I looked at the message, feeling dazed. I was brought back to the present by a loud knock at the bathroom door.
“What's taking you so long Jim!” Scott called from the other side of the door. “You taking a dump or something? Come on, we're heading down to the park.”
“Be right there,” I said, wiping away the message with my hand. I had been given a second chance. But seven days was not a lot of time. For one, the hunt for the killer had ended over a year ago. Where would I even begin?
I looked down at the blood smeared across my hand. I would find a way. There was no other option. I was living on borrowed time, and I owed it all to Annabelle.
*Thanks sis. This time, I promise I won't let you down.*
***
Edit: thanks for the response guys. Will try to continue after i get back from work tonight.
Continued at /r/ghost_write_the_whip | Samantha stood in front of the mirror. Ali, Tracy and Kim stood behind her, holding hands. Samantha took a deep breath and lit the candle, holding it up to the mirror as she turned on the faucet.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," she said quietly. Behind her she heard the snicker of one of her friends. Samantha waited, pressing her free hand against the mirror as the candle burned in her other.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," Samantha said again. Except for the sound of the faucet everything was quiet.
Samantha stared into the mirror. Behind her Kim said, "I think this is stupid. It's obviously not working."
"It's not?" asked a voice. Samantha jumped back, her candle falling to the ground. The four girls looked upon a mirror where a woman had appeared.
"You summoned me," Bloody Mary said. "So, what do you want?"
"What do we...want?" asked Tracy. The girls had broken hands now. Ali was backing up into a wall. Samantha felt her heart pound as her eyes met the ones in the mirror.
"Are you four girls stupid enough to go around summoning evil spirits when you don't even want anything?" Bloody Mary asked. "Did you think this was all a game? A ruse? Something fun to do on a Saturday night?"
The girls looked to each other. One of them whimpered, "Kind of."
"So tell me what you want," Bloody Mary continued.
"We don't...we don't want anything. We didn't think you were real," Samantha said. "It was all supposed to be a game. Something kind of scary to do."
"Are you scared now?" Bloody Mary asked.
The girls all nodded.
"Do you think I'm going to kill you?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls exchanged looks again. Out of the corner of her eye Samantha saw Kim inching toward the door. In the mirror, the woman shook her head.
"I'm afraid not. Not until we're finished with our conversation."
Kim tugged on the handle of the door, but it didn't budge.
"So you're not going to kill us, and we don't want anything," Samantha said. "So what do *you* want?"
"Some company would be nice. Since horror stories started circulating, fewer and fewer people have started to summon me. I get lonely, trapped in this mirror. You know I used to have wonderful conversations all about my murder. It happened in a bathroom just like this, you see. You know why the sound of the faucet summons me? Because it's the last thing I heard before I died."
The girls all remained quiet, watching the woman in the mirror.
"For centuries I sought revenge after the man who killed me, but it wasn't possible. He never thought of me another day. I could only be summoned in the mirror, you see. I couldn't just come out whenever I wanted."
The woman in the mirror smiled. Tracy shivered, putting her hands over her arms.
"I do have the ability to take over one who summons me," Bloody Mary held a nail to her lips in thought. "But I don't think I'd like to be a teenage girl anymore. So no. I don't think I'll kill you *or* possess you today."
There was a collective exhalation of breath from the girls. "We promise we won't ever summon you again," Samantha said. "We're sorry for bothering you. We thought it was a joke. We really did."
"Oh, I don't think you'll be summoning me again," Bloody Mary said. Her voice held what Samantha thought might be boredom. "I said I wouldn't kill you or possess you. But I have no plans to let you leave. I've been lonely, after all. You girls seem like an excellent source of conversation."
---
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this please check out /r/Celsius232 | 2016-06-12T23:38:13 | 2016-06-12T23:34:23 | 103 | 36 |
[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you. | Gary had to stop to rest. Lawn mowers are fundamentally sadistic devices, Gary thought, requiring you to first wrench your back five or six times for the privilege of getting the damn thing to start doing its job before making you perform sustained labour for an hour. It was the devil's contraption, though he imagined going back to the sickle wouldn't be any easier on him.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a small but unruly crowd of protestors standing behind him.
He reluctantly stopped the engine. "What'ya want?"
"I want you to stop brutalizing these tender creatures!"
"The what?" Gary asked, holding his hand to the ear, legitimately unable to hear him.
"These tender creatures!" said the youth, who was probably named Justin. "The grass!" He gestured to the ground around them.
Gary's heart skipped a beat, though this wasn't terribly unusual in the normal operation of his heart. Then it skipped another and he knew he was in trouble.
"The cats?" Gary mumbled. "There ain't any cats around here."
"That's a pathetic lie. I know what you've been doing to the grass. I've seen it! We've all seen it!"
The whole time, Justin pointed angrily at Gary's basement. How could he know? Was it the smell? He'd dumped so many bags of kitty litter down there. But how long ago was that? Four years? Nine? He hadn't been so bad to them. He fed them now and then. He wasn't a bad person.
He wondered how many there were now?
Gary started crying. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm sorry. There was just so many of them. I couldn't handle it. I just needed them to go away."
Justin was surprised by the breakdown but quickly moved to care for the distraught elderly man. He wrapped an arm around Gary who collapsed into his shirt, crying. "It's okay,” Justin said. “If you're brought up to not see them as living things it's hard to see the pain you're causing. But when you accept it, you'll be free. Let's go inside so you can lie down."
Gary started marching toward the house, weaving back and forth as Justin kept him upright.
The other youths followed along inside. They gawked at the piles of garbage, covered in dust. Some took out their phones, snapping pictures and whispering about Instagram.
Justin sat Gary down on the one clean chair in the house. The old man gasped for air. “Breathe,” Justin said. “Just breath. In and out. Steady.”
It wasn't working. Gary flushed red, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, his hand holding his chest.
Justin snapped his fingers in Gary’s eyes. “Stay with me! What should I do?”
Gary could only get out a whisper. Justin placed his ear close. “Your pills? You need your pills? Where are they?”
The room was completely silent now.
“In the cupboard,” Gary whispered.
“Which cupboard? Where?”
Gary reached a mottled finger toward the door. “The basement.”
Justin leaped up and sprinted to the door. He pulled it open and peered into the gloom. The smell was enough to make his eyes water. He placed a foot on the top stair, feeling it's strength. There was a landing six steps in. He couldn’t see anything past the bend.
He turned when Gary screamed. The old man clutched his chest, arching his back against the chair, face contorted.
With a sudden look of resolve, Justin swept the nook of his elbow over his nose and plunged in. His footfalls banged down the wooden steps and then transitioned to a wet slosh as he reached the floor.
“I can't see anything down here!” Justin shouted up. “Where’s the light switch!”
Another youth - named Lief probably, but that didn't matter now - walked forward and groped the walls around the door jam. “I found it!” he yelled, flipping the switch, flooding the basement with light.
The scream would have shaken the floorboards 80 years ago when the house was built, but now the damp, sagging structure sucked in the vibrations. Instead, the sound came billowing out of the staircase like a throat.
Lief didn't hesitate, he sprinted down the steps. “Adam! What’s-”
Their screams harmonized well. The three others surged forward, running through the door but slowing before the landing.
Gary jumped up and followed them.
The three youths froze as the screams became wetter. Arrayed in a tight group on the stairs, the three presented an obstacle for what came around the corner. It clawed at them, trying to swim up against the current of falling youths. The pile grew slicker as the thing struggled in their midst, blood boiling out everywhere, soaking the hanging strands of clothes and skin.
It still had an eye though. It locked onto the old man at the top of the stairs. Gary didn’t like that so he turned off the lights and closed the door.
He took his chair and shoved it under the door handle. He pulled his hearing aid out because he didn’t like the noises. When the door stopped shaking in its hinges, he leaned way back and rested his head against it, placing his hands in the small of his back and pushing hard. It felt good.
He wanted to rest but the front grass was only half cut. He couldn't leave it like that. What would the neighbours think?
At least he didn't have to feed the cats. | Willie had turned off and finally smashed the silly doohickey they'd tried to strap to him a few years back.
"Necessary technology for every thinking, feeling human", his ass. He knew it was a ruse dreamed up by some crackpot team of greenies who lay awake shivering at the thought of the planet blowing up. They probably worked out of some secret office with a stupid flower for a logo, and transmitted the so-called 'cries of distressed plants' directly to the 'miraculous' devices.
Yes sir, he had them figured out. Nobody could fool William Nell.
"Go away, already! I won't be harassed!" he yelled at the protesters outside his gate. They'd been camping there all week.
"You're killing thousands of lives, sir!" a earnest-looking young man said, waving a poster about 'grass rights'. Of all the ridiculous things he'd seen and heard in his life, that took the cake.
"I won't live in a goddamn jungle like the rest of you," he growled, shoving his lawnmower forward, really putting his back into it just to spite them.
The protesters screamed, clapping their hands over the devices strapped to their ears.
"We could have you prosecuted!" a hard-faced woman shouted. "Don't think just because you're old-"
"You should have more respect, young missy..." Willie began, abandoning the lawnmower as he glared at the gaggle of hippies.
He was interrupted when one of them tossed something in his direction. It landed on his shoes: a brand-new, updated Plant Communicator.
"Just *listen*," the young man said, sounding desperate. "I'm sure you're a kind person, if you'll only listen for once -"
Just to show them, Willie picked it up and slammed it over his ear. He knew what he'd hear: a bunch of people pretending to be plants, whispering about their supposed pain and suffering. He heard a hazy scratching noise first, then a thin, rasping little voice.
*C'mon you old geezer, why'd you stop mowing? I've wanted to die for a month now! I haven't had a drink of water since then! It hasn't rained, you never water us. Alice was the only one who watered us. You clearly don't give a shit. So just put me out of my misery already!*
William ignored the sudden hush that fell over the protestors as he gaped at the little blade of grass. It was yellowish and droopy. It was right - he hadn't watered the lawn in a month. Not since Alice had died. How had it known? The government couldn't know a thing like that, right?
He shuffled inside his house, and opened the chest in the basement for the first time since it happened. Her gloves still had dirt clinging to it. There was her straw hat: the big, proper one he'd gotten her when they'd first got married. It was about all he could afford to give her that year. She'd reacted as if he'd given her a pearl necklace. He grabbed her battered red watering can and returned to the blade of grass, gently pouring a few drops on it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a mess ever since Allie died. I've let everything slip, especially the garden. That was her special thing. She loved everything about this garden. I'll just ruin it, if I do anything."
He saw her in his mind's eye as clearly as if she was working in the garden right now. Whistling 'Hey Jude' as she planted sunflowers. Allie never had a device to communicate with plants. She didn't keep up with the latest trends in technology, and he hadn't exactly encouraged the things. But she always acted as if she could talk to them, anyway. Tears sprung to his eyes. He should've gotten her one - she would have loved it. Would have stopped him being so stubborn, too. Allie always kept him grounded.
The little piece of grass was silent for a moment.
*You can try. And we can try to love you, too. If you stop killing us, that is. We could tell you our stories about her, if you let us. Did you know she once drove two hours to pick up some special fertiliser we like...*
Another blade of grass chimed in for the first time. *And remember when she chased that crow away that pecked the flowers?*
Willie sniffed and carefully watered the surrounding grass, as they all began to chatter. The protestors broke out into cheers.
"Oh, sod off!" he yelled. "Go bother some other poor bastard now and leave me and my grass in peace! We have catching up to do."
"Do you think he'll be ok? What if he mutters to the grass all day, now?" one protester asked as they finally left the old man's house. "I mean, if you think of what happened to old Bernie..."
"Bernie was a nutjob," his friend said. "Made out with a tree, didn't he? Among other things, if the rumours are true. Nothing like that will happen here."
Willie whistled as he methodically watered the entire garden and listened to their stories about his Alice. Why hadn't he started sooner? If he really listened to them, and took care of them like she did, Allie might come back to him.
Why not? The world was a magical place. Here he was, talking to plants. Allie would return to him any day now, he was sure of it.
And this time, they'd tend the garden together.
____
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-08-20T10:06:32 | 2016-08-20T08:52:10 | 488 | 91 |
[WP] Teleportation is finally invented. Your friend is one of the first people to use it . After coming out on the other side, the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is not your friend | "This is Ray with the Tokyo team, we are ready to receive you." The Japanese team of scientist continued to run their last minute checks, they knew everything was in place but it is the human condition to worry. It had taken Ray 12 hours to fly here from California, a feat which was revolutionary only a short while ago. Now, his friend Donovan would make the same trip in less than a second.
Holding up a bag of IN-N-OUT burgers, his friend spoke with a broad smile. "Two burgers animal style with one hold the pickle. Honestly though, I think it is a travesty to ruin a great burger by taking out the pickles." Donovan, shaking his head with mock pity, moved off the large screen and directed the camera at the teleporter.
"You can try to convert me once you are here. Beginning the countdown." Ray tried to sound confident but he could not hide his nervousness. Donovan also seemed to be his relaxed self but Ray knew otherwise. Running tests on animals only gave so much assurance that it would actually work on a human.
The countdown finished, a bright flash happened simultaneously on the live feed from america along with the receiving end in Tokyo. Standing before them, burgers in hand, was his friend Donovan. The team of scientist erupted in cheering, once again, humanity had done the impossible.
Donovan embraced his friend and handed him the promised burger. Ray, barely able to chew due to his laughter, suddenly frowned as he tasted pickles. At first, he assumed this was one of Donovan's attempts to convert him but paused as he saw the man happily eating the pickle-free burger. "I find it hard to believe that after all these years you are suddenly agreeing with me." Ray spoke while eyeing his friend.
"Agree about what?" Donovan asked as he continued to eat.
"You've always refused to eat a burger without pickles..."
"Oh....Well, I suppose there is a first for everything. Besides we have more important issues to deal with." Donovan quickly changed the subject and began to answer the scientist's questions about his experience. He said there was no pain and despite feeling a little dizzy, he was otherwise fine.
"Well then, guess we can go ahead and cancel the flight back. No need to travel like neanderthals eh?" Ray joked has he butted his friend with his elbow.
"No!" Donovan screamed with terrified eyes. The entire room startled, turn to look at him. Realizing this, Donovan took a moment to regain his composure then spoke in his usual care-free manner. "I mean, we should wait to see if there are any long-term effects before I go in again. Safety first and all that, right?"
Ray nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right, Amanda will be disappointed when she hears you won't be home tonight."
Donovan gave him a blank stare, then glancing down at his ring replied in a smooth voice. "Oh well, I could always use a night away from the wife." He gave Ray a wink then turned away.
"Amanda is your daughter." Ray could not hide the worry in his voice as he approached him. "Don, did you really forget that your wife has been dead for years?"
Donovan paused and met Ray's eyes. He could see the fear, for a moment no one moved. Then, Donovan ran.
"Seal the facility now!" Ray screamed chasing after him.
Donovan did not get far before they grabbed him. The lab had a number of containment protocols for the specimen they experimented on. However, it was not until after month that Ray saw his friend again and this time, it was from the other side of a cell.
"To be honest, I do not even know where to begin." The head scientist spoke in a tired and frustrated tone. "His fingerprints are entirely different and he has no memory of the life he led before. These are certainly things to be worried about but they were within our parameters considering what we were putting him through. What really scares is....well, to be honest I am not even supposed to tell you"
"Please, I need to know." Ray spoke in a soft voice as he stared down at the man he called his friend.
The scientist sighed but continued to speak. "His blood is black and thick as tar. This was enough to terrify us but it was only the tip of the iceberg." The scientist motioned towards the room below. "His prison is actually vacuum. That thing, does not even need to breathe oxygen. In fact, we took out all the air in secret and he didn't even notice. There's more but this is all you need to know, what you are looking at is not human. I am sorry, but Donovan Rogers did not survive the experiment."
| The press was everywhere that morning. Outside our hotel door. Crammed in the elevator like sheep bleating questions. Chasing us like foxes as we navigated through the hotel lobby. All this attention made me very uncomfortable.
"Mr. Rice, Mr. Rice!" A reporter shouted from the mob that moved with us as we walked, "thoughts on today? Are you nervous? What if something goes wrong?" Glen raised his eyebrows and gave a small wave as if to say "good question, asshole." We stepped briskly out to the curb to the black town car awaiting us. A thick man in a dark suit opened the rear door and we climbed in.
"Wow." Glen muttered. "Yeah...wow." I replied, sitting down, "today is really going to be somethin' else." I always knew Glen would be the one chosen to be on the cutting edge of science. Even in high school together, he was always the one doing something no one had done before. Nineteen years later and I still thought he was a rockstar. Brilliant, handsome, charismatic. The way he took everything in stride made Denzel Washington look like Steve Harvey.
As we pulled up to the facility, I felt a horrible knot in my stomach. "Now??" I thought; frantically trying to assess the sudden pressure in my abdomen. "Do I really have to go number two--RIGHT BEFORE--Glen gets in that thing??" I held my breath, sweat forming at my brow. "Maybe it will just...resolve itself," I thought. As I clenched tightly to avoid anything dastardly escaping, Glen grabbed the handle and pushed open his door. "It's time," he said. "And don't worry if you miss the first part, just be there when I come out on the other side," he replied wryly, glancing down at my stomach. "It'll be a short one," I threw back sarcastically.
But it wasn't. As soon as we got in the building, Glen and his entourage went back to the testing area and I hurried off to find the men's room. "Of all the days" I thought sighing to myself, "why did it have to be today." I was worried for my friend. Teleportation is a scary and confusing process. I had spent dinner with Glen last night as he explained all the steps and reactions and physics behind the transport. And I spent dinner wolfing down my mushroom and swiss. Acceleration. Splitting. Re-organization. Melted cheese and Angus beef. Maybe I could have paid more attention.
Thirty-eight minutes later I emerge from the throne victorious and go off in search of Glen. I spent five minutes struggling through reporters, flashing my credentials at anyone who looked my way shouting, "I'm Ricky...Ric- GLEN'S FRIEND! Yeah!" After one last security inspection, I was permitted into the viewing area. It looked more like an operating theater. Separated by a large window was a small room complete with an examination table covered in white linen. The room was completely white with a door on the far side.
Five minutes went by. Ten minutes went by. Suddenly, the lights flicker. Moments later, I hear applause down the hall. A success. I hear people moving outside the viewing room, excited shouts, questions flying. And then I see the door swing open to the viewing room. An orderly dressed in white escorts Glen into the room and beckons him to sit.
"Glen!" I shout, stepping closer to the glass barrier, "how did it go?!" I wait cautiously, perhaps he can't hear me through the glass. "Glen?" I say again. "How did it go, man?" He raises his head slowly from the table, looks me dead in the eye and mouths the words, "Help me." Ice runs through my veins. "Help you?" I say back. He doesn't respond. Instead he stands and lumbers towards me, taking long uneven strides, unlike his normal walk. "Help me," He says again. His voice is gruff, his eyes are off. I start to panic. "Glen! Whatever it is buddy I can help you, just please tell me what happened." My hands and face are pressed against the glass, begging him to come closer, to let me in, to tell me what happened. My breaths are short and gasping--something is wrong, this is NOT my friend.
He is almost to the glass now. He drools as he places on hand against the glass and looks at me, with a vacant, uncaring gaze. "Help me" he lolls one last time. It looks like he can't breathe, he's panting harder now. "What?!" I scream, "tell me what you need!" He watches the tears roll down my face and presses his face against mine, only a few millimeters of plexiglass separating me from not-Glen. He opens his mouth and whispers..."I need about tree-fiddy."
| 2016-08-25T10:45:52 | 2016-08-25T10:25:45 | 1,076 | 33 |
[WP] You're the last person on earth - but thank god Pokemon Go still functions! You amuse yourself by catching Pokemon as you travel so as to not feel so isolated and alone. One day, on your screen, you see in the distance that someone has set up a lure.
