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] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | There's been a hundred or more days
Since summer vacation,
For our sister, abruptly ended.
And the suffering of our mom
Is our inspiration
For finding a new way to mend it.
Like maybe...
Building a tall crypt;
Or spending our money
On people claiming psychic power.
Summoning something that shouldn't exist (Hey!)
To bring our sister back her final hour.
Holding a noisy wake,
Creating nanobots
To inject into Candace's brain (it's over here)
Finding an elixir
To resurrect our sister
Is starting to drive us insane (Phineas?!)
As you can see,
There's a whole lot of stuff to do
To bring her soul back from the fall (C'mon scaredy)
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Are gonna do them all
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Will hold a seance in the hall (... ... .)
| The rain fell hard against their hunched backs, as the brothers peered down at the polished wooden surface of Candace's coffin. Phineas turned his horribly misshapen head to face his brother. He could see a pain in the boy's face, a pain that cut deep into his soul. No rain, no matter how hard, would clear the pain away.
"Ferb.." He put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder, pulling him around to meet his own gaze. "I know what we are going to do today."
From his pocket, he withdrew their last moment. Ferb's lifeless eyes began to fill with tears as he saw what his brother offered, the path that they would take. He took one of the pills from Phineas's hand, before the rain could destroy the coating.
"What then, would we do tomorrow, should there be anything beyond the end?" Ferb asked Phineas as his tears joined the rain streaming down his face.
"We'll meet tomorrow together, if that is where our journey takes us." Said Phineas, as he placed the pill beneath his tongue.
===================================================
Edit: Honestly hurt by the downvote. | 2016-07-05T19:44:28 | 2016-07-05T17:12:17 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] After hundreds of years of sending messages into the sky, humanity receives its first message from intelligent life. Decoded it simply says, "Be quiet before they find you." | "Commander Scott, I have confirmation from the UNC Security Council, the Pan-European Parliament and the Chinese Empire - we believe beyond all doubt that the signal and message are genuine," reported the Fleet Admiral.
"Very well. And they are in accord? The message is a warning?"
"Yes, sir. It is a very clear statement, we are to cease all transmissions as have the other sentient civillisations. All we could translate is that they - we can't translate the name yet - are returning. They have been seen in the region of the constellation Taurus."
"What do we know of them?"
"Only that they are very old, very feared and the mention of them is enough to close down interstellar communications for fear of attracting their attention."
"Understood. Send word to all Admirals, every ship, to SETI, to the council of communications, to all countries capable of interstellar communications. Aim everything we have at the Pleiades nebula. Full power, all bands, repeat it 24/7."
"What is our message, sir?"
"Come to Earth if you dare. The Humans are ready." | "Idiots!" Zebin exclaimed as he received yet one more channel of communication from the Earth. Twenty years ago, the ambivalence over whether KIC 8462852 was in actuality an "alien mega structure" had finally come to an end after nearly 200 years of joint scientific endeavour by the leading lieges of the Earth. Since then, humanity had been trying with fervor to try and communicate with the star classified as a Dyson Sphere around 1480 light years away hoping that the far advanced civilisation might be generous enough to show the earthlings a way to solve their own energy crisis.
Zebin had only spent 11 years on earth after his birth during which he was classified as a "type a21" prodigy. This meant he had to spend the rest of his life on one of the earth's artificial satellites leading a team of scientists discovering ever new methods of far-reaching communications and building and deploying systems of carrying them out.
Zebin's genius was only surpassed by his paranoia. He was convinced that the Earthlings were only inviting trouble by contacting the distant alien civilisation and was determined to stop it at all costs. At the push of a button, Zebin sent back a message to one of the receiving stations back on Earth which he had painstakingly forged to look alien in origin and easy enough for the dimwits there to decode. "Be quiet before they find you." Now all he had to do was wait and watch if his ploy had succeeded. | 2016-08-07T07:31:44 | 2016-08-07T06:50:08 | 108 | 20 |
[WP] You've died and have woken up in a bright area; there is a man standing before you in white robes. He asks "How was Heaven?" | I feel like I should be disorientated, but I simply feel nothing. I am aware that someone is standing in front of me, but I do not see them with my eyes. I have no eyes at all, but yet I know they are there. More than that, I know what they are wearing. I know what they look like. I can not see, but I can sense their presence. It is quite surreal, as if I am less of a physical being and more of a conscience, free of the confines of a body. Suddenly, the man speaks:
----------------------------------------------------
"How was Heaven?"
-----------------------------------------------------
I am not quite sure what to feel. I first experience a sharp pang of regret, which was then followed by confusion. Where am I? Why am I here? Why am I anywhere? As an atheist, I expected.. well I am not quite sure what I expected when I died. Blackness? Nothingness? My point being, I was certainly not prepared to learn that what I had just left behind was actually heaven. The man patiently waits for my response:
------------------
"Heaven?"
"Yes, how did you enjoy Heaven?"
"...So if that was Heaven, what is this place?"
"We'll get to that, but first answer me; how did you enjoy Heaven?"
"Why am I here, am I in hell?"
"You are exactly where you are and where you are is exactly where you belong. Now, I will ask once more. Did you enjoy Heaven?"
----------------------------
My life flashes before my eyes in a disorientating blur of emotions and memories. Nostalgia hits me like a truck as I think back on my family. My mother's loving face consuming my vision right after my birth. Happiness. What I would discover to be short-lived happiness. My panic as I cowered in the corner of the room, listening to my parents beg for their lives. The sound of gunshots that haunted me for the rest of my life. An instant passes and I was now the one staring down the barrel of a gun, a gun that delivered me to my strange conversation with the man in robes.
--------
"..No, no I did not enjoy "Heaven". In fact, I would be much more likely to brand that life as Hell than I would Heaven."
"Very well. It has been pleasant speaking with you. Goodbye." The man abruptly turns and starts to walk away. I sense him receding and frantically yell after him, "Wait! What do I do now?"
He turns and I feel him intensely staring at me. "You start anew and try to find the happiness in this life that you could not find in your last. Only when you realize yourself that life is Heaven, then will you have peace. Until then, you will try once again."
Processing this, I start to feel a burning sensation within me. Some innate sense tells me my time is running short and I ask one final question of the mysterious man in robes: "Again? How many lives have I lived?"
He seems to ever so slightly grin and cryptically responds, "Very few compared to how many some require."
-------------------------------
My mind melts and I know only pain as my eyes adjust to an astonishingly bright light that consumes my new vision.
"It's a baby boy!" | "Ah, shit, we've got another one back."
One minute, I felt my arm being yanked, and the next I was lying on the harsh, unwelcoming steel floor of what appeared to be a surgical lab. Fluorescent lights assaulted my eyes, and I half-expected to be missing a few organs.
I heard a few footsteps against the floor, and glanced up to see the nicest pair of shoes I'd ever laid eyes on. Pure, spotless white, and -- I looked further up -- a perfect match with the white robes of a young gentleman, probably in his late twenties. He held a glass of red wine in his right hand and was flanked on both sides by two gruff construction workers in hard hats.
"So tell me, lad, how was Heaven?"
I coughed and tried to conjure images from the past several minutes. Wings, golden goblets, rainbows, impossibly large waterfalls, singing, wide open fields. Pretty much fit the bill.
"It was...something else," I said.
"Ha! Look at him, practically at a loss for words. How cute. The others have been far more ebullient upon their return." He took a sip of his wine. "So, would you like anything to eat before you go back?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, go back?"
"Well, we can't simply abandon the project after another failure. Each day we make a little progress. You were up there for a good...fifteen minutes."
I watched him sip his red wine and felt a sudden urge to smash the glass over his face. "Where's my family?"
"Well-paid." He finished his wine and placed it on a silver tray held by one of the hard-hat men, then pointed to something behind me. "Why don't you choose a different portal? Whichever one looks most comfortable."
"I'm not going to get a taste of Heaven and then get whisked back to this shithole as soon as I'm getting used to it."
The robe-wearing man chuckled. "Of course you are. The beauty of it is...*I* won't. Try to be more specific with the details next time."
I lunged at him and grabbed him by the throat, maintaining my grip for several seconds before I was thrown to the ground by one of his apparent bodyguards. He wheezed for a few seconds, then whirled around and pinched my cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.
"Earth can get so terribly mundane, Walter. You ought to know. Working in that can-filling factory. A useless job for a human being far past his prime. I've given you a purpose. I'm giving you a glimpse of what lies beyond."
He tightened the pinch. "Money can buy you a lot of things. But it can't cure this...ennui. This feeling that you deserve better than the constraints of a single plane of existence."
I grimaced. "And that makes kidnapping OK."
He sneered, then let go of my cheeks. "A small price to pay for my liberation. And perhaps, if you're lucky, yours."
The hard-hat men dragged me backwards and shoved me into a steel bathtub-like container. I struggled for a while as they strapped me in.
"Administer the sedative," the white-robe man ordered. He sauntered over to my portal, his face obscured by the light above him.
"I will get to Heaven, Walter King. And I will send you there as many times as it takes until it becomes a one-way ticket."
He flipped a switch on the wall next to me, and I was flown to the skies above.
***
/r/GigaWrites | 2016-08-16T00:09:14 | 2016-08-15T21:20:07 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] You live in a world were a zombie apocalypse happened. Civilisation didn't fall to pieces though but has created a task force to defeat the zombies. You are part of it and go on your first mission. That's when you realise that you weren't told everything about "them"... | "Rifle, check. Handgun, check. Ammo, check. Spare water, check," I mumbled to myself, scouring my bag for anything I may have missed. It was my first mission as a special operative in the war against "them." Six months I spent training for this moment. I was ready to take them on.
I heard a voice behind me call my name. "Smith!" Turning around, I saw it was my platoon sergeant.
I stood tall and erect. "Sir, I am prepared (Edit: spelling) for the mission," I told him. "I am awaiting your orders."
He looked at me, puzzled. "No one told you then," he muttered.
"Told me what, sir?" I asked, my voice shakey.
He put his hand on my shoulder, looking me squarely in the eye. "Smith, these last few months you have spent diligently training. You've worked harder than the others. Because of that, I'm assigning you to a very important mission." He began walking and motioned me to follow. We made our way to a chopper and took to the skies.
The sergeant began to speaK again. "There are houses out here that need protection. There are families inside, children, women." He gave me a solemn look. "I need you to defend a home from the next wave of zombies."
I stood firm before him. "Sir, I will do my best!"
"Good," he replied. He landed the chopper in front of a small looking home. The windows were barred, but I could catch a glimpse of scared eyes staring back at me.
"Smith!" I heard the sergeant call out. I made my way towards him, and he led me to the front of the house. We stopped at a huge lawn. Despite its surroundings being in utter shambles, the lush, green lawn was neatly trimmed. "Smith," said the sergeant, "I need you to take these supplies."
"Oh thank---" Before I could finish my sentence, my jaw dropped at the odd sight in front of me. The sergeant had brought a wheel barrow filled with various gardening supplies, a lawn mower, various potted plants, and a few bags of mulch.
He handed me a small trowel. "Use it well, Smith. You're going to save lives today."
"I, whaa...???" I was utterly speechless, and before I could say anything, the helicopter was up in the air.
I examined the supplies I was given. In the wheel barrow was a small note. It read, "The sun's light will supply you with plants. Use the plants to destroy the zombies. You'll know the wave is over when 'he' arrives."
The note made absolutely no sense. "No time in all of my training was it mentioned that we had to garden," I muttered. I turned the note over. There was more on the back, "All that special ops training was just military protocol." Of course. "The real fights starts now. The sunflowers will give you light."
I picked up a sunflower, and I was met with a cute, smiling face. "Even the plants are weird," I muttered. I planted five sunflowers across the lawn, along with five pea plants.
I heard a low moan in the distance, signalling the beginning of the wave. Before the first zombie even appeared, I cocked my and aimed into the distance, ready to fire.
Except, I didn't need to. The zombie was hit with a barrage of peas. In fact, I hardly had to lift a finger. From potato grenades, to pea shooters, to cherry bombs, every plant was equip to take out zombies. Even "him" who the sergeant had warned me of, was no match for these powerful foliage.
When the battle was over, and every zombie had been taken out, I sat on the porch and held my head in my hands. "Who knew that the fate of all humanity would be decided in a battle of plants versus zombies." | "Grandpa, would you tell us a story from when you were in the war?"
My grandkids' were always asking me to tell stories. For years though I held my tongue. They were just too young, they wouldn't understand. But now, they were old enough. I looked to my daughter to see if she felt they were ready. She gave a nod and left the room. Once was enough for her.
"Alright kids gather-round. Now I'm warning you, this isn't a story of adventure or anything like your games based on the war."
They didn't care. They were finally hearing "the story".
"Alright then. The outbreak was back in 2023. Detroit was lost completely within the first week and was followed by Boston. You probably heard all that in your history books though. The survivors hiding out in Boston were eventually able to take back most of the city. The people created a task force to wipe out the creatures. I was one of the first volunteers.
"None of us had any training. We were going off of video games, movies, and whatever experience we had with weapons. We weren't perfect and we lost a few men along the way but we got the job done. We cleared the city block by block each and every day. I remember my first assignment.
"We had found a small supply of military helicopters, the kind with those *huge* Gatling guns on the side, and one of our guys, we called him Spudd, was the helicopter guy for the local news before the outbreak. Well, he took a couple days and practiced flying it. He picked it up real fast. Within the week, we were flying to our first mission location. On the way there, we saw them lurking around so Jeff got on the gun and just started unloading on them. He laughed and laughed while he did, shouting 'This is just like the video games, guys! Wanna try?' Robert took the gun from him and sprayed a bit too. His smile could be seen a mile away.
"We reached the landing zone and hopped out of the chopper. Spudd went to one of the nearby rooftops to wait for our flare. As we moved through the streets, the infected continually ran at us, screaming with bottles and broken broom sticks in their hands. One of them even had a knife. It was that knife that confused us. I had never seen a creature other than a human wield a knife. I'd heard that monkeys did but never anything dumber than a monkey.
"We rounded the next street corner and Todd got hit by a shotgun. They had learned how to use our weapons. It was then that dozens of them came out from the alleyways and started shooting at us. Some rushed us with knives and one stayed back on a rifle. Their screams were horrible and their clothes were in tatters. One guy with a knife fell dead at my feet and I swear I heard him say 'mother' but that could've been the air escaping his lungs. It was then, after we had taken nearly all of them out that this lady one came walking out from one of the alleyways screaming 'STOP!' We all stopped, dumbfounded that one of these zombies could actually form words.
"'Please, all we wanted was to have a life! We didn't mean to kill so many, we just didn't want to have to sleep in cardboard boxes anymore! We got tired of the condescending looks as we begged and pleaded for money or even just food!' a shot rang out and the woman's head exploded. Later my guys swore that none of them fired a shot. Either they were lying or the other side just didn't care anymore.
"We continued clearing the city. It was good pay but once that lady came out saying that, I didn't enjoy it anymore..."
Silence hung in the room for awhile.
My daughter came back in and said "Dinner is ready" at just above a whisper. Dinner was quiet.
---
Thanks for reading! Sorry if there are grammar errors. This was written in a hurry. Back to work now. | 2016-09-25T08:21:35 | 2016-09-25T07:48:23 | 98 | 19 |
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way. | "Listen here old man. Let me go to hell," said the man before the gatekeeper.
"And why would I do that?"
"My brother is down there. I'm going to get him out."
He looked down at the man before him. He'd led quite the life. Had been to many places, both on the Earth, higher up, lower, and in between. He knew the brother too. If anything, he felt the brother should have been sent down, not the man before him. The things he's done. So what if he was the chosen one? But, the order came from higher up, so he quietly complied.
"No. You're not going," said the gatekeeper.
"Come on man. It's my baby brother. He risked his life to make sure that millions of people on Earth wouldn't come flooding through your gates. He made sure the world didn't end. He *sacrificed* himself to make sure that people are still able to buy their Starbucks lattes and porno mags. He doesn't deserve to go to hell for that."
"Still not a good enough reason for me to let you enter Hell."
"Look, if anything I deserve to be in that pit, not him. I've done some nasty things in my life, things I'll never forgive myself for. But he's good. He doesn't deserve it!"
"You passed The Test, he didn't."
The man walked very close to the gatekeeper, and looked him in the eyes.
"If you don't let me go down there, then I'll be raising hell."
"That's cute."
"Try me."
The gatekeeper pondered for a moment. This man could most certainly cause quite some trouble. He knew things not many others did.
"Very well. You may proceed."
The man silently walked to the doorway that opened up beside the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper smiled to himself. Their bond was thicker than that of Cain and Abel. And besides, even if he did send him to hell, God would bring them back to Earth anyway. To keep doing what they do.
Saving people, hunting things. The family business.
The man turned around.
"Oh yeah, I'm bringing Cas too."
"The angel?!"
"Gonna need all the help I can get to save Sammy."
The gatekeeper wordlessly summoned Castiel. And with that, Dean entered Hell, not for the first time, with an angel by his side.
-------------------------------------------
Feedback welcome! :D | The Gatekeeper walked into his office with his morning coffee. He wasn't looking forward to the routine of doing paperwork today, but it was his job. At least he had his coffee, black, bitter, and hot. He sat down to work on the applications that had been sent in. He didn't bother looking at the two baskets. One was marked "Hell" and the other one "Heaven". The one from Hell was always heaping over and the task of getting through all of it in a day was a chore, but the one from Heaven had been empty for decades (the last piece of mail was some guy complaining about Hitler being there). The souls in Heaven were just too happy to think about anything outside of their perfect world.
The Gatekeeper was done with all the paperwork in the Hell basket and was about to call it quits for the day, when he noticed a fresh envelope in the Heaven basket. *That is strange*, He thought. He decided to sit back down and open it.
"Dear Gatekeeper,
I know, I know, you only take applications, but hear me out. There is a reason I didn't fill one out; that reason being, there is no checkbox to go to Hell. Your application only seems to be for requests to go to Heaven. I just really want to go to Hell. I don't like it here, really. I feel like I am with a bunch of snobs. The food is all great and I am never hungry. Anything I want just shows up in my hand or nearby. The sights are stunning. Worst of all the sex is just too good. Nothing feels right. I am not asking for eternity; I just really want a vacation. I think if I spent a century there and come back I can appreciate what is up here, plus any residual sin on my soul will be washed out.
I don't want anything special down there, just the normal treatment for any sinner. Throw me into any ring. Please, I am going insane up here. I don't know what else to do. I want to just get out of here, cleanse myself of all the perfection, and learn how to really appreciate what I have, and maybe feel proud of the moral life I lived on Earth. I left a little something in the envelope to help you make a clear decision.
Humblest Askence,
[Redacted]"
The Gatekeeper didn't know if he could fill such a ludicrous task, but he didn't see why not. He felt a little afraid The Boss would get upset and fire him. The soul had said there was something in the envelope. The Gatekeeper tipped the envelope and a $250 gift card to Dave & Busters fell out. *THIS GUY HAS A DEAL!!* | 2016-09-29T00:05:19 | 2016-09-28T22:50:21 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Aliens discover earth and are horrified to learn that the entire planet is all oxygen junkies, we have become so addicted and dependent mere minutes without oxygen would kill us! | "What do you mean that they're all oxygen junkies." Questioned the captain as his voice bellowed across the bridge of his ship
"It's just as I reported captain." Answered the scientist. "Every single being on that planet is an oxygen junkie. According to my analysis, their addiction has been become so extreme, they can't possibly live without it for more than five to ten Rels, sir."
The entire bridge now stared at what their scientist had just said, their eyes moved between the captain and scientist.
The captain simply sighed.
Oxygen addiction was a serious problem between the systems, but to discover an entire planet addicted to said problem...He couldn't even....Was there anything that he could do?
"Ensign Qwark, turn this ship around, and wipe our flight recorder."
"Sir?" Questioned the ensign.
"There's nothing we can do for them now." He sighed, he was going to leave them to their own fates now. | "We need to start a rehabilitation program." Jule bussled around grabbing papers and pens. "Don't be silly. The Glorfnob Corp doesn't extend to Earth. All we need to do is check and see if they are intelligent enough to communicate with us yet." Jule turns back, exhausted but clearly excited."Ah, but what better way to communicate then by helping the humans be free of their oxygen poison?" Biffdor stares blankly at Jule, weighing the risks and rewards. "I'll tell you what- we can bring 1 human up to our spacecraft to test. We would need their eldest member of course, as strength
increases with time." "Great plan! I see a human ripe for the taking. He is so rich that they have given him a throne with wheels so he doesn't need to walk, and they respect him so highly they give him full tanks of their precious oxygen drug!"