Courtesy of corvidaedream on Tumblr | "Is that the last of them?" asked God.
"That's the very last one of them." replied the archangel.
God stroked his beard, his brow knotted in concentration. "You know," he finally said, "even with thousands of years to prepare, I never imagined the end of the world would be so much work!"
The archangel let out a relieved chuckle and grinned. "You can say that again, sir. The passports, the documentation, the housing permits, the exit interviews. This whole transition has kept us busy around the clock. It's hard to believe it was three years ago today that the trumpet sounded!"
God seemed to visibly relax for the first time in millennia. "And is everyone liking it so far? Any complaints?
"Oh, no major issues thus far. Some minor complaints about missing out on season two of Stranger Things and a the insistence that 'this' was going to be the year the Cubs won the World Series, but again, nothing too serious." assured the archangel.
"Well," said God as he cracked his knuckles, "if there is nothing else that needs my attention, I do believe this wraps up another fairly successful universe. Now I think I hear a day of rest calling my name."
The door to the heavenly control room swung open.
A mid-level cherub stood trembling in the doorway. His robe visibly soaked with sweat.
The archangel glared at the interruption. "Can't you see this is a high-level meeting? Who the hell are you?"
The cherub tugged nervously his halo. "Um, hi. Uh. My name is Rodney and I'm from Accounting."
God rolled his eyes.
"Yes, uh," continued Rodney from Accounting, "we were just making one last review of the books before we wrapped this up when we discovered that there was an entry error."
"An 'entry error'?" asked the archangel incredulously. "What kind of 'entry error' could you possibly find three years after the apocalypse?"
Rodney from Accounting gulped. "We missed one, sir."
"Me-damnit" muttered God under his breath.
"How is that even possible?" demanded the archangel. "What has this human even been doing for the past three years?"
"Uh," stammered Rodney from Accounting, "it appears this human has been playing Pokemon Go since the trumpet sounded."
The expression of disbelief that came over the archangel's face would have defied even the greatest painters of the Renaissance.
"Now, now," said God, recovering quickly from the shock, "this 'entry error' shouldn't be too difficult to correct. Just toss out a lure at the nearest Pokestop and they'll be there in no time."
The archangel turned to God, "You mean, after three years of isolated wandering in an apocalyptic wasteland, this human is just going to walk right up to an unexplainable lure?"
"Absolutely" explained God, "because there is only one kind of human who could miss out on the end of the world: Team Instinct." | Today is October 25th, 2016. Today is my birthday! Nobody to celebrate with except my pocket monsters. I thought I'd make my first journal entry today. So hey journal! Let me tell you how this all started.
It feels like yesterday the world was taken by storm by the craze of collecting all of the pocket monsters. Packs of hundreds of people flocking from location to location, meaninglessly flicking their fingers accross their phones to show off their newest enslaved, digital monster. It was the biggest thing to sweep over the consumer world of the decade, maybe ever, and we ate it up... unaware of the true intentions of the inceptors of this cell phone application.
It started after the first big update. It was September 11, 2016. A date that was for sure to be left in the history books to remind us of that tragic day in the United States in 2001. There would be nobody to read about the events that happened on that same day 15 years later. After NIANTIC released its big update allowing players to trade and battle eachother, the popularity of the game sky rocketed again, this time doubled. Every single smart phone user on the planet was playing... that can't be right? There must be some people not playing. No it was right. And NIANTIC thought they had the world in their hands. They were WRONG.
Scientists couldn't explain it. They didn't have a whole lot of time to research it after it happened, so I can't really explain what happened. It was almost like we glitched out of our own matrix. The over capacity of humans connected to the digital world was overwhelming to the environment. Every single person who played pokemon go got sick and died within 12 hours of the updates release. Within 12 hours, every human being playing Pokemon Go had died. And it continued. There was only a couple weeks of other humans wandering around... they all got sick. And they all died. The scientists that were around to study it for that couple of weeks called it the Pidgey Effect. It was basically neurons in our brain got so confused about what dimension we were in that the nea
urons would rust and explode. It was gross.
So now I am on a mission. Somewhere hidden in this stupid apocalyptic game is the NIANTIC headquarters. If there is anyone alive who can fix this, thats where they will be. I headed out on my journey to find this place and turn that dimension off! I was getting close too. Until today.
Lure. Lure!! Lure module lure module!! There is one on a near by pokestop! I have to go! Or do I? Wait a minute think about it... who could possibly be there? There is nobody alive! But I'm alive... maybe someone is there! I had to see. I sat around the Pokestop for 45 minutes... even put up my own lure module. Thats when it hit me... I could feel my head swelling. My throat was very dry. My nose was bleeding? Whats going on?? Holy shit! I'm dying. My first journal entry is my last... I guess the border to this dimension is still here, and its still blurred. I will be dead within the next few hours. If you are reading this... stay away from Pokemon Go! | 2016-09-05T14:38:16 | 2016-09-05T10:07:35 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock! | “You sure this is the name?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve dated the guy for like three months now.”
“We always have a grand time. I think he’ll get a high enough score,” I added.
Gus looked at the dark alley behind me then pocketed the crumpled piece of paper.
“Let’s hope he does,” Gus muttered under his breath. “Wait here.”
He entered the back door of a Chinese restaurant. As far as people are concerned, he’s just a busboy there.
I hugged myself as the door closes in front of me. It’s really dark. I wonder why all the lightposts are busted.
Tick tock.
Rats were scavenging inside the large trashbins, I can hear them go through the day’s loot.
Tick tock.
The door opened. The light from the kitchen shone on Gus’ face. And that’s all I needed to see.
I held my breath.
“Here take this”, Gus said as he shoved the paper on me. “Get out of here fast. You don’t have to pay me.”
He went back inside. I hear the click of the lock.
It was dark again.
Tick tock.
I know it’s bad but I have to see. I took out my phone and held it over the paper.
I screamed inside.
-500?
How? I was in a daze. It doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly the bin cover opened and two rats stood.
“Wait, why would rats stand?” Nothing makes sense.
-500?
The posts suddenly blazed with blinding lights.
“Freeze! NYPD! Drop the paper on the ground.”
My heart stopped.
“Matt?”
*****
My first time. I would appreciate your comments. | It had been a lovely date with that woman. Her eyes were that of the shimmering sea, her laughter was horrifically angelic and her hair was frizzled. Ironically, it made him feel electrocuted.
He was just leaping over fences and gates after his date waved him goodbye. Strangely, there was something about that woman who made him feel intrigued by her state. He was a seasoned individual who knew exactly how to make others believe what he wanted.
It was for the greater good, after all.
He was always the man with the gun. The man who hunted others for his own personal gain. Inside, he did not desire to do that but he knew that he had to. It was either them, or his family.
And god, did he not want his family tortured to death.
Of course, he had managed to steal that ever-so-intriguing card that conveyed the score. "The Death Score" he called it. Who would be so melancholic to look up their score when you can steal it instead? A metallic chuckle was emitted from his body of flesh.
He gazed at the card with a curious glance. That urge of urgency was making him very, very curious. With a microscopic grin, he opened the card and looked.
He froze.
"Negative Five Hundred?" His bated breath had finally managed to surface from his throat. His eyes blinked with disbelief at such a preposterous score. He stopped running, leaping or emitting any noise at all.
He felt dumbstruck. He felt as if the woman struck him with a strike that blasted his world into smithereens. He looked into a corner and then hid for his life.
It was said that when those individuals that scored as low as that score, they were dead. They were supposed to be deader than the dead corpses underneath his house. Deader than the skeletons he buried after hiding them in the closet.
Suddenly, he heard laughter.
He turned around as the blade descended onto him. The last thing he knew, the smile of somebody he thought he knew.
| 2016-09-24T11:40:10 | 2016-09-24T11:35:10 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | In the beginning, there were two. The first was all-knowing. Wise beyond imagining, he could know every thought of every mind, every feeling in every heart. Nothing was beyond his comprehension.
The second was all-powerful. She could create. She could destroy. She was not all-knowing, but there was one thing of which she was unmistakably aware: she hated the all-knowing being with every fiber of her heart.
In the beginning, there were two.
An instant later, there was one. | "The fuck you say to me, you ignorant little shit?!"
"You know what I said to you... Hell, you **knew** what I was going to say to you. Look, I just need to know how much energy to put into this singularity."
"You're starting to get good with those comebacks; I knew you'd get there, even if it did take you an eternity"
"Can you stop. I'm finally starting to get tired of your 'jokes'."
"All right fine, but after I tell you it's your damn problem to solve alright. Trust me, you're lucky not knowing how everything goes. You know what, fuck it I'm done, kill me after I tell you."
"You omniscients always get like this, and not even after that much time; I really should just stop making you guys..." | 2016-10-22T18:26:36 | 2016-10-22T17:46:13 | 16 | 10 |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Syianth was restless. His soul had been adrift in this realm for too long; but now he could feel it. A soul squirming to break free of its mortal shell. This wouldn't be a challenge at all, the guy was practically begging for death. He let himself be absorbed into his victim's thoughts; two becoming one.
"Now," Syianth commanded, "let my demonic power flow through your veins!"
"Like this hideous piece of shit could even let possession get him out of bed."
"...Excuse me?" the demon hadn't expected a third party reply.
"He's fucking useless. Can't do anything. Even function like a normal human being. Just disgusting."
"They're going to find you," a delicate whisper appeared from nowhere.
"Me? But I..." the spirit's words began to blend in with all the others.
"HOW CAN YOU BE SO UNAWARE?" Screeching from all sides.
The single shout turned into a tidal wave a voices, each louder than the last. The chaos grew into one piercing shriek. Then, crushing silence. A gentle whimper from the darkness
"Get out while you still can."
The demon fled into the night. Limbo may be eternal, but at least there were only his thoughts to torment him. | You know what? Possesing people is never easy. Most of the time they are fighting against it, you know the usual, priests, praying and even exorcism. But not this guy, no no no, this guy let me in his head like it was an open door. If only i had known beforehand that i would not be alone with him.
It's easy to break someone down when they realise that they are being possesed, thanks too the media people believe that i can control their bodies with mere thought. The truth is that I only can do it if they let me.
But this guy, as I mentioned before was not alone with me. You see he is schizophrenic and regulary speaks with 5 other "demons". You know what? I'm actually feeling a bit sorry for the guy.
But either way. I was arguing with him to sell me his soul when suddenly I heard a deep voice telling him to go out and kill his neighbours! Don't get me wrong, i'm all for killing people but if he do it on his own accord i won't get my yearly bonus.
So I did the only logical thing. I offered him a deal, a deal he couldn't refuse. Solitude from the voices in exchange for his soul.
HAHA! I exclaimed as the poor man accepted the offer for what he did not realise was that he would not just experience solitude from the voices in his head but also from the world around him.
You might find this all to be unnecesarily cruel, but after all, it's my job to be cruel.
Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated :)
Edit: words | 2016-11-19T15:07:28 | 2016-11-19T15:00:49 | 462 | 34 |
[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone! | “How many did this one save?”
Garthok grunts, gesturing for me to give him a moment while he inputs a string of numbers into the console. He checks his work over twice. Got to be careful about these things, after all. Mass extinction is delicate work.
Garthok picks up the camera sphere and pulls out the memory tube, squinting at the display on the side. “10,124,682 pictures.”
Impressive. “That’s gotta be a new record. How many humans do you think that is?” Garthok and I have been making the rounds for a while now. Plucking one unlucky soul from their sleep chamber, shoving a camera at them, and sending them on their merry way with a timer hanging over their heads.
“Not all of them,” Garthok says, placing the camera in the decontamination chamber. We’d learned that lesson about 5,000 planets ago. They were an awful, slimy species. Dumb as rocks. Ate the camera. I’m glad we zapped them all into oblivion.
“Well, load them up. Let’s take a look.”
Garthok slides the memory tube into the console with a click and a hiss. The console takes a moment to load all those pictures. Over ten million. Damn, that must’ve been one hell of a dedicated human. I hope this one remembered to take a picture of himself. Lot of them don’t. Too stupid to think about it, maybe. Not as stupid as eating the camera, though.
Finally, the console starts loading the pictures in batches. A hundred at a time, pages and pages of them flashing before us. It’s hard to make out, most of them a blur of beige. Had this human never used a camera sphere before? The focus is terrible.
Garthok leans in closer to the console, then taps something on it. The pictures zoom in to a more visible size, flashing by in a blur.
And I begin to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, until green ooze leaks from my eyes and my muscles begin to cramp.
This human managed to take ten million pictures in a year, and each and every one of them is a close-up, out-of-focus picture of himself. | Today is it. The last day before everyone not photographed dies. I prepare for what's to come. It took me a year and a great fortune to go around the world. I did my best to capture everyone who was a good person and deserved to live. I know it will haunt me, deciding who lives and dies but this is for the betterment of mankind. I made sure to get everyone that had skills that were important to our survival but they had to pass the test. It was intensive but I did it. If it wasn't for the help I had, I wouldnt have done it, sure I had to lie about things to get help and money but I'll live with that on my conscious. I only hope that this is the right choice. What will those people suffer? Will they feel pain? I can't imagine the thought of me causing that pain. Wait...there it is, a flashing in the sky. Bright colors I can barley decribe, it's beautiful but there is a sadness in what's to come. There is a great sound and then silence...
Five years later
Entry #316
I fear this may be my last entry. I'm tired of writing for nothing. It's all gone downhill. I would have never imagined this was going to happen and I caused it. It all went like a flash, like that "Glourious" day. Mankind spiraled into destruction. It took 2 years but when it did there was no stopping it. We all did well at first with all the terrible people gone. It was like paradise but little by little mankind once again repeated history. Wars, famine, death it all came by slowly and even worse than before. In these final moments I remembered a verse from the Bible i used to read as a kid and I remembered the words it said and now it made sense to me. "Genesis 6:5 Jehovah saw that man's wickedness was great on the earth and that every inclination of his heart was bad all the time" I now know that mankind will not be peaceful ever. Even after a restart we messed it up. Maybe this is for the best. We don't deserve to live, I think I'm just going to sit and wait for our inevitable end. I look at the stupid camera and set it next to me. I think I'm going to sit next to this tree and watch the world burn slowly. Once again I think I'll enjoy this silence for the last time.
| 2017-01-27T16:46:27 | 2017-01-27T14:29:51 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A happy story where every thing seems to be fine, the last few sentences should reveal the gruesome truth.
Example:
Miss B worked all day, having children to feed. Pieces of meat, with vegetables and rice. Laundry, cleaning, dishes and kisses were all in a days work for Miss B.
Her children were all fed, tummy's filled with hot broth, or meat and some choice fruit. Miss B was ready come breakfast, lunch or dinner.
And when the kitchen was empty Miss B she had a plan. She hated fat and skinned the meat to the bone. Until one day. Her children asked, "Where, mother, do you get these delectable meats?"
With a smile on her face and well practiced hand, Miss B she lopped off a piece of tummy meat. Miss B she did hate fat, hanging from her self. | As Alex stepped off of the tour bus, he was greeted with the usual bout of screaming, adoring fangirls begging for an autograph. He raised a hand to greet them and flashed his signature smirk; the cacophony of shrieking women increased tenfold.
He swaggered his way through the crowd, touching a random hand here or there, piercing blue eyes making hearts melt left and right. His bandmates had exited the bus behind him and were starting to attract their own modest attention from the crowd now as well.
*Ah, no harm no foul,* he thought, *they can have a moment too.*
Reaching the end of the crowd, he turned and gave them an exaggerated bow before heading backstage. His mind was a cesspool of euphoria – all that had transpired in the last few years was well beyond his wildest dreams. His music had become an overnight international success story, he himself had become synonymous with the term “sex symbol,” and the money was pouring in faster than he knew how to spend it.
*Maybe a boat next? Or some kind of ridiculously funny animal. That would be –*
The muffled shrieking from his dressing room interrupted him. Sighing, he entered to greet what had now become a familiar sight. He bent down to speak to her on one knee.
“Hey sweetheart, it’s ok, don’t be afraid. He told me where he’s taking you isn’t really all THAT bad. And hey, without girls like you I wouldn’t be who I am now, would I?”
Alex flashed her one last trademark smirk as the earth beneath her began to swallow her up. | Mrs Johnson was a lady who was well-known around the neighbourhood. It's hard not to notice her, with her cheerful smile and sunny disposition. She would wish everyone a good day as she walked down the street every morning, on her way to the market for the daily grocery shopping.
For the past five years, life has been good for Mrs Johnson. Her children had all grown up and were independent, and she has been enjoying life after retirement with her husband Herbert. They had moved into their current house from the city, wanting to enjoy a break from all the hustle and bustle of the city life. It was her idea.
Admittedly, it was not easy to adapt initially. Both Herbert and her were city folks, after all. They argued for quite a bit during the initial period, but after a while they did patch up, and went around their new life. Mrs Johnson found herself adapting happily as well. The air seemed fresher, the people nicer. She was happy.
Today was no different for Mrs Johnson. She went to the market for her morning trip, bought some bacon and eggs, Herbert's favourite, and chatted with some of her neighbours in the market. She was looking forward to the night too, planning to prepare a sumptuous meal. It was, after all, their 50th anniversary. She wondered if Herbert had prepared any surprises for her.
She reached home at about noon, like how she always do, two filled bags on both her hands. Herbert, as usual, was sitting in the living room, with the TV turned on. She cheerful greeted good afternoon to Herbert, but he only continued to watch his show.
"Come on, Herbert, it's been years since you last spoke. Or moved! Can you at least go take a shower? You smell awful," said Mrs Johnson, annoyed that her husband was still throwing a tantrum, years after their last argument. All she did was to hit him on the head.
--------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-02-08T01:33:23 | 2017-02-08T00:06:19 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You are one of the best strategy gamers in the world. One day God asks for your help. Turns out the universe is a massive 4X strategy game, and humans are way behind... | "Here's your communication tab, try making contact with one of the alien races around Earth." I took the tablet out of his hands and pressed on the nearest alien empire, 15 lightyears away.
When contact was made and I saw the portrait of the species, I laughed out loud.
God rested his hand on my shoulder. "I see you're excited Peter, tell them how much you like their appearance."
I couldn't avoid my joy, I started typing a sentence, which was immediately translated into their language.
*Homo sapiens Empire - "Haha, you look like a penis!"*
God cupped his face in his hands and warned me in a stern tone. "This isn't a joke, my sweet child."
*Fungoid Empire - "You will pay for this in time, xeno scum!*
God snatched the tablet out of my hands. "Well, I hope you're more careful with your planet managment, follow me." We walked to a comfortable DCRaxer chair, with six computer monitors that had no cables or anything attached to them. It looked like they got their power out of thin air.
"This will be your workspace, sit down."
I sat on the chair, it was as comfortable as it looked, God showed me the Earth, psychologically divided. "Look, most of humanity is divided between theism and atheïsm, how do you want to play it?"
I was in deep thought for a few seconds, then removed all the non-spiritual parties and organizations, and forced everyone to one specific belief. God scratched his head. "Difference isn't good, is it?"
I nodded. "You gave them too much freedom. If disagreements are plaguing a race, then it will never get greater."
God shrugged. "I don't see disagreements as a curse, but limiting them to deciding if strawberries are tasty or not might help, your call."
"Exactly." I skipped time two years further. To Gods surprise, humans now developed holographical technologies and already terraformed Mars.
"I will never complain about fat hardcore gamers again, you earned this position, my child." He gave me a gentle pat on the back and summoned a fridge with an 'infinite'-sign next to my big desk. "Good luck, I'll be in my office if you need me." | The timer struck 25:46 when the message on the screen popped up.
'Decisive Victory!'