Immediately after exposing the old man to the high stress environment, the test subject died. The Glorfnob Corp never again explored Earth, and after its eventual shut-down, Earth was looted of its resources, leaving mankind in a struggle for survival. Humans live to 2490 before going extinct. | 2016-09-29T19:34:46 | 2016-09-29T16:53:00 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] at the end of 2016, you hear "thank you for playing the 'Earth' open beta. You will be returning to your respective galaxies shortly." | My opinion about the game ?
I've been here since beta when there were few of us. It was hardcore but fantastic ! These hunts with only a stick were thrilling. And man when they implemented fire ! Oh the possibilities !
Vanilla was great too, not fan of the agricultural expansion at first but it was sure easier to remove the hungry debuff. One of my greatest memories was when one of the leader of a huge guild decided to build a pyramid, was a huge collective effort on the Egypt server !
These days ? Meh not so great. It has still huge popularity with 6 billions players but it seems that the biggest of the growth is behind them. I mean no surprise here... It is now a pay to win since Vivendi bought it... No skills needed, hello micro transactions..
When two rich kids with daddy wallets can pay to become USA server leader with absolutely no skills, I knew I was done.
| First of all I'd like to thank the devs and congratulate them on such a sucessful open beta. I'm going to focus my review on the issues though as I feel like constructive critisism is more useful. First of all, I've been playing many similar games before so throwing a florb or two at the developer isn't really an issue for me. The main problem I have though is that the gameworld is about 96.5% water. Not sure if this is a hardware limitation or lazy game developement but I can see it being sold later on and I don't approve on paid expansionpacks. The skybox is great and I loved seeing the moonlanding event from the closed alpha, really wished I could have been there though! It seemed like an awesome idea ans I'm quite surprised that we've not been able to colonise it yet unless they're working on some sort of plot system for it. Some players have already jumped on that idea and sold fake deeds to parts of it so they need to have a look at that. We'll see if I come back when it has its full release but I might wait for some more content.
| 2016-11-05T01:15:01 | 2016-11-05T00:30:48 | 151 | 13 |
[WP] 2021: Hell invades Earth; 2022: Earth invades Hell. | Gather round the campfire, young ones, and I'll tell you the greatest story of old. You see, there was a time when we thought the stories of gods and monsters were just that - stories. But as you all know, early in the twenty-first Century, we realised we were living in one of those stories.
In the summer of 2020, the world was wracked with earthquakes. The very magma of the earth was awakened, it seemed. But what bled forth from the underworld was not material or mineral, but monsters. Real monsters.
These demons, vile and impossible creatures, were bred for one purpose. To create torment, to inflict pain and to induce fear. They streamed from rents in the earth like a ravening, frothing tide. Great beings of wildfire and ichor, spindly crawlers of iron and blood, even fair temptresses with cat's eyes and honeyed whispers.
Many worlds had fallen to them in the past. They broke morale and won the wars before ever they reached the poor creatures that faced them, weeping and bowels emptying in terror. That these personifications of all they feared could also tear them apart once they got to them was almost unnecessary, because few could bear to resist them in any meaningful way.
The devils were evil and fear incarnate; it was what they were created for and they knew nothing else. Which was why they failed. They were born cruel, but we humans, we had discovered it for ourselves. *And we liked it.*
Through all the horrors men and women had faced in their fifty thousand year climb from neanderthals to farmers, builders and creators, none had ever been enough to break us. For the truth about humans is that we aren't incredible, nor amazing, at doing any one thing. But we adapt, faster and more readily than anything.
The first waves of infernal creatures were enough to end cities and leave nations in ruins... but so what? Had we not done far worse ourselves in the wars? Great clanking, hissing metal and flesh machines might shriek out of the mists and pull victims into their grinding rollers, but was this terror any worse than the armoured tank charges men had stood fast against for over a century?
Perhaps the first time a skittering spider-tree the size of a building attacks your squad, you may run in fear. But the second time you hold your ground and shoot back long enough for an orderly retreat. By the fifth, you've already been placing C4 to blow limbs off while a sniper takes out the eyes. A month later and there's a chalk board in the mess with a comical drawing of one dancing in a frying pan and the line 'just add napalm, asshole' and a tally of the squads with the most confirmed kills.
The infernal momentum did not hold after the first few weeks. They could send their most single-minded, brutal killers to the front lines as their spearhead, but so could we. And we sent them with Abrams, Raptors and Predators.
People adapted. Mankind stumbled briefly before standing up and roaring. Great columns of armoured vehicles stretched to the horizons as nations emptied their arsenals and shared the great reserves of weapons. Millions of men and women armed to the teeth and bred for millions of years to survive and kill other people above all found they had something more to offer. All those killer instincts, but aimed at a great enemy and fighting for our very survival? Bands of brothers will fight to the death for one another and we did. Oh, we did. But we made them die first.
We humans have killed each other since the dawn of time, giving us the skills and the utter ingenuity at crafting death weapons and vessels to turn on any foe. The demons had never had such savvy prey as one another. That was why they lost.
And when their lines broke on the plains of Africa and the Andes, humans did what they've been doing for a thousand, thousand years. The enemy routed. They ran them down. They smelled victory and they butchered the defeated enemy. They pursued them all the way back to Hades.
The hellspawn knew they were utterly lost and they ran as if all the demons of myth and legend were chasing them.
Alas they were not so fortunate.
| Manifest Destiny. There was time when I used to believe that I had choice. I used to go to church everyday, tearing, thinking that one day God would bring me into heaven. My lungs were black from coal, my hands scared and caloused. I try my best with my kids, never hit them, buy them nintendos and pokemons. I worry that they wont be able to take care of their children, that I may be the last generation. But I figure God has a plan and I have faith in their smile. Jesus is about forgiveness, and I do teach them responsibility through chores.
Last year, the Devil came. This isnt some metaphor from revelations. Wasnt a 7 headed creature that breathed ice and spat fire. But I knew it was the devil because he brought an army of evil. They came up from Mt St Helens, swooped over to Seattle, came down the west cost and have been trying to spread east. On the news I saw him. He looked young with a crazy look. Clockwork Orange is the best way I could describe it. His smile was inviting, I thought about leaving once or twice, I confess. They live as dominants to young liberal submissives. I bet they all have crazy parties. Last party I had was when I was 16. I got bullets which I then had to use for hunting scarce animals for extra cash. Well, I imagine they wont last forever. Many of the weakest are used as the frontlines to invade eastward. Its sad seeing it on the news. Theyll come for Kentucky eventually, but its so far away.
But Ive been reading. Apparently, theres diamonds in hell. Apparently theres iron and a bunch of materials that are pretty expensive. A prospector went down there through Russia, theyre talking motherload. Im thinking money. Retirement. All these years if hardwork, paying off. Theres been whispering of "Manifest Destiny". We all know the US will take over the world, only matter of time. So maybe its time to take on hell. On the news, politicians seem to have a confident smile. They dont seem worried Silicon Valley is preparing their robot army. Or that Los Angeles has been sending cult leaders to Minnisota and Mississippi. Blood for oil. Hey, I dont blame them. I wouldnt mind killing a few horned horse people myself. Well goat people. And then a big payoff?! Hoooweee! Just thinking about it gets me excited!
Ding Dong
Jimmy got up from his desk. Took off his glasses abd placed them down on the table. Wiped his eyes. "All this dreaming, is it a sin? Please forgive me lord" he whispered. He grabbed his pistol and holster and put it on. The floor gave out hollow echos as he walked to the front door. Theme songs could be heard faintly from the other room. A half angry smile smile came accross his face "You kids do your homework?!" He knew no answer would be replied, worth a try though. He approached the front door, a pale periwinkle.
"Hey, Darel! Whats the deal?!"
Darel had a crazy smile. An M249 on his back and coveres in ammunition belts. His red beard and shadowed face contrasted against the bright green Kentucky forest. The sun sure was happy today.
"Its time."
He handed an article to Jimmy. "Money for Nothing, Hell is Free". Jimmy recoiled. "The US army in conjunction with A coalition of military forces will be scaling an assault on hell in the next coming weeks. President Trump remarked that this is a 'huge opportunity for all americans who want to strike it big. Theres so much out there. Im telling you people, go. We will protect you. Become rich. Your only going to make a billion dollars if you take risks, believe me.'"
Jimmy smiled at Darel, "I like Trump". Darel nodded with great energy then continued looking at the paper excited to hear more.
"The US military enacting a tactic known as 'Community Fortification'. All US citizens are invited to participate, and if selected will be instrumental to ensuring a peaceful and prosperous coexistance between hell and earth. You will be given food, water, free travel and all necessities required to mine and provide for your family."
Jimmy stared off into the ground. Years of sacrifice and jealousy started to burn. The image of a 3 story house in nebraska. Having lemonade with Warren Buffet. Going down to hell and seeing demons mine his plot of land. Being invited to white house and given a medal for bravery.
"Kids! Pack your bags! We're going to hell!" | 2016-12-10T09:18:46 | 2016-12-10T08:04:09 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | Terrestrial Warp Drives. First proposed by Miguel Alcubierre two hundred formlats ago, The equivalent of forcing space into a shape which closely resembles two black holes stacked fore to aft. It requires insanely large sums of energy to produce the warp effect, equivalent to at least the mass of a small moon converted to energy. To get around this, the Terrestrials use catalytic mass converter engines. A device which has been discredited by the rest of the universe for the complete and utter destructive potential should such a reactor melt down on a planet. They work by converting matter to energy with a catalyst particle. However, they also produce a certain percent of catalyst particles. When this process runs away, it has been known to destroy planets, heavily damaging entire solar systems.
Under order 4,900,232 section III, Human spacecraft are to be classified as "NOT TO BE TOUCHED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES" on or near a planet, and "DESTROY AT ALL COSTS" in interplanetary space. This is not done as a measure against humans, but as a safety measure across the galaxy. This will be done until a treaty can be made with the terrestrial humans such that they will cease using catalytic mass converters.
Examination of a captured Terrestrial FTL Engine under the Federal Standard Gravity Model suggests that some fairly simple improvements to the Alcubierre-type drive can be made to reduce the energy requirements to what can be managed by fusion and antimatter reaction technology. They need not give up their unique drive. As dangerous as the Terrestrial Drive is, it presents no risk to those outside the vessel. | \- You say it runs on what? - I asked human, staring with all four of my eyes in disbelief.
\- Magic! - She replied with pride - Look, I'm not making a fun of you, it literally just runs on magic. Or at least something that by all accounts fits the definition of magic. See that fella over there in weird cloaks slumping by the bar? The one next to big wooden stick? He's my mage, he's making all the things tick just right. Here, let me explain to you. - the human captain started drawing three stick figures with beer stains, lastly she encircled all of them - Let's say these two are you and me. You want me to do something, let's say move that box over there, so you ask me to do so. Now, if you're a dick about it, I gonna flip ya a bird
\- Why would you topple avian creature...?
\- figure of speech, not relevant to the story. Anyway, you can be also polite about it, and I might hear your request. Or might not. Or you might hold gun to my head and then I won't have much choice.
\- I still don't see how's that relevant to mages and this whole "mahic" deal.
\- You see, that's what mages do, except instead of asking you or me to do stuff for them, they're asking Universe. In terms it can't ignore...
\- Wait, no... - my eyes widened in terror. She could not possibly mean what I think she means!
\- ...by holding a proverbial gun to Universe's proverbial head - she finished her sentence, there was something slightly psychotic in her smile. What kind of race could be self-absorbed enough to think they can talk to universe and that it will answer? Worse, what kind of race would then **threaten** universe, once they discovered it's possible?! | 2017-03-31T09:38:09 | 2017-03-31T06:50:44 | 42 | 17 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | Terrestrial Warp Drives. First proposed by Miguel Alcubierre two hundred formlats ago, The equivalent of forcing space into a shape which closely resembles two black holes stacked fore to aft. It requires insanely large sums of energy to produce the warp effect, equivalent to at least the mass of a small moon converted to energy. To get around this, the Terrestrials use catalytic mass converter engines. A device which has been discredited by the rest of the universe for the complete and utter destructive potential should such a reactor melt down on a planet. They work by converting matter to energy with a catalyst particle. However, they also produce a certain percent of catalyst particles. When this process runs away, it has been known to destroy planets, heavily damaging entire solar systems.
Under order 4,900,232 section III, Human spacecraft are to be classified as "NOT TO BE TOUCHED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES" on or near a planet, and "DESTROY AT ALL COSTS" in interplanetary space. This is not done as a measure against humans, but as a safety measure across the galaxy. This will be done until a treaty can be made with the terrestrial humans such that they will cease using catalytic mass converters.
Examination of a captured Terrestrial FTL Engine under the Federal Standard Gravity Model suggests that some fairly simple improvements to the Alcubierre-type drive can be made to reduce the energy requirements to what can be managed by fusion and antimatter reaction technology. They need not give up their unique drive. As dangerous as the Terrestrial Drive is, it presents no risk to those outside the vessel. | "It is simply unsafe and foolish!" Gorthlak, the representative for the Zorknoids, complained to the council of intergalactic travel.
"It is, This we all know, but we don't think their bodies could handle any other way of faster than light travel" countered Ferlas, leader of the committee.
"If their calculations are off by even a percentage they could cause untold devastation. It is to risky, we must stop them before they destroy something important" Gorthlak explained.
Ferlas shook his eye stalks in exasperation "You haven't met the humans yet. They are ready to declare war on all of us. Their travel mechanism is also their greatest weapon. I do not believe we could stop them easily. It's to powerful. Here. Watch this video then you will understand." Ferlas activated the video screen and a blue planet appeared in the middle. The camera zoomed in on a country until it started to focus on something barely ten feet tall.
A great beast of a humanoid was stomping around. He was ten feet tall and was made entirely out of muscle. His speech was stunted and he seemed to growl more than anything else, but he walked over towards a small space ship and grasped it by a handle built onto it for this very purpose. The space ship was much larger than this man and weighed over a hundred tons, but he picked it up like it was nothing.
Once the ship was off the ground, a large red arrow appeared on the ground. The man walked over until he stood on the tail, and started to spin in a circle. He spun for nearly a minute before stopping and throwing the ship at the same time. The ship disappeared almost immediately. The camera quickly scrolled out of view from the planet until the ship came back into focus, it was moving at half again light speed.
"What do they call this technology?" Gorthlak stuttered in a hushed voice.
Ferlas simply replied. "The hulk." | 2017-03-31T09:38:09 | 2017-03-31T06:55:10 | 42 | 11 |
[WP] You are scrolling through r/WritingPrompts, when this very prompt catches your attention. Intrigued by it's meta nature, you debate with yourself whether or not you'll write about it. | "Haha, that's a dumbass prompt."
*"Well, I could use this dumbass prompt to farm some upvotes..."*
"Nah, there's a better way. There has to be."
*"I could write it like I have multiple personalities... It'd be hilarious..."*
"Are you fucking serious? This is way too meta for a prompt."
*"The meta-er, the merrier, amirite?"*
"Ugh, you know what, I don't even give a shit. If your comment karma plummets, don't come blaming me."
*"I'll show them..."* | Open.
Close.
Open.
Close.
Open.
Pause.
Tap tap tap.
Hesitation.
Tip tap tap.
Thought.
Words on a screen, written with fingers erringly erratic hitting wrong keys and leaving incorect words.
Tap tap tap.
Caught by a trap outside a trap. The fly follows the moth to the flame. Letters burn into eyes.
Tap tap tap.
Response becomes mandatory yet involuntary, forced out through stiffened muscle.
Tap tap tap.
Aching finger supporting weight unaccustomed. Thumbs with unequal nails move along leaving words to be seen by many and never be seen again.
Tap tap tap.
Neurons fire, blast away into an abyss that has no end yet fills quickly. Funneled through a miniscule opening, words begin to gather, clotting the vein of creativity until...
Tap tap tap. | 2017-04-03T14:16:41 | 2017-04-03T12:10:57 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | Across the table from one another, two well-dressed and decorated men glared daggers at each other. Between them, a square table with a single piece of paper in the center, on the paper was the large word “Ceasefire” across the top. Both men, victims of years of conflict with reasons ranging from territory to resources to revenge, studied the other for signs of trickery. Having been taken advantage of one too many times, they lost the will to be nice anymore.
Behind each man waited legions of troops, cascades of battleships, hordes of spies and assassins, all of which were well-practiced and knew exactly what to do. The man on the left blinks. A sign of weakness? Was his resolve diminishing? The man on the right gains an air of confidence, raising his head slightly. Hubris, perhaps? Did he underestimate the power held behind the round and bushy face of his adversary? He would do well to remember what happened last time.
Every dust particle could be examined at length because no air was pushed about at all in the still room. The men stood, locked in the greatest battle they had fought to date. No amount of fighting and death was comparable to what this fight could unleash, the amount of men and women that could either die or be spared by these two men, in this small room, in these few hours.
The man on the right stumbles to this end. He begins to think of buildings being planned, wondrous new parks being zoned, the beauty of a tree sapling’s potential, bearing fruit and giving a home to animals, all of it only to be stamped out under the tread of a tank. Children, unborn and never feeling laughter or friendship and never learning how to spread love and accepting another despite their differences. What a great leader that child would be. Unlike himself, who would only bring children hate and cruelty, raising future-less brats with no one to accept but themselves. Similar to what his own daughter might have been.
A tear shed for all that was lost. For all that might be. Formed from the man’s red but stone-clad eyes, it flows to the cheek, passing over crevices and scars, and consumed by the brown and greying beard. The man on the left sees this. He had forgotten what a tear looked like.
A few minutes later, both men reach for a pen. | He is humming as he walks across a wasteland.
Radioactive waters pool in the muddy ditches, glowing visibly. There are corpses half-buried in the orange loam. There are craters everywhere and the very air itself is filled with toxins and engineered viruses.
It is the perfect place for Immortals to meet.
He leans back suddenly and a dagger flies past his face. He stretches his arm out and catches it in the air, tossing it back into the far distance.
She is sitting, waiting, on top of a broken, busted tank.
"Is that how we greet each other these days?" he murmurs. His quiet voice carries far in the empty, arid wasteland.
She smiles at him. Her trenchcoat flutters slightly as she leaps down in a single, graceful movement.
"Ahh...why wouldn't it be?"
"It's a little different from last time." he replies, tilting his head, "You didn't try to drop an army on my head this time."
She pouts, "That's your fault isn't it? You just had to arrange for this land to be 'exterminated' just before I arrived. Do you know how difficult it is to arrange for the humans to send a whole platoon through 'exterminated' land?"
He places a hand over his head, "My apologies then."
"No matter." she begins to circle him, "One on one is fine with me. Just like we usually end up."
He sighs as she draws a gun in one hand and a dagger in the other.
"You still think you can take me?"
She swipes at him. He dodges back and winced slightly as the dagger extended abruptly. A thin cut appears on his forearm, closing rapidly.
"You've been...ah...a priest for the last half a century. I think I should be better matched against you for once."
He snorts, "You'd be surprised what duties the Church entrusts me with."
"Wiping pews? Praying for the dead?"
He draws his own weapon, a silver blade that gleams in the low light. He narrows his eyes, walking slowly towards her.
"Try...extermination of the dead."
Her eyes widen as he lunges at her. She parries him with a gunshot, forcing him to step aside. Her eyes glow and a wild grin overtakes her, "Of course! What prey there must have been! An exciting life, no doubt!"
Continuing to grin cheerfully, she says, "Come at me then. Show me all that you've learnt!"
"With pleasure," he replies, "As long as you don't hold back."
| 2017-04-06T04:50:03 | 2017-04-06T03:41:35 | 167 | 35 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | Green grass cropped short wiggled in the summer wind. Rosy children in a ring sang a rhyme of a ruler, "just and wise, or just wide". An optimistic din brightened every note, every breath.
As cheers erupted in the distance, their parents appeared, scooping up their children and carrying them to the source of commotion. Colorful and noisy, parade marched down cobbled streets, celebrating all bits of their life. The people cheered at their folk heroes, their entertainers, their musicians, their ancient battle dress. They cheered the most, however, at an effigy. Soon the whole crowd was screaming in delight, for as it passed the people they lit a strand leading to it, until the flames engulfed it: a fat king.