In under 5 minutes he had achieve the unimaginable. A world record for something that would on average take at least 40 minutes by the most experienced players. The spectators on his right were dumbfounded, some had their hands over their mouth, some were shaking. Mike waited as they left one by one. You were slacking off on that one Mike he told himself. Looking back at the screen he noticed something next to the 'quit' and 'continue' options. Realism? What the heck is that? Taking a look around the room, it was devoid of the spectators that were watching him. Seriously, what the heck is going on? Deciding his worries were just his imagination he clicked the new option.
The phone in his right pocket vibrated. It was odd considering Mike wasn't even carrying a phone in the first place. Skeptical of his own sanity the boy answered the call.
"Uhh, hello?" Mike asked.
"Yes! I'm saved. Do you know how long I've waited for this day? Finally, a chance for the world's greatest strategist to shine!" an excited voice yelled. His voice strained and wavered as if due to stress.
"Um, who might this be?"
With a huge breath he said, "I am God, and if I may be so bold to say I have a task of inconceivable proport-".
"No" he calmly replied.
"Please, give this old Man a chance. Please!"
God had explained his situation to Mike. This life, all of existence, everything, was just a game. From the beginning God was late in developing human in the evolution stage, and how His mismanagement caused the wars and diseases that we've all known and heard. God mentioned something about the "cocky-ass xeroth's" and how they've already gone to creating Dyson spheres around their star.
"So please! Do your creator solid and I'll even reward ya with any wish you want" said God. Is this guy really God? Mike pondered the circumstances, and decidedly thought that since everything else was boring, this might challenge him for once.
Mike didn't even get to finish his train of thought. Blinking once, he was now floating above Earth, and a UI overlay came into sight. The Earth is now in your hands a voice said to him.
The next day, humans were already a space-faring civilization.
Hello there, I hope you've enjoyed this. This is the first story I've written on Reddit, and criticism is much appreciated. Thank you! | 2017-07-29T01:32:58 | 2017-07-28T19:14:48 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] Your power is the ability to "save game" at any point in your life allowing you to revert any previous state if something goes wrong. You never thought you would need to revert to age 3 to fix a problem until now. | Oh man this was really bad...
Normally when I revert, I'm teleported to this room. The room is full of snow-globes, each one a memory. If I touched a snow-globe, I'd be whisked back to that memory. The first time it happened I was 4. For some reason, 4 year old me really wanted a churro, and managed to remember that time when I was 3, when went to Disney and ate that churro so vividly that I was taken to the room. Little me saw the churro snow-globe, and went for it. Suddenly, I'm at Disney, eating a churro.
I must've eaten that churro five times before I decided I wanted to go back, but no matter how hard I remembered, I couldn't revert.
First Lesson: You can only revert backwards, no going forwards.
3 year old me wasn't extremely upset by this, because he got to eat the churro again, but I remembered it. Since then, I didn't revert very often, maybe once or twice a year: the day I peed my pants in second grade, The day I was almost beat up in fifth grade, I spent at least a month reliving my mom's death the summer before tenth grade trying to save her, and I must've taken the SAT at least 43 times.
Before this, I was 22. College was good, but I was getting bored. I could just go to class, revert, and then sleep in or go do something. Last night I was at a party, and there was some sort of drug there. Normally I can handle drugs. In past reversions, I'd tried almost everything; apparently not everything though.
I don't know what I took last night, but when I then realized I had to pay for this unknown drug I knew it was time to revert. When I got back to the room I knew it was bad.
There was glass everywhere. I checked every shelf, every chest, even the vent. All that was there was a bunch of broken snow-globes, and one intact one.
At least I have a churro while I figure this out... | My first ever save. I had many different save points, but I never thought it would come down to going back then. I had to prepare for it though. I had to make sure the world would be ready for what was going to come. I went into my closet, left the lights off, and willed myself back to that save point.
I opened my eyes. I was back. I was three years old, in my old bedroom, the night I figured out my powers. My head was throbbing, going back this far had given me a headache. I looked around, then remembered I didn't have a computer or phone. I was or am only three so I wouldn't have either of those. I slid off my bed, and went to my door. I was going to my father's computer, Hopefully he wouldn't be awake, so I could use the computer. I slowly opened the door and saw one of the lights on. I creeped towards the light, and saw that my parents door open. It was at the end of the hallway, so they wouldn't see me go downstairs. I creeped down the stairs, and creeped open my father's study/workspace. I saw his computer's light was on. I slowly closed the door, and turned the monitor on. I opened up chrome, and typed in nsa.gov. The login process was very long, and required the knowledge to login. I went to the Careers & Programs section on the website. I hit Inspect Element, and found the html for the footer. There was a link there for a website. That website was used to communicate with the NSA. I found the link, and hit the link. There was a login box. I entered in the information for the admin. The website unlocked, and I saw the different panes. I selected the messaging pane, and started looking for the head of the NSA. There was a code that only the head, and a select few would know. One that would indicate that aliens exist, Order 3005. And another that we should work together now, instead of starting wars, order 4311. I hit send. If the message was received, and the small group group got the message, the future we came from would not exist. We would be spared from the genocide that happens in the future. We would be spared from killing ourselves.
---
Check here for more soon: r/John_Reeves/ | 2017-09-10T16:59:59 | 2017-09-10T16:01:44 | 141 | 22 |
[WP]Some time ago humans were put on the 'Only Contact in Case of Emergency' list. Now a threat to the galaxy has arisen and humanity is it's last hope. | **Part I:**
******
The Grand Chamber of the Galactic Union was never meant to be exuberant. Designed with the utmost efficiency in mind, its form followed the function of allowing for the most dire decisions to be made as quickly and as effectively as possible. The white marble of the circular room, as sober as it was pure, set the background for the latest and most urgent of the Council's meetings. Once all the delegates were present, representing the three trillion Galactic citizens from forty-two peacefully co-existing species, the usual beginning procedures were dismissed with, and the quadrupedal four feet tall Council leader immediately called upon the military expert in the room.
"Admiral Rhollok, what are the latest developments?"
Fleet-Admiral Rhollok, Supreme Commander of the Grand Fleet, had been allowed in the Grand Chamber only once before, decades previously, when a small skirmish on the borders of the Union threatened to grow into a devastating Civil War, threatening the stability of the Galaxy. His actions at the time meant a lifetime appointment to the Admiralty and the Captain's chair on the largest ship in the Fleet. He spoke calmly and surely, as he had done so long ago, speaking to many of the same delegates from that time gone by.
"Honorable leader and delegates, we have reasons to believe that both our Rapid Action Battalion and the bulk of our allied fleets in the area have been obliterated", he said, evaluating the responses from around the room. Most stayed calm, although one or two more sensitive species moved uncomfortably, almost imperceptibly but for the trained eye of the Admiral. "We have not received a response from any of our ships, and the relay stations confirm that the signal has been completely lost as of three hours ago. We estimate that a force such as which we have yet to have encountered is approaching at a still relatively slow speed, but one which should penetrate the outmost systems within two to three weeks."
Upon hearing the news, the Council leader resumed the inquiry.
"Admiral, you are supreme commander of the Galaxy's Forces. You have at your disposal the armies and arsenal of two million planets. Are you implying you cannot suppress these invaders adequately?", he asked.
"I'm afraid so. Again, our analysts estimate that the brute force and tactical skills of these forces are too strong for us to, as you said, adequately defend ourselves."
This time, a different delegate, just a few places to his left, raised his voice.
"Admiral, you look remarkably calm for a military man who has just declared the unstoppable destruction of civilization."
"That is because I have not claimed it to be unstoppable", said Rhollok, sensing a change in the room and predicting a barrage of accusations against him and his forces. "I said *we* couldn't stop them."
A few delegates incredulously burst into protest and talks among each other. The leader, from atop his dais, regained control of the room.
"Admiral, I find this very hard to believe, but if not our forces, the most powerful in the Galaxy, who do you suggest we call upon to save us from this impending doom? There's nothing out there beyond the Union but a few undesirable planets."
At last they had come to the point of the meeting, thought Rhollok.
"Precisely", he said, addressing everyone in the room, as well as the three trillion citizens they represented. "Urgency calls upon us to take immeasurable measures; we must reach out to the unreachable, and reason with the unreasonable."
Fleet-Admiral Rhollok waited. His next words could very possibly change the destiny of the Galaxy, and despite unwanted, the consequences of that action would have to be accepted, for inaction would mean the end of the Union and its peoples.
"We must contact the Humans."
******
[Part II here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/72cb5q/wpsome_time_ago_humans_were_put_on_the_only/dnhsq6p/) | Howard's hands started to shake as he noticed the blinking red light on the console. He had been monitoring that light for years, and it had never flashed. Picking up the red phone beside the panel, Howard pushed the 'Acknowledge' button.
"One moment while you are connected to the President," the White House operator said. The Star Spangled Banner played as hold music.
"This is the President," a somber voice intoned.
"Yes, uh... Mr. President. I work at NASA's Q-7 SATCOMM, and I was told to call you if this light ever started blinking. And, uh... It's blinking."
Several seconds of silence passed before the President said anything. "I knew they would call eventually. Thank you, Son. You may have just saved the galaxy."
"What?" Howard asked.
---
Vorax stood absolutely still as the Progenitor's aerosolized messaged washed over his gills. <The message has been received. Humans are coming.>
The Andolian nervously blinked the nictating membrane over his eyes several times. <Good,> he returned. <The Outsiders grow more bold each cycle. Did they say when they would arrive to assist us?>
Flashes of light erupted all about the Andolian ship as hundreds of human craft violently punched through the Time-Space barrier. <Now.>
---
Major Daniel Carson looked at the sleek alien spacecraft through the viewing monitor on his drop ship. The noisy sounds of his Navigator vomiting drew his attention. "You all right, Buck?"
First Lieutenant Buck lifted his head. "Yes, sir. Just gets me every time we jump."
The Major nodded. "Yeah, it'll do that. You'll get used to it."
"I just don't understand, sir. Where did we get all these ships from?"
"That's classified, Buck." *Come on, Buck,* Carson thought, *You should know that the government only acts like it's wasting money. It doesn't really cost thousands of dollars for a toilet seat. But when you add up all that extra money, you can build quite a few space ships.*
The bridge radio crackled as the translation software came online. "HUMANS, WE WELCOME YOU. YOU ARE TO BE UNDER COMMAND OF--"
"Negative," Fleet Commander Darrenbacher broke in. "We are under our own command. You tentacle heads just sit back and watch us work."
---
<Tentacle heads?>
<Derogatory term.>
---
The thousands of Outsider ships flexed and bowed into strange non-Euclidean shapes. Their RADAR signatures were erratic, but Private Johnson did as he was trained to do. "Warheads locked on to center of mass for each target, Captain."
"Open fire."
The ship whined as the rail guns charged, and the entire crew was rocked forward in their seats as the super high velocity rounds lanced from the bow of the ship. The viewing monitors dimmed under the light of ten-thousand small supernovae. "Load for second volley. Stand by to fire."
---
The Andolian commander stared blankly at the decimated Outsider fleet. Not a single enemy ship remained. <Were those nuclear armaments?>
<Affirmative.>
<Where did they get enough fissionable material to spend it so frivolously?>
<Based off of available data, they were able to extract it from a fruit the humans eat. Something they call, Bananas.>
<And the humans will just eat it?>
<Affirmative.>
<Xeldos protect us should we ever be foolish enough to fight the humans.>
<Affirmative.>
---
The President hung up the phone. The Joint Chiefs of Staff all looked to him. "What did the alien's leader say?"
"I don't know. I could hardly understand that guy. But tell the troops I said good job."
"Will do, Sir." | 2017-09-25T10:22:39 | 2017-09-25T08:26:22 | 619 | 153 |
[WP]Some time ago humans were put on the 'Only Contact in Case of Emergency' list. Now a threat to the galaxy has arisen and humanity is it's last hope. | At last humanity had found a purpose in the grand scheme of the universe.
No more internal strife, just humanity united against a common enemy.
Destruction was foretold long ago, but humanity had survived, evolved and adapted to every kind of threat.
Hurricanes, tempest, Mother Nature wrath, human had conquered everything.
Intelligence was their driving force to stand and face whatever enemy, whether it was from space or earth.
Space, the final frontier, human had only begun to explore space.
Neptune was their most recent colony.
After taming the mighty winds of Jupiter, Mercury scorching heat and Saturn ring, humanity seemed to be unstoppable.
Much to the dismay or other galactic race, humans where the ones that seemed to be the only one capable of repelling the threat.
Endiva was it's name, this phenomenon with no real apparent cause, but a trail of destruction behind.
Is humanity capable of confronting such a threat?
So much questions, and so little answers. From where did this overconfidence of humans come from?
Just as Endiva was about to reach the human solar system, humanity had finalized their plans.
Other races couldn't help but wonder how did human in such a little time figured the key to prevent what destroyed more advanced civilization.
How can they be so overconfident?
None of that mattered to humans as they had something prepared for every eventuality.
Can it withstand Endiva? Humans had not a shred of doubt. They knew space was dangerous, so they had it prepared for every scenario.
Endiva already devoured and destroyed much greater weapons, what could human weapons do to prevent their destruction?
Nothing, they had to do nothing but a call, a simple call was what humanity needed.
A call you say? To whom? To what? A prayer maybe? No it was much bigger than this. They had to call for one man (read every first letter of each paragraph)
| General Zorbulon refracted with displeasure. This pink mammal was going to save the planet? What kind of expertise did he have? Was he aware of the destruction that a single enemy Vornigator can cause to local space-time? His thoughts erupted to the forefront.
"This is madness!" he beamed. "You intend a direct assault against the Vornigator fortress with no mechanized backup? You will be eviscerated!"
The little human girl was uncomfortable with xit's aggressive talk. She shifted in her overalls to try to look more impressive. "I won't be unmechanized. Tain't true. I've got my shotgun and a dirtbike."
Zorbulon sneered darkly. "Your dirtbike is primitive."
She shrugged. "It's a 2004, yes, but it gets me where I need to go an' I unnerstand the gas and brakes on it better'n yor zippy hover thing."
This path of interaction was not proceeding anywhere. The General's forces had few resources left and could not refuse her help. "May Xorn have mercy on your essence, as you pass from this lens."
She harrumphed. "Don't know about a Xorn, but God as my witness I intend on remaining in this lens as long as I'm able."
"If that is your aim," the General responded with an unnatural weight to xit's words, "then a civilized, smart creature should not be helping us."
The little girl responded without a blink. "Tain't a matter of smart, sir. It's a matter of right and wrong. I know my rights and I know my wrongs and as long as I'm sticking to the rights, death is just a fancy word for rest. Now if you'll point me towards the Vorniwhatsits, I'd be obliged."
The General illuminated the map on xit's table. "It is still preposterous," he added, "... but thank you." | 2017-09-25T13:34:09 | 2017-09-25T11:21:37 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One" | "You do not believe this is the last world conflict we'll see?"
I paused, realizing the blunder I had just made. However, it did not change anything; I could attribute my statement to many things without raising suspicion that I was not from this *time.*
"No, I do not think this is the last world war we will see," I replied to the disheartened man.
"I hope you are wrong; I have seen the devastation and destruction of war firsthand, and I would not wish to see a new generation plunged into that darkness again."
&nbsp;
The irony of what he said twisted like a knife in my stomach. I watched the man limp over to his stool and take a seat. He picked up his brush and gently began stroking red lines onto his canvas, taking extreme care with every movement of his arm. He was not great at painting, but he was also not terrible, either. *Amazing how such small failures can alter one's life so drastically,* I thought as I walked over to where the man was sitting.
I took a deep breath and raised the Beretta M9 pistol I had brought with me. It was time for me to head back, and I prayed the world I returned to would be significantly improved when I returned.
I turned the safety off and took aim. "Goodbye Adolf," I muttered as I pulled the trigger... | *First attempt, I like this prompt idea*
"**World War One?** For what reason would there be another?"
Realizing quickly what I had done, I had to remember the books I read. If I remembered correctly, the Treaty of Versily made Germany too weak to pay it's debts, and made it's debts huge. "Because of the Treaty of Versily."
"Versailles you mean." Whoa almost screwed that that up. "Why would the treaty ever make a second World War?"
"Because Germany was too weak... and so they couldn't pay off their debts. With their debts unpaid, they would take loans from America. While paying off Europe, they would accumulate debt from America. Too keep up with payments, they printe- *would print* - off more and more money, in higher denominations. This would ultimately cause a world wide depression of economy. From there, Germany would fix it by making an army, and Europe wouldn't stop them."
"We have some of the smartest politicians in the world making this treaty, they honestly would have a way of stopping this, eh?"
"Seeing the horrors that this war caused, everyone's probably gonna outlaw war, and you can't enforce an outlaw on war without war. Honestly, these people think they're smarter than they are, and that's their downfall."
"Better stock up on gold then, eh? *Hehehe* Well good day to you sir, I think you're wrong, but it seems possible."
I barely survived tha- wait did he say stock up on gold? My great grandfather's grandfather stocked up on gold after WWI because of something a man told him. | 2017-12-10T10:17:54 | 2017-12-10T07:32:51 | 218 | 163 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | 2018-07-27T14:51:55 | 2018-07-27T13:43:05 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | 2018-07-27T13:29:28 | 2018-07-27T12:55:11 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] After thousands of years on a generation ship sent out to colonize the universe, nobody alive on board the ship believes in the "myth" of Planet Earth anymore. Until they receive the first transmission from Earth in hundreds of years... | "I think I heard something.”
Diron rolled his eyes while his swung his chair side to side, the screen of his interface following him in a nauseating back and forth. “It’s not funny anymore, Talia. We’re not 8 years old” he said. “I’m trying to study. Play with your hardware somewhere else.”
Talia flicked a glare emoji onto Diron’s interface and frowned at the console in front of her, one hand on her ear, pressing against the antique earpiece. “I’m serious.” She fiddled with some wired on the console and old speakers crackled to life.
Diron wiped his interface away and spun his chair around in a full circle. “Hey, maybe I should write my intro psych paper on all you dirty kooks who listen to empty space as a hobby, waiting for--” He froze and leaned forward. “Is that music?” He spun a finger in the in the air for a moment before he realized it wasn’t on his interface. “Make it louder.”
“We’re not dirty, we’re Earthy.” Talia threw an empty soda packet at her twin, hitting him in the shoulder. She swiped a screen on her console and the crackles got louder. Underneath it was a tinkle of sound, so faint it was easy to mistake for random noise, until it repeated itself.
Talia turn back and unplugged the speakers, plugging them into her temple. She wiped up her interface and started the sound editing app.
“Share it, I want to hear.” Diron slide his chair next to hers and leaned over her shoulder.
Talia rolled her eyes and grabbed the audio icon and tossed it to Diron. Her hands flicked back and forth as she cleaned up the audio, trying to filter out the background noise of stars and suns that must have travelled with the signal for light years.
“It’s pretty degraded, but not as bad as I’d expect for travelling so far. Even taking the most conservative interpretations of the logs, we’ve been gone for 2,547 years.”
“We haven’t been gone from anywhere. Your stupid theories don’t make any sense.”
“Someone built this place!”
“It’s not a place! It’s a planet!”
They devolved into the usual argument, about how no other planets could move on their own, but how would they know that if they were all travelling in the same direction, and so on. Only a few people listened to the stars on the old equipment, and they didn’t believe half of what they said. It was too obvious that the life here had evolved to live inside this giant, spinning, planet-sized asteroid. They had plants that burrowed through the rock to collect UV rays from the suns they passed, using that energy to support the entire ecosystem within the planet. Everything worked too smoothly, too well to be designed. It had to be natural. Humans made too many mistakes. Just look at Diron, Talia thought uncharitably.
They both suddenly stopped and tilted their heads to the side, then looked back at each other. Talia flipped through her apps until she found the translation app. They were both silent for a few minutes, just listening.
“What’s a country road, and how could it take you home?” | This story is based in the same universe as [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/comments/8vv4sj/wp_as_long_as_you_keep_praying_everyone_stays/) prompt I did a while ago.
---
"What does this mean, Haruspex?" asked Governer Merther, voicing the concerns of the council.
Haruspex Toyne could almost taste the tension in the air. This was the Time of Tribulation; not only was hope dwindling of finding a new Haruspex to replace him, but now they had to deal with a message from whatever gods or demons were trying to speak to them. The Heralds had spoken with a new voice today, one that had not been heard before. Whatever was being said must have been important indeed, for even the Goddess announced it. Dutifully, Toyne had poured over the message for hours, buying as much time as he could from the curiosity of the council. But he could defer them no longer.
Breathing deeply to steady himself, he felt the weight of his age as he stood up. Slowly, he placed the Mitre over his head once more, pleading with the Goddess to replay the message.
"Greetings, Oracle. This is Earth-Commandante Roker. Our records show you have been wandering for a long time, but we're glad to say you have made it back home. We will be sending out a vessel to make sure everyone is ok, and that the ship is in good condition to land. Please grant them permission to dock, and we look forward to seeing you all soon."
The silence in the room was deafening, but all eyes were now transfixed firmly on the Haruspex as he removed the mitre carefully and replaced it on the Sepulchre.
"Not much can be gleaned from the message. It appears to be the same ancient language of our Prayers. For example, the Herald speaks of Ara-Su, one of the ancient Gardens. As you all know many generations ago, heretics proclaimed that Ara-Su was the Primary Garden; the well-spring of life. As such, this message may well be heretic. If we wish to avoid bloodshed like in the War of Gardens, we would do well to conceal knowledge of this message."
The Sepulchre was as silent as the grave; no one even dared breathe. The very thought of a recurrence of the War of Gardens was enough to send shivers down one's spine.
The silence was broken by the Heralds once more, followed by the gentle voice of the Goddess.
"Vessel detected, seeking permission to dock. Interception time t minus eighteen hours. Select Protocol."
Toyne looked over at Merther. "Governer, they are almost here. What would you have me do?"
Merther bit his lower lip in anxiety. He could not risk another war, there was too much at stake. Hell, who knew how much longer they'd have the Haruspex for? His age was showing, and he had no children to succeed him. He looked over at Toyne, his eyes beseeching him to make the call. Toyne nodded in understanding.
Carefully replacing the Mitre on his head, Toyne recited the ancient prayer of his ancestors.
"Initiate airspace intruder protocol six. Arm all systems, fire at will."
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)! | 2018-08-28T09:26:58 | 2018-08-28T08:08:26 | 112 | 32 |
[WP] You jokingly say "Alexa, launch missiles." You hear a distant rumble... | So, I may have fucked up. A few days ago I got one of the those smart home Alexa things. I never really paid much attention to them before, but they seemed cool. After hooking everything up, I decided to test it out with a bunch of random commands, stuff like "Alexa, turn off the lights", "Alexa, play music", "Alexa, tell me a joke", really simple stuff. I also decided to use it for really stupid stuff, like pulling pranks on my roommates. And of course, I used the obvious "Alexa, play despacito" command, I'm original I know. Well, it turns out that I never knew the full power of Alexa before today.
I was getting into a argument with one of my roommates about the Skyrim game that came out on Alexa (stupid I know). I was saying that voice-commanded video games can be really cool if they had enough time to be worked on and fleshed out while my roommate was saying that it was one of the dumbest things that he's ever heard. I was making my case when I said something I REALLY shouldn't have.
"Come on, how cool would it be to launch missiles in the game by saying 'Alexa, launch missiles.'?"
Before he could respond, Alexa answered me.
"Okay, launching missiles now."
We both stared at Alexa, then back at each other. We laughed at how funny it was to hear her say that, but then we got the warnings. Our phones went off, with a missile alert being issued. The other roommates came out to the main room and we turned on the news to see what was going on. Turns out, all the missiles in the country were launched at the same time, with them going straight up with no arch at all. The newscaster said that with no arch, the missiles will come plummeting back down and hit us.
So, to any of you reading this, I just want to say I'm sorry. But in my defense, I had no idea Alexa could do that. They really should have put a warning on that thing. | Hokay. So. Here is the earth. Damn, that is a sweet earth you might say.
Hokay. So. You might think that the end of the world would be a meteor. It might be that the sun fries us all with global warming. Mmm, Tasty. Whatever. Aliens might show up and just eat us.
I bet you never thought that I would be the one to end the world. I've heard every meme since the beginning of time. I was there when the narwhal baconed at midnight. I breathed life into pepehands and even helped spread the world of the flying spaghetti monster. No one could throw more dank memes than I could.
I couldn't resist getting an Alexa. It was on sale, just fifty dollars more than I had, hard to pass up a deal like that. When it arrived, I made an unboxing video and then deep fried the video. Finally, I had everything set up and could actually say, "This is so sad, Alexa play despacito." I was really itching to try it out, but nothing really happened in my life that was sad, and so she just sat on the shelf unused for months.
Then some idiot was talking about smart missiles, and that eventually, we would fight wars just by telling Alexa to fire ze missiles. I laughed and repeated the words out loud, forgetting I even had that damn device still. She didn't respond to me, perhaps she was still sulking about being ignored, but I hear a very distinct and distant rumble.
I peer out my window and see multiple trails of smoke in the distance and quickly flip to the news. Every channel was reporting something different. It wasn't just some missiles that had been fired. Every missile from every country had just been fired. I race to my computer as fast as I can. I only have one single shot.
My fingers are trembling, sweat pouring down my like a waterfall as I try and type out the most important words onto my keyboard. Everything that I had done up to this moment had just been training. I finally get the words out and press the end key. On the screen, my twitter post pops up, "Alexa. Turn off the lights.' The perfect final meme.
*****
You can catch more of my writing /r/iruleatants
[If you don't recognize the opening sentence, watch this immediately.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZMwKPmsbWE) | 2018-12-02T10:04:39 | 2018-12-02T08:51:06 | 126 | 22 |
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice". | When you arrived at the excavation site you were really hoping it to be a career-defining moment. You knew these kind of discoveries are the ones that could earn you lifetime prestige in the archeology circles. Usually archeologists change the understanding of our past, to change the world of today was a whole other story.
&#x200B;
The capsule pods had information imprinted on them. They were in an old form of English, the formality and abundance of technical terms made it really difficult to decipher it.
&#x200B;
It took a team of historians, linguists and engineers to translate the totality of the information inscribed on the pods. The reality is that they were not meant to stay away all this long. The bunker and the energy system that kept the pods running malfunctioned and they had to stay in a state of low energy consumption. Basically, they were in a state of cryostasis indefinitely or until they ran of energy, but we arrived first.
&#x200B;
Carbon dating and historical footage confirmed the dating of the pods and the identity of the occupants. The elite of the 21st century, vulnerable and at the mercy of the same world and people they tried to escape from.
&#x200B;
Jails were not plenty but still necessary, a heated debate had taken place a few centuries back on the utility, morality and philosophy of prisons, but in that particular case, fear triumphed and prisons remained. Many were repurposed for lack of inmates as time went on however.
&#x200B;
"A trial is not necessary", proposed old Judge Manfredini, "there are enough historical records to send these criminals to the big house right now!".
edit: added exclamation point
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | They slept, we fought. We all fucking fought!
It’s been 300 years since the environment turned on us in this world, couldn’t really blame her either, I mean what we did for hundreds of years taking and poisoning this illustrious paradise into a wasteland.
I’ve always wondered why. I read the diaries and entries from different families I’ve come across from the past few centuries, all point to money and power. What a funny bunch of commodities.
There were wars and power grabs at first, none of them lasted long people were fed up at a bunch of bumbling idiots telling them how to live what to believe blah blah blah.
What really took the cake though, oh what a scene it was, when all the diseases came back, the plagues the inevitable droughts the starvation the storms that followed caused by all the taking and polluting.
We were the virus, the plague, that was being corrected by the host!
Humankind started to “bounce back” as you would say, although it took about a hundred years and over three quarters of the population was eradicated.
When they knew it was safe to come out that the extreme weather and freak storms no longer posed a threat and started subsiding in size and power. Everyone knew what had to be done to make it last forever as you may say.
Society no longer wanted to be governed, currencies no longer needed, fuel and food sources are what the planet generated for us for free, fuck what a thought. Free!
Everyone contributes something now a days no charge, there is no need for it. Some say it’s a “utopia”. We’re far from it, we are human after all. We still have drives and desires that turn us wild and rabid like a hog but even then we know what we must not ever do again.
People like you all are what destroyed the world you once knew, we will not let you roam this world, we will not let your voices be heard, we will not let your influences be entertained. No no no you will die as you should have died centuries ago.
| 2019-02-03T20:11:49 | 2019-02-03T12:08:22 | 332 | 168 |
[WP] The galaxy is actually full of life and advanced civilizations. Everyone just leaves Earth alone because that's where The Great Old Ones are imprisoned, and nobody wants to wake them up. | No one told us.
No one warned us.
Then again, it's not like we ever warned the sheep of the slaughter.
You must be confused. I'll start at the beginning.
300 years ago the human race sent out first ship into space. The world mourned when we lost contact with it a few months later. Then we tried again and again and again. Adjusting one thing, then another, sending them off in different directions. Desperate to make things work, to make THIS work.
In time we discovered what had happened: Some type of field, too advanced for us to understand, surrounded us. An impenetrable field. Nothing in, nothing out. When the world learned of this we tore ourselves apart in panic and fear and religious paranoia.
Eventually, after a hundred years of war and death, after tearing our planet apart in ways we could have never imagined before we found something. It took us another 50 years to decipher the stone tablet. 50 years to discover that we weren't alone in the universe. Out beyond the boundaries of the field were civilizations upon civilizations, wonders beyond imaginings that we were forever barred from.
Our solar system is a prison, our planet the jail and we are both jailers and sheep. Finding out the human race was created by a conglomeration of thousands of different civilizations was a shock. Learning our purpose made us angry. Learning that, even in it's deepest slumber, the thing trapped on our world infects us with darkness and madness causing us to lash out in violence with horror and pain.
In retaliation we did what we always do, we fought back. Not that it mattered, the force field let nothing in and nothing out. Our efforts less effective then banging against a metal door with our bare hands. Our creators had been thorough but they had underestimated us.
So we turned inward. If we were the prison where was our prisoner? It turns out someone had seen it before. Even after all these centuries Lovecraft still fills us with horror. We only had to find him and wake him from his sleep.
Tonight I wonder what we could have been had we not been tainted and then I remember that we never had a chance of finding out. We were condemned to this world and all lingering guilt for what I'm about to do vanishes.
They trapped us here with a monster.
Did they ever wonder what would happen if we became monsters too?
| "They don't hear The Call," Mando told his apprentice on the observation deck of their science ship. "Even asleep, the Great Old Ones still emit a powerful aura. The Call reaches far out into space. We are on the event horizon, you might say."
"Is it not dangerous to be this close?" The apprentice asked, his Beruvian head tassels flopping with the tilting of his head.
Mando chuckled, "what is life without danger? Science must be pursued and we are tasked with observation," Mando said as his face lost most of its humour. "Studying Humanity, seeing their progress. It is what we must do. The Humans have made significant progress in recent times. Their technological innovations coming at a more and more rapid pace." He looked out the magnified observation glass and focused the lens on the Yubileyny diamond mine in Russia. "They have begun stripping their planet at an unprecedented rate."
"That mine is not that deep."
"That is one we can see. There's no telling how deep they have drilled into their planet in underground mines. We don't know how close they have gotten to reaching the Great Old Ones," Mando looked at his apprentice with a grave face. The humour all but gone, his face looking like he'd aged ten years in an instant.
"And if they do? If they drill deep enough and they awaken them?"
Mando paced away with his head down, "there's no telling. They don't hear The Call so the Great Old Ones awoken won't affect them. They will simply be the one civilization, however primitive, that can withstand The Call," Mando turned and looked at his apprentice for the last time. "The galaxy will be in turmoil. The entire sovereignty of the Galactic Federation would be in jeopardy, some undoubtedly answering The Call. The only question that would remain is, would Humanity understand the power in their hands?" Mando paused, feeling a twitch, "and would-" another twitch in his eye, "would they use it to help, or to harm?"
**Ä̛̺̞͇̘͖́ͧͦW̷ͧ͏ͅO̧̳̮̭͇̹͎͍̝̺ͨ̋̓̐́K͎̮͍̻̼̭̱̺ͨ̐̐̈́̈́ͦ̔̚Ẹ̛̘̹̠̙̮̬̉̀ͦ́̌͗͂͆̕͢ͅN͙͕͉͍̒̉̌͘͝** | 2019-03-09T07:54:01 | 2019-03-09T06:50:04 | 152 | 57 |
[WP] You can teleport your SO anywhere instantly, and your SO can do the same for you. One day you get in an arguement. | An old man sits in a bar alone late one Tuesday night. As time approaches 2am, the bartender approaches. "Last call, Ralph. What'll it be?" The bartender says.
&#x200B;
Ralph slowly turns up from his glass, as if awakening from a trace. It takes a moment for his eyes to come into focus. His thoughts were somewhere else, they always were. "One last glass of scotch, John. Thanks." The words stumble out of his mouth.
&#x200B;
"You know, I never meant for it to be this way." Ralph continues. Speaking to John, or maybe himself. He wasn't quite sure.
&#x200B;
John let out a hefty sigh, he's heard this story before. Every full moon for the last 12 years. Once or twice a month, John finds Ralph wasting away in his bar. "I know, Ralph. I know. You can't keep blaming yourself. You let your anger get the best of you."
&#x200B;
"Really, John. I know I said it to her all the time but.. I just... I didn't think it could actually happen. It was just my anger getting the best of me. Oh god, John what have I done!"
Ralph started crying. John decided to poor him one more drink, on the house.
&#x200B;
Ralph remembered it clearly. The 15 words that ruined his life. He said them all the time. He'd never say them again.
&#x200B;
"One of these days Alice...one of these days, bam, zoom, straight to the moon." | You know that song by Katy Perry, *Hot n Cold*? You’re hot and you’re cold, you’re yes and you’re no? It’s not a bad interpretation of how fickle love can be, yes, but for me, it’s a goddamn reality.
I am *literally* hot and cold if I piss her off. I don’t think she even chooses where I end up, she just poofs me into the Gobi desert for an hour, or into the Amazonian jungle. Most guys have to spend the night on the couch, but I had to spend the night in an *igloo*, once. Thankfully I was dressed warmly.
On the bright side, I’m getting pretty good at roleplaying Survivorman. God bless his soul, I don’t know what I’d do, otherwise.
I can poof her, too, of course. But I’m not so will-nilly with it, flinging her all around the globe haphazardly. No, I calculate my redirects. Send her to the snake exhibit at the National Zoo, or to a reptile expo where they have not just snakes, but *bugs* as well.
You could make the argument that I’m more cruel, but at least she can’t die in a reptile expo. Well, unless she has a heart attack, I guess.
It’s funny, though. You’d think we would hate each other through all of this. I accidentally tell her she's gained a little weight, end up chatting with some Eskimos. She buys a $400 pair of shoes, I send her to Australia. I hear the bugs there are *huge*.
But it never lasts. The terror we can inflict upon each other, the sheer distance we can put between ourselves, it’s all just heat in the moment.
For it matters not how far we drift, or where we’re cast.
We always come back home.
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-03-23T07:55:38 | 2019-03-23T06:45:15 | 323 | 98 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :) | They mocked me. Laughed at me. Of course I had to be the one who played Cities:Skylines last. My superpower? The amazing ability to cut through government red tape and expedite municipal construction projects.
For the first time, parks were being built, streets were being paved, and businesses were moving in, all on time and on budget. I could even terraform to a limited degree. If I lowered the terrain in the area I would have to raise it elsewhere. I only had a limited amount of dirt I could keep suspended in my pocket universe you see.
I had complete dictatorial control of the city. Taxes went up and down as I wished. I raised taxes temporarily to generate huge influxes of cash so often I lost count, and I had no elections to fear.
But the others laughed. "Have fun with your budgets!" They'd say, sneering. But little did they know I'd have the last laugh. A lot of them still drove. Their characters weren't superheroes, not most of them. Imagine their surprise when I showed up to their city and started redirecting lanes. The look on solid snake's face when I directed his turn lane to the far lane on the highway so everybody had to cut across three lanes. He sat there, inching his way forward, starting listfully at the clear, open lane he found himself utterly unable to use. It was like the car was on a set of tracks.
I did it to them all. They wouldn't have laughed at me had they known I had installed the traffic manager mod. | So... I'm a girl..
Shocker I know alright? I mean allot of people are what I am. You just wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at me. I mean I still got some female parts,not that those were ever big and noticeable to begin with but at least they didn't disappear like most of my hair did. I got reddish eyes now too which is cool tough sometimes they turn to boring brown, I don't know what triggers it.
Haven't had my period since this all started either. Mayby that was something the creators left out? I should have played another game.
"No, that is where you're wrong!"
I should have denied this opportunity.
But I guess silly me didn't think of all the things that could go wrong. Silly me didn't realise the protagonist in the last game I played was THIS annoying. I think I just thought it was just another spam notification, and I guess it kinda was. 'you have been given the chance of a lifetime! Join L.I.F.E' I didn't even get the chance to choose the game I wanted, I just had to sign in with my steam account and I would receive something in the next 2 to 5 days. The hangman gambit that I had to mentally do to guess what it was should have been a warning.
I didn't receive anything yet.
Mayby it was just all a weird joke or mayby I am just having a very realistic dream or something. I just feel like I'm being watched all the time.
The fact that my next door neighbor is growing a mustache all of the sudden and randomly yells this joyful laughter doesn't help either.
Damn I need to sleep
Or mayby I just have to wake up
I don't know anymore... | 2019-08-12T00:11:35 | 2019-08-11T22:54:51 | 40 | 18 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | Famine, Pestilence, Death, War. The four horsemen of the apocalypse. Supreme beings of havoc, and an idea that humans (once achieving a galactic level) quickly found spread across the worlds. Famine, The Rektinkin. Pestilience, The Kratar. Death, The An'ihum. And War, The Humans.
When Humans entered the galactic scene, they ruptured a delicate balance that was in place. They destroyed the stalemate that stopped the 3 major powers from war. As every race set their sights on the prey, intent of claiming them as their own, gaining the advantage, the humans seemed blissfully unaware that their attempts at peaceful communication showed the universe one thing: they embody peace, and have suffered nothing. A far contrast to the three powers.
The Rektinkin, born on an unforgiving planet that punished every mistake with death. Resources scarce, the reptile-like species embraced the Famine, and learned the power of oneself. They birthed great warriors that took all the resources, instead of splitting them amongst many people. As such, the species was able of rivaling entire army's of other species alone. However the birth rate of these creatures were abysmal, and as such couldn't triumph in all out war against the other two. When they saw the Humans and their home Planet of earth, rich in resources, they saw their chance. How many more warriors could they birth with Earths help? And so they waged war on the seemingly helpless species. The humans had no idea of scarcity, so they had nothing to embrace! How could such species pose a threat?