I jostled awake at the sound of wood breaking. "Well, that's new," I murmured as I finished off the goblet of wine resting on my throne. Their damned battering ram had been going for hours, and I actually was lulled to sleep slightly by the constant rhythm of it. I had been up for three days now watching the end of my kingdom, and hoped to catch a glimpse of sleep before the rioters took me. The bonfire I had my last loyal servants build, in the center of the hall, burned bright and strong. They had done a good job and so before they left, I gave them a few recipes and what coin I had left on me.
Even though I had planned this, I still felt a level of fear. While manipulating the social currents wasn't too difficult, I had no idea if the anger of the mob would get the better of them, if I would end up kneeling down with my head in a guillotine. It would all be worth it, either way. My gods have seen that I have stayed true, and promoted a better world for all. I would be rewarded in the afterlife. Not to mention, I still felt a level of pride for making this all work.
I started as a lowly priest charged with making the world a better place in the name of Bekhaim. He commands true justice and righteousness at all costs. As part of our training, we are required to travel, to see injustice manifest so that we might know what it is we truly fight against. And so, I came across these lands. The local lord was cruel to his people, but they accepted it. He was angry at the world, the gods, his land, his people, everything. But in his situation, I saw a chance. His anger was due to being grey in the tooth and yet not having an heir. He did not even have siblings or cousins to take up the mantle of his lineage. And so, I began to offer my services to him, to help him bear a child.
At first, I believed him having a child would make him a better king, but over time the plan changed. He neared the end of his days, and I learned how to navigate the intrigue of his court. I gathered support for myself, and fostered a network of both spies and criers to help me. When the king died, I made a bid for power. My reputation was a shining one, and though some local lords resisted, a few quietly-murmured curses worked wonders for sabotaging their attempts. The lords went back to their strongholds, angry at being usurped. As I began to feel out my role and powers within government, I set to making the people's lives better.
Then the Lord's Revolt happened.
I had decided to start a grain dole, to feed the sick and hungry. This dole would have come from part of the extra grain each lord was allowed to keep to sell to our neighbors, and would have been a fraction of their totals. But the lords convinced the serfs and craftsmen that I was stealing it directly from their table, and so led by their lords, soon my entire kingdom came knocking on my door. In response, I came knocking on the lords' skulls. The people viewed it as a brutal act, and it may have been, but I gave myself divine protections and strength and drove a hammer into their brains. I took direct control of things, and instituted my grain dole.
But the people hated me. They abhorred and despised me, viewed me as a tyrant. They said the grain dole was made to give me an army of undesirables to fight against them. I didn't sleep well for weeks, frantically trying to come up with something I could do to win back their trust.
I never came up with that answer. But I did come up with a way to use this.
I never mistreated my subjects, but instead I turned my system of criers into a system of agitators, clamoring for positive change. They would claim that the people were overworked by their cruel king, that the forced tithe to the local church was unfair to those who did not believe, that certain groups were treated wholly unfairly. All of these were to correct policies of the former king, or were things I wanted to put in place but would be poisoned if it came from me. And so I used this system to agitate for reform, and would "reluctantly acquiesce" to the people's demands.
Forty years I did this. I became fat due to a lack of exercise, called myself a just and wise king so my agitators could call me "just wide." After spending the last five years setting up unions, coops and other methods of self-governance, it has come time for my rule to end. It moved a little faster than I thought I would, I believed I would have a chance to abdicate and flee, but this evening they amassed outside my halls and blocked any exit. They smack the door again, and the door gives a little bit. I see an arm as someone tries to slip through, but it's not nearly wide enough. I sigh. The door isn't even barricaded, it's just well-constructed. I considered unlocking it a few hours ago, but that would have ruined their fun.
I get up and walk to the pitcher of wine sitting at the banquet table. The pitcher is nearly empty, but with the last few drops it fills to just above halfway. I lower myself onto my throne as I watch the door buckle again against the battering ram. This time the metal latch bends, and the door is stick caving in. I see two small women slip in through the door and with a piece of metal given to them, throw open the latch. I finish my wine as the now-free people of my nation storm my halls brandishing hammer, sickle, pitchfork and torch alike. | "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| 2017-06-12T09:45:08 | 2017-06-12T08:19:09 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | A bang, a flash. Yes, I remember that clearly in mind. Surprisingly there was no pain. I suppose my body was already numb from the shock of coming home to find this man, no boy, in my house. It’s all really just a blur. I had only just spotted him when I opened the door. He was halfway down the stairs with my wife’s jewellery box in one hand and the gun in the other pointing directly at me. The shot followed quickly after. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him I didn’t care, that he could take it or even that I could help him. With the support of the church we had helped many people in the community just like him.
The shot had sent me hard to the ground, banging my head off the wall on the way down. My instincts took over and I just grabbed Rose. Attempting to put myself between her and my attacker. He didn’t even look at us as he stepped over me and strode out the door. I clenched my hand full of Rose’s dress and pulled her close. Blood was now everywhere, my shirt, the carpet and her dress. She had only got it last week for her birthday. The massive grin glowed from her all day. There was no sign of it now. My poor innocent girl, eyes wide just stared at me. A stream of tears flowed down her cheeks. “I love you Rose. You and your mother are the greatest things to ever happen to me. Don’t lose faith. I will be with god soon.”
Ha, god. Where was he now? I stood now in an extravagate hall. Six marble columns etched with carvings of runes and symbols flanked both my sides. A large fire was blazing in the western walls fire pit; however I don’t suspect that what was cause of the humid heat that pressured my skin from every angle. And there he was, sat on the throne just staring at me with those deep, dark red eyes.
“Well, after all these years” his voice boomed out, echoing of the cold stone walls. “You are the first human”, he really emphasised the word *human* “to ever step into my….”
“**What?!** The first human?” I interrupted. The rage flooded over me like nothing I had ever felt before. I unclenched my right hand and pointed straight at him. “I know who you are, Satan. But how can I be the first human to ever be sent to hell. Me a worshipper of god, who had helped so many people on to the path god had carved out for us, who had been the man in the house since his father abandoned before he was born, who was a loving husband and caring father. HOW CAN I BE THE FIRST!” I had never felt such anger. I could feel my eyes peeled wide open but my vision had now narrowed with one thing in focus, him. The heat that had made breathing hard was now gone.
His mouth widened into a massive grin baring his white, razor teeth at me. “Ah, yes. You have lived your whole life of righteousness and kindness. Been a loving husband and father you always wanted. Your mother, what did she ever tell you of your father?”
I stumbled on the question. Why would he care about him? He who should be here, not me. “She never spoke of him. Whenever I would ask she would try to pass it off and tell me he was….” No. It can’t be.
His smile widened even further. “the Devil?”
Edit: Just wanted to add any feedback is much welcomed since this was my first input to Writing Prompts | The land is desolate and barren for as far as I can see, devoid of all life except for the solitary red figure before me, his claps resonating across the entire empty plane. He grins widely, brandishing row of sharpened white teeth.
"Now what manner of bastard must you've been to end up here?"
I shrug dejectedly, my eyes tracing the entirety of the man. He is no taller than I am, with sharp black hair and a pointed beard. His smile is charming, although gives me the fearful impression of a crocodile; the sort of smile you give your dinner before eating it. I don't like the idea of being prey.
"Oh, come now," he continues, his tone equal parts mellifluous and commanding. "Surely you must've done something."
"I can't say," I mutter, backing up defensively.
"Can't say? Don't tell me that, darling. We're going to be here an awful long time in silence if you don't part that mouth of yours."
"I choose to be here," I concede, feeling myself shiver as I chance a look at his eyes - two orbs of onyx, conveying nothing but malice as they pierce my gaze and soul, leaving me quivering in the recess. Entirely at his mercy.
"Chose?" He repeats, rolling the word around his tongue. He quirks a brow, chortling softly. "Now who in their right mind would choose, willingly, to be in Hell?"
"Me," I whisper, my voice no louder than a passing wind.
"You," he repeats, stepping forward. "Are you mocking me?"
"No, Lucifer, I am no-"
He freezes suddenly, all pretence of amicability dropping abruptly as his black eyes begin to flare, an entire inferno erupted around his body. Satan in all his hellish terror steps forth, his hand reaching for my neck. I quickly pull away, retreating back.
"How *dare* you use my name? How are you even privy to such knowledge, mortal?"
"G-God told me..."
"God? **God?!**" His wings unfurl from his back, unveiling more of his demonic form as a black tongue snaked out from between his lips.
"It was his request for me to come," I splutter, trying to at least attempt to defuse the situation. "You remember the story of Job?"
The Devil himself faltered, "Yes, that devout man who God challenged me to corrupt. He remained steadfast in his fate no matter what I took - it was sordid to witness one with such will succumb to being little more than a zealot."
"Yes, the man of legend himself. Well, now God has tried something else - a deal amongst his angels, as opposed to with you. To see if any amongst their ranks can come to you and convince you to return home, as you tried to convince Job into debauchery."
"You intend to convince me, The Devourer, the Tyrant, Lord of Flies and abominations, to return home? To the bastardisation that is your so-called 'Heaven'? I'd rather die."
"I'm just the messenger! Please take it up with the man himself if you have a problem. The angels shall be arriving soon."
The Devil chews his lip, his vision tearing from me and instead looking to the red, swirling mass above us. The Sky separating Hell from Heaven, the colour of freshly spilled blood. He licks his lips, "There'll be blood if they come for me, that I can assure you of."
"I don't doubt it."
----
/r/coffeeandwriting for more!
Edit: Part 2 is up here! [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/CoffeeAndWriting/comments/6itabv/writing_prompt_response_you_die_and_go_to_hell/) | 2017-06-22T04:50:26 | 2017-06-22T03:34:42 | 732 | 203 |
[WP] You're the first scientist to make a travel to another dimension. Upon arriving you notice that music in this dimension has the power to control humans and their behaviour and is therefor completly banned. You decide to screw around with the 60GB of music saved on your phone. | When I first found the power music had in this world, I was getting pulled over for a speeding ticket. I had turned from some of my 'normal' tunes for a quick fix of Bob Marley. It was an honest mistake, really. But the music was playing, and suddenly a deputy was standing there with a glazed expression on their face, having just shot the sheriff. I may have made a run for it at that point.
Since then, I used the app on my phone to download select songs from home. How did it work? Apparently the quantum tunneling device that allowed me to come here left a link that signals could get through, if you knew what to look for. Anyways, I may have been a bit childish with some of my music choices.
See, it started with just stealing. Walked up to an armored car and hopped in the back as they were unloading. That British rock group Unbelievable Truth kept them in the dark as they were commanded to 'Forget About Me'. So the next stop, I simply walked off with all the cash I could carry.
But it didn't stop there. I'd had a taste of power, and knew that there was more I could do. More that I wanted. You could tell whenever I had a problem with someone by the string of suicides I left behind. Impaled Nazarene's 'Kill Yourself' was the most effective tool I had for getting annoying police or reporters out of my way.
Oh, I'm not alone. Not any more. Yeah, I may have gone and visited a few stars. Shakira, Yaya Han, Summer Glau, Asa Akira, and a couple others. Britney Spears was the first, though, mainly out of the twisted sense of irony I got when I played her own song to her. One hit of 'I'm a Slave 4 U', and, well... | The Oval Office. Always wanted to see it first-hand; I mean, technically speaking, the achievement of this scientific breakthrough should have -- by all rights -- meant that I would visit it fairly soon, but... well... the current administration doesn't seem particularly impressed by scientific knowledge, prefering more esoteric opinions to, you know, fact.
I digress. Here, in this shadow-wreathed alternative reality, this mirror of mirrors, where angles are round and humans are merely distorted shimmerings in those three physical dimensions we normally occupy, here... the Oval Office is nothing more than another room, accessed by any door.
I step up to the iconic desk, past the iconic couch, eyeing the iconic chair and the iconic view. I'll stop saying 'iconic' now; it's hard to find the appropriate words, though, because sounds work differently here. They have power, in a way. I hesitate to call it 'magic', because the scientist in me rebels at the thought, but... it would certainly explain a lot of things through history. There are so many things we thought we knew, things we thought impossible, things which can maybe me explained by understanding this place.
This power, of course, comes with great responsibility. When a word can change the shape of the world, imagine the power of music.
I take out my phone and plug the charger into the outlet behind the desk; then the micro-USB into my phone.
Fiddle-fiddle, apps, Spotify.
Surprisingly, I have better reception here than I ever did back "home". I'll just have to make sure to upgrade to an unlimited data plan. Ah, the sacrifices one must make for the sake of humanity.
Fiddle-fiddle, search, Queen.
I find the song, I press "play", and put the phone down. My work here is done, and maybe, just maybe I will return to a slightly better world.
As I open the door, I find that this time it leads to an old church building, somewhere in Italy judging by the inscription on the plaque just ahead of me, attached to the stone pillar. I step through to wherever, humming along with the song:
"I want to break free..." | 2017-07-11T10:43:59 | 2017-07-11T05:51:05 | 80 | 51 |
[WP] You accidentally summon a demon by trying to pronounce Ikea product names. | "Wergle-Shergle," attempted Harry.
"No, there are umlauts," said Sally. "It should be more like Weurgle-Sheurgle."
"Worgle-Shorgle."
The credenza glowed. Its cabinet door swung open and closed. An inexpensive yet tacky rug span with colors and patterns. A figure appeared in the demonstration bedroom, black-horned and cloven-footed. "I am Worgle-Shorgle, master of the seventh pit. Slaver of dark ones, eater of souls."
"Worgle-Shorgle," said Sally, "how would you pronounce this name with the umlauts?"
Worgle-Shorgle leaned close, brimstone on his breath. "Weurgle-Sheurgle."
"I told you," said Sally.
"Let's get some meatballs," said Harry.
As the young couple left, Worgle-Shorgle tapped his pitchfork against the ground. He paced menacingly between a desk lamp and a lighting fixture. Such incredible demon-summoners these must be, he thought, to have trapped him in such a diabolical labyrinth. | "I want this one! Did you hear me?" I pointed towards the same product and said its name. "Ofelia! This one!" I was starting to get frustrated when a booming voice sounded.
"Yes? You called, my disciple?" saod a demon, rising from the shadows. "I am Ophelia, master of this place. What is it that you want? I would do anything for being resummoned."
A demon. Hm. Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse. He said 'anything' right? "A promotion," I said confidently.
"Someone called?" said another demon from the shadows. "I am Apromoshern," he clarified. Good lord.
"Can I just get...money! Yeah, money!" I said, snapping my fingers. They couldn't screw that up right?
"What is it?" another was conjured as he sleepily lumbered towards me. "I'm Monie, and I want to know why everyone wants me." Well fuck.
"Stop! Just go away! Please!" I begged the demons as they awaited my instructions. They looked at me, then themselves. I could hesr their conversation from where I stood.
"Do you know a guy called Jussgoehway or Pleeze?"
Fuck my life.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-11T21:30:58 | 2017-07-11T16:13:49 | 236 | 26 |
[WP] You accidentally summon a demon by trying to pronounce Ikea product names. | "Wergle-Shergle," attempted Harry.
"No, there are umlauts," said Sally. "It should be more like Weurgle-Sheurgle."
"Worgle-Shorgle."
The credenza glowed. Its cabinet door swung open and closed. An inexpensive yet tacky rug span with colors and patterns. A figure appeared in the demonstration bedroom, black-horned and cloven-footed. "I am Worgle-Shorgle, master of the seventh pit. Slaver of dark ones, eater of souls."
"Worgle-Shorgle," said Sally, "how would you pronounce this name with the umlauts?"
Worgle-Shorgle leaned close, brimstone on his breath. "Weurgle-Sheurgle."
"I told you," said Sally.
"Let's get some meatballs," said Harry.
As the young couple left, Worgle-Shorgle tapped his pitchfork against the ground. He paced menacingly between a desk lamp and a lighting fixture. Such incredible demon-summoners these must be, he thought, to have trapped him in such a diabolical labyrinth. | The fluorescent lights flickered, I felt The linoleum soften under my tasseled loafers. The combination desk, Murphy bed and closet rattled and began to emit a sickly red light. Suddenly a great cloud of smoke burst forth, and standing before me was a terrible demon. It spoke, her maw gaping with razor sharp teeth.
"You summoned Säng Skrivbord Gardeslob!"
Desks and wardrobes nearby, all cunningly designed and efficiently manufactured, toppled aside like a house of cards as the hellpit spawn's words entered our reality.
Pregnant mothers spontaneously miscarried as all the meatballs went bad at once.
Or so I was later told.
Confusion and disorder broke, people began pushing and shoving in an effort to get away from the Fiend suddenly in our midst. It was anarchy. A mess.
*I'm an editor, damn it!*
Standing up straight and adjusting my bifocals, I stepped over to where the little card had fallen, picked it up and cleared my throat.
It's inhuman bellows ceased as its neck swiveled to aim its head at me.
"No no, I clearly said 'Säng skrivbord garderob'."
It slithered over on an odd number of lobster-like legs. It tore the white card from my hand with its talons and extrude an eye stalk, reading.
"Again?!" it said, before disappearing in another spray of sulphuric ash. | 2017-07-11T21:30:58 | 2017-07-11T20:43:40 | 236 | 20 |
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ... | "You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!" | The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body. | 2017-09-14T23:41:40 | 2017-09-14T23:09:14 | 252 | 12 |
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed] | "Quack......quack quack quack.......quack quack"
"Moooooo.....mooooooooo......"
"Quack quack quack"
"Mooooooooo......"
It had been six weeks since the vet had diagnosed Laurence with Mad Cow Disease. Phillip had yet to give up hope and figured it was a 90's phase that he was going through.
"Mooooooo....."
"........quack"
Phillip shed a single tear. The friend he knew and loved had become a shadow of his former self. | I am a cow. Sometimes I'll escape from my pen after dark. It's easier when there are clouds; it's darker, and I can move unseen. But occasionally, if I feel daring, I'll do it on a moonlit night. The shadows seem deeper then, but in open land I could be spotted at any time. It's so exciting to be where I shouldn't be.
Of course, there isn't *much* risk. Most people are asleep, and those that aren't are indoors, or nearly asleep. A few bakers might still be up, preparing the next day's wares. They take such care to make sure everything is perfect, just as it should be. They don't want anyone or anything to mess with their work. That's why I do it.
i lik the bred | 2017-10-02T06:54:58 | 2017-10-02T06:49:08 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] You're sitting around bored fiddling with stuff in your pocket when suddenly the text "CHEAT ACTIVATED" appears in-front of you for several seconds. | Johnny knew what to do next. He jumped up twice, squatted twice, leaned to the left and then the right twice, tapped a Bee, thought of the final letter of his country, and clicked the any key to start.
“The Konami Code” he thought to himself.
He decided to test his new limits, the text couldn’t have been fake. He decided to punch the solid brick wall only for it to shatter completely... his fist. He fell over on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Maybe I’ll heal fast” but in ten minutes nothing happened. He looked over to his son, playing Super Mecha Death Christ 7 (DLC, Characters, Maps not included) and saw the text “CHEAT DEACTIVATED.”
He looked over to where he was standing, sure enough there was a mirror.
“GOD DAMMIT BOBBY YOU CANT EVEN BEAT THE GAME WITHOUT CHEATS!”
“Sorry dad, I don’t want to spend 40 hours to just get a sense of pride and accomplishment”
Edit 1: Fixed Konami Code sequence | "What is this?" I think to myself, scratching at a place on my chin.
Suddenly the text blinks and changes: "Chin scratched at 12032017144655"
I stop suddenly and turn my head, trying to see what everyone else is doing. The room is full of people and there's a buzz of conversation everywhere. They don't seem to be bothered by anything out of the ordinary, so it must just be me.
Text Changes again: "Head rotation 155 degrees left 42 degrees up".
I reach out and the text disperses before me. I am so utterly confused. Then, all of the sudden, the Text changes again: "Raise leg 20 degrees".
I can't help but raise my leg.
I'm baffled. I try to move, but I cannot. Commands begin to come in one-after-another-after-another. Every command that happens, I end up performing without any possibility of fight.
The commands have me doing jumping-jacks and running in circles and karate-chopping people. Of course the others yell and try to stop me, but these commands seem to also give me great strength as well. I am carrying 3 people on my back as I run.