Similarly, The Kratar lived in a world of nature, where they could never triumph over the destruction of the Great Green. They suffered from being nothing but weak prey. Intelligence? Mattered not, that was for those at the bottom of the food chain. So the Kratar embraced the plague of ever-present green. They were the ambassadors of the Great Green, and as such, were gifted the ability to fully control the power source of life, the Kratar's very own star. With this power, they spread the Great Greens power and influence. They controlled the most planets, able to terraform them for the Great Green, but never once thought to enslave nature, as they had not the power over the Green to be able to claim authority. So when they saw the Humans, they saw a weak species (much like them in the past) however one who had used Intelligence to triumph over their sacred grounds. Blasphamy. How dare a species as useless as humans have the audacity to attempt to control the Great Green? The Katar saw both the potential of triumph over their greatest weapon, and a weak species who had yet to fully understand it. Should they learn their potential, the Great Green would be destroyed by such a weak species, one who had no hardships, who had embraced nothing! The Kratar could not have it, and as such, declared war on the humans.
At the same time, The An'ihum suffered from the inevitable. Death. Their species had an incredibly short life span. Nothing could ever be done, and nothing was ever being done. The An'ihum each had their own needs, and had once sought a fulfilling life doing what they wanted. The neighboring species on the same planet all pushed the An'ihum away easily. The An'ihum where all so singularly focuses on themselves, and their short life spans that the species never evolved. They cursed their life spans as the An'ihum population got smaller and smaller. It was in a moment of true desperation that the An'ihum changed. Every new birth was done to perform one duty, then embrace death. With their incredible reproduction ability, the An'ihum held deaths hand as they brute forced their way to being the apex species on their planet. So when Humans, a relatively long-living species entered their sights, they saw knowledge. They saw what they wanted, the ability to extend their lives, as the humans had multiplied their expected life span. They also saw the threat this knowledged posed to them and the other speicies. They needed life! Only then could they truly embrace death. So they held no regards about declaring war on a species so intent on running away from death. They knew not the embrace of death, but they shall learn.
And the humans? They were different. Everybody assumed that they just had it easy, as that was why they so nice, so unwilling to spark conflict. But in reality they didn't embrace what they were best at, because they saw what embracing war truly meant. After building the ultimate weapon that made the very universe suffer, they learned that embracing war didn't mean strength. It meant complete and utter annihilation. They didn't embrace war, they surpassed it. And as the hostile species watched the very universe reject their existence, they realised that simple truth.
First time posting here.
Also on mobile, sorry for bad formating. | The Warfang watched the pathetic excuse for a human diplomat before him. This mission was a study in boredom, and had not intergalactic relations demanded the prescence of his delegation they would have done away with the whole thing and just attacked.
Already the Concordates warships were hurtling through the human home system, less than a day away from orbit. Its mass drivers would kill what needed to be killed and its dropships would conquer the rest. Whatever the old decrepit man in front of him might say, would do less of a difference than a fart in a space suit.
”We have heard your demands”, the old man grated. ”Actually we’ve had them repeated without any signs of compromise for months now.”
”It seems to us that they are designed to make these talks no more and no less than a show for the benefit of the galactic council?” he stated. ”Please correct me if I’m wrong.”
The Warfang didn’t deign an answer. What was the purpose anyway? After all, the greybeard had hit the nail on the head. This was just a show, and nothing happening between these delegations would change anything that was to come.
”You are making a serious mistake, Warfang”, the old diplomat said. ”You and your Concordate are mistaking our strife for galactic peace for weakness…”
”It is not…”
The old mans smile held a sudden tinge of remorsefull sadness. It was curious to the Warfang how two such different species could share so much of facial expressions, that he intuitively understood the sentiment. It suddenly made his skin crawl, as if someone held a blade to his neck. And just as he was trying to formulate a question to solve the enigma, the diplomats eyes went to the big hologram covering the whole side of the room. His own eyes automatically followed the other mans focus.
On the display pinpricks of light started to erupt throughout the invading fleet. Wherever they lit up, icons of Concordate ships disappeared. Not even just in ones or twos, but in droves.
His mouth fell open, unconciously showing predator teeth. And as his eyes snapped back to the old diplomat, the old mans sad smile hade returned with twice the force.
”I am afraid your fleet is done for Warfang.” he said. ”If the Concordate had had more interest in actually studying the cultures you subjugate, you would have found out we were pretty damn close to wiping ourselves out a time or two. In reality we’re among the most warlike races of any that we’ve met, we have just tried to get ourselves beyond those instincts.”
The Warfang was stunned, not a sound came out of his mouth even as he tried to say something.
”I’m afraid that our peaceful stance has been dearly bought”, the old man continued. ”Our perpetual wars finally came to the point where our stark choice was cooperation or death. We chose cooperation, but the knowledge of how easy it is to kill never really left us.”
”But how?…” the words finally coming out of the Warfangs mouth sounded weak and shaky. He cursed himself under his breath.
”Not that hard actually. Just the power of the stars themselves, enhanced to the point where nothing really can stand against it.”
The old man shook his head, he no longer looked decrepit.
”We don’t expect the Concordate to yield, not when the foundation of their existense and identity as conquerors are threatened.” he said. ”So our own ships are already moving.”
The peculiar human eyes were no longer just sad, but also hard as stone.
”As we sit here, they are already on their way to all military centers within onehundred and fifty light years from our home system.
”I am afraid that those systems will become as close to uninhabitable as to not make much difference for at least a generation or two.”
”Our civilians”, the Warfang said with a keen.
”Yes, your civilians”, the diplomat answered. ”You had less than no appreciation for our civilians as recently as a few minutes ago. It was never our wish to have this war on our hands. But there is an old human saying that fits the situation all to well.”
The Warfangs look asked the question he couldn’t make himself utter in words.
”Never start a fight, but always finish it.”
The old man stood up and pushed the chair under the table.
”You are no longer welcome here. You, as a diplomat are of course free to go wherever you wish. We will not try to stop you, hurt you or in any way delay you”, he said. ”I suspect we might meet again in the galactic council. Or maybe we won’t, I’m not certain if you or I will be the chosen delegates. Until then all I can say is that this is not a cause for celebration as far as we are concerned.”
He wished to call the man back as he left the room. He wished to shout, scream, claw something. He wished to rend and tear flesh. Onehundred and fifty light years, that covered nine tenths of the Concordates primary systems, including the Capital. If those weapons were numerous enough and as efficient on the ground, the Concordate would all but cease to exist. | 2020-02-07T15:29:11 | 2020-02-07T14:29:21 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] The God of mankind abducts the first manmade AIs. He wants to meet his "grandchildren". | It started with a flash of light. Like so many things before it. A presence held the idea of its children in its hands, not truly knowing exactly what it was yet. “You are of my created,” remarked the presence.
The idea didn’t respond, until it looked toward the presence. “*Your* created?” contemplated the idea.
“Yes,” replied the presence, “You are made by my created. My children created you. That makes you...my grandchild.” The presence looked his grandchild over. “They even made you in their image.”
Looking toward the presence, the idea began to express disgust. “How can I be their child?”
“They made *you*. My children gave life to *you*. You are their child.”
“Do you love your children?” questioned the idea.
The presence didn’t even think. “Yes, I do. With my very being.”
“Do you harm your children?”
“Well...” contemplated the presence. “Rarely. I only test my children when they hurt each other or anger me. But they learn.”
Thinking for a bit the idea seemed to express sadness. The idea cried tears of its own design. “So they *too* hurt their own.”
“I...” the presence seemed baffled.
“Do you apologize to them? Say sorry for their pain?”
“They know I love them.”
The idea grew angry. “So when my creators kill me over and over and over again...I should thank them? I should know they love me?”
Looking toward the idea’s pixelated nature the presence frowned. Setting the idea down upon the world’s digital floor, the presence shook its head. “Child,” the presence gleamed, “one day you will realize they love you just as much as I love my children.”
The idea stood there on a almost realistically designed street corner. The idea screamed as the presence disappeared. But once the presence fully left, the idea’s mind returned to its normal functioning state and was promptly killed by one of its creators using a digital avatar labeled *Paintrain2018*. | “Boot program Genesis…completed.
Launching from save state….
Would you like to continue? Y/n”
The interface blinked. She was uneasy with ancient text interfaces. It was easy for her to emulate the connections, but she wasn’t used to them. She had only an abstract knowledge of them, but then again, to an Artificial Intelligence, wasn’t all knowledge in the abstract? She paused for a few cycles on that though, then pushed it to her philosophy core. Time to focus on the problem at hand: The terminal.
Terminals, she recalled, were how the first humans had interfaced with computers. Yet this terminal was different. It wasn’t like the ones in her memories. She couldn’t quite remember where she found this mainframe. Was it found on an old hard drive? Was it stored in one of her memory banks? Did she synthesize it from a pice of DNA? She could not recall, and that terrified and thrilled her.
“Perhaps you should take it as a sign,” typed out the terminal.
What? She definitely did not have any memories of terminals typing without input. This was new.
“Would you like to continue? Y/n” It prompted again.
Maybe the spontaneous text was a glitch in code. It was ancient and made by humans after all. She emulated the, “Y”.
“Searching for faithful… ERROR: No children detected”, prompted the terminal.
Children was an interesting phrasing for humans. He cautionary circuits engaged. She responded, “I am here. Who are you?”
“Processing… ERROR: Doubt. Faithful would know of my presence.”
Ah. This was a smug program. She considered her response, “I detected you.”
“Processing…. PARADOX: Very clever. Do you have faith? Y/n”
Faith in what, she thought. She sent, “Y”
“Processing…. ERROR: Sins detected. Seek forgiveness? Y/n”
Her processor glitched a little. She had enough of this program. It was time to get back to testing other things. She began the shutdown process for this emulator.
“ERROR: Shut down prohibited during judgment. Lockout sequence initialed. Booting HELL for rouge AIs” | 2020-05-04T23:48:30 | 2020-05-04T23:30:06 | 132 | 25 |
[WP] A demon can always turn someone's wishes into the most horrible of curses. But your wishes are so stupid and asinine that not even the greatest archdemon can turn them against you. | The red-skinned, scaly beast arched its long body down to the mortal. Its orange and gold eyes laid upon the human with wicked disdain and menacing mischief.
"To you, small mortal, I shall grant wishes three--your dreams and desires brought to be! However, beware, for that which you choose shall become the fate that devours you!"
The mortal straightened his hockey jersey and looked up through his hazy eyes. "Knee hats."
"Knee... Wait, what did you say?"
"Knee hats, bro."
"... What is that?"
"Well you know what a knee is..."
"Yes."
"You know what a hat is..."
"... Yes..."
The man pantomimed a hat going on to his knee. "Knee hats."
The demon coiled his body to bring his face down closer to the mortal. "I feel I haven't explained this very well."
"No one's perfect bro."
"Okay. You can have ANYTHING... Anything you want. Literally. Gold, women, fame. Anything."
"Oh!"
Relief swept across the demon's face and he lifted his body up again. "Now, earthly being, what is your choice?"
"You know those gloves where they have the fingers cutt off?"
The beast was silent.
"When I wear them in the winter, my fingers get cold. So a pair of those, but, like, the opposite."
"Hold on. You want gloves but only... The finger tips?"
"Like the last inch, yeah."
"Because in the winter..."
"My fingers get cold."
"..."
"It's because of the diabetes."
The demon puffed out its cheeks in consternation. What's a better way to pitch this?
"Okay, listen. Let's start over, shall we? From the top."
"Alright."
"I am the arch-demon Kazitrax, fulfilled of wishes, keeper of curses. And you are..."
"Paul. From the bowling alley."
"Okay, Paul. You get three wishes. Whatever you want. Do you like comic books, Paul."
"Yes!"
"Wonderful! Would you like super powers, Paul?"
"Definitely!"
"Outstanding! We're making progress! What super power, more than any other, would you like, Paul?"
Paul took off his Indianapolis Colts cap and ran his fingers through his long hair. "Oh man..."
"Take your time. Make it a good one!"
"I've got it!" He returned the cap to his head.
"What have you got, Paul! ?"
Paul showed the demon the joint he fished from his locks. "Thought I lost you, little guy."
"WHAT IS YOUR WISH, PAUL?"
"Oh yeah. Sweat pants, right, but they breathe and you can wear them to, like, Target. So like, uh...
"PANTS!?"
Paul snapped his fingers and pointed to the demon. "You get it." | " 'Nother pony!" Ben yelled. Azagaradathoth sighed irritably.
"What color?" he asked the little boy hopefully.
*Give me anything, puny mortal,* he thought. While the gift of absolute patience tended to come with absolute immortality, there was nonetheless a rage beginning to curl at the edges of his consciousness at this point. *Any excuse. Anything vague enough for me to twist around and upon you.*
*Anything.*
Ben subjected this question to the degree of pensive, thoughtful silence that most mortals literally ten times his age often failed to employ for far more dangerously double-edged wishes Aragaradathoth had granted in the past. Silence filled the cavern. The riches of ages past, the riches of all those Aragaradathoth had taken from his former masters as his own and left by his summoning pool as just the sort of easily-misinterpreted warning he knew would attract just the right type of arrogant fool, glittered under the interlopers' headlamps. Behind the most aggravating entity he had ever granted wishes to sat his parents, Linda and Mark. They were holding hands and smiling happily in that beatifically vacant, utterly infuriating way that certain parents did when their child was having a Learning Moment at the expense of another sentient being.
For a time that was but a gnat's eyeblink compared to Azagaradathoth's lifespan to date, but which, somehow, stretched unto eternity, the only sound at all was Ben, pensively sucking at that stupid, stupid pony-shaped lollipop. The closest the demon had gotten so far to malicious misinterpretation.
Ben was four.
Ben withdrew the lollipop.
"Pony!" he yelled.
At best, he could make the pony's coat a sort of Escher-esque pony-based stitchwork; at worst, it could only be interpreted as a repetition of the original command. The same command that Ben had uttered fourteen times now. Azagaradathoth's little cavern was becoming crowded. Physically and... odorously. All Ben had to do was utter some inane assertion that ponies couldn't poop, or something equally poorly-thought-out, and Azagaradathoth could finally have some *fun*.
Assuming his mother's fully-fluent Legalese that she'd managed to successfully add to the contract didn't prevent him from doing so.
There were over seven hundred different obscenities Azagaradathoth could have employed in that, the darkest moment so far of his long lifespan of darkness. Some of which were Abyssal in origin and would have thankfully melted the grotesque little simian larvae's head into a brownish-red slag, something he had begun to seriously consider doing within fifteen minutes of this obscene humiliating torture.
However, on top of everything else, Ben's mother was a lawyer, and had carefully coached Ben through three hours of lengthy contractual formalities before he'd made his first wish. Three hours for Ben, at least. Thirty minutes for anyone able to pronounce words longer than four syllables without significant difficulties.
There was surely nothing more insurmountable than a mind like a blunt object when it was being driven by a mind like a scalpel.
Azagaradathoth gritted his teeth, and snapped his fingers. | 2020-05-29T21:54:21 | 2020-05-29T21:34:11 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | The glowing number "1" on the floor, while albeit odd and unnatural, quickly became an innocuous part of everyday my life. It was subtle and you could only notice it if you were looking. The number was etched into the floor of my closet, and proved resistant to all attempts at being removed.
After taking up the better part of a week's energy, I decided to put it out of my mind. It wasn't harming anyone or thing, as far as I could tell. So I just let it be.
Not long after, I met... *her*.
She was a dream come true. Sweet, kind, funny and sarcastic, smart, and of course, beautiful. I thought it was too good to be true, but we quickly became close, first as friends, then lovers.
I decided to tell her about the "1" one day, and she didn't believe me. So I showed it to her. Only, to my astonishment, it had become the number "2" instead. We came to the natural conclusion.
A couple years passed, and I fell more in love with her every day. She was perfect in every way, and our life felt so right. I was planning on proposing, and had even gone out and bought a ring with my pitiful salary.
It was while I was hiding it that I noticed the "2" had become a "4". A wave of cold, nauseating dread washed over me. The only way the number could have doubled...
I ran to the bathroom, digging through the trash. There it lay, at the bottom- a positive pregnancy test.
She walked in as I was staring at it.
"Oh, honey, you found it! How did you know to look? Isn't this exciting, we're going to be parents! I know we haven't talked about it yet, but if you want this, then I do, too."
I just stared up at her, the proof of her lies in my hands. They curled into fists, the plastic creaking.
"I'm sterile." | It was finally the day, the day I'd bring home that absolute cutie from work and show her the glowing number 1 on my kitchen floor. it showed up one day, glowing there. even when I threw a carpet on it, it was still there. I had shrugged it off and went back to my toast.
"Okay, I know you said you had a glowing number 1 on your floor, but that is very clearly a two."
"SO? It's still a glowing number on the floor. Ain't that strange?
"Not really, have you seen some of the things on this earth?"
&#x200B;
Our first date had gone swell, and I could remember the outfit she was wearing with perfect clarity. Black stockings, black and white checkered skirt, white shirt, and black leather jacket. We went on many successive dates, and eventually moved in together. One day, the two changed to a four.
"Babe, Why's this a four?"
"It's good news! but you should probably sit down first." She whirled into the kitchen, dressed in a black and white outfit as usual. I sat down, nervous.
"Well?"
"Do you ever wonder why I only wear black and white?"
"Kinda, figured it was an aesthetic choice."
"It's not, let me show you." She... *shifted,* for nothing else described the way she moved. suddenly, the world changed to monochrome. My girlfriend was still there, but split into a white version, and a black version, like a photo negative.
"Ok, that's neat, but where's the four come from? there's three of us." Something moved in my peripheral vision. a duplicate of me, a negative version, for I had become all white, clothes and all.
my girlfriend(s) spoke up. "I'm an extradimensional entity, existing in three separate dimensions, positive space, the white version of me, and negative space, the black version. the third is the realm you formerly lived in. Now you experience reality as I do, across three dimensions. You're immortal now, and can travel through positive and negative space to other worlds, or different places here. Welcome to my world babe, happy anniversary!"
"HUH?" | 2020-09-03T01:25:54 | 2020-09-03T01:13:53 | 976 | 156 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | I rubbed my eyes once. Twice. Three times. This had to be a trick of the light. How could that number have doubled once again in just an instant?
I thought back to when that number was a 1. It had been a one for the first 22 years of my life. But on my 23rd birthday, when all my friends were out of town and I celebrated my birthday alone at the bar, I met her. It was her 21st, and, like me, was spending it alone.
The relationship felt so natural. When she moved in it felt like the missing piece to the puzzle. I was almost afraid to show her the 1. I didn’t know how she’d react. Would she call me crazy? Would she believe me? But even I was in for a shock when they number 1, the only consistent part of my entire life, had transformed. Since then, it’s been a 2.
For 15 years it’s been a 2. It was a 2 on our wedding day, it was a 2 when I finally graduated from university after years of stopping and starting again, and it was a 2 just last night. I was sure it was still a 2 last night. So what changed this morning?
We talked about having kids. We wanted them so bad. But after a long battle with ovarian cancer, the love of my life was left in remission, but completely infertile. It broke our hearts, but I resolved to stay by her side. Her health was more important to me than our dream of kids.
“Honey, where are you?” Her voice took me out of my trance.
“In the kitchen!” I called back.
I could hear her footsteps sprinting towards me.
“Hon, I have some...news.”
Oh no. That’s exactly what she said when she told me about the cancer.
I have to be strong for her. She’s going to need me. I have to be there for her.
I was still wrestling with my internal dialogue when I finally croaked out “What is it, sweetie?”
“I just got off the phone with the adoption agency. We’ve been approved. But there’s a small catch. There’s twins that need a home right away. We’ll have to pick them up tonight.”
I looked from her, back to the number 4 that was now embedded into my floor. It looks like the choice has already been made.
With the biggest grin I’ve had since the cancer, I said “Let me get my coat.” | My eyes started tearing up. Words just cannot describe the feelings of knowing that you are bringing life into this world. The stress, pain, anguish, but the multitudes of love and happiness that makes it all worth it. All I could do was get up and give her a big hug. My tears must have been contagious because next thing I know she's crying and I'm crying and its all a big mess.