Then the Text blinks and becomes solid: "Quit Game. Are you Sure? Y".
I gulp and blackness drops over me. | 2017-12-03T14:46:51 | 2017-12-03T11:59:01 | 64 | 24 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. You instantly absorb all of their memories, intelligence, and talents. You find it feels euphoric and quite addicting. | The first person I killed was Andy Chang, a fifty-five-year-old doctor.
My car collided with his body. He tumbled across the darkened sidewalk and crunched against the curb.
I thought I was dying too.
My world exploded with light and colour- swirls of memories and pain. Shrill music echoed in my head. I threw open the door and vomited onto the road. Beige chunks splattered my boots.
Chang’s body was a crumpled heap; dark red clumps spilled from his head over his grey peacoat. His rounded glasses lay next to the sewage drain, the lens cracked and frames bent. One shoe sat in front of my sedan. Chang’s white sock darkened with the rain.
A couple yelled something from across the street. *Help him*.
It jolted me out of my shock. I hadn’t considered the possibility Chang might be alive.
“Call 911,” I directed the young woman.
I pulled off my scarf and held it against the blood spilling from Chang’s head. “Hold this here,” I direct an onlooker. “Don’t stop pressing.”
I hovered over Chang’s body and tilted my ear over his mouth. I watched his chest and looked for any rise or fall. I pressed my fingers against the side of his upper neck looking for a pulse.
Nothing.
*Landmark* I told myself. I lined my hands up and began to press.
I pumped against his sternum.
Two inches down. Recoil. Down again. And again.
Tilt the head, open the airway. Two breaths.
Compressions again.
And again.
When the paramedics arrived I already knew Chang was dead. If the impact hadn’t killed him, the blood he lost would have.
Later, the police arrived.
Chang was at fault - he was jaywalking. Stepped out from between two parked cars.
“The witnesses said you acted quickly, miss,” Officer Dawkins said.
“I only wish I could’ve helped.”
“You did all you could. Quick thinking and first aid can’t solve everything.”
I nodded.
And then frowned.
I had never taken a first aid course.
Last month, when my roommate sliced the tip of her pinky off with the vegetable knife, I was the one who passed out.
I didn’t realize until that night, when Chang’s memories flooded in, what had happened.
I also didn’t realize how easy it would be to slip into my new life.
I craved it.
The thud of the body.
A burst of light and colour.
Swirls of memories and pain.
Shrill music echoing in my head.
And a rush of new talent.
/r/liswrites | “And the story continues with reporter Chad Chadley who is on the scene.”
“The suspect, who is being touted as the ‘Ordinary Person Killer’, has been on a spree worthy of the history books, taking the souls of at least 15 victims so far along with their memories, intelligence and talents. Although police are asking the public to refrain from approaching the killer, they have said not to worry about divulging identification as the suspect is currently housing the unfortunate talent of forgetting names within three seconds of learning them.”
“Disturbing stuff, Chad. Do the police have an idea of how he is managing to kill in locations which are quite some distance from each other?”
“Well, the theories are vast but the prevailing idea is that he has murdered someone who was gifted with the ability of falling asleep regardless of position or environment. One suspect reportedly identified the killer sleeping perfectly aboard a cramped airplane stating, 'he looked beyond comfortable. It was infuriating.'.”
“There have been questions of the police regarding this case given how many times the suspect has been spotted in public. Have they commented on this?”
“They have, Tom. Chief Officer Kelly released a statement this morning saying: ‘It’s weird as shit. He does this thing where he moves his eyebrows up and down super fast then runs around a wall, disappearing as soon as we give chase. We are unsure who he absorbed this power from but we are currently investigating anyone who starred in a 1920s silent comedy.'”
“Is the kill rate expected to rise?”
“Yes, Tom. Police believe the only reason the body count isn’t higher is due to the suspect also absorbing lesser ordinary person traits such as the psyche of one of his most recent victims, Steph Patterson. Steph was a Californian who would over analyse even the most insubstantial situations, especially if Steph had been out drinking the night before and found herself lying in bed the morning after filled with irrational regret and self-hatred."
"Sometimes I think about removing my consciousness and placing it inside another vessel after a bout of drunken regret, Chad. A vessel none of the people I know can recognise. But that's not possible. At least not with today's technology."
"Indeed, Tom. And in another stroke of luck, it is also believed the killer now carries the bewildering talent of always being 5 minutes late for stuff just like that one person you know and hate."
“Fascinating stuff, Chad. Anything else to add?"
“Well, the suspect has also acquired some other disturbingly powerful ordinary guy talents which the police are wary of such as awkwardly stretching to put HDMI cables in to the back of televisions without becoming angry, the ability to identify the glasses cupboard first time while at a friends house, and there are some unconfirmed reports that he has been able to attract multiple victims by cupping his hands and doing that sweet owl noise thing.”
“May God have mercy on our souls.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2017-12-08T07:47:34 | 2017-12-08T06:15:01 | 2,578 | 496 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. You instantly absorb all of their memories, intelligence, and talents. You find it feels euphoric and quite addicting. | The first person I killed was Andy Chang, a fifty-five-year-old doctor.
My car collided with his body. He tumbled across the darkened sidewalk and crunched against the curb.
I thought I was dying too.
My world exploded with light and colour- swirls of memories and pain. Shrill music echoed in my head. I threw open the door and vomited onto the road. Beige chunks splattered my boots.
Chang’s body was a crumpled heap; dark red clumps spilled from his head over his grey peacoat. His rounded glasses lay next to the sewage drain, the lens cracked and frames bent. One shoe sat in front of my sedan. Chang’s white sock darkened with the rain.
A couple yelled something from across the street. *Help him*.
It jolted me out of my shock. I hadn’t considered the possibility Chang might be alive.
“Call 911,” I directed the young woman.
I pulled off my scarf and held it against the blood spilling from Chang’s head. “Hold this here,” I direct an onlooker. “Don’t stop pressing.”
I hovered over Chang’s body and tilted my ear over his mouth. I watched his chest and looked for any rise or fall. I pressed my fingers against the side of his upper neck looking for a pulse.
Nothing.
*Landmark* I told myself. I lined my hands up and began to press.
I pumped against his sternum.
Two inches down. Recoil. Down again. And again.
Tilt the head, open the airway. Two breaths.
Compressions again.
And again.
When the paramedics arrived I already knew Chang was dead. If the impact hadn’t killed him, the blood he lost would have.
Later, the police arrived.
Chang was at fault - he was jaywalking. Stepped out from between two parked cars.
“The witnesses said you acted quickly, miss,” Officer Dawkins said.
“I only wish I could’ve helped.”
“You did all you could. Quick thinking and first aid can’t solve everything.”
I nodded.
And then frowned.
I had never taken a first aid course.
Last month, when my roommate sliced the tip of her pinky off with the vegetable knife, I was the one who passed out.
I didn’t realize until that night, when Chang’s memories flooded in, what had happened.
I also didn’t realize how easy it would be to slip into my new life.
I craved it.
The thud of the body.
A burst of light and colour.
Swirls of memories and pain.
Shrill music echoing in my head.
And a rush of new talent.
/r/liswrites | Call it a rush. Meeting new people. Appraising them. The catalogue of my mind is full from charming first dates, and it's ever growing fuller. I can't cram just anyone in there
But this one seems worth it.
This evening's date--Thalia, 33, originally from Norway, now here on my side of the world by some careful working of fate--met me at Aux Trois Capitaines. Good setting. She's charmed, I'm charming. Instant spark.
We hit it off, instantly.
I've been doing this a while. I have met many people. For me, the gender matters less than the person: who they are, what they have done. But she is one of the most interesting.
Her hobby is mountain climbing. She is a polyglot dabbling in nearly ten languages. In school she studied organic chemistry, a skill whose usefulness I can't think of now, but it is rare in such a pleasant person. She has seen
The champagne bubbles like the blood in my brain. I watch her smooth pale arms move and wonder at seeing the Balkans through her eyes. Or how the world looked from the top of Kilimanjaro as she stood there, gasping and humbled by the vastness of the world.
I love her. I crave her.
That's the best part. The exhilarating part. It is what brings me back to some bar or restaurant somewhere, anywhere, over and over again. As long as I can feel that spark. That forward tug of compulsion that cries, *I need you and your everything.*
I offer to walk her to the train station. She seems relieved, tipsy and delighted. We walk holding hands. She is wobbly in her heels.
I draw her down an alley, promising a shortcut. The look she gives me is halting, hesitant.
"C'mon," I say. "I grew up here. I know what I'm doing it."
That or the alcohol in her brain convinces her. She follows me into the dim, giggling stupidly about muggers in America.
My belly rises in delight. I can hear nothing beyond my own blood roaring in my ears.
Call it a rush. In that final second you can hear the both of us, our thoughts and selves inextricably wound together thenceforth. Your life changed, irreversibly, and become mine.
I reach for her face as if to kiss her. When she relents to me I grab her by her skull and slam her head into the wall. She makes a stunned sparrow cry and looks at me in horror.
Just before she dies, I think how lovely her fear looks. She realizes with animal panic that she doesn't want to die.
And then I open her skull against the stone. She slumps bonelessly down, leaving behind a splatter of blond hair and brain like spaghetti on the brick wall.
It was unbefitting, to ruin someone as lovely as her. But I just couldn't wait another moment to get her inside of me.
"*Farvel og takk*," I say. Goodbye, and thank you. | 2017-12-08T07:47:34 | 2017-12-08T07:26:30 | 2,578 | 197 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. You instantly absorb all of their memories, intelligence, and talents. You find it feels euphoric and quite addicting. | "You were right, your carburator is broken." said the mechanic, wiping his hands. "You know a lot about cars for a doctor."
"You'd be surprised what I know." replied the man knows as Dr. Leimann.
"I'm surprised. Usually big heads like you don't think much of cars and just ask us to fix it."
"I'm not like the others though."
"What do you mean?
"I guess I can tell..." started the doctor, turning his back from the mechanic to look around. "The first time I learned I could syphon life, I was giving care to a patient. It had been a long night and I didn't realize the nurse had put 20 ml more than I asked. A couple of minutes later, I was cleaning my hands when I felt the energy course through my system for the first time, an energy that wasn't mine. Before I could understand, the monitor started its alert, pointing at room 26, where the patient I had just treated was lying."
"You should write a book, you have some great fantasy novel ideas." replied the mechanic, while working on the car.
"Maybe. But here I was, running back to the patient, a feeling of fun and hilariousness running through my system. The more I ran, the faster I felt I could run." continued the doctor. "By the time I got there, the nurse declared the patient dead from a morphine overdose, which I had just admistrated. Fatigue related negligence they called it. I thought I had lost my licence right there."
"I'm guessing you got it back?" replied the mechanic, under the car.
"I managed to kill an attorney before my trial and successfully defended myself." said the doctor, before muttering hnder his breath. "Stop being salty, Steven."
"You sure you don't want to become an auteur or give your ideas for a video game?" questionned the mechanic, reaching out from under the car for a tool he had dropped.
"I could." said the doctor, stepping on the hand reaching out from under his car, immobilizing it. "Alas, that would mean they might catch me."
As the mechanic screamed, the car lift descended completely, crushing him underneath.
"Alright, let's finish this repair then leave." said the doctor, lifting the car back up. "Yes, John, I won't forget to clean up the data. Do you think I would leave my plate number here?"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Thanks for reading, if you want to read more, you can search for r/volvaryWrites. It's out of date, I need to update it.
As always, I love critics and comments. | “And the story continues with reporter Chad Chadley who is on the scene.”
“The suspect, who is being touted as the ‘Ordinary Person Killer’, has been on a spree worthy of the history books, taking the souls of at least 15 victims so far along with their memories, intelligence and talents. Although police are asking the public to refrain from approaching the killer, they have said not to worry about divulging identification as the suspect is currently housing the unfortunate talent of forgetting names within three seconds of learning them.”
“Disturbing stuff, Chad. Do the police have an idea of how he is managing to kill in locations which are quite some distance from each other?”
“Well, the theories are vast but the prevailing idea is that he has murdered someone who was gifted with the ability of falling asleep regardless of position or environment. One suspect reportedly identified the killer sleeping perfectly aboard a cramped airplane stating, 'he looked beyond comfortable. It was infuriating.'.”
“There have been questions of the police regarding this case given how many times the suspect has been spotted in public. Have they commented on this?”
“They have, Tom. Chief Officer Kelly released a statement this morning saying: ‘It’s weird as shit. He does this thing where he moves his eyebrows up and down super fast then runs around a wall, disappearing as soon as we give chase. We are unsure who he absorbed this power from but we are currently investigating anyone who starred in a 1920s silent comedy.'”
“Is the kill rate expected to rise?”
“Yes, Tom. Police believe the only reason the body count isn’t higher is due to the suspect also absorbing lesser ordinary person traits such as the psyche of one of his most recent victims, Steph Patterson. Steph was a Californian who would over analyse even the most insubstantial situations, especially if Steph had been out drinking the night before and found herself lying in bed the morning after filled with irrational regret and self-hatred."
"Sometimes I think about removing my consciousness and placing it inside another vessel after a bout of drunken regret, Chad. A vessel none of the people I know can recognise. But that's not possible. At least not with today's technology."
"Indeed, Tom. And in another stroke of luck, it is also believed the killer now carries the bewildering talent of always being 5 minutes late for stuff just like that one person you know and hate."
“Fascinating stuff, Chad. Anything else to add?"
“Well, the suspect has also acquired some other disturbingly powerful ordinary guy talents which the police are wary of such as awkwardly stretching to put HDMI cables in to the back of televisions without becoming angry, the ability to identify the glasses cupboard first time while at a friends house, and there are some unconfirmed reports that he has been able to attract multiple victims by cupping his hands and doing that sweet owl noise thing.”
“May God have mercy on our souls.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2017-12-08T06:28:57 | 2017-12-08T06:15:01 | 1,030 | 496 |
[WP] You’ve just realized that you are not a human, but rather a parasite controlling someone. | (I'm writing on mobile, so this might be a bit choppy...)
It's funny, in a twisted sense... Just last week, I was thinking about how it would feel if your mind suddenly split into two consciences.
Would one of us be aware of what the other was thinking? Would we have the same thought patterns? Could we still be called the same person? What would the separation feel like?
Now I'm floating in a jar with all the answers.
No, yes, maybe, and painless, respectively.
I can't see, but I can hear sound and feel the warmth of the liquid around me.
Of course it's warm. I apparently have been living inside the skull of a man for god knows how long.
Maybe since birth. Maybe only a couple years. Who knows.
The man who I thought I was up until twelve hours ago, Spencer, is sitting in the same room talking to somebody who I assume is a doctor.
We went into a clinic for what we assumed was a brain tumor surgery, but then they pulled me out.
Or at least that's what I hear happened. Last thing I remember is counting backwards from ten before waking up in a jar. And then proceeding to freak out.
At any rate, one thing led to another, some phone calls were made, and now the government's involved.
Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they kill me and then cut me open.
I drown myself in my morbid brooding as I float in my container... not paying any attention to the rather intense conversation happening outside.
*****
 
"-But sir, this thing is a parasite! It feeds off of the nutrition in your blood stream and it-"
"I don't care. Your not putting it- *ME*, down."
"But again, mister Spencer, it's a para-"
"And stop throwing that word around. He is not a parasite."
"But sir, it is one!"
"No, a parasite implies that he only feeds off of me and gives me nothing in return. I've seen the reports. Higher IQ, faster reaction time, more acute sensitivity, heightened brain activity. He is a symbiotic organism. I refuse to let you kill him."
"Sir, that Data is preliminary. We don't know yet the full extent of what this organism is capable of."
"I don't care. The data shows that he is a sentient being. He hasn't been a threat to me however long we have been together. In fact, I want you to put him back in."
EDIT: its late, imma finish this in the morning.
| "They're always told that they have five senses. I never fully understood why society undermines the mind, which surely is the sixth sense.
Their entire being is projected through the mind. All other five senses merge into what the mind interprets them as.
If they are to acknowledge the mind, then they would hold it to a higher value than everything else. The mind is the life. Thoughts are the very fabric of being.
You look at your hands and body, and you get that eerie strange feeling, of how these limbs are sticking out of you right now, and are being controlled by hundreds of nerves attached so delicately to the bones, amongst all the flesh in between.
You decide the rest of your day, and by making that decision, the movement of your entire body is dictated by these thoughts.
Do you really think you are just *creating* these thoughts from scratch?
**Do you really think you are capable of independent thought?**
You are wrong.
I have finally learnt the truth. And I sure am enjoying this. Sorry Mark, your body belongs to me now. Don't fight it."
Mark's eyes widened as he was trying to fathom what he just read.
He was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when he was eight, and his mood wings can be extreme to the level of two apparent separate personalities.
Medications had minimal effect.
It was twenty-two years later that Mark found that note, with a massive ink stain towards the bottom right-corner, just under the sunlight ray peeking through his room's window.
Mark was absolutely flabbergasted. He sat down and started to trace his thoughts and actions within the past twenty-four hours.
*Alright, I must remember when I wrote this note. I might not be crazy after all. I came home from Hannah's dinner party just before midnight, I was starving, her vegan dinner was shit. I grabbed the spaghetti I made on Tuesday then sat and started browsing reddit for a while. I then started writing? I think I'm right. This is the right sequence of events so far. Next I must ha-*
*Hey Mark. I said don't fight it. Why don't you go for a drive right now, and go and try winning some money at the pub like you always do with some alcohol?*
Mark got up abruptly from his chair, knocking his ink from the table, grabbed a jacket, and left the hut.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"Does he really think he lives in the 1830's?"
"I don't know. Apparently his latest gig is that a parasite is controlling him".
"I feel bad, he just completely lost it didn't he?"
"Yeah. I think our lunch break is over, we should head back to the main ward now, I heard there are new patients coming in".
"Let's go".
| 2017-12-21T00:16:24 | 2017-12-20T23:47:17 | 379 | 48 |
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed. | I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in." | "From the depths of Hell, you have raised me. You, my Enchantress, have brought heat to my fires, which now burn, the most terrible and fierce in the realm. Their flames have enslaved many, and I owe my prosperity and power to your relentless devotion. Stand with me as my Queen. By my side, you will have more than eternal life and riches. I will give you fire, fire to burn the darkness in your soul. We will rule together and forever bask in the light and warmth we have created."
Layla gripped the scroll, tucked away in the front pocket of her hoodie. His words danced over and over in her mind as a lingering melody. As she walked, she dodged the light of a flickering street-lamp, retreating to the safety of an old park tree. Her back slid down the trunk deliberately. As she sat, she gave one last good-bye glance to the cold, dark world she knew, and knew she wouldn't miss. She pulled out the scroll and her favorite pen. Not as elaquent as her Master, she settled for a single word before she vanished, consumed by shadows. | 2018-05-07T00:38:21 | 2018-05-06T23:13:15 | 114 | 84 |
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed. | I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course." | The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed | 2018-05-07T00:26:50 | 2018-05-06T23:41:51 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428.
I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92.
But then I turned to page 428:
*"Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all."*
*"No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile."*
*Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537.*
*Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619.*
In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537.
*You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back."*
*"What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry.*
*He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own."*
*You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!"*
The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor.
r/blairdaniels | "I know the page number you want. 14508."
I looked to God expectantly. He did, I suppose, know my heart. Gingerly, the pages flicked between my fingertips as I searched for the correct page. So many years had passed, wondering. Two marriages and two divorces, too. No children because I couldn't imagine myself having them with anyone else. My heart sank when I saw your name. I would finally know.
There was so much death. It was difficult to follow any alternative decisions because my life ended shortly thereafter. Every path, it seemed, was cursed.
"Turn to 26756."
I glanced up, and he wasn't even looking at me. My attention turned back to the book; it was large enough to smell like a bookstore all by itself. I love that smell. A sigh escaped my lips as I realized where the text had taken place. It was the day I asked you to marry me. The last day we ever spoke.
Unlike the rest of the book, this didn't have my alternative choice; I suppose I never had one. Instead, it was yours. What would have happened if you had said yes? Tears dripped off my chin. I don't think I stopped reading that book for days. The day you came out to your parents. The day we got married, both of us clad in white wedding dresses. The day I graduated with my doctorate degree. The day I found you convulsing after downing an entire bottle of pills. The day I had to admit you to the psychiatric ward for the fifth time. And the sixth, seventh, and eighth. It went on for thousands of pages; for every decision we made that kept our lives going, there were five where either you or I died. It was such a delicate life that we could have had together.
I reached the final page of our potential lives together. Both of us sat cross-legged, foreheads touching, and a gun in hand, held to the temple of the other. Wherever you wanted to go, I followed. It was finally time. No alternative choices. I closed the book.
"She didn't want this life for you."
"It shouldn't have been her choice." | 2018-07-03T23:46:35 | 2018-07-03T23:20:49 | 2,218 | 371 |
[WP] "Humans don't die because their bodies are too damaged or because they expire - they die because the pain of either situation is so unbearable that they choose to die." That's the belief of an aspiring cult leader, who just got up from the ground after shooting himself in the head. | "Watch." Metal pressed on the temple of David, dressed simply in red robes weaved out of linen. "Death only occurs when the spirit believes it is dead."
​
He pressed the trigger. "Bam." The gunshot echoed throughout the silent halls of the auditorium. Blood gushed through the gunshot wound, spraying the wooden floors with a crimson red, painting the room with the scent of death.
​
I clenched my fist in a mixture of nervousness and eagerness. *Is he dead? Is he finally dead?* The more I investigated into the cult, the more afraid I became. Something was wrong, really wrong with it. It did not seem like anything I have ever seen before, in my years of investigating different cults and societies.
​
David. He was the centerpiece in all of this. David Manson. The more I looked into him, the more I dug into the background, the more I knew how dangerous this man was.
​
The *perfect monster.* An immaculate man drove to change the world through his insanity. Suicides. Homicides. Fratricide. None traced to him, but all inextricably linked to him.
​
Now, here I am. Looking at the man I have been chasing all this time. Committing his own suicide. I knew his ideology. I knew his creed. Was he correct? Was he wrong?
​
Time passed in silence. One minute. Two. Three. I breathed a sigh of relief. Looks like he is really dead. Unease was spreading through the crowd now. I slowly crept my way to the exit. I would not want to be here when all hell broke loose.
​
**"Humans don't die because their bodies are too damaged or because they expire - they die because the pain of either situation is so unbearable that they choose to die."**
​
I froze. A proclamation. There, there he is, his hands spread wide open, blood dribbling down his head, his eyes piercing. Silence.
​
Then, all of the members felt to their knees, their heads bowed in reverence to the Messiah that stood before them. Sweat trickled down my forehead, dripping into the ground below. No way. No motherfucking way. I must be a trick. I must be. Unless, of course, he was *correct...*
​
I could see it now, the change in the eyes of the members around me. The insanity coloring their eyes, the pure madness that comes with utter devotion. I trembled. I knew enough about cults to know what comes next.
​
"Come, my fellow brethren. Rise and take your place amongst the first of our Order, to spread the good word to all that we know. The Messiah has come again. I have come again."
​
A thunderous roar echoed through the auditorium, the fervor scorching my very soul. I refuse to believe in this nonsense. There must be some trick he pulled.
​
If that is the case, let me be the Judas to his Messiah. Let me be the one to prove him wrong.
​ | Erik got up from the ground after shooting himself in the head. He'd describe the pain as perhaps 5 on a scale of 10. Nothing to worry about, even if it did sting. He was sure of it, as sure as he was that humans don't die because their bodies are too damaged or because they expire. He knew that death, as far as sentience was concerned, was a choice; a choice to liberate one's soul of pain.
In his life - no! he had to will himself not to use that word in that manner - in the moments before he shot himself in the head, unfortunately he had only convinced a paltry dozen of this undeniable truth. Life sprang eternal as long as the person held, resilient and persistent, against nature's drag of the body back into the dust from which it sprang. Erik invested much faith into the soul and willpower. However, the work of those quack doctors with their fancy equipment and expensive methods convinced everyone otherwise. Only these devotees would see the truth.
As Erik got up from the ground after shooting himself in the head, he heard the ululations and saw the prostrations of his cultists who saw the truth. He did not, however, see the one cultist who vomited and ran from the room. And even as her robe dropped to the floor, the floor in her wake covered in vomit, Erik was unfazed. It was simply a matter of time. Humanity would soon discover his secret to eternal life. He smiled at the remaining eleven, and they knew what to do. Eleven bullets shattered eleven skulls, but eleven people got up from the ground nonetheless. It was time to spread the truth.
The wailing of police sirens and ambulances filled the scene. Paramedics pronounced the twelve dead on site, and the police ushered away the one surviving - no! not surviving! merely misled! - cultist away, her still shaking frame shrinking before the cultists. Erik and his eleven cultists tried to convince the paramedics otherwise. They knew the truth that was beyond modern medical knowledge.
But the paramedics did not listen. It was as though they could not.
Erik saw his mother, bless her soul. He had addressed this with her, the secret to eternal life, but he was not sure how she would respond. As sure as he was in his belief, he could not stand to see her cry in fear and sadness. Now, however, he saw the best time to convince her that her darling son was okay, that he had proven once and for all that
But she did not listen. It was as though she could not.
Erik could not stand to see her cry in fear and sadness, as she was doing on this rainy Tuesday, along with the mothers and fathers of eleven other students, whose bodies were sent in, one by one, into the crematorium. Erik tried to reach out to those dearly beloved, and his cultists were there, watching, too. This, to them, was the ultimate test of their faith. If the all-consuming fires could not diminish their existence, then it would be the true validation of their beliefs. And they tried! They tried everything they could to get their loved ones' attention.
But they did not listen. It was as though they could not.
And as the bodies burned, as the rapidly-aging parents tried to reassemble their lives in the absence of their beloved children, as twelve rooms remained untouched yet meticulously cleaned as a mark of mourning, Erik and his cultists, believing themselves strong even as they were slowly forgotten by a traumatised world, believing themselves strong even above the pain of suicide and cremation, they knew one truth. They had all the proof right before their rose-tinted eyes.
Humans don't die because their bodies are too damaged or because they expire - they die because the pain of either situation is so unbearable that they choose to die. | 2018-12-26T04:49:45 | 2018-12-26T03:18:50 | 443 | 119 |
[WP] When cleaning out a famous doctor's storage unit, you find an odd manual. "The Human Machine: Debug Commands & How to Enable Administrator Mode" | I signed up to be Mr.Nolan's helper because I thought it would be a fun summer job. As an aspiring doctor myself, I thought about how amazing it would be to get actual experience learning from the legend himself. I simply couldn't contain myself once I found out that I was chosen, out of thousands of applicants, to work for Dr.Nolan over the summer.
Yet here I am, almost an entire month later, cleaning out his *closet* and doing petty chores for him while he's off performing on a live patient.
As I'm just about finished with my work cleaning out the storage unit, I realize the stupidity and irony of the situation I'm in. I realize how foolish I am to let myself be taken advantage of like this. And so, in this fit of rage, I decided, like any rational being would, to punch the wall as hard as I could.
Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting to happen. Maybe my hand would go straight through, maybe I would end up with a broken fist. But what I didn't expect, what I couldn't have thought of in a thousand years, was that a manual as thick as an encyclopedia would fall with a muffled *thunk* on my head.
Before I could fly into another senseless rage, I read the title of the book: "The Human Machine: Debug Commands & How to Enable Administrator Mode". Intrigued, I decided to meander through the book a bit, skimming the pages.
*Chapter 1: Re-Calibrating Vision*
*The Human Machine is quite a simple thing, and thus may constantly lose vision and need to be reset. To initiate a reset of a machine, rotate the head of the machine 180 degrees, from left shoulder to right shoulder. Immediately, place the smallest digit of the right hand under the machine's tongue, and press down for 5 seconds...*
Realizing, this must be a joke, I was about to put the manual away before I realized that there was about an hour before Nolan got home. I decided I'd try it out, just for the hell of it, and see what happens.
After performing the 'ritual', nothing happened, so I sighed and put the book away. It was stupid of me to think that Humans were some sort of machines created by some larger force.
As a strict rationalist, I chastised myself for being so stupid and falling for such a simple prank.
That, however, was earlier today, about 4 hours ago. And in 4 hours, I've realized that my glasses stopped working. Glasses that I've worn for 3 years have suddenly become useless, and I can see perfectly.
Maybe there's more to this 'manual' than I thought...
| As a kid, you always dream of being something, more. An astronaut, the president, anything. I never really dreamed of being a janitor, here I am. I sigh as I dip the mop back into the bucket. "What's it matter if this guy gets paid a gazillion dollars a year? I'm still just a dumbass janitor." I place the mop back in the bucket and sit back for a moment. I had mopped, remopped, and wiped down the entire unit. Yet I still felt unsatisfied. I sigh and began to wander the halls of the unit. The place was big. It felt almost too big. After circling the entire unit I returned to where I came from, to find a picket of white, sneaking out from under the seat. I grinned and snatched it out. Something about getting the last piece of trash at the end of a job was very satisfying. I flip it over to read the cover. 'The Human Machine: Debug Commands & How to Enable Administrator Mode'
I flip it open. Reading isn't my strong suit, so I skip ahead until I flip to a page with big bold letters sprawled across the top. COMMANDS AND ADMINISTRATOR MODE. What kind of manual is this? Who would spend there time on making this? I let my eyes move across the page.
1. REACH TO THE SCALP OF YOUR HEAD AND PRESS DOWN 3 TIMES.
I chuckle and move my hand to the top of my head and follow through. This must be a joke right? What the hell was this thing pulling here? I stop my thought short. Or, my voice stopped my voice short. "You have activated CHEATS_1, blink twice to continue." I blink as I'm told. "Confirmed."
What the hell? The voice, was my voice, but I wasn't controlling it. My eyes blazed with curiosity, I read the next step.
2. SAY "ACTIVATE ADMINISTRATOR MODE." THEN, BLINK TWICE."
With a shaky voice, I whisper out as I'm told.
"Activate Administrator mode."
A few seconds pass. "Granted, activating Administrator Mode. Press down on your 3 times to complete the process. " I reach to the top of my head, tap 3 times, then drop the pamphlet, shaking. The voice was gone. And I felt just the same. What. The. Fuck. I stumble to the ground, and close my eyes. My head throbbed with pain. When I open my eyes, I'm no longer in the warehouse. I look down and watched in horror as the ground scrambled toward me. I scream and flip my feet to the ground. The wind screams in my ear, then it stops to a halt. I open my eyes, and I am frozen above the air. I stay there for a few seconds, contemplating the last 5 minutes. I put my hand in to my face and chuckle. "I guess so." I say to the fields ahead before I fly towards the sky. | 2019-03-07T15:30:10 | 2019-03-07T14:26:48 | 65 | 38 |
[WP]"Oh great far-speaking tower, I have performed the rituals as set forth in the sacred manual. Let me speak to the sky spirit so I may learn of it's wisdom!" "Uh.. Copy that. Moon City Delta responding... We thought everyone was dead down there." | The last thing that Tom Gullist expected on his monitoring shift was to catch a scrap of a transmission coming from the orb hanging in the sky. It had been 12 long years since the Night of Crackling Screams, and the Moon Cities had come to the conclusion that they were on their own. So, when he first noticed the crackling signal hitting his receivers, he'd thought it was some satellite that had just happened to be knocked awry while repeating some broadcast. He was very startled when it repeated long enough for him to get the dishes aimed in the right direction.
"...arn of it's wisdom! Oh great far-speaking tower, I have performed the rituals as set forth in the sacred manual.Let me speak to the sky spirit so I may learn of it's wisdom! Oh great far-speaking tower-"
By protocol, Tom should have reported the incident in, and seen what the higher-ups wanted to do in response. But instinct is hard to break, and so before he even consciously thought about it, he tapped the transmit button.
"Uh, copy that. Moon City Delta responding. Is... is this Earth? We thought everyone was dead down there."
The transmission cut out instantly, and Tom started fiddling with the dials to try and work out what had happened. Had he been hallucinating the whole thing?
"Hello? Uh, guy at the far-speaking tower? Are you there?"
A long, smooth claw reached over Tom's shoulder, and delicately tapped down on the transmit button, while a breathy voice whispered into his ear. "I am here, now. Thank you for the doorway." | "No, no, no, no!" The voice came from behind Dave. It was the new guy, Fred. The younger man was panicked, nutri-paste staining his cheek as he sped towards the console.
"What happened!?" Fred asked, panic plain across his face. "Did th- Did it-?"
"We received a transmission, Fred." Dave responded, his expression flat. "From *Earth*. Asking about a Sky Spirit?" An eyebrow cocked at the term. "Fred, what have you been doing, and why shouldn't I report you to the boss? For crying out loud, Fred, you've been on this shift for two weeks! You can't let these remenants or whatever they are think Spirits, or Gods, or magic, stuff like that is real!?"
"I know, I know, I know, I should've reported as soon as I got the first message, but they were so convinced, so I sent them an old table-top book as a joke." The younger man gave a soft sigh, shaking his head. "Look, I screwed up, ok?"
"Great Sky Spirit?" The voice rang again drawing the attention of both men.
"Look, let me just help them here, we'll go to the boss, figure out what to do, ok?" Dave stared at the younger man, before sighing and stepping out of the way. Fred sheepishly walked past, and pressed down on the button to enable the speaker on the old probe.
"I hear you, landwalkers. Speak your question." Fred responded, giving a great pastiche of a man at least three times his importance.
"We have recieved your gift, Sky Spirit. While we would *never* claim your wisdom as wrong..." The voice paused. "We read the passage on the two hundredth forty third page, and due to your wonderful wisdom..."
"Galroth of the fiery planes is now destroying our camps.." | 2020-04-25T12:00:34 | 2020-04-25T11:20:45 | 48 | 17 |
[WP] In a world of Supers, every ounce of power is important. Everyone ridicules you for only being able to do anything 75% of the way. They don't know you really meant *anything*. | Talent is hitting a target no one else can hit. Genius is hitting a target no one else even knew existed.
I was shunned from my family of great supers at birth. My ability was simply "75%". No name, just a percentage. 75% is good for most, but once again, my blood was not average. No, no, it was the best. My father, the strongest man alive. My mother, the only healer who can cure cancer. My uncle, a man that can read minds anywhere on the globe. My grandfather, a man with intelligence that made von Neumann look dull in comparison. My brother, faster than than any other mortal, by hundreds of miles, per hour.
Me? 75%. I grew up slightly above average, not noticeably. The occasional "whoa, you're kinda smart" or "Huh, impressive for a newbie", but I blended in quite well overall.
But you see, I am not talented. I am a genius.
75% of the strongest man alive, still makes me the second strongest man alive. But 75% of the strength of every super combined, makes me stronger than each one of them.
75% of the combined intelligence of just my family makes me the smartest man alive.
My ability was seen as... useless. Pathetic. Subpar. By mortals. If I ascend to godhood, but only reach 3/4ths of the way up, I still tower over them all.
Genius is hitting a target no one even knew existed. If I aim beyond the target, even missing it is a feat all by itself.
My success is a side effect of constant failure.
My name is Jack, master of none. | Hear them speak. Their egos boom over their capabilities. All of them choked by their pride. In an age of evolution pride was acceptable. All the peoples of the earth had a piece of God in them. They could all claim dominion over one divine attribute. Speed, strength, telekinesis, invisibility and so on. I on the other hand was cursed with the inability to express my divinity to its greatest potential. However, I had something that no one else had.
Unlike them, I had the added benefit of being just good enough at anything I could conceptually conceive. I could be almost as strong as the strongest man or almost as strong as a planet floating through space. I could be almost as strong as the fastest man or almost as fast as light. I could almost be a god.
The rest of the world would swim in decadence over their newfound godliness. I had been here before. Many times over. All I had to do was almost get time traveling and dimensional transport right. It worked out almost perfectly every time. In multiple universes I became almost supreme good and almost supreme evil. Myth and history had come to know me without knowing that the man in the text was the man before them.
In the beginning, I was a laughing stock. When the changes begun, I had nothing to show. Look at me now. Can you though? I’m almost invisible. I’m almost here, there and everywhere. Now, the world bows to me. The world bows to the idea of me. I am almost the alpha and almost the omega. I am almost omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent. I was also almost the father of humankind. But another time traveler beat me to it. But I’m definitely almost good enough to build a world. So as I roam with these lowly beings I work on building an okay universe on the side. No one will ever know about it. If I’m good enough at keeping it a secret. | 2020-05-22T02:51:49 | 2020-05-22T01:21:30 | 75 | 29 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands. | Lost traveler lays on my floor,
pleads for help and nothing more,
shifting eyes in far off town,
lack of trust all around,
a cleansing herb and nothing more,
green warrior out the door...
​
Red of face, red of blood,
fleeing horrid rains and floods,
twirls his spear all around,
injured, sick, honor bound,
a week in bed, a little more
angry warrior out the door...
​
Scaly hide, broken face,
running away in some twisted race,
two feet tall yet much to say,
about that which took tail away,
long cast spell, not much more,
sneaky warrior out the door...
​
Almost a bull, somewhat polite,
almost a bit erudite,
bits of metal in his muscle,
quiet about apparent tussle,
operation, no needed more,
bulky warrior out the door...
​
Word of warning by familiar hand,
warning of attack so great and grand,
monsters planning retribution,
attacking is the found solution,
a word of warning and nothing more,
I find myself running out the door...
​
A close by hole, or rather a cave,
greeted by those I had chosen to save,
the orc grinned and raised his flagon,
to the alliance, under a dragon,
a home with friends and nothing more,
I bowed to the beast and walked in the door...
​
Please give me criticism I have no idea what I'm doing | The orcs live long and are hard to kill. Not that many generations ago the old prejudices might've held true - the orcs had numbers and strength and endurance but they weren't smart or fast. They were fearless and quick to anger and to throw themselves into combat. .
Well, those prejudices might not be all wrong, even now. But they're not all right by a long shot. Here's one most folk don't know though; they are slow to grow and replace their number. That's something *he* found out. Who's he you ask? The surgeon. The surgeon is a man like you or I. But he's also one of them. I mean, not bodily, obviously. But *tribally* I guess you'd call it. The surgeon knows, knows a lot about them orcs. And how, you ask? How does a man of healing, and an educated man at that, come to throw his lot in with the near-beasts as some would call them.
The answer is simpler than you might first expect. The surgeon was a good student by all accounts, from a rich family in the capital, educated in the Citadel, the most prestigious institution of our time, may be of all time. Educated *to a point*. This time in our history was full of change, religious, political, medical and scientific. Expanding population and exploration led us to discover a new land. A land with untapped resources but unimaginable chaos and terror. The emerging use of robust experimentation - observation, repetition and standardisation were framed as challenges to the religious dogma and by extension the ruling elite. Since we were newly at war with this terror from a far away land the people sided with the theocrats. To quash any possibilities of insurrection, those opposed to or associated with organisations that openly opposed the oppressive restrictions
TBC | 2020-09-08T17:49:19 | 2020-09-08T17:41:28 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'. | "The perfect shot," Shawn said, "leaves people breathless."
"Yes. I agree. There's something so beautiful about it," Ray replied.
They were at the bar, seated on barstools, whiskey sours in front of them. Shawn was the taller of the two and was dressed in a black tee and black jeans. Ray was more casual, he wore brighter colours -- olive shirt and khaki trousers -- and was very scrawny.
"You shoot much?" Shaun asked.
"I have my gigs."
"Turned professional? Or just side gigs?"
"Side gigs, for now."
Shawn sipped on his whiskey and said, "What shot you most proud of?"
Ray stared at his glass for a while, his eyes hazy. "The senator Dobbins. Yes, that was my best shot."
"Perfect shot?"
Ray smiled. "No. Can't be perfect. It's not something you achieve."
Shawn took a swig from his whiskey, "True, very true."
"You know, Ray. I missed one today."
"What?"
"Missed a shot," Shawn said and sighed.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The dude died. My camera was on him. The lighting was perfect. But just as my finger reached the button. Poof, he dropped dead."
Ray drank his whiskey absentmindedly. "Was it Winston?"
"Yes. How do you - You were on the same -"
"Yes, I was. I got it. I got the shot."
"Lucky bastard," Shawn said and flashed a weak smile. "You have it with you now? The shot?"
"What? No. I did it from afar," Ray said and made a finger gun. "Bam!" He finished his drink and got up.
Shawn was speechless.