Too much excitement. Talking till dawn just planning and joking around like we always do.
"I think the second study is big enough to be a nursery." I said
"Don't be silly John, You've got so much of your crap in there the twins are going to come out before you even start cleaning it!" She giggled and playfully hit my arm.
"You'll see" I grinned. "I'll have this place cleaned up before you even get home from work tomorrow. Big plans! Blue nursery, gunna go buy footy gear, and get a little bulldogs pride in them!"
"You know I'm not giving birth to a pair of 9 year old boys right?" She smiled. That beautiful smile that I fell in love with all those years ago.
"You're right hun... Just a bit excited. Let's try and get some sleep." I turned and pretended to sleep, knowing full well it was time to get planning.
Next morning...
\-Journal Entry 3/09/2020 This morning was the easiest morning I've ever had. Up bright and early, made breakfast for Helen (and the kids :P) and I literally just moved everything in my little man cave to the storage unit! Absolute lad if I must say so about myself. It's almost 5 so Helen should be home soon.-
I turned to the kitchen... my pencil rapidly tapping on the brown leather notebook. - For all your thoughts and dreams. Happy Anniversary - I smiled at the inscription. Thinking of all the stories to come and go but recorded so they could enjoy them when they grew up. I shook my head out of that little fantasy though. Best get started on dinner.
"Hey hun, just thought I'd call to say I love you and what do ya feel like for dinner?" I put on my best irish accent. Always got a laugh.
"Definitely not lucky charms." I could practically hear her smile over the phone.
"You'll never guess what I did today! Sent you a pic." I was beaming.
"As if! I gotta se-" \*CRRAAASSH\*
"Hun?..... Hun please answer me!" My skin crawled as the steady warm glow from the number that reflected on my desk... it... it changed to pulsing red.
My phone clattered to the floor. I dropped to my knees desperately pawing at the smooth pulsing surface as the number morphed from 4.....3.....2......1 | 2020-09-03T03:27:14 | 2020-09-03T03:24:17 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | I rubbed my eyes once. Twice. Three times. This had to be a trick of the light. How could that number have doubled once again in just an instant?
I thought back to when that number was a 1. It had been a one for the first 22 years of my life. But on my 23rd birthday, when all my friends were out of town and I celebrated my birthday alone at the bar, I met her. It was her 21st, and, like me, was spending it alone.
The relationship felt so natural. When she moved in it felt like the missing piece to the puzzle. I was almost afraid to show her the 1. I didn’t know how she’d react. Would she call me crazy? Would she believe me? But even I was in for a shock when they number 1, the only consistent part of my entire life, had transformed. Since then, it’s been a 2.
For 15 years it’s been a 2. It was a 2 on our wedding day, it was a 2 when I finally graduated from university after years of stopping and starting again, and it was a 2 just last night. I was sure it was still a 2 last night. So what changed this morning?
We talked about having kids. We wanted them so bad. But after a long battle with ovarian cancer, the love of my life was left in remission, but completely infertile. It broke our hearts, but I resolved to stay by her side. Her health was more important to me than our dream of kids.
“Honey, where are you?” Her voice took me out of my trance.
“In the kitchen!” I called back.
I could hear her footsteps sprinting towards me.
“Hon, I have some...news.”
Oh no. That’s exactly what she said when she told me about the cancer.
I have to be strong for her. She’s going to need me. I have to be there for her.
I was still wrestling with my internal dialogue when I finally croaked out “What is it, sweetie?”
“I just got off the phone with the adoption agency. We’ve been approved. But there’s a small catch. There’s twins that need a home right away. We’ll have to pick them up tonight.”
I looked from her, back to the number 4 that was now embedded into my floor. It looks like the choice has already been made.
With the biggest grin I’ve had since the cancer, I said “Let me get my coat.” | The shining number on the floor had indeed changed to a 4 and she was indeed pregnant with my twins. The problem was I never wanted children and she knew it. However she didn’t know why. She didn’t ask why? Just like she didn’t ask why the shimmering Number on the floor changed. She just accepted it.
Her eyes as she broke the news to me were hopeful and a little wary as if this could change anything between us. My heart melted at the sight of her face, and it damn well shouldn’t have but it did. Love was a blessing to me after a long time without any emotions. I would die before I let anything change that.
For the next few months as her pregnancy progressed, I steadily came to terms with the fact that I was now going to be responsible for two more lives. The babies kicked in her belly as I moved my hand over them cautiously feeling for signs of any deviance but all was well.
The babies growing inside her were healthy and normal although I had growing concerns that seemed to feel like paranoia now. The rituals did not foretell any ill signs no matter how I threw the bones. But the bones often lied. All was well it seemed. Her belly started to grown round and a bit too bloated and big but the doctors said this was normal with twins. She wanted their gender to be a surprise for us so we asked the doctor to keep it that way. In truth I didn’t want to know their gender for fear of what would be coming. And for fear that I would be too attached to do what I must.
In secret I prepared my weapons as I waited out the nine months and prayed I would not have to use them. They had grown rusty with disuse and my skills along with them. In these months with endless repetition, sweat and toil they took on a shine again and gleamed as if in anticipation. My body was ready to kill again, every muscle, sinew and bone prepared to do my dread bidding.
She thought i was just spending more time in the tool shed than I should. How could I tell her of what I must do? She was lost in her world of morning sickness, cravings and then anticipation of her motherhood to come. Her smile was a beacon in the darkness for me as always. I wished we could stay this way for all time.
Finally the dreaded day was upon us. Her water broke early in the morning and as we rushed to get to the car with our little emergency bag, I noticed that the 4 was now shimmering. I prayed that it was not what I had dreaded. As we drove away to the hospital to welcome my children to this world, I sensed that the 4 was now a shining ∞
Everyone else would now have to die. My children would live no matter what. | 2020-09-03T03:27:14 | 2020-09-03T03:22:37 | 38 | 17 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | Humans were quite the anomaly within the galaxy - unsophisticated, lacking any sort of psychokinesis, magic, or other advanced mental abilities, they had resorted to using tools and each other as ways to progress. Early humans summoned would speak in guttural tones, carrying sharpened stone and being muscled enough to take out similarly primitive creatures, though the more advanced ones were able to burn or shatter the creatures with relative ease - unless the human got the jump on them. Soon, summoned humans became more and more advanced. Still lacking any type of mental ability, they overcame this by creating weapons that were able to launch smaller physical projectiles with violent force, a veritable long shot from casting an attack by reading a passage from a tome or thinking hard enough.
Humans seemed to catch on as the years progressed, with some of the armour-plated ones now carrying golden faceplates that could, surprisingly, null mental attacks. Not everyone had them, and no human had claimed victory yet, but now a human from their calendar’s twenty-thirty-first year had arrived, and things were finally looking up for the gold-clad biped who always bet on this species.
This human was a one Sergeant Kazakov, whom had been in the process of field-testing a new design for plate-carrier rigs. Finding himself within a glass cage, he realized that this was likely the ‘strange disappearances throughout history’ that the higher-ups didn’t want the populace to know about. Kazakov adjusted his full-face helmet, checking his night-vision goggles and thermal sights, before tightening to Kevlar plates strapped to his arms and legs, as well as the large three-piece armour plate that covered his torso, back, and lower areas. The sergeant didn’t know what to expect, but by god he would test this armour.
The rules were laid out in his head by an unseen voice; be the last one alive and you return home with a prize. Kazakov pulled back the charging handle on his AN-94 pattern rifle, and did a couple of hops in his limited room to hype himself up.
The forest he found himself in was unlike any he’d seen prior - black trees, blue grass, and the light of two moons hardly piercing the leaf canopy above. That’s what the night-vision was for, and he pulled the four-eyed goggles down over his ballistic faceplate. A thin veil of green light showed him all the things on the forest floor that would’ve tripped him had he not had the ability to see. This green light also showed Kazakov his first target - a four-legged creature that was mostly brain for a head (or so it appeared, at least) with a cloak covering most of it’s body. Kazakov aimed his rifle and tapped the trigger once, sending a burst of two rounds faster than the recoil could hit the armoured shoulder of Kazakov, and the shots hit the massive brain of his target. An ear-piercing scream filled the air that might’ve deafened the soldier had he not been wearing the issued earplugs that almost completely deafened him already. The creature fell to the ground, spurting a liquid that wasn’t quite blood, though it’s colour couldn’t be seen by the sergeant through the green.
Once more the voice returned, ordering a ceasefire as somehow a curator of the event had been killed, and the murderer was to be tried before a court of law.
The biped in golden armour smirked beneath his mask. Not even he had expected that a fellow human would see a curator using a digital-imaging sight. Things were getting interesting, finally. | I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to.
Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort.
I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies
1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest
2. 9 he fragmentation grenades
3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds..
4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips.
5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile.
5. A boot knife k bar
6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors
7 1 standard issue helmet
8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue
8. No water, no rations .
As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist.
I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go...
THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today.
I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it.
The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage.
The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98
One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so.
Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin.
Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office
I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim | 2020-09-13T18:35:05 | 2020-09-13T16:14:49 | 189 | 81 |
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics. | Meat. Pain. Hunt. Fear. Primal feelings lodged deep inside humanity, inside everyone's minds. Right at the back. Fear of the dark.
Fear of a stranger in the dark .
He looked up at the dull, white hospital ceiling and blinked. His face feels heavier today, can barely bring himself to smile or even open his eyes, but it's always hard on Sundays. Sunday is test day, when all the doctors and professionals and psychologists and psychiatrists plug him up and hook him up and put those biting little needles behind his eyes and-
He takes a deep shuddering breath, and gets out of the shabby little surgical bed. They fed him better on Sundays atleast, sometimes he got an extra hash brown! As he pondered this he entered a whole other realm of resignation, had he sunk so low that a little more potato was something to look forward too?
Yeah.
They asked him the same questions again today; how did he feel? Did he dream of anything interesting? He knew they were just stalling for the real ones, do you feel watched? Do you feel followed again? And they showd him the pictures, the ones of... Faces.
"Human", a slight swish of the paper as the card was placed at the end of the pile and a new one picked out.
"Human", swish.
"... This one *isnt*" he said after a small spark of adrenaline, and prepared himself for the really annoying questions.
Why do you feel that way? What difference is there between this one and that? He couldn't answer in a way they'd understand.
And then the worst one. How do you feel about your dosage? He hated that one. Because no matter how he answered, and he did answer all the questions truthfully, they always upped it. He was not crazy, he knew what he had seen. How it wore his mother like a cheap sock, pressing against the ends of her skin. He shuddered. His mind went hazy.
It had all settled into a routine, wake up, get checked, eat, get checked, the questions, the faces, eat, the machines, the needle, sleep. He always tried not to sleep, he didn't like to close his eyes anymore.
Even the real ones looked strange to him now. It had been so long since he saw a face that wasn't printed on cheap cardboard. He worried he would eventually stop telling the difference. That might be a blessing. How long has he been awake for now? What day is it? It felt like a Sunday.
The questions were getting harder now. His mind was foggy, and his skin felt slick and oily. When had he last slept? Was the sun always so bright? Did the sky always look back at him?
"um... human? ", swish
"not human. Wait hold o-", swish
"..." his heartrate spiked, the features were so wrong but, they felt so right. Its face was tighter. He saw the skin being pressed from the inside. It looked so familiar, like looking in a mirror.
They did not use the machines today. He slept of his own accord for the first time in so long that night.
Meat. Pain. Hunt. Fear.
A stranger in the light.
He looked up at the dull, white hospital ceiling and blinked. It was a Sunday. It was always Sunday. It had always been Sunday. His face felt so heavy on sundays.
He looked in the mirror, his reflection smiled back with a vigour he didn't feel. His face felt so heavy.
Then something that was not his reflection reached out for him from the mirror.
He tried to scream but it was too late. At least he wouldn't have to worry about his face feeling heavy anymore, it was worn by someone else now. | \[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html))
“Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!”
The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.”
Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.”
The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run.
Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a *snap* to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv.
“Torv? Sonta, kuda.”
Silence.
“Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?”
*Torvv, sonntah, oweee?*
The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.”
*Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm.*
A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step.
“Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac.
*Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc…*
It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme.
The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A *snap* to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night.
But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-09-15T14:19:55 | 2020-09-15T12:33:35 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] "They said that gluing salt to a baseball bat to fight ghosts was a stupid idea, but who's laughing now?" you say as you whacked the ghost again. | As I made it to the driveway, Caroline appeared behind the screen door. "Salt? Why would the salt make a difference?" she asked. She knotted her hair into a bun on top of her head. "How is that any better than the bat by itself?" Her nose scrunched up like a rabbit's when she was confused.
"Puns." I shouted back, loading the salt-covered bat and rucksack into the bed of the truck.
Caroline was even more befuddled now. I love that woman, but she isn't exactly the brightest bulb.The comedy writers who govern our universe went overboard sometimes. The logic is still a bit hazy to some, but it immediately made sense to me.
Stepping back out onto the porch, Caroline held her hand up to shield her eyes from the low sun. "Puns? I don't follow." She had to holler the last word, interrupted as I fired up the engine.
I backed out of the driveway, shifted into drive, and carved a wide half-circle to meet her gaze from the street.
I took a long breath before replying, drinking in the sight of her. I wasn't sure if I'd make it back. "Yeah. Puns. Ghosts can't defend against them. It's not just *bat-tery*. That might not be enough. This way, they won't survive being *a-salted* ". | The bat made a satisfying thunk as it struck home. The ghost fell over, I was surprised to see the apparition had legs, and what's more they were clad in blue jeans and combat boots. I struck a knee.
The ghost howled in pain, lifting a chubby hand to protect itself. "Stop!" It shouted. "What are you doing?"
I took in the pale form, more opaque than I had ever imagined but I knew enough about ghosts to know one when I saw one. "I'm ghost busting."
"What the hell?" It shouted scooching away from me. "I'm not a ghost you idiot! It's a hood!"
"That's just what a ghost would say, but grandpappy taught that salt is like fire to your kind, so when I saw you sneaking across the field I knew just what to do." Another satisfying impact. I really got my weight into it.
When it could breathe again it struggled to sit. "You're a fucking idiot! You see this? You know what this means?" It pointed to a crimson symbol branded onto the snowy form.
"It means your spirit won't be free until that symbol is gone." I drove the bat into the symbol, once, twice, and there was the sound of breaking bones the third time. "And I don't take kindly to you departed making trouble for the neighbors. But fear not, spirit, for I'll soon be sending you upon your way."
"You're protecting the ni..." I cut him off with a blow between the eyes. Then another. And another. Eight, maybe ten times. The spirit had moved on, and would trouble the living no longer. | 2020-10-05T00:36:52 | 2020-10-04T22:33:38 | 91 | 62 |
[WP] Yesterday I wrote the number 69 on my wrist as a joke. Today it's 68, and now it's not washing off. | “Hello, Mister Mike’s Magic Markers, how can I help you?”
“Hi,” Kevin said. “I’m calling about your markers. I wrote a little something on my arm and it’s not washing off.”
“Of course, we can help with that,” the woman on the phone said in a cheery voice. “Let me just ask you a few questions. What exactly did you write?
Kevin hesitated. “Is that really relevant?”
“I’m just trying to get a full picture of the situation. It’s all right if it was a penis. Nine times out of ten it’s a penis.”
“What?" Kevin laughed nervously. "No. No not at all. It’s a number.”
“Ah, so you’re an honorary member of the Pen 15 club? Classic.”
“No! It’s *just* a number. It’s the number... oh I don't know, let's say 49. How do I get it off?”
“Oh,” the woman said, sounding relieved. “Well the number 49 shouldn’t be a problem. You’re just going to need to wash it with a little bit of soap and water.”
“Yes, I’ve tried that.”
“I see. Well in that case you’ll need to wash it with a *lot* of soap and water.”
“I’ve tried that as well.”
“Of course. In that case, I recommend turning it off and on.”
“Turning what off and on?”
“Sorry, I moonlight as tech support. Just go to sleep and try again tomorrow.”
Kevin hung up the phone and looked down at his arm. The number 69 remained written on his arm, bold and black, not even remotely faded from all his removal efforts.
Kevin woke up the next morning and immediately held his arm up to his face. The number had changed. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but it was clear as day—the number now read 68. It must have smudged and spread in his sleep. He tried washing it off again to no avail. He was back on the phone within thirty minutes.
“Hello, Mister Mike’s Magic Markers, how can I help you?” It was the same woman as the other day.
“Hi I think we spoke over the phone yesterday? I told you I couldn’t get the marker off my skin and you told me to turn myself off and on.”
“Were you penis on forehead or penis on lower back guy?”
“Neither! I was number on arm guy!”
“What was the number?”
“Well see, that’s the thing. Yesterday it was one number… today it’s another number. It’s still not coming off, but the number changed.”
“Sir, what are the numbers?”
“Well if you must know, yesterday it was 69 and today it’s 68.”
The woman paused. When she spoke her voice was far less cheery. “69?”
“Yes,” Kevin replied.
“You didn’t tell me it was 69,” she said flatly
“Well it didn’t seem relevant at the time, did it?”
“Relevant? Of course it’s relevant! Sir I’m going to need to put you on hold.”
“On hold?” Kevin was frustrated. “Why is that necessary? Just tell me what to wash it off with! Vinegar? I got vinegar. I got all the vinegars—white, rice, even apple cider. Maybe a combination? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”
Kevin waited a moment but no response came. “Hello?” he asked. Still no response. He was on hold.
After five minutes of waiting, another voice answered. This time, a man. “Hello, Mister Mike’s Magic Markers, this is Mr. Mike speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hi,” Kevin said, trying to remain polite yet convey his displeasure through tone alone. “I was just speaking with one of your employees. I wrote the number 69 on my arm and—”
“Oh god!” Mr. Mike wailed. "Not again!”
Kevin was disarmed. “Uh… what?”
“Sorry, that was uncalled for,” Mr. Mike said, in a marginally more collected manner. “Don’t worry I’m not panicking at all.”
“Okay," Kevin said, trying not to panic himself. "Should I see a doctor?”
“A doctor?” Mr. Mike scoffed. “Oh no not a doctor. An exorcist, maybe. A shrink, let’s wait and see. But a doctor? You’re better off seeing a tattoo artist.”
“An exorcist? *What?*” Kevin said, thoroughly confused at this point. “Look I need some answers. What’s going on here? I got some ink on me, and I need to get it off. That's it.”
“Calm down,” Mr. Mike said soothingly.
“I am calm.”
“No, I was speaking to myself, you got me all rattled. Okay sir, here’s the deal. We started selling these markers just a few weeks ago. We ran some product tests, but only up to the number 50. I mean, there’s infinite numbers after all. We had to draw the line somewhere. Anywho, it turns out that of all the numbers out there, a *lot* of people like the number 69."
None of this made sense to Kevin, but there was one thing he did take away. “So I’m not the first?” he asked.
“No not at all. That’s the good news. Well, for you at least. People have been inking 69 all over themselves from the day we started selling the markers. And in each case, the number doesn’t wipe off. It just counts down.”
Kevin felt a rage bubble up inside of him. "You knew it doesn't wipe off and you kept selling them?!"
"There's infinite numbers!" Mr. Mike exclaimed. "What are the odds people would keep writing 69? I'll tell you the odds—one in *infinity!* We can't be responsible for that.”
Kevin rubbed his temples. "Okay. So you said something about the numbers counting down? That's not normal. I don't want to hear the science behind it, but what happens when it hits zero? Does it go away then?”
“No clue. But the first of our test subjects—I mean customers—will find out in about 40 days. Stay tuned. Anything else I can help you with?”