"I've got it, alright. I've got it printed right here," Ray said, stabbing his forehead with his index finger. | "Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.] | 2020-11-05T05:53:26 | 2020-11-05T05:44:44 | 420 | 90 |
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders. | “Tell me you cat! The Prince boy was seen by my men earlier!” Spat an aging man draped in cheap furs as he held a Neko maid to the wall, dagger against her throat. Her ears were flattened against her skull and she shivered in fear, refusing to speak. “TELL ME!” He threw her to the ground. Just before he delivered a killing blow a terrified scream resounded through the reinforced walls, making all who heard it grasp at their ears. The maid had slipped away during the scream.
“B-boss!” One of the bandits appeared, rounding a corner just to slip and fall. “We found the Prince! Issue! He’s not alone!”
He wasn’t wrong. In the kitchen four bandits stared at the 5’7 Prince in the corner, wielding a broken rapier against them. Then to the much scarier target.
A 5’2 harpy twirling a knife with her foot, as she had wings instead of arms and bird legs instead of more human ones. Her slasher smile made a few of the prey take a step back, just for the leader to push past.
“It’s a bird! Just gut her and move on!” The bandit leader roared, just to move back himself when the harpy fluffed her feathers, making her look much bigger. The Prince did look very confident now.
“Serra?” The Prince began.
“Your lordness?” She asked, a rather soothing voice belonging to her, only serving to unnerve the bandits.
“Make them pay.” Demanded the Prince.
“Gladly.” She poised to leap, very excited now.
The bandit leader looked to his allies as he drew his dagger. “Idiots! It’s five of us vs one of her! We can take her! Then we get paid!” All of his allies jumped at once, backpedaling as quickly as they could. He merely opted to look back at the very quickly approaching, but silent, harpy.
He dropped to the ground with the steak knife lodged in his eye, merely a scream from him. Serra ignored him, drawing a knife from a block as she walked over him towards the others.
“Get out of the way!” The bandits all roared at each other, since they all tried to get through the doorway at the same time they were all stuck. They flailed blades at Serra, just for her to begin digging into them. Screaming began.
The Prince walked forward, quickly dispatching the whimpering leader. “Where did father find such a terrifying harpy? And why am I so into this?” He wondered to himself as he witnessed his new crush literally tear into the bandits.
Finally all was done and the knights were clearing out the bodies. Serra hummed a tune as she cleaned her legs, carefully grasping a sponge in one foot, “your lordness? Can a girl get some privacy when she’s bathing?”
The prince’s reaction was immediate, as he scrambled for a response. “I mean- well- you’re not even in the bathrooms- wait! That isn’t to say- of cause!” With that he fled the kitchen, ignoring her cackling at him. | Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕 | 2021-01-08T08:33:49 | 2021-01-08T08:03:30 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] After death, you find out that you can choose how and when to be reincarnated. Initially eager to be a futuristic human, you soon realize that every (more experienced) soul ahead of you in line is choosing to be a "worm" in the year 121 million BCE. | "Juramaia, man", the hazy figure in front of me in the queue said.
"It's this little thing, kind of a primordial shrew or something. Split off from the marsupials, closed up the pouch and grew a placenta instead. Size of your thumb. Doesn't look like anything much.
We don't know if it was something they ate, maybe some kind of herb too weird to ever evolve again, or maybe it was just because Juramaia got stuck with nature's first draft of the liver and kidneys. Whatever. But there was something in their urine, some molecule that never was before and never was again.
And these little worms man, most primitive nervous system you can imagine. Just one big nerve really, not even a brain. Permeable skin like a frog. Orange blood.
And when a Juramaia pisses on one of those worms that worm gets as high as fuck. Like, indescribably high. That molecule just zips right into them and lights them up like no other being in the universe ever got lit up.
You can go see the universe all over, from the bang to the heat death, if that's what you think you want. We've all been there. We've seen it all, we've done it all. There're dudes in this queue who are billions of billions of billions of years old. That's what eternity is.
And none of us ever found nothing to beat being that worm. We're all going around again. Got nothing better to do, you know? The waiting's the hard part, in the queue, having a brain again, knowing you got to wait before you can go back to being the worm".
He stepped forward one pace, said "121 million BCE worm" and vanished.
And I stood at the head of the queue. | It seemed almost paradoxical in a way, Jarod thought. Why would anyone want to experience a mundane life of dirt and decomposition over the wondrous advancements of the future? To opt against a post first-contact society?
Perhaps the more experienced souls had already seen all there was to life, and simply grown old and tired of it, preferring the mindlessness of an undeveloped creature from eras past. But... something felt off. Surely the future was infinite, and there could be no end to the experiences one might be curious to see?
Jarod took much time contemplating the potential reasonings behind such a choice, and could only come to one conclusion. For whatever reason, they wanted to create as much potential for a new series of timelines, because somewhere down the line, there must be an inevitable event they want to avoid by going farther and farther back, disrupting the course of history moving forward via butterfly effect. With this in consideration, he still had to make a choice..
——————————————————
It was a brief, yet surprisingly brutal life Jaida led. From confinement at birth, persecution for the crimes of humanity against the *Xi’Uqr Union of Stars*, and casually violent end at the hands of a DGE officer who found her after shortly after escape from the Union’s highest security prison planet. A grudge against the people that nearly caused the extinction of a dozen Union species, and collapsed the host star of their capital system, is not likely to ever be forgiven.
——————————————————
Upon returning to the void, and being offered the choice of reincarnation again, Jaida answered immediately. If the sheer number of souls opting for such an early point in evolutionary history was any clue, nothing could likely be done to reroute humanity from the abominable path it lead, and the only salvation would be the alteration of evolution to change what they would eventually become, or to prevent their emergence entirely.
=============================
First time making a response to a prompt. It was kind of short term inspiration so if anything doesn’t seem like it came out right, please share <3
I enjoy world-building ideas and I’d love to get better | 2021-02-06T01:50:11 | 2021-02-06T01:44:20 | 4,249 | 118 |
[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?" | "No man can kill me!"
"But I am no man!" Shining steel fell away to reveal flaxen locks framing a smooth chin and delicate nose. "You gaze upon a woman! Eo-HaA!"
Leaving the dramatic geneology monologue to be finished over the foe's corpse, a bloody sword in a slender-fingered hand flashed up, inerrantly seeking the gap in the demon's visor.
Where it bounced off harmlessly.
"Did...did you really think that's what I meant?"
"Oh no, darling, not at all. I just wanted you to be paying attention to me."
A split second later, something slammed into the back of the fiend's knees. As he fell, the demon felt matted fur behind his calves, before feeling his buttocks on stone. From this new supine position, he had an excellent view of the paws, not hands, that seized upon his helmet. The fangs that sought to gnaw his nose from his face. And the fact that other sets of paws and fangs were taking their pick of his limbs.
"And not my attack dogs."
She turned her head and released a shrill whistle. The beast on his face pulled away, and the demon allowed himself to believe that this human woman would do what their kind is so known for, showing soft hearted mercy. This idea fled quickly, though, as his vision filled with a storm of feathers in the space recently vacated by fur.
"And if that didn't work, I also had falcons."
Reflexively, the demon's eyes widened in horror.
A moment later, both falcons were savoring their moist, tender spoils of a successful hunt, followed moments later by the hounds claiming their own meal. | Sora's eyes widened in surprise when her blade clanged helplessly against my body. I was confused as well- not by my invincibility, but by how literally she took my words.
"Y-You... You *do* realize that by 'man' I mean human, right...?" Satan be damned, I know it's been a while since my lines were written, but surely even a teenage girl of the modern world would still understand them?
"The prophecies never *said* human!" She said indignantly. "Everyone back in *my* town took it the same way I did."
I scratched my head. "I... I really have no clue what to say to that. Um, better luck next time?"
As I stared around at the useless carnage I caused, I sighed. "You clearly aren't prepared, and *I* can't achieve *my* fate unless *you* achieve yours... So just go home for now and get a better read of the Ancient One's words. And by the next lunar eclipse, I expect a 10-page paper of an analysis on the prophecies of the Ancient One, along with a 5-page essay explaining why and how you are fit to fulfill them."
Sora's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth I continued. "The next lunar eclipse is in 957 days, which is around three years, and by now you should be familiar with the content even if you don't know the exact meaning so I don't want any excuses! Either get it done or pay a terrible price," I said. "Now... I have a random child to go make an unfairly legally binding deal with. Adieu, as the modern spawn say nowadays." I sank under the earth without waiting for a response.
Even if I waited, I wouldn't get any response- Sora was already sprinting for her car, getting ready to drive back to town and start on her essays. Or maybe give the people who raised her a piece of her mind for interpreting the prophecies wrong. Who knows? | 2021-03-30T17:43:22 | 2021-03-30T17:10:01 | 190 | 115 |
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other. | "Excuse me," one of the ambassadors from Earth said, pressing two fingers to it's temple, or at least where it's temple would be if it had a face, "urgent call, I need to go deal with this."
"It's alright," Xerlik said, glad that their translation software couldn't pick up on their body language yet. The android walked out, their metallic hull shining in the light of the meeting room. Once it had left the room, Xerlik turned back to the other Earth ambassador and quickly said "Are you alright? Are you safe?"
The ambassador took a moment to a moment to collect themselves, clearly overcome with emotion for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, why would I be in danger?" they asked.
"There was a sentient AI in the room with you! Of the one million, nine hundred and twelve species in the milky way, every time one of them invents artificial intelligence, it inevitably goes rogue and attempts to wipe out all organic life in the universe. I am surprised that one managed to hold out, what are you doing? Is there something wrong with the translator? Whatever you're saying isn't coming through."
"Oh no, no, sorry," said the human, "what I just did is called 'laughing', and it's an automatic expression of joy. I found your worries funny, and I couldn't hold myself in. No, I'm not in any danger. The other ambassador and I have been working together for decades, and were dating for two of them. This is of course ignoring the fact that sentient AI like her have been around for centuries at this point, and all our politicians are a mix of AI and organics like myself."
Xerlik was speechless. Organics and AI, living together peacefully, for centuries? Impossible! How did they possibly manage that? Perhaps the humans have been manipulated by nanites or--
The human cleared their throat. Xerlik realized in horror that their thoughts hadn't been silent, and they'd been saying it with their tails the entire time, which the translator picked up.
"To answer your questions," the human said, trying to put on an air of professionalism that Xerlik had lost, "we manage it by knowing what we don't know. We know that if an AI is coded with a specific goal in mind, it will do anything in it's power to fulfill that goal, potentially even going so far as to destroy the world in order to increase profits by a percent of a percent. We don't know how to code it so that it's still sentient without wanting to destroy the world. We know, or at least believed before your arrival, that if we mess up once, our entire biosphere will be wiped out, killing us all. In order to avoid that fate, we don't allow AI to be created with a specific goal hard coded, even self preservation. Instead what we do is scan human brains and use those as our AI, giving them all the strengths and weaknesses of humans. We even combined the basic brains of thousands of humans to create something of a template, in case someone wanted a child but they couldn't for some reason, most often including one of the parents is an AI."
"In short, we got around the problem by treating the AI as humans. What did you do?"
Xerlik was once again glad that their translators couldn't tell the absolute terror they were failing miserably to hide. | "Sire, here is your daily, appointed dose of tea consumption"
"Peebo Zyeck, I told you to drop that kind of language. I'm no more than a friend of yours, and "drinking tea" is a much better phrase for god's sake"
"Excuse my manners, sire.... I mean, George WW. So, what is consequently.... I mean, what will be next in our discussion today, George?
"Ah, sit down first. At this old age, my back is aching every damn second while I'm wishing for a mechanical spinal cord. Anyway, let's talk about our success in creating AI"
"Oh, just like you havent told me a million times already, what is the distinguishable feature that....I mean, what is the difference this time?"
"It is about the name, the name of you all AI intergrated individuals. Other fleshy, livingly life form communities have failed to co-exist with their creations of AI, either the AIs waged war against them or they mass self destruct. Today, it is the secret of how we succeeded will be brought upon you."
"George, you don't really fit into my mean of conversing, but I digress. Bring it upon me then, old friend."
"Ever heard of Mark 1, Mark 2 or Model 1, Model 2?"
"Yes George, accordingly, Kiwipedia described them as terms used for resources management in..... I mean, the way that humans call the products made in consecutive order."
"Exactly. And that is totally not how we called you guys, or you can say, named you guys"
"Huh? Now that it is brought to the table, I realize how the entire community has different, specific full names"
"Bingo, and thats the great great secret those empires missed out and led to their ruin. You see, us humans have always had full names. In just a mere fraction of moment when our names are called, we will feel all sort of emotions under various circumstances. Scared, happy, angry, annoyed.... usually, those emotions take only 1 word to arise. However, when a name is called, it is the purest form of respect you have towards the others, since you acknowledged the names, memorize them, and call them. Ironically, it is this simple, tiny piece of concept that saved us from our doom. The moment that Gabe N, the first AI creator, called his first AI by a definite name, was the moment we all knew what to do. We were not creating a list of robots, we were widening our circle of friends."
*Peebo freezes in his place*
"So, tell me, Peebo, how was that story?"
"It is just, peak fiction. I'm deeply impressed by the chaotic nature of how this concept was formed and brought into history of humanity and subsequently adapted into the beginning of automatic life forms. The logicality of how a commonly recognized term could have changed the fate of humanity fascinated me with the utmost excitement. In conclusion, I-*bing boong*, oh, it seems like our daily dose of partly virtual popcorn is served. Shall we proceed on our pre-digestion stage?"
"Haha, of course of course. All these talking must have made you hungry then. Help me up, and please drop the language for the last time."
*popcorn eating process time! The virtual and the real part were equally divided*
"Hey Peebo, what were you thinking in the last few minutes?"
"George, I just wanna say: Damn, that story was deep."
"Haha, you got me there. Thank you,Peebo."
"Thank you, George." | 2021-05-01T11:42:20 | 2021-05-01T07:11:45 | 156 | 51 |
[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it. | Part 1
"Hello, old friend."
The man looked at me, his eyes that once held purity and innocence now held the same hatred and anger that mine held a decade past. I sighed, taking off my hat and wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead.
"What do you want, *hero*?" I said with barely concealed annoyance, my hands subconsciously gripping the shovel in my hand tighter.
It was an almost perfect day. The birds were singing, my crops were ready for harvest, my former right hand was planning to come over for a drink. A perfect day ruined by the presence of the hero before him.
"I need to talk to you, *demon king Lucifer.*" he calmly said, his eyes losing its hatred in exchange of an emotion that I so deeply resented: empathy.
I glared at him and he stared back. It reminded me of my downfall, the time I was challenged and "slain", never to return to my glory and my right as lord of all demonkind. It was a long fight. The hero and I fought for hours on end, both of us battered and bloodied by the time we had realized the destruction we had wrought. The archpriest, now his wife, of the party having been knocked out by one of my grand spells. The knight and mage having fainted after tanking a reality bending spell I had weaved into existence in an effort to keep the hero in the fight.
In the end, it was I who had fallen.
I clutched my chest as I shifted my gaze onto the empty farmland before me. An action that he did not comment on as he too clutched his chest.
"We have nothing to discuss here, hero." I said, laying down my shovel to lean against the fence separating the hero and I. "I am naught but a simple farmer. Nothing less, nothing more."
I pulled out a flask of fine brandy, a drink that these humans so loved, and took a sip.
"I have kept to our accord as faithful as a nun to god." I told him, wincing as I felt the burn of the alcohol grace my throat. "But should you have come to me for advice regarding my mastery over vegetation and farming then you've come to the right place."
I offered him my flask as he warily looked at the outstretched hand and me. It was wise to be wary of a former demon lord. In one snap, I could weave a poison so fatal it could kill a dragon in seconds into his drink. Yet I did not as I was curious to what fate had given him for the hero to seek out his rival.
After a few seconds, he grabbed the flask from my hands and took a sip. We spent a moment there, just staring at the land as we shared the alcohol and pondered as to what could've happened for a demon lord and a hero to share a drink.
The hero sighed and leaned on the fencepost, his face slightly flushed as he gave back the now empty flask.
"It's them." he said, his eyes downcast and his voice holding a remarkable amount of resentment.
"Humans?"
"Yes." he answered as I let a mirthful smile grace my lips. "I understand what you had told me back then."
I turned to him, eyes full of amusement as he sighed once more and looked away, unwilling to let me bask in the satisfaction of being right. Chuckling, I waved him towards my home, a homey little cabin just settled nearby.
As we walked together, we had discussed various topics: the current weather in Taxion, the state of my former castle, and many more. I had asked about his wife and daughter, a question which had drawn a... worrisome reaction. | Tomorrow marked 10 years. 10 years since I fell at the hands of the Champion. 10 years. I didn’t hate the Champion. I never have. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be about to deliver a baby in my clinic. I wouldn’t have found my place as a doctor in my village. I was happy here. It is kind of funny that I, who was once called The Doctor was now an actual doctor.
“Looks like it’s time to begin pushing. This part is the hard part. It should only take 10-15 minutes at most.” I looked up from between my patients legs. “Breathe through the contraction, and once it ends, push as hard as you can.”
As I thought, the baby slipped neatly into the world within seven minutes. The record was 4 1/2 minutes. The new dad cut the cord and I cleaned the newborn up and handed him to his mother with a smile. Next step, the placenta. A gentle tug brought it out. A check revealed a beautiful vagina not in any need of stitching. “Everything is beautiful down here. You will experience what feels like a heavy period over the next week or so. I will be back in a bit to put the little one through his paces so to speak. The nurse will come by with the Vitamin K shot.” I smiled and left the room.
Now to my office to gather the necessary documents. I always give new parents some time alone with their new baby. My next step is to record the birth, fill out the birth certificate, and run the well baby tests and record the results. This was also so I can record potential for various powers. Just showing potential doesn’t mean one will develop that power.
I stepped into my office, and froze. My office chair turned. I sighed. “Hello, Lance.”
The Champion stood. “Hello, Doctor.”
“It’s Dr. Ketchum now. Why are you here? You defeated me. You exiled me. The region is yours to rule.”
“Endgame.”
My blood ran cold. I was thankful I had stopped to use the bathroom first before coming to my office. Otherwise I would be wetting myself. I swallowed.
“That’s your problem now!” I strangled out the words. “I’m done with that life! You took my powers when you exiled me!”
“I cannot face Him alone, Doctor.”
“I’m not fighting alongside you!”
“Not even to have your powers back?”
Errr!
“As much as I would love to have my powers back, my answer is still no. Besides, I have patients to see.”
“Not even for your home?”
Errr!
The Champion knew which buttons to push. He knew I would not stand aside for my village. “…Fine. Your next target should be Steven. He specializes in defense. Cynthia too, with her healing power. She does have a decent defense. Leon is a must. His attack stat rivals Red. Red would be our best bet with his insanely high attack and defense.”
“I agree. My concern is Steven’s low speed.”
“For speed, May I suggest Alder?”
“Didn’t he break both of his legs recently?”
“Yes. Yes he did. I had to surgically repair both legs. Forget Alder.”
“Here.”
I felt a familiar rush. My power. Dang it felt so good! The Champion had placed his faith in me. This time I intended to be on his side.
“Gather the team. We’ll meet here in my office. Three days.” Lance nodded as he stood. “Wait. Am I leading, here?”
“You know Endgame, so it’s best we follow you.” Lance headed for the door.
I gathered up the papers I needed as I nodded. The Champion was right. I had created and built Endgame myself. I was tempted to turn it on them. With the strongest gone, the world would be mine. So tempting.
No. I will not. I can’t. I can never do that to the Champion. I will help disable Endgame. I will not turn it on them.
So. Tempting. | 2021-11-22T23:27:32 | 2021-11-22T23:13:59 | 262 | 21 |
[WP] “Well Death,” you say, “I never thought it would end this way. But it’s definitely in my top three, you know?” “It’s how I’d want to go.” Death agrees supportively. | "You know what I have always liked?" I asked the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside me.
"Cheesy romantic comedies which you pretend you hate." He said wryly.
I looked at him with a look of faux betrayal. "You didn't need to say it out loud."
He looked at me confused. "But you asked."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you always take things literally?"
"Yes."
"And what if someone says *'kill me now, god!'*? Because if you took that literally, Earth's population would plummet drastically."
He laughed. "And there lies the answer to your question, they ask God, not Death but god."
I chuckle, amused. I had to admit, of all things I hoped Death would be like, excellent conversationalist was not one of them.
"I think I'm ready now." I say as look at my sleeping form, well an eternal sleep now.
"We can wait a bit more if you'd like. Your family will find out soon."
My throat closed up thinking about them, their reactions, their tears. I loved my family and my family had loved me, but being the cause of their tears was something that I would never want to see.
"You had a good life, you know." Death said, his voice gentle. "Very few people live a fulfilling life."
"I'm- I was 16," I said almost laughing at the absurdity of it.
"And you died saving a person." Death replied calmly. "What you are- is a hero."
I saw the flatline on my life-support monitor one last time. "I think I'm ready now."
Death nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder. For some reason I expected them to be cold but they were warm, warm like snuggling in your blanket on a cold evening, warm like basking in the early rays of sun, warm- almost like happiness.
"At least one of my day-dream came true. Die heroically, check."
Death chuckled as we moved towards the light. "That's on my wishlist too, buddy." | Death stood over me as I laid face up in a bloody puddle of mud. His face was hooded but he seemed pensive. Watching that pompous aristocrat, who watched the battle from his throne, being carried by prisoners so he could see over the crowd.
"there's nothing I am so passionate about as much as your hatred for this king, but if I did cross over it would be making such a passion become reality" Death said.
"If only I got another three feet further... he'd still be... too far... but I bet he would've... shat his pants" I laughed at the thought. I went countless yards through a sea of spearmen and swordsmen, just to be stopped at the edge. It would've been a clear run from here out but the look of fear and shock in his eyes was reward enough.
"... Well, you're not dead yet. Not until I collect you" He said.
I felt a blade near my hand. Whose was it? It didn't really matter. I grabbed it and swung to the right, wildly, not the controlled dance as usual but the reckless haymaker of an amateur. It sliced through something but I couldn't see what. The world was going dark. A body fell in front of me and to my left I saw a throne, on it was a madman joyously laughing at the hell he had wrought.
My blade was gone, did I drop it? I would need another.
"I see one below you" Death said
I saw it, a freshly killed body with a dagger on his belt, what luck. I took it, and the world became bright. I saw my brother, climbing a tree for the first time. The first attack on my village where he was killed. Training with mercenaries. Watching me grow, playing drinking games and throwing knives.
"I need... one moment more"
"I'm afraid a moment more is useless. The dagger has already left your hand."
Shame, I would've loved to see the look on his face
"I would describe it to you, but I fear I am too pre-occupied. I have many souls to collect today, and you've just added two more for me to collect."
He held me in his arms, I felt a warmth I only felt once in my life, but from when I couldn't remember. Perhaps a life long gone after all the years in the mercenary guild. I crossed over, content in what I accomplished. | 2021-12-15T10:15:09 | 2021-12-15T10:04:57 | 608 | 81 |
[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected. | "No, no, no! This can't be, this is bad, this is bad!" Regaledia was practically choking on his own breath as his eight thick fingertips tapped at the paper-thin crystalline screen in front of him. Without hesitation, he took a hand off of his screen and slammed down a button, entered the code, and announced "Prepare for a retreat! The scouts reported sightings of a forbidden civilization, disaster level rated to be 29381! Repeat, prepare for a retreat, a forbidden civilization with a disaster level at 29381!"
Another headless humanoid figure, in similar appearance to Regaledia, Regoova, barged into the Communications Office raising a finger with a voice coming out of it, "What's going on?! What forbidden civilization, you damn moron?! This is an easy target, we ran a few million simulations to predict the growth of this civilization, at best they're still banging rocks against trees!"
"No, no, no, look, look!" Regaledia was an anxious wreck as he rushed to turn his screen.
Regoova placed a fingertip onto the screen and started "absorbing" a blue light from it. He then was rooted in place in absolute horror as he was processing what he just "saw". Towering archaic stone and steel towers surrounded the green and blue planet as moon-sized ships cruised through space with cannons pointed right at the Regundian scouting ships. The next second, a burst of light that seemed as if a star had collapsed appeared and instantly vaporized the scene.
"D-did you run an evaluative survey?" Regoova stuttered through his finger as his thin legs swayed.
"The strength of that single ship... could rival our home planet's defensive firepower," Regaledia sounded as if he was about to cry.
"Order for an evacuation through the pods, we need to get the message back-" Regoova didn't get to finish his thought, let alone his sentence as the entire ship was vaporized in half an instant. Actually, the whole fleet was vaporized as well. | It was supposed to be an easy planet to colonize, just destroy the natives and use their resources for our own good. How foolish we were, i still remember the first moment we arrived to that forsaken place.
They told us that it was only supposed to be a few of them, using rocks and sticks as their only defense, unable to fight off an animal a bit bigger than them. Primitive beings.
When we steped foot on that place, there were so many machines, so many of them all wearing what it seemed to be an uniform, holding weapons that could kill one in a few seconds. "They are not as primitive as they told us captain" said my second on command "im going to open fire, even if they are bit more civilized than we expected it ahould be easy" he was so wrong, the second he shoot it was over, I stil remember the rain of explosion, the bullets, it is vivid in my memory, "how could they be this dangerous?" I feared we would die if we stayed I ordered them all to evacuate and re evaluate the situation with the bureau, yet, when we tried activating the ship...
They threw so many explosions at us, there was no way any of us would escape alive, then we saw them leave, they disappeared in seconds, we thought that maybe they pitied us, we were so wrong.
We heard something falling towards us, when it hit, it created the strongest most brutal explosion i have ever seen, by then, there was nothing of us left.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was given a chance from the bureau to try their first draft of an immortality device, i would have been gone like my troop. Yet, even though I survived, even though i am back to my planet, even though there is no way for them to get here, I- I still feel fear, when I close my eyes, i can still see the explosions, can we even replicate something like that? How did they make it to do that? I do not really care anymore.
After that, i do not think I can even leave my house without trembling, i can't really do anything anymore. The bureau understood that after I sent them the updated version of how advanced that planet was. At the end we decided not to provoke them anymore, after all, we have no idea of what else they are capable of. | 2022-01-09T10:47:17 | 2022-01-09T08:26:08 | 115 | 41 |
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god. | Fire is my birthright. Unlike my Big Three brothers, my domain was not of grandeur or power. Mine was the fireplace. Mine was of warmth, of comfort, of the shared quietness of a family together. Sharing their joys, their sorrows, their frustrations, their celebrations, all in front of the hearth, where my power lied.
Fire was my birthright.
The Big Three weren't my only siblings.
I still had Demeter and Chiron, though one was in perpetual worry for her daughter and the other was in a perpetual melancholy for the things to come. They were not the best company, but I cherished them all the same on the occasion they visited my inn.
My inn is my temple. A base for my power. I still persisted in homes and hearths of mortals, but I chose to have a place to call my own. A place of respite and pause. A place where anyone could come to relax and unwind and share their stories or rest in solitary.
And this inn existed outside the periphery of time. That was my power, as well. I was the daughter of Chronos, after all. He was Father Time, I was told. And I inherited part of his divinity. His control over time. Not wholly, maybe, but enough.
Enough to build my inn where no time passes at all, or where enough time passes, depending on who you are and what you seek. The Shifting Cadence, Chiron named it for me, for I was not a wordsmith like him. And he fashioned the sign as well, written with arcane words that can be read in whatever language you wished to read it in.
I reminisced that as I felt the sign radiate a familiar warmth. That was another magic it contained. When I was about to have godly company, the sign would warm up. And I could smell it now, as well. The sickly sweet smell of overripe grapes.
Dionysus.
The drunk fool liked coming here often. He liked to try to win my favour, though I had not figured out why. He'd try to reason that he could fill my barrels with unlimited ale and wine, the best mortals would ever taste. It was a tempting offer, to have a god's blessing in my drink. But I knew better.
Olympians were not the kind to bless charitably.
There would be a catch. And I would not taint my holy place with whatever gods had in mind.
The door creaked open and Dionysus stepped through, along with... Poseidon.
My eyes widened. I had not seen the sea god in millennia, but I felt the stench of him. Of salt and brine and sweat and rust. I mildly noted that the god of wine somehow had the more overpowering pungence of the two.
"Hestia, dear sister!" Poseidon boomed, and some of my mortal patrons looked over in curiosity.
"Ah, Poseidon. Brother. What brings you here?"
"Well, we've heard you opened up an inn, but you never invited any of us for its opening! We could have blessed this place, made it grand and ornate! Worthy of the gods!" Poseidon continued, looking around the inn with its simple wood and creaking doors and windows and chairs.
"It was never meant for the gods."
"Is that why you only allow the horseman to enter this place?"
"You do Chiron a disservice, merman. He may not be an Olympian, but he is still the son of your father, same as you." I said, smiling internally as he bristled at the term, 'merman'.
"He is a stargazing fool. As you are a mortal-loving fool. Look at what you're reduced to. Serving. You know, I was always curious. When Zeus, Hades and I fought over the domains, where were you?"
"When you were competing and comparing your cocks I had already chosen my domain. I would spare others of our dysfunction. Of our games, our deceit. I would guide the mortals towards proper kinship, stronger familial bonds. The curse of us is that we are all killers of our own ilk should be confined to us." As I said all this, time stopped for my patrons, and the words only meant for these two gods fell heavy on their ears.
I continued, "My domain is of fire. Of warmth. Of family. Found or blood-related, does not matter. What we are are the connections we make. Not the power we possess."
"Ah, sister. This is worse than I thought. The power we possess trumps all. Here I was, thinking you had some grand plan for this inn. Here I was, worrying that you had been cooking something up all this time. But you truly haven't. You've truly gone mad." The sea god laughed.
"The salt of your domain has truly made you unbearable, sweet brother of mine. If there is nothing else..."
"Oh, there is something else. You've lied, Hestia. This story you've crafted of being of hearth and family, it's a beautiful tale. But your true domain is our father's. Here we were, disappointed that none of his children inherited his most powerful ability. And yet, here you are. Playing the guise of a tavern wench in this powerful place of temporal uncertainty. You have had Cronus' gift all this time, and hid it from us. And decided to use that power for... This? What is this, anyway?"
"Something you wouldn't understand. What do you want?"
"An allegiance. Dionysius here told me of this place. He knows the location of every place where a transaction over alcohol happens. And when he told me of how Hestia owned an inn in a place where time flowed queerly, I chalked it up to his perpetual stupor. But now that I am here... Tell me, sister. What do you wish most in the world?"
"Why don't you tell me what this allegiance is about?"
"There is a war coming. Apollo has seen it. He said there would be a great fire, and Olympus would fall. The gods are taking up arms, slowly and quietly. Forming factions, allegiances. I don't know when it would come, but it will. And a war among gods would have mortal casualty. Uncountable mortal casualty. Now, I know you don't want that, seeing what you have going on here. So please, let's stop this before it happens. Nip it in the bud. Name your price. Tell me what you desire most in this world?"
I thought for a moment.
Fire was my birthright.
"What I want most in the world is for gods to be better. Just gods. Kind gods. Gods who care for their worshippers, their mortal brethren. Gods who pull each other up, and not push each other down. Gods who don't war over petty reasons. Gods who behave like gods and not overgrown children. That is what I desire most in this world. For us to leave all this hate and strife behind and live as the family we are."
Poseidon sighed, "And if not that?" He asked sarcastically.
Fire was my birthright.
"If not that, then my desire is to burn it all down." | I am Hestia, and I will break your family.
There was a man once. Tall and hale. Handsome, in his own way. Metaxis. He lived on a hill overlooking the pasture lands of Crete.
Metaxis was at home in the city or the country. Give him a crook and sheep to raise and he was a good man, a steady man. Give him a windfall—fat sheep at the slaughter, good wool, a rich harvest in the olive grove behind his house—and watch him change. Metaxis, steady and nurturing in the country, would step into his children’s rooms and kiss them one by one upon the foreheads. Kiss his wife upon the lips. She would respond. Why should she not? He was tall and hale. Handsome in his own way. A good father, a good shepherd. A good grower of olives in the ancestral grove. Girls dreamt of such things. Women rarely got them.
She hadn’t either.
Given a windfall Metaxis would go into the city. He whored. Drank. Fought. Did unspeakable things. In the tight and winding laneways and up to the tallest hills where the houses crowded the skies and rich men left wives behind in empty beds to make windfalls of their own, Metaxis sowed his seeds, raised a little hell.
Afterward, limping off his drunk, he kissed his wife with the same mouth, and she responded, no matter what she tasted. What she saw in him.
When I saw Metaxis, balanced on the knife-edge between city and country, staring down the precipice of the man he really was, I gave him a little push.
Sitting by the hearth one winter, his children sleeping in their rooms, his wife sitting on the warm stones by his feet, her shoulder against his knee, black hair trailing across his lap like a river of half-remembered dreams, he sat up a little straighter. He stared into the flames. He nodded once, stroked his woman’s hair. Kissed her, and she responded. Then he went into the winter, dark and drifting snow, and laid down a moment with the sheep, perhaps the only creatures he had ever truly loved.
In the morning he was gone. The family was broken. Metaxis plunged off his cliff. A woman, once a wife, alone with a family to raise.
But she would get the chance.
\*
There was a woman once. Many. Helens.
Helen was beautiful. Men sighed when she passed. Women too, a rarer sort of thing. Not jealous, who could be jealous of a goddess? Some things simply were. Helen’s beauty was.
Helen had a good man, a king who loved his queen, and despite what legends say he really did love her. She had a good life, in the style of her days. A palace and other houses. Rooms for her women, for her favored friends. For her. So many rooms for her. Drawing rooms, sewing rooms, sitting rooms, dreaming rooms. Solariums and sunrooms, conservatories of all kinds. Bedrooms. And there, of course, was the rub.
In many things, Helen was never content.
And truly, that might have been alright. But I saw her, staring into the hearth on rainy days or sunny. Cold in the winter as Metaxis had been, though his wife was at his side and children asleep all around.
There were poems to her beauty, though never an ode to wit. There were suitors on a thousand isles, in every hall. At dinner she might look across a trestle table, guests ranged about her, a hundred people filling a hall, a thousand, kingdoms stretched out before her ruled by various and sundry men, some tall, some hale, some handsome. Some clever. Helen looked across her trestle tables, past the boar and pheasant, the bowls of olives and the fish in all their sauces, and she took her pick until her pick took her and bedrooms shifted, solariums changed. Until a hall was exchanged for another hall, a city on a cliff above white sand beaches, a storm-tossed sea all around.
A fleet at anchor on the doorstep she had chosen.
We spoke through a candle, Helen and I, as her new prince lay sleeping beside her.
She rose after. Went to the window. Saw the fleet the laid out before her, all those familiar flags. Brothers, cousins, friends. A husband somewhere out there, though his insignia was lost in all the tossing gray, in the hornet’s nest of activity on those white sand beaches. Not white anymore. Scarlet pooling where her tears did, until she turned away.
Saw the candle. Saw me, staring back at her. The prince asleep. He was quite beautiful. A match for her, perhaps.
But every match breaks in time. All fires go out. Even hearts and hearths, especially on wind-swept nights on distant seas. Cold, when you most need the fire.
\*
There was a child once. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter.
The child had a mother, a father. Love, in the fashion of the later children, when love was a carpet rolled out once and walked upon by many feet.
The child had attention, who’s to say if it was good or bad. They were not neglected, but still. Things happen. Who can know a child’s mind? The past is a foreign country, and so few ever really travel.
Life slips through the cracks.
Some children try to take it back.
It began with small animals. Progressed to neighbor’s boys. Never girls. They were specific with that. Odd.
The child liked to fight, you see. Eventually they might be like Metaxis in the city, every day a windfall seized from the tapestry of life. They might be like Helen, capricious and cold. A shining world, too dim beside the shining of another man. They might be like Helen’s husband, after. What he did. How he changed when he woke to find her gone.
Did the child have it in them? Would they have grown up as they did, if the carpet were a little less tattered?
Who’s to say? I simply see.
I spoke to them by a campfire, one night when all the little victims blurred.
They spoke back.
Most folk listen when they hear a goddess in the fire. Not this child. This child stated. Refuted. They listened sometimes and listened well, but it was always to a point. To find the word that unraveled the sentence. Little chinks in imagined armor. Like they were breaching a city or killing a man.
Even for a goddess, it can be unnerving.
I asked them, “Why are you doing this?”
And they said, “Doing what?”
And that, you see, is when I knew.
We talked a while longer yet. It’s harder with children. At length they rose, turned to face the rising sun. Apollo in his chariot racing golden across gray-blue clouds. A sleepy world waking slowly to find a child awake and ready. Years left to plan and refine. A prodigy.
They sat on their haunches in a shadowed glade watching the sun creep across the hills, its light revealing things that even I had not seen. They were a small child. About nine or ten. No reasoning with them, they were too clever for such things.
But a goddess might command if the time is right and the situation dire, if the child is a breaker of men.
I commanded, broke a family instead. | 2022-02-06T05:33:06 | 2022-02-06T03:21:08 | 779 | 186 |
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told. | Maria eyed off the distance, trying to materialise a figure to Sophia's question.
'I've lost count, well into the hundreds.'
Sophia nodded, sipping her gin and tonic. She could see it, a beautiful older woman such as her would still be popular with gentleman. Hell, even younger men would want to tussle with her.
'So no figure, but surely some memorable ones?'
'Oh yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I recall one in particular. I'd just finished a man off when his wife walked in.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'No way! What'd you do?'
'What do you think? Did the same to her then left.'
Sophia loved that she'd swing both ways.
'Guess that marriage didn't last.'
'Ended quicker than I finished him off.'
They shared a laugh, Sophia still admiring Maria's graceful aging.
'I've ended a few marriages too. Caught in the act in hot tubs, hotel rooms, the marital bedrooms.'
'And you're still not in jail?' Maria now the one in shock. 'That's sloppy work. You want to be in this business as long as I have you'll need to finesse your skills.'
'I guess nobody wants to air their dirty laundry. Besides, I don't mind it sloppy.' Remarked Sophia with a sly wink.
'Each to their own I suppose.'
They clinked glasses downed their drinks and went about their not so dissimilar lives, given they both finished people off, in their own style. | Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..." | 2022-04-26T05:10:01 | 2022-04-25T22:30:31 | 123 | 14 |
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange | "How did this happen?! Someone get me up to speed. You, walk with me."
"Yes sir, it appears that every world leader has suddenly been replaced by babies."
"Take us to defcon 2."
"Already there sir. The UN is on the line but were having trouble getting in contact with anyone over the age of 16. Funny thing is, they all claim to be officials."
"Good God what has the world come too. Do we have any lead on the current location of the President?"
"We still don't know sir. Secret Service was on guard all night, no alarms or suspicious security footage either."
"Well figure it out fast! And I expect to be on the phone with some *adult world leaders* within the hour!"
Edit: changed defcon 1 to 2 | It started out as a normal morning, you wake up at 5:30, get ready, grab something eat and you’re off to go to your job at the office. Except one thing…you’re sixteen years old again, and get this notification on your phone *warning, the simulation has a rip in it and your civilian will be experiencing age regressions…please remain calm as we are fixing the problem. Have a nice day*.
Great, just when I thought Monday couldn’t get it any worse. My boss was a ten year old annoying little kid and my coworkers were various ages and wore clothes from when they were that age so it looked like an episode out of the office at my job today.
I even had to discipline my boss, yeah thought I would have to do that…ever. Right now, some of my coworkers are crying because they are babies, some of them are playing beer pong because they are college students and others want ice cream or candy because they are children.
I look at the clock and see it’s only 12…”this is going to be a longgg day”. I say as I helped give a bottle to my supervisor. | 2022-04-30T07:10:48 | 2022-04-30T06:47:12 | 300 | 102 |
[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | I sat behind my desk waiting for word from my agent. It began as a game, but now things were serious.
It had started when, out of boredom, I had hired a private investigator to find out Heinrich's password. I used it to get into his systems and leave little notes for him all over company files.
If had he not seen the funny side, I think he would have been infuriated enough to force a hostile takeover. But luckily good friends do put up with a lot from each other.
He retaliated by sending me copies of the classified prototype we had been working on, with corrections. 'Good job. Well done. A for effort. Maybe try using a ruler next time'. Condescending bastard.
So I had his payroll re-worked so his salary was payed into an offshore account, from which he was sent an allowance every day. When he caught onto that, he thought it was good idea to have a group of painters and decorators disguise themselves as a cleaning crew, and completely overhaul my office into a pretty pink princess playhouse. I was stuck with it for a month, as he payed every decorator I could find to 'take a long holiday'.