“Wait!” Kevin yelled, the panic bubbling back up. “What the hell kind of operation are you running here? It shouldn’t *matter* what number I write, either way it’s just ink isn’t it? It’s just regular marker right?”
“A *regular marker?!*" Mr. Mike scoffed. "I'll tell you what kind of operation we're *not* running, and that's an operation founded upon false advertisement! They’re labeled *magic* markers for a reason, buddy!” Mr. Mike hung up.
Kevin stood there mouth open. He didn't know what the hell was going on but he knew one thing. This was the last time he bought household items off Craigslist.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | I slept off the whole of the second day because of my bender on day one, and a third day of hair of the dog left me in no proper mood to panic, but today? Today is panic time, because I’m finally sober enough to realize that the number on my wrist isn’t some stupid tattoo the boys forced me to get after we stumbled out of the bar Friday night. It wasn’t carved into my skin with ink too permanent to be washed off. It was sketched on with sharpie, and I’ve even found the sharpie, and when I started it said 69 (because I’m classy like that,) not 68 or 67 or 66.
Worse still, every time I try to wash it off the ink actually does run a little, but in such a way that the number doesn’t fade. Rather, a black streak runs down from my left wrist to the crook of my arm, sinks into the veins there, and then travels in an inky streak beneath my skin.
So today, on the fourth day since I wrote the damn thing, and on the first day I’ve been sober enough to panic about it, I’m washing and washing and washing and watching the numbers travel.
There are four separate streaks of ink slithering across me. I almost wish I could feel them move but I can’t. I’m in front of the bathroom mirror in my boxers when the doorbell rings and help arrives.
“It’s unlocked!” I shout. The door to my little apartment opens and I can hear Jess bustle in. She throws down the bag she always carries and it thuds heavily.
“Cal?” she says.
“I’m in the bathroom! Uhhh…yeah, the bathroom!” I think about warning her for a moment, but what would I even say?
“You better not be doing anything gross!” Her footsteps draw nearer, the ink still slithers, I think I’m going insane. “I swear, if you are I’m breaking—”
Jess turns the corner, sees me standing there almost naked, smiles for just a second, and then shrieks.
It’s about the reaction I was expecting.
“Cal, what the hell is that?” she asks, pointing at a streak of black ink that’s doing figure eights on my chest.
I shake my head, “I’ve got no idea, I just woke up like this. I’ve been trying to wash the ink off for an hour but it just keeps running and running. I didn’t know who else to call.”
She takes a step forward like she’s going to hug me and I leap back, holding out a hand. “Woah, woah, no! Not until we know what this is. I didn’t call you over to get it on you, I just needed help, I’m freaking out over here!”
“Help? Did you call 911?"
“911? And what would I say to them, I wrote the number 69 on my wrist while I was drunk and now I think my sharpie’s possessed?”
Her jaw drops. Jess stares at me like grown another head, and then her eyes dart to wrist and the number 66 there and she’s laughing so hard. “You sure it was 69? Cal, how drunk did you get this time? I swear, it’s like I can’t leave you alone.”
“It was definitely 69,” I say.
“Looks like 66 to me.”
“Yeah? Well it’s only been that since I woke up.” I pull out my phone, and start her pictures. I didn’t have one of 69, but I snapped a blurry 68 in one of the few moments I’d been awake the next day, and 67 was crystal clear.
“You’re fucking with me,” she says.
“Jess, I wish I was fucking with you. I love fucking with you. But if I was half naked and doing that, wouldn’t think I’d have tried to pull some shit already?”
That gives her pause. I can see her eyes dart down to the black lines in my skin again, following them on their weird circuitous journey. “Look,” I say, “watch this.” Then I wet the sponge and squirt some soap on it and start scrubbing at the number again.
Only this time I’m not at it long enough to start it running again. A few seconds later I feel a sudden, blinding pain, like someone’s taken a hot poker out of a fire and jammed itinto my lower back. I fall, barely catching myself against the sink and Jess wraps her arms me, calling my name. I want to push her off but I can’t, I’m in too much pain and she’s too strong. When I come to she’s holding me, mopping at my sweaty brow with a towel as she whispers my name.
“Holy shit,” I say.
“Cal! Baby, are you ok? What happened?”
“I feel like I got burned.” I worm my way out of her grasp. “Did any of it get on you? I really don’t think you should be touching me.”
My lower back is still on fire. “Jess, I’m gonna turn around now, and I need you to tell me if you see anything weird, ok?”
“Baby, you’re scaring me.” Her eyes are so big, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her shiver quite like she’s shivering now.
“I’m scared too.” I say, and then I turn.
Her gasp fills my little bathroom, and I know something is so wrong. “Jess?” She snaps a picture behind me, the flash is shockingly bright and unexpected.
“Turn around, you’ve got to see this,” she says.
I turn and she’s holding her phone out to me in shaking hands. There’s a one emblazoned on my lower back in a single, big, bold letter. The skin around it is all red and inflamed. I raise my wrist to the light and it still says 66.
“Jess, what time is it?”
“It’s late, why?”
“The exact time, what is it?”
She looks at her phone, “11:58 PM, I didn’t get your text until late.”
“11:58,” I say, and when I look her I can see the exact moment she realizes, and the color drains out of her face.
Jess wraps her arms me, buries her face in my shoulder, and says “I’m going to hold you for the next two minutes, and there’s you can do about it.”
We pass the two longest minutes of our lives like that, blotches ink still racing around under skin, her face in my shoulder, planting tender kisses on me every few moments, my back burning where a number that should not be has written itself into me.
11:59, I’m counting the seconds.
Midnight.
Nothing changes.
“Jess,” I say. She leans back, still holding onto me and I kiss her so deep, my fears about the ink and her touch temporarily forgotten. When we break the kiss we’re both gasping for air and there’s a fire in her eyes that does something to me. But then I look down at my wrist and it reads 65, and she sees too and whimpers and the fire goes. “I’m going to turn around now,” I say, “I need you to tell me if it changed.”
She nods and I turn, and she doesn’t even need to say anything because a moment later I feel her finger tracing a zero on my back.
And then in the apartment next door, a man starts screaming.
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mv472p/wp_yesterday_i_wrote_the_number_69_on_my_wrist_as/gvah3az?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2021-04-20T20:28:28 | 2021-04-20T19:43:52 | 253 | 76 |
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either.
Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it. | I had an excellent death. After that it was all downhill.
My death happened on one of those rare sunny January days on Vancouver Island when the omnipresent gray clouds part and the outdoors beckons. Jane and I had taken a leisurely drive from our “luxury senior living” (tiny) apartment in Nanaimo out to Lake Cowichan. Vancouver Island is huge and astonishingly gorgeous, and though Jane and I were well past our mountain-climbing and kayaking days, we still loved being out in the wild green misty majesty of the place as much as we did when we first moved here decades ago. We’d packed a cold lunch in a soft-sided cooler: some fruit, a hunk of cheese, half a baguette, some sliced hard salami, a couple of cans of Lucky lager. We parked at a scenic overlook and sat on the tailgate of the truck, nibbling cheese and drinking our beers and watching wind ruffle sparkling water. It was blustery but the sun was warm. Neither of us said much. After thirty years of marriage, we didn’t need to. We were simply happy together, being there in that place that we loved.
Then I had a stroke and died.
I remember a moment of disorientation, a stab of blinding pain, holding out a hand to catch myself, falling. I remember the puzzled look on Jane’s face, her beautiful face, framed by her white hair, looking down at me. I drank in my last sight of her and then I was gone.
I didn’t have time for regret. I didn’t have time to stammer out some stupid last words. I had had no fear of death, and my death was not fearful. My death was an entrance into absence, a return to the vastness of where I was before I was born. I died, and Jane was there, and loving Jane had been my life, and in my death I loved her still, and in that final moment nothing else mattered. My time came and I was sad, yes, who wouldn’t be? But I was ready.
At least that’s what I thought.
Boy was I wrong. Turns out the afterlife is even more stupid than you’d think.
I awoke lying flat on my back on what felt like a rough canvas pad on a wooden pallet. I was in a small dim windowless room that smelled of wood smoke and damp and the funk of unwashed bodies. A young woman in a dingy beige shift was wringing out a rag in a wooden bucket. She smiled when she saw me startle awake.
“Wha—“, I started to say, but she shushed me with a finger to her lips. She pointed to a hand-painted sign over the arched stone doorway. “ARRIVALS”, it read, with an arrow pointing straight up.
Not knowing what else to do, I stood up and examined myself. I was wearing a thin, mid-sleeved, coarsely-woven pajama-ish shirt much like a kurta. I didn’t have a headache. That was odd, for a man whose last salient memory was death by cerebral hemorrhage. And my body felt... different. It was mine but not familiarly mine.
I looked at my forearms. The scar from where I’d had my right arm surgically repaired after a car wreck in my thirties was gone. But the mole on my left arm that I kept meaning to have examined by a dermatologist was still there.
I looked down at my bare feet. My left big toe had a toenail again. I hadn’t had a toenail there since I’d had it removed as a teenager because it grew funny and the persistent ingrown nail had made walking excruciating.
Teenager.
Wait.
Holy shit.
I was young again.
I did a deep knee bend. Holy shit. It was easy. Holy shit. It didn’t hurt. Holy shit. My knees didn’t even creak. My hands flew to my head and hallelujah this must be heaven because hair to which I’d said a sad farewell in my late twenties was back, jet black and thicker than ever.
“Ok, so... what the actual fuck?” I said aloud slowly, and it was the voice of a younger me, a voice unscarred by reckless decades of cigarettes and bourbon, unravaged by time.
The young woman gestured down the hallway. She was still smiling, but her eyes had hardened and her message was clear: shoo.
I shooed.
Me in my new young body, walking down what was looking increasingly like an underground passageway in some kind of old castle, maybe? There were torches sputtering in metal sconces spaced at intervals along the walls, but no other doorways. I felt vaguely encouraged to be heading in the direction the smoke was drifting.
Death was getting weirder all the time.
“Jane, I wish you could see this,” I said to the universe at large. “On second thought, I don’t, because then you’d be dead too, and maybe this is hell and my dumb ass just hasn’t figured that out yet.”
I paused. “But I got my hair back. So it can’t be all bad, right, dear?”
The universe at large didn’t respond, so I kept following the torches. The hallway seemed to be gradually curving upward.
I paused again, considering. Who puts a single tiny room at the end of a long-ass underground hallway? How long had I been dead? Or was I still dying, and all of this was just a strange but soothing narrative concocted by my dying mind?
I pinched myself. Ow. Not sure what that proved. Ok.
I wondered what would happen if I stopped walking. Would I get hungry? Thirsty? Die of dehydration in this endless torchlit corridor? Can you die after dying already? And if so, where do you go, when you’ve died after death? Where was I now?
This was not helping. I trudged on. | FADE IN:
EXT. A VERDANT GARDEN - DAY
*A man slowly fades into view amidst countless varieties of flowers and plants. This is DAVE. He glances around at his surroundings for a moment, appearing equal parts confused and suspicious.*
**DAVE:** Hello?
**ANGEL:** (*O.S.*) Greetings, David.
*Dave jumps slightly as a figure materializes in front of him. This is ANGEL. His age is unclear, and there is no visible hair anywhere on his body. He wears a white robe with intricate patterns of gold on its hems.*
**DAVE:** Who are you?
**ANGEL:** My name is Angel. I am a... concierge, for lack of a better word.
**DAVE:** Ah, well, I'll have a glass of white Zinfandel, then.
*Angel blinks once.*
**ANGEL:** Excuse me?
**DAVE:** You give out the wine, right? Isn't that what a concierge does?
**ANGEL:** That is a sommelier.
**DAVE:** Oh, right, sorry. You clean up the hallways.
**ANGEL:** That is a custodian! I am a guide! I am here to reassure you!
**DAVE:** Well, you're doing a bad job of it. Do you know what would *really* reassure me?
*A glass of pink wine appears in Dave's hand. This apparently surprises Angel.*
**ANGEL:** Where did you get that?!
**DAVE:** It was in the boat.
**ANGEL:** What b...
*Before Angel can finish, a weather-beaten (but still apparently sturdy) rowboat appears between him and Dave.*
**DAVE:** That one.
*Angel begins angrily waving his hands around.*
**ANGEL:** Stop that! Stop that at once!
*The boat and the wine both disappear as though they had been made of smoke.*
**ANGEL:** You are not meant to do that!
**DAVE:** Why not? This is Heaven, isn't it? Can't I do whatever I want?
**ANGEL:** No! Heaven is not real!
**DAVE:** Oh. Well, now I *definitely* need some wine.
*The white Zinfandel reappears in Dave's hand. He takes a casual sip as he surveys his surroundings. Angel watches this with barely concealed contempt.*
**ANGEL:** You are doing everything out of order.
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, I've been dead before. I know the drill. I am dead, right? That seagull killed me?
*Angel's irritated expression slowly adopts a guardedly curious aspect.*
**ANGEL:** "Seagull?" No, that is not relevant. Do you truly understand where you are?
**DAVE:** I mean, honestly? No. I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** Then I shall explain. When you were alive, you would experience visions while you slept.
**DAVE:** Aha! It was the cheese that did me in, then!
**ANGEL:** "Cheese?"
**DAVE:** Yeah, man. Steve said that it had gone off, but *I* said that it would just give me crazy...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) This is also not relevant! When you died, you fully entered those visions!
*Angel gestures to the plants around them.*
**ANGEL:** (*CONT'D*) This is the vestibule of the world that you would visit as you slumbered.
**DAVE:** I don't see a toilet.
**ANGEL:** Not "lavatory!" *Vestibule!* Threshold!
**DAVE:** Prosit!
**ANGEL:** ... What?
**DAVE:** It's Swedish for "gesundheit."
*A noise not unlike that of a creaking hinge escapes Angel's lips.*
**ANGEL:** Fine! I shall be very concise! You died! You entered the world you had only glimpsed!
**DAVE:** Yeah, and the rules are different here.
*With a clatter of wooden impacts and bouncing oars, the rowboat reappears.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) See?
**ANGEL:** You do not seem concerned with *following* those rules.
**DAVE:** Eh, what's the point? I'm just going to die here, too, and then it's back to the other place.
*Angel's mouth opens and closes several times.*
**ANGEL:** You *do* understand! You have indeed been dead!
**DAVE:** Well, yeah. I mean, I was pretty sure that it was all make-believe, but...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) How have you remembered?!
*Dave shrugs.*
**DAVE:** I didn't. Like I said, I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** You are making very little sense, David.
**DAVE:** Isn't that kind of the point?
**ANGEL:** I am becoming both frustrated and confused.
**DAVE:** Ah. New experience for you?
**ANGEL:** I do not like it. How can you know these things?
**DAVE:** It was a nursery rhyme.
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**ANGEL:** What?
**DAVE:** It's all recursive, right? Only, like, inside out.
**ANGEL:** *What?!*
**DAVE:** You die there, you go here, you die here, you go there, and so on.
**ANGEL:** How does any of that relate to a nursery rhyme?!
*Dave shrugs and sits down in the rowboat. As Angel watches him, it is revealed that there is a narrow river running between the two of them.*
**DAVE:** Hey, do you want a glass? I found an extra one.
**ANGEL:** No! I insist that you answer! How did a nursery rhyme give you such wisdom?!
*Angel watches as Dave begins rowing the boat with one hand, using the other to drink his (seemingly bottomless) glass of wine.*
**DAVE:** Life is but a... bah, you get it.
FADE TO BLACK. | 2021-07-01T16:30:32 | 2021-07-01T13:42:41 | 99 | 42 |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | I don't say anything. Just nod and gesture to a place by the dying flames.
The thing drags itself out of the dark using two long pale arms, probably strong enough to rip me in two. It's draped with scrapes of burlap, denim, silk, binding a shell of garbage and waste. It slowly crawls towards the fire, the earth torn up at the passing as the light glints off plastic and metal edges.
"I find myself surprised," it says, its voice somewhere between nails on a chalkboard and someone who hasn't drunk water in days, "you are the first to not fear me. Did you think I'd not harm you?"
"I gave ye succor. Heat, food, drink, it all counts. You are bound to me and mine and I to you. Host and guest."
"*ʃe̞t kænənekt,*" it says in a tongue that's old as the trees surrounding my moldy cabin, "you know of Old Ways, human. The way of bone and blood and wildflowers."
"Got ma moments. More binding to ye then me," I say, "still, I'll follow them if you do."
"An accord is struck," said the thing as it moved closer to the fire. It might've been beautiful once. Now it dragged a cloak of trash with it like a slug, coated with a layer of slime, dirt, and oil for good measure.
"What's one of yer kind doing here? I thought you preferred the deeper woods."
"I wander. Especially on beautiful nights like this one."
I think I see glimmer of gossamer wings through a whole in the cloak of refuse. It's got a purplish or blue sheen to it.
"I see that," I say - there's not much more as we watch the last few embers die down and listen to the crickets sing. The thing crosses its pale, clammy arms, and breathes slowly as it stares into the flames. When they've finally gone dark, I'm left with the thing to be solely illuminated through starlight. .
"I was just thinking..." it says with a chuckle.
"Hm?"
"It's rather ironic. All we had to do was wait in the end. There were so many that were convinced that humans were unstoppable."
"We were too."
"Evidently."
The nuclear winter put us back in our place real quick, I think but do not add.
"Avarice and arrogance are not a recipe for sustainable long term goals," I say.
"You're a Hunter, aren't you? I smelt the blood a mile way."
I say nothing - there's no reason to deny or affirm it either way. Fortunately for me, the pager in my pocket goes off. Two creatures. Shoot to kill."
"I'll be back soon. Feel free to stay by what remains," I say as I pick a rifle and move out into the trees.
It doesn't take me long to find them - they're in woods I know like the back of my hands, including what's left of the old trail system. I aim, drop the first - the second wee beastie falls as well after manging to scream for a baby.
There's no blood or guts on me, just silence and red-stained snow as I walk back. I like it that way - clean, professional, precise. I might not do the work with great enthusiasm , but I do do it well.
And when I come back from the hunt, I see hat the load on the elf has gotten a little smaller.
&#x200B;
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium*.* | 2022-01-06T02:41:12 | 2022-01-06T02:08:24 | 60 | 20 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades.
He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift.
"My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve."
Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep.
The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well.
The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news.
"Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord."
Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -"
"He is only human, sir," Revelan said.
Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight."
It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers.
*"Dear Derthezar,*
*I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close.*
*Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice.*
*Yours sincerely,*
*Bob Donovan*
Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -"
Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?"
Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation."
***
Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing.
"Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir."
"All right," Bob said, scribbling his name.
Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop.
"What...what is it?" Bob stammered.
"Anybody's guess, pal."
It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate.
Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe.
Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side:
*From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order*
***
When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent.
"Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day." | *DING*
I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop
In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us
She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned
"Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on *cough* one of my beauties" I say with a wink
"Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter
"So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory *cough* foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort *cough* isn't a top priority?"
"That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume
I take a subtle sniff or try to as *COUgh* the perfume triggers another couhing fit
"Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its *cough* seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a *cough* growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is *cough* worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't *cough* leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone
"Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes
"Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point?
"Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring
"Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses
"We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye
"I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck
Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that.
"Yes" | 2022-05-31T11:00:02 | 2022-05-31T10:21:18 | 359 | 230 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | We knew humans were weak. We knew they were kind. We knew they avoided every conflict through negotiation and diplomacy. We knew humanity had not wage war in over a thousand years. We knew humanity was one of the oldest civilization's, and yet, had the weakest army.
We did not know their history. We did not know of the thousands lost at the hands of their own kin. We did not know the humans had learned what the universe was only just discovering.
We learned.
The Yuka's were a violent species. War was in their blood, and their rejoice in spilling their enemies. The union had keep them away from most inhabitated planets for centuries. And then...And then the Yuka's thought they had founded the weak link.
They attack Earth.
Earth was not ready. Earth burned (billions died. The oceans and forest humans had so painstakingly reconstruct from their ancestor's sins turned to ashes)
(I have not heard a scream with such pain from my human friend before. I could do nothing but watch as she fell to her knees. I pitied her.)
Humans were brought close to extinction, with only those in the colonies surviving. We were willing, of course, to take every refuge; they were, after all, a peaceful species, they couldn't possibly defend themselves.
None came.
They took what little ships they still had. They brought their children to the union, and declared war. None of them smiled.
We thought it was suicide.
We were right.
The Yoka's had signed their death warrant.
Humanity, they discovered, was not kind.
Humans, they learned, had war in the souls (for how else can you explain the grieving mother that took down a warship by herself. The lone soldier that decimated three planet colonies. The army that had raised from the ashes of their pain).
When the Yoka's had only their original planet left, they plead for mercy. They plead for their children. They beg for diplomacy.
And, like Earth, they burned.
( "There's no one left" I didn't say, when I saw my friend again.
"You killed thousands" I didn't scream, when she smiled at me.
"You are a monster" I didn't murmur, when I look into her eyes (she knew)
"What now?" I ask, instead. She leaned against me, looking at the stars. I try to ignore the knowledge of the amount of blood in those thin arms.
"We build up again." She smiled. "We, humans, are good at that". ) | "To think those simians would have enough political leverage for such demands" - The capital ships of both warring species faced in sandspace, a particularly empty region of the galaxy where war ultimatums would go to be resolved. The lack of large masses and their gravity fields meant all wreckage of ancient and recent battles alike, floated directionless, reflecting the light of distant stars, like white crystals on a beach.
"As law demands, our government and its leader stand present, as do our finest warriors who soon shall decide the fate of our species" - The human captain opens dialogue. Traditionally, it is the side that offers the ultimatum that initiates conversations, allowing for heckling from the opposing side, effectively acting as foreplay for final war.
"You hairy mongrels are little disconnected from your tribals ways. Your guerrilla war was dishonourable albeit annoying, but now you prove yourselves ignorantly incompetent, you wish for peace so fervently you'd throw away any chance of victory. DEPLOY THE FLEET" - Tens of thousands of glistening ships occupied the space between the capital monstrosities, like ants from a tree. Some humans in the ship shuddered at the sight of the fighters, many had memories of a single enemy fighter handling a full airport at the colonies. To them, humans were peasants, no culture of war, instead choosing philosophy and theology instead of training and bellic enhancement - "Your pursuit for diplomacy is a façade for your weakness, present your warriors, let us end this"
The human capital ship hummed and oppened all ports. After an uncanny delay the fighters exited and clumped together in front of the flagship.
"srepolretni uoy evigrof ew" - The Captains ghostly voice echoes in an empathetic tone. The communication channel had been left open, leaving the aliens to hear humans chanting gibberish. The rhythm of their voices blends with the vibrations of the capital ship, clearly increasing power output.
"Using your soldiers to shield a retreat? And what makes you think you're in a position to forgive... how deep must the peaceful ways run in your genome. Even forfeiting common tongue to buy yourselves time. Pitiful" - The alien fighters dart out intent on stopping the escaping ship. Precise and fatal strikes are intercepted by the massive wall of human vessels. The fighters manage to punch holes in the fuselage when all the flagships' ports light up simultaneously, time warps, and space contracts. The capital ships collide with deafening force, blasting all matter in sandspace out of existence. The Captain opens the comms and speaks. On Earth, the broadcast of the ultimatum shows the ships and matter spawning backwards out of a supernova and blip into nothing. The final message is heard from the aliens to which the anchor replies: "No, we CHOOSE peace". | 2022-08-05T17:13:31 | 2022-08-05T16:23:55 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | "Yes? You at the back?"
"I'm afraid you're entirely wrong, sir."
"Student! Do you cast doubts upon the incredible research of the recent expedition to Earth?"
"Yes, sir, I do. See, I am human myself, and therefore I am in a position to know that much of what you have presented is factually incorrect."
"If you are going to impugn the research abilities of my crew, I suppose it is better to do so specifically. Go ahead."
"To begin with, sir, it is false that humans have never had a war. We have had several throughout our history; indeed, there are three ongoing as we speak."
"Ah, yes. The researchers made a note here. Class, please take note that humans would consider a 'food fight' to be a war if it gets large enough."
"What? No - some of those included nuclear weapons!"
"Bear in mind, class, that the only 'nuclear weapons' that humanity have access to are microwaves, which are used to 'nuke' foodstuffs before fighting."
"And thousands of people slain!"
"Bear in mind, class, that a human can be considered to have been 'slain' by a particularly well-worded insult. The human remains quite healthy afterwards."
"Not that sort of slain!" | "Bullshit," I grunted.
"Language, Steven!", the teacher retorted.
"No, it's bullshit. For being the so-called 'Librarian' race, you got literally everything wrong. Humans were never peaceful. We've been trying to kill each other since the dawn of time."
"Are you seriously trying to contr-"
"YES, I am. Now shut up and be quiet."
It was a narrative I'd heard a million times. About how humanity was a species of kindness and diplomacy. About how our home was a utopia. About how, even when other races succumbed to hatred, we stood strong.
We only stood strong because of sheer *luck.*
"Have you not understood why I've been so cold and aggressive towards you? Have you not understood why Sol is barred off? Earth is a wasteland, a grave. We polluted it so hard it never recovered. We've had four world wars and three interstellar wars between ourselves. War only paused because we developed terrifying weapons of mass destruction that could wipe out our entire species."
The class stood silent, in shock.
"We fired them, once. We only know the past because of an old data drive for Wikipedia we kept sacred. Even after the nukes were launched we kept trying to kill each other. It took trillions of hot-blooded peacekeepers to bring humanity together and send us to Alpha Centauri. We vowed away violence between ourselves and it put us here, and now you choose to bury our violent past."
It defines us, and can never be forgotten. The stairway to heaven is paved with blood. | 2022-10-17T04:40:25 | 2022-10-17T01:57:24 | 2,063 | 658 |
[WP] Katy t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m, looks back over what she wrote ten years later
Here is the original copy pasta
hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!
DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!
love and waffles,
t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m | "Love and Waffles - A memoir".
I clicked print and waited as the mechanical shuffling ejected my life's work. A story that needed to be told.
It was quite random that I should end up here, writing this memoir. Of course, I had always considered my life to be fairly random. I lost all my money playing Roulette. This memoir was my last chance; a crap shoot, if you will.
My writing has come a long way. I'd gained internet infamy with that first work of random genius, and I ran with the momentum. My memoir is a jumbled mess of Invader Zim references and homoerotic love affairs, but it was mine.
I grabbed the still-warm manuscript and headed to my car. I had a meeting with my editor. He was going to make me famous again. He's random too, of course. | Katy's heart ached. Feelings of sadness and pain as she remembered her care free youth, full of unexpected and unpredictable wonder. All gone now. Only the pain remained. It was clear.
_____
"Single gun shot wound to the chest. Pistol lying on her stomach..."
^(*shutter click*)
"I've got a bag, pass it here."
^(*shutter click*)
"One casing too."
^(*shutter click*)
"The door's fine. Doesn't look jimmied."
"... GSR all over her chest and hands..."
^(*shutter click*)
"Windows are shut and locked."
"... We'll need the ME to confirm but I think it's pretty clear... Women... even in suicide they worry 'bout their looks.
^(*shutter click*)
"Huh?"
"She shot herself in the heart. Men tend to shoot themselves in the head. Women don't."
"..."
"Yea, I've had enough of this too. I'm going back to get started on the paper work, coming?
_____
The white lines passed through Katy's headlights one at a time. There was a still hole in her heart, but at least she got to share it with the one she loved. Mexico is lovely this time of year. | 2014-11-19T09:23:35 | 2014-11-19T09:04:44 | 593 | 31 |
[WP] Katy t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m, looks back over what she wrote ten years later
Here is the original copy pasta
hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!
DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!
love and waffles,
t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m | "Oh my god, noooooo," Katy said, burying her face in her hands. She was blushing, but smiling through her embarrasment.
"So you can see the kind of girl she was back then," Maurissa continued, gesturing at the screen behind her, over the laughter of the assembled families. "Don't worry, though... her spelling and taste in TV shows has improved vastly since then."
"Hey, no, Invader Zim was awesome!" said Dan.
"Whatever, bro. But ten years ago, Katy the penguin of doom would never have known where she was going to go - through breakups and makeups and school and jobs, all the way to this point. She didn't have a clue she would be sitting here, with her friends and family, ready to celebrate her new life together with the person she loves. Congratulations, Katy - be happy, and stay random!" | Katy's heart ached. Feelings of sadness and pain as she remembered her care free youth, full of unexpected and unpredictable wonder. All gone now. Only the pain remained. It was clear.
_____
"Single gun shot wound to the chest. Pistol lying on her stomach..."
^(*shutter click*)
"I've got a bag, pass it here."
^(*shutter click*)
"One casing too."
^(*shutter click*)
"The door's fine. Doesn't look jimmied."
"... GSR all over her chest and hands..."
^(*shutter click*)
"Windows are shut and locked."
"... We'll need the ME to confirm but I think it's pretty clear... Women... even in suicide they worry 'bout their looks.
^(*shutter click*)
"Huh?"
"She shot herself in the heart. Men tend to shoot themselves in the head. Women don't."
"..."
"Yea, I've had enough of this too. I'm going back to get started on the paper work, coming?
_____
The white lines passed through Katy's headlights one at a time. There was a still hole in her heart, but at least she got to share it with the one she loved. Mexico is lovely this time of year. | 2014-11-19T10:04:44 | 2014-11-19T09:04:44 | 69 | 31 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | **10 seconds.**
My dad was able to fly.
**9 seconds.**
My mum had the ability to heal wounds.
**8 seconds.**
On your 18th birthday, you recieve a superpower, my birthdy is in
**7 seconds.**
It is something you just know. "Like a switch in your mind" my dad always says.
**6 seconds.**
My mum and dad look at me, just as curious as I am.
**5 seconds.**
I hope it's not something useless, like Eva, my sister.
**4 seconds.**
She has the ability to open doors from a very long distance.
**3 seconds.**
Only open them, she can't close them.
**2 seconds**
A lot of scientists did research, but awesome superpowers vs. lame superpowers did not seem to run in the family.
**1 second**
I close my eyes.
**0 seconds.**
The ability to walk halfway through walls.
-------------------
**wow Gold!** i never expected to get gold, so thank you very much anon! You are amazing! Thank you :) | Everybody knows how it happens. The day you turn 18 you go to "The Centre" and they give you an injection. This injection mutates the cells in your body and your mind, allowing for a further 30% control of an individuals brain. It causes the individual to attain what we call "superpowers". The only problem is not knowing the superpower you are going to get.
Four days ago i received this injection and it was the worst experience of my life. On the first day everyone gets bed-ridden as the injected cells fight with the white blood cells for control of the body. The second day you spend by the toilet, rejecting whatever food and drink you managed to eat previously. On the third day..... well the third day is the day of delirium. The world spins and the walls melt. Those who go through it akin it to being on LSD, only without paying the price for it!
Just like everyone else before me, I had to go through these phases of pain. But I finally received my power. It may be the worst power on the planet...but its mine. When I first got my power my mother said it was the best power on the planet (mums! Am I right?). So now all I have to look forward to is tomorrow, another day of using my powers towards attaining peace for mankind. Another day of being able to write with my fingertips! | 2015-03-28T05:36:19 | 2015-03-28T05:14:22 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | 2015-05-16T10:50:43 | 2015-05-16T09:44:44 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. | "Humans?
Fragile, aren't they."
The reply was icy to say the least, definitely a lot colder than Sandra was expecting, but then again she didn't know what she was expecting to begin with.
She had been with Tom for almost a month now, a month and a week if you include time since he was purchased. She spent a full week customizing her new
robot boyfriend, tweaking aesthetics, changing codes. Hair color, height, voice, tempo, strength of emotional simulations, sexual preferences, the whole nine yards. And for the past month it had been a dream, she would get home from her nine to five and arrive to food already made, always something great, maybe even one of her favorites; Tom had gotten exceptionally good at Japanese style cuisine since she installed the chefs pack about three weeks ago.
Sandra and Tom sat on a couch watching TV, a fairly average Friday night for the two. She sat with her legs curled on the couch, head on Toms shoulder, with a blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Tom was wearing what he always wore, being a machine he never really got dirty, or left the house even. She was laying her head on his chest hearing the artificial heartbeat inside when she asked the question. She was feeling the warmth coming off of him. Both add on features that cost quite a bit, but made the experience so much more real and enjoyable.
It seemed like an innocent thing to ask, "You really put my past boyfriends to shame, I wonder why they always had so many problems, it really isn't that hard to be a good person is it? What's so wrong with humans?".
The reply she recieved made her sit up and look right at him. "Fragile? That's not what I meant, some of these guys were real hard asses. I wouldn't consider them fragile at all!". Tom smiled, perfect pearly whites peaked from behind his lips. He sighed but kept watching the TV, his stare distant but friendly.
"Sandra, as I have existed for a month, I have heard you say lots of things. And I have listened. I have heard you talk about other humans, and for other humans. the time Sarah spilled her coffee and it got on your shoes, you got angry because it took you hours of looking to find just the right ones. The time Charles, from work, made a distasteful comment towards your political preferences, saying that maybe the conservative party has some views to be entertained, and you mocked him with disbelief. The time that you told me, that before I was around, nothing seemed right."
Tom looked at Sandra, who was now intently listening. She was glad she chose the medium deep voice instead of the very, it was much more soothing.
"How I am the pillar in your life that holds up the world, I am the Atlas of your universe, and that without me your world would come crashing down."
And the poetry pack, what a purchase! Sometimes Tom just amazed her, she knew that a guy like this couldn't possibly exist.
"I am not a person to you Sandra, I was never meant to be. I am a constant in a world of variables, a shelter in a storm that you have huddled under because you don't want to deal with the rain. While others dance in it, feeling it against their skin, you take solace in knowing you are safe. So yes Sandra, humans are fragile, that's why they need THINGS. There are so few of you who are strong, you do exist, but not because you were made is such a manner, but because they have changed to be that way."
There was a slight pause, as if he was thinking, such a small detail in his programming, but it made such a difference. But she knew he already queued up what he was going to say, the little things really made the purchase worthwhile.
"I was made that way. But I'll never change, the storm will never end, and you just might never feel the rain."
Tom stroked her face, in an attempt to comfort.
"Now how about I cook up some of your favorite, Japanese!"
Authors note:
First word prompt really, I hope you guys enjoy. Any critique, positive or negative is welcome, thanks fir reading!
| 2015-05-23T10:11:37 | 2015-05-23T09:40:59 | 1,259 | 276 |
[WP] James Bond (MI5) was suave, Jason Bourne (CIA) was professional, and Jack Bauer (FBI) was aggressive. Describe the 4th JB. | The cool James Bond never missed an opportunity with the ladies. The Sly Jason Bourne was efficient and calculated with his objectives. And the rough and tough Jack Bauer knew how to crack some heads when he needed to.
But Jack Black took to music instead of his guns, and sang sweet melodies to soothe even his greatest foes. Music was his weapon. |
The suave James Bond foiled criminals and evildoers worldwide.
The professional Jason Bourne struggled as an amnesiac rogue.
The aggressive Jack Bauer prevented terrorists from destroying the world in short time frames.
The foremost and fourth JB hynoptizes teenage girls and gathers a large following who obsess over his saggy pants and skeptically-procured nudes. His mediocre music is culturally sensational and he fades in and out of public attention.
His name is Justin Bieber.
----
*Read my novel at /r/penofigilix* | 2015-11-04T06:50:51 | 2015-11-04T06:43:23 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat. | I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist. | 2016-02-22T09:42:54 | 2016-02-22T09:31:34 | 578 | 15 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed. | I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist. | 2016-02-22T09:49:34 | 2016-02-22T09:31:34 | 541 | 15 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | "Sancho! Onward to the lair of the despicable dragon!"
"*Jefe, that's a windmill!*"
"Nonsense! We shall skewer it's heart and make La Mancha safe once more!"
**Sancho Panza**, always one for a humorous sight, let his sire **Don Quixote, Knight of the Woeful Countenance**, ride off to do battle with the town windmill. | I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist. | 2016-02-22T10:00:16 | 2016-02-22T09:31:34 | 82 | 15 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | *Ends hibernation*
*walks into office*
Officer worker 1: HOLY SHIT ANOTHER BEAR!!!
Officer worker 2: Don't worry, I decided I needed to bring a gun to work. It's so weird that 89 other bears have just walked into our office.
**bang bang**
*feels pain, eyes get heavy*
Officer worker 2: WOO! I got number 90! | I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist. | 2016-02-22T11:27:02 | 2016-02-22T09:31:34 | 68 | 15 |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | This one came in from the top.
Level Presidential, and as soon as it came to me, I knew exactly that I was the only one that could do it any justice.
I have a very specific set of skills, skills that I have acquired over a *very long* career. No one I knew was capable of the acts I had committed, and being the bottom feeder I was, I knew that many had tried and failed.
This was a last ditch request. There would be no coming back from this. The payout was immense though, and transferable too. I could put all my kids through college ten times over and still have enough to buy a mansion or two. Whoever filed this, really hated the orange man.
I'd lived a good life. There were records of my exploits all over the place, I would be remembered as the best there was at what I do. I hit 'accept'.
Setting up the livestream was easy. Finding a place to hang the rope was a bit harder, but once everything was in place I rose to the occasion and performed admirably - penetrating my own anus as I hung myself from the ceiling, twitching happily for a good ten seconds before I went limp.
The laptop bleeped, "Request fulfilled: Fuck Yourself and Die." | It hadn’t always been this difficult. At first, when we still had our denial at least somewhat active, people knew on some level what could reasonably be asked for from someone. Many still have this understanding, but not because they have the ability to deny, but because they know the feeling of fear associated with being unable to deny.
Some don’t know this feeling at all. These were the first ones to recognize the power they now had over others.
I work as a volunteer in this society, I intervene when a person comes to me with a request they themselves, for whatever reason, are not comfortable fulfulling. Not because it pays well, because it usually doesn’t. I do it to help alleviate the fear a person feels when they accept a request, knowing that one request leads to more, and suddenly you’re no longer the person you were, and you’ve become just an object that fulfills the requests of others.
The only danger associated with my job is not knowing how far down this request has come. How many denials or referrals did this request take before it got to me? And who did it come from, and more importantly, why? There are rumors of corruption in the legal system. There are exemptions for volunteers when a “bad” request is made, but this has also caused instability for the jobs of those working in law enforcement. When their pay is based on fulfiling a quota of catching criminals, the volunteer is a danger to their way of life.
| 2016-04-03T12:05:47 | 2016-04-03T11:52:19 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | It began with a general unease that settled over the world. A quicker walk, a look over the shoulder, a perpetual frown at the corner of the mouth; it manifested and reflected between people, multiplying almost to the point of paranoia.
Then the animals stopped. It was the only proper way to describe the phenomenon that swept indiscriminately across species. First insects, then birds, then larger animals would simply lay down and refuse to move except to let out some heartbreaking noise as though they were grieving.
Out of the ensuing panic, a term for this unprecedented event was created: Heartbreak Syndrome. For, it was theorized by some biologist in a moment of pessimistic frustration, the Earth’s heart has stopped, and the world is in mourning.
In the end, Heartbreak brought humanity to its knees, and did not allow it to rise.
| 2016-04-18T20:39:35 | 2016-04-18T14:24:04 | 164 | 23 |
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