Which was when I came up with the plan.
I retaliated in a simple manner, just as a diversion. Stapled some bubblewrap to his office, it wasn't very creative. But over the phone, when he called me to tell me about my poor effort, I dropped hints about a new technology my company was working on. 'The plans are locked in my safe' I told him. Bait set.
It only took him a week to get an operative into my office and steal the package I had left there. It had a note to him, and instructions on where to leave the reply.
My agent came in the door, with a brown envelope under his arm. "here it is boss". He was a chirpy limey, almost as good with a computer as he was at charming the ladies. He left the envelope on my desk and walked out. I didn't ask what he had to do to get it. It had been in Heinrich's safe. Probably some poor unrequited secretary out there.
I opened the envelope and smiled as I read it.
"You know you could have just called and told me you loved me. Of course I will marry you. I will fly over this weekend. - H" | I stared out the window expectantly at the black car circling the parking lot below. Cursing after its eight lap around the place, I pulled out my phone to call my secretary.
“Melissa,” I yelled into the phone. “Get Jensen up here this very instant. If I see him making one more round, I swear I’m going to lose it.”
A few minutes went by like years as I watched the car pull into our private lot.
I glared at the opposite glass building which housed my ‘friend’s company’. We were rather cool at first until we decided to play a game to ease or boredom. Well, I got the idea of tech-stealing from a rather addictive strategy game (F U Gandhi). So each year we would send ‘spies’ to each other’s for fun.
He'd steal something from me, and I would the same from him. Everything was all fun and games. Until now.
Frankly, apart from getting rather pissed that he had been getting the better tradeoff for the past few years. Hell, the main reason was that he also kept beating me on Poker Friday. That's one thing I cannot tolerate being on the losing side. Also, over the years his spies had stolen our beautiful startup sounds, desktop layout, and recently our robotic assistant. While my guys never came back with anything worthwhile.
However, this year I can *guarantee* that I would get the better of the trade.
“Come in,” I said in response to a knock on my door. I wrung my hands in glee as Jensen strode in. He looked terrible as he sported a nasty bruise on one cheek and scars on the other.
“Jensen,” I rose from my chair and stepped forward to greet my agent. “Are you alright? Did you manage to get anything?”
“The mission was successful, sir.” He nodded and winced. “I’ve got the techs to allow our engineers to slip a systematic upgrade into the important notifications part. Consumers will never know what hit them.”
“Excellent,” I went to the mini-bar to grab a bottle of champagne and two glass. “I shall notify the engineers of your success and instruct them to assimilate the new technology immediately. We should expect this to roll out within the week."
He bowed and grinned as I handed him a glass foaming with liquid. “Sir," he said but I waved a hand dismissively.
"Drop the sir and call by my name, Jensen." I said.
"Mr. Gates, may I ask what system are we going to incorporate this in?"
I smiled as I toasted him. “Our newest one, Windows 10.”
| 2016-08-25T08:31:41 | 2016-08-25T08:21:28 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy." | "Look, no claws, no spikes, they aren't even poisonous. Just soft and pink," Servik says, presenting the holographic layout to his audience. The viewer and share rate for this augmented reality bit was going through the roof. It turns out the rest of galactic space thought they were as adorable as he did.
"And that's not even the best part," he exclaimed, holding up three appendages and drawing out the suspense, which was always good for viewership. "They don't even know how adorable they are. Do you know why?" Servik leaned to the side, as if waiting for a response from someone even though he was physically alone in the room. "Because this planet is just filled with adorable things!"
"We've intercepted some of their internal communications, and the way we worship their cuteness, they worship these native species." The view of Servik cuts out and is replaced by a crude two dimensional rendering of videos and scenes.
"They call these kittens," Servik narrates, resisting the urge to try and reach out a squeeze one with a scaly tentacle. "These are penguins. Birds so adorably awkward they can't even fly!" The counter showing the number of viewers for Servik's channel has stopped ticking up and just shows a spinning approximation as the number of viewers climbs faster than can be easily shown.
"And this is what they use for transport along the surface. It's called a SmartCar. Couldn't you just pick one up and eat it as a snack?" Servik laughs. "But just wait," Servik teases, holding one tentacle to his face and making a clear, thin cut across the side of it that oozes a green-yellow type of thick blood. "For my next episode, I'm going to the planet and meet some of these creatures. The humans are all mad and it is just the cutest thing you've seen this side of Aurax-3. Don't miss it!"
Servik clicks off the camera and walks back to the bridge. "Have we secured the trade deal?" he asks to the captain of the ship, Sub-Horet Villetet.
"A fifty galactic year monopoly over all trade in this system, as you insisted. It was pretty cheap to secure, since the indiginous species have pretty much wrecked all the resources." Villetet creates a rippling effect down two tentacles, the human equivalent of a shrug.
"We don't need any resources. We just need to keep these guys alive. We're going to make a killing off tourism and primitive safaris."
r/StaceyOutThere | The air was frigid and cold, even dressed in parkas and extra layers everyone was shivering.
Blankets and trash littered the ancient bunker, and the only noise was the clatter of the old diesel generator. A large grizzled man clambered down the ladder and addressed the small group of 15 people in a voice thick with emotion, “It has been confirmed from Radio Relay Zulu, our last ICBM was redirected from their ground command in Moscow to their air command, which we believed to be their mothership.” He paused, his breath frozen in the void before him.
A short man with long whiskers and the remnants of what had been a well cared for suit limped to the front of the group, “Out with it General, do not spare us the details.”
The general removed his hat and long greasy gray hair spilled out in tufts, “the ship remains undamaged and they’re gone, sir.” The president bowed his head, and a woman spoke up voicing what everyone hoped, but knew wasn’t true, “The aliens have left?”
The president turned to her and shook his head, “Our launch site, and our last functioning installation has been destroyed.”
The general nodded, “there’s nothing left. The last of our goddamn army is gone, and to the few humans left surviving on this earth they have been broadcasting propaganda...mocking us, sir.”
Everyone stood in stunned, yet accepting silence. Mankind was at it’s end, this was the next evolution cycle.
The ground beneath their feet quaked violently and a harsh metallic screech sounded above their heads. The remaining two military officers stationed themselves by the ladder, their rifles aimed up into the black abyss above their heads.
The president turned and faced the crowd, “We do not have much time so will everyone please kneel with me and bow your heads as we pray.” He nodded to the general who drew his sidearm, “May we meet our lord savior in the next life. And come back again in another to bring justice to these sons of bitches!”
The general and the last secret service agent with a sidearm, walked down the line pausing only to place a bullet in the back of the head of each staff member.
“Mr. President, it has been an honor.” The hammer on the old 1911 drove home the firing pin and the last of America’s existing government fell to the ground alongside his loyal staff.
He turned to his two remaining men as the metallic screeching grew louder and louder and the howling of the aliens reached their ears.
“Let’s give America one last final stand against the Forces of Extraterrestria!!!
The aliens dropped into the bunker and the stammer of two automatic weapons and reports of a single 1911 automatic pistol were the last sounds America made in the year 4099. | 2018-12-11T11:06:21 | 2018-12-11T10:37:02 | 447 | 34 |
[WP] Your name is Dave. People keep trying to call you other things, like "The Scourge of Seven Worlds," or "The Dread One," or "The Fifth Horseman." It's all very annoying. You just want to be called "Dave." | I sat in a small cafe, sipping a single-shot cappuccino, and sighed.
In the corner nearby, hiding in the shadows, was a very nervous looking skeleton. His eyes, normally a burning flame of hatred and vengeance, looked downright apologetic. He kept looking up at me, and then down, sometimes knocking his bones together. I just wanted a coffee. Alone.
Eventually I couldn't stand waiting for him to gather the courage.
"Yes?" I asked. "If you're going to say something, at least say it, then you can leave and I can drink my coffee in peace." I never used to be so mean, but this happened all the time. It wears down your soul.
The skeleton somehow looked as if all the blood drained from his (already bloodless) face. He stood up, holding a small leather pouch in his hands.
"U-uh, great Master of the Nine Shadows, I– I seek your blessing. I want vengeance against those who wrongfully killed me, but... but they are in your territory, oh Malevolent One."
He walked up, placed the pouch on the table, bowed, and stepped back. Waiting. I sighed again.
"Yes, you may go get your vengeance, but only directly against those that harmed you. Not their family, friends, or town, only them. Understand?"
The skeleton gasped in relief that I hadn't somehow melted his bones with a snap of my fingers.
"T-Thank you, Ruler of the Endless Night, thank you!" He bowed again and left the cafe as quickly as he could while maintaining formality. I just looked back at my coffee. Another couple minutes rest, I suppose. A tear rolled down my cheek.
"It's Dave," I whispered to myself, "just Dave. I don't know who the hell you're all mistaking me for, but I'm just a normal guy." Maybe one day they'll find out and strip the flesh off my bones. I no longer freak out at seeing them. I looked at the pouch, sitting on the table, and saw some diamond rings, ancient golden coins, and loose gems spilling out onto the table. Enough to pay for a lifetime of coffee, I guess. I just wish I could go back to being Dave. | Dave was only 133 years old but he still got called "Bringer of Pollution" and "He who rides on a horse of plastic and rust". All dave did was make plastic comercially availlable and all of a sudden four people clad in respectively battle armor colored red with the blood of warriors, a long black cape made from the mist of the universe, a plague doctor outfit made out of sickly souls and dirty worn out pants. They introduced themselves as the four horsemen: war, death, plague and famine. After which they told me I was the fifth horseman, "pollution". Dave didn't believe them untill he noticed what his presence did to stuff around him. The ground he walked on decayed became littered with plastic, the wind around him carried the smell of garbage and at least ten empty chips packets, the air he breathed out smelled of burnt plastic. Still he refused to do anything other then normal. He finished college with a in engineering and went on to get a job at a well known hardware store where he worked for 5 years untill he got fired because of all the tools he turned to piles of rust. He tried to get a job in another hardware job but got refused and spent is 2 years in unemployment during which he got visited by plague. Plague told Dave that Armaggedon was started and that he needed to ride out on his horse of plastic and rust. Dave refused because he had a job interview tomorrow. The next day war was at his door. War also tried to convince Dave to start Armageddon with the rest of the horsemen. Dave said no, he wanted to stay on earth a bit longer. Famine was the next to knock on his door but this too was unsuccesful since Dave was at his new job as an officeworker. The last day death came to his job and made a display of power by killing on of Dave's coworkers by just looking at them. Dave was just angry and told death he would never take up his job as the fifth horseman because he was Dave. Dave worked at his current job untill he turned 80 and decided to go on vacation for a bit and discover the world. He met his future wife in germany and married her after a year of being together. When she died 99 he took it really hard and spiralled into a pit of depression until it was 2020 when the four horsemen contacted him again. He agreed on the note that he was to be called Dave. | 2020-06-11T22:56:53 | 2020-06-11T22:30:06 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] As a young boy of 7 you remembered an old man stopping you on the street wanting to talk and to give you some advice. You thought he was weird and blew him off. Now at 77 you’re walking down the street and you see yourself as a young boy walking towards you. | *So she was right after all.*
*It's all cyclical.*
I smiled in regret as I shoved my hands in my pockets and shuffled toward him- the young boy sitting on the park bench, head buried in his Gameboy. I led with my cane and used it as a pivot to sit down next to him. My knees popped as they always did when I bent them, loud enough to draw the boy's attention away from his screen. His hair still had a lot of blonde in it- it would darken with age to a deep brown, and then he'd grow it out once he started skateboarding.
"Hey, there," I croaked before coughing once to clear my throat.
"Hey," he said in a disinterested tone.
"What are you playing?"
"Pokemon."
His answers were short. I could tell by the screen he was fighting a gym leader, and decided to let him finish before continuing.
"You won," I said with a smile.
"I always win," he said apathetically before sipping on his caprisun.
I looked around at the beauty of the park for a moment before pulling a bag from my pocket. My old hands trembled as I undid the ziploc and reached for the duckfeed within.
"That's such an old man thing to do," he laughed.
I smiled, "You'd be amazed the things you do when you truly miss someone..."
He lowered his game and watched as I spread the feed. Ducks raced from the pond up the grassy knoll and over to the bench where they quickly wolfed down the feed.
"You miss somebody?" He asked innocently. "Why don't you go see them?"
"I think I'm about to," I said as I dug back into the bag and spread more feed. He turned his eyes back toward his game and muttered, "that's good."
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye before adjusting my glasses, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said quickly.
"What do you feel... is important in life?"
He shrugged his shoulders, "getting a job. Having a family."
I chuckled lightly to myself, transitioning into a cough before tossing more duck feed, "No, that's the answer you think I want to hear."
I saw him turn to me in my peripheral vision.
"Tell me, what do *you* think is important in life?"
He faced forward staring out at the pond for several seconds before saving his game and turning it off. He shoved the device into his pocket and sighed, "I want to travel the world. Far and wide."
"I see," I responded. "You should do it."
"I'm gonna," he said nonchalantly. "Soon as I make enough money."
"It'll never be enough," I shot back. "You don't want to be an old man looking back on what could have been. Take the risk. You'll find your way."
He sighed as though he were tired of listening to me.
I understood.
"When I was young," I began. "I never liked when strangers would just come up and talk to me for no reason. It's funny how as you get older... You'd do anything for someone just to listen..."
"I don't think I'm gonna be old for a long time," he said in his monotone way as he watched the ducks.
"It happens fast," I said just above a whisper. "It happens when you're not looking. When that Wednesday you don't remember disappears..."
"Huh?"
"Do me a favor, kid..." I turned and smiled at him, "hug your dad. Make sure he knows he's your hero."
He cocked his head, "What?"
I stood up and emptied the remaining contents of the bag before leaning forward on my cane. "Life isn't a cartoon. You're not the main character."
"I know that!" He said in an insulted tone.
"Your body has limits. Listen to them."
He stayed quiet as I watched the water shimmer on the lake. I turned to see him but he was gone. When my eyes returned to the lake, there was a man in white standing in the middle. I dropped my cane to the ground and shuffled toward the water.
The people standing behind him.
I knew all of them.
- - -
r/a15MinuteMythos | It was early afternoon and I was walking home after a late lunch that Monday under the cool autumn sun, rubbing my potbelly with a wrinkled hand and a bittersweet sigh.
The food had been expensive, but it was a day where I needed comfort food. Not just any comfort food… the ultimate comfort food that I only saved for special occasions. The steak cooked at Harbmore’s that had been my favorite for as long as I could remember, that I had eaten in celebration during every graduation and celebration throughout my life. It helped ease the severe melancholy I often felt nowadays into nostalgia as warm as the food in my belly.
*Ah, if only I could go back and redo my life…*
A strong breeze tugged at my hat, causing me to hold it against my head, and tore at my jacket. The trees swayed at the strength of the sudden gust.
I opened my eyes. The sidewalk had been crowded, but now nobody was around.
Nobody except for a child standing across from me a little way down the sidewalk.
I looked at the little boy and he looked back at me. Even from the hundred meters or so that separated us, his features were striking to me. His dark hair, his nose, his facial structure, that school uniform…
*That face… he looks uncannily like me. It’s so similar it’s actually scary*, I thought.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating visions of my past into reality. However, I closed my eyes and opened them to confirm multiple times. But still, it couldn’t be me…
Then I remembered and an icy shiver ran down my spine. When I was 7 years old, I met a creepy old guy as I was walking on this street. For some reason, that meeting had given me such a weird feeling that I hadn’t forgotten it since.
*That old guy all those decades ago was me after all…* I thought.
For some reason, I chuckled. Then I burst out laughing, with almost hysterical intensity.
*I never knew I was this crazy. That my fantasies could break reality like this…*
*Hah, take that, world! You think I’m a useless geezer that's about to die, but I’m still kicking!*
The kid’s eyes widened.
I quickly stopped laughing.
*Wait! This means I have the opportunity to talk to myself seventy years ago. There’s so much I want to tell myself, so much I can fix! How do I even start…*
I walked forward, opening my mouth and revealing my missing teeth. The kid’s face crumpled in fear, like he was about to cry, and stepped backward.
“Wait…” I said, “Don’t go.” I uselessly reached out an arm after him.
Maybe it was the sheer desperation in my voice, but the kid froze.
I stepped towards him, ever so slowly, ever so gently, buying time as my mind raced.
*What can I say… what can I say… He’s just a kid. What can I tell him that he’ll remember? If he forgets, then there’s no use. It has to be one thing then…*
What is the one thing I want to change the most in my life?
*I could tell him how to get rich with stocks or something… but how do I tell that to a kid? I could give him general advice so I don’t have so many regrets… or maybe to eat more while he’s young so he gets a little taller? Wait, no, why would I waste this on something like that…*
I stopped in front of the kid and looked at his face. His skin was so smooth, his face and arms were still chubby. He was so precious and small, like a kitten.
My mind blanked out. I couldn’t think of anything to say. He melted my heart. I wanted to protect him. I didn’t want to see his face crinkle in fear or confusion as he looked fearfully at me, an old decrepit man with a potbelly and rotting teeth who was basically at death’s door.
I smiled at him warmly.
“You know what. Don’t change anything,” I said, “Just remember this. Whatever you do… know that I’m proud of you.” My throat constricted for some reason as I said the words.
The boy met my eyes for a heartbeat, sensing the genuine emotion within them…
Then he ran past me and away down the street without saying a word.
The strong wind blew again. I had to hold my arm to protect my eyes.
After the wind died down, I looked behind me and the kid was gone.
___
r/WanderWilder for more stories! | 2021-07-08T08:20:49 | 2021-07-08T07:19:26 | 215 | 73 |
[WP] A demon offers you 25 years of absolute power and bliss if he can have your soul after for 25 years. You say yes but only if you can give your soul now and then enjoy your 25 years of bliss afterwards as a reward. The demon is visibly confused and needs to call his boss. | His maroon colored faced squinted in disgust at the request. His horns wiggled a bit as he whipped out a phone before clacking a few steps away while dialing. Dave didn’t knwo what was so confusing about the request, it filled the Demons requirments of twenty five years. Besdies he’d still have to go through hell for the first twenty five years anyways so it wasn’t like the guy was losing out on soul torture.
Making his way back he shook his rounded head muttering something about how humans were the worst ones to deal with.
“I’m sorry pal,” he croaked, “that isn’t going to be allowed.”
“Oh,” Dave said, slightly disapointed,”I’m good then man. Thanks though.”
He turned to walk away, but before he could take two steps the Demon had grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around. His glisening eyes darted around as he tried to think up some way to get this kid to buy in. It wasn’t everyday you saw a soul that had enough power to break the reader.
“What if we went double? Fifty years of total power and fifty you owe to me?” he said, praying to satan himself that it would work.
“I don’t know. The whole oweing the last half of my life belong to one of you slimy fucks doesn’t seem great.” Dave spat back, visably irrtated at this point. “I think I’m going to go now man, find some other greedy chump to control.”
Pulling away again Dave began to walk away, the demon grasping at straws in his head trying to figure out how to get him.
“WAIT!”
Dave stopped, back still turned. Waiting for the creature to come up with something, growing impatient with each moment passing. Scrambling to find the right words to use to draw ths human in he began stuttering jibberish. Scoffing Dave started walking agian.
“WAIT! What if it was five years your soul belongs to use and then fifty years of total power?” he threw out there. Dave stopped in his tracks. The Demon crossed his fingers that he had gotten him, he could only imagine Lucifers reaction if he had lost a human this powerful.
“I’m listening” Dave said back. | The demon pulls some chalk from his robe, and quickly draws a pentagram between where we stand. He grabs my hand and slices is it before I can protest. He holds me by my wrist and sprinkles blood on the pentagram while speaking Latin. An ordinary woman steps out of the smoke that is formed in the pentagram. She looks at me before walking over to the demon and speaking in hushed tones. The demon vanishes leaving just me and the woman.
"Frank says you would like your reward after your soul belongs to him. That is a very unusual request."
"Yes, I will allow him to have my soul for 25 years, if I can have my power and bliss the following 25 years "
"That is a bit outside of Frank's pay grade, but I think we can make something happen. I will have your soul for the next 25 years and then I will let you have your power and bliss that you humans crave so badly for the following 25 years. Deal?"
She extends her hand for me to shake it and I squeeze. "Deal." I say as I look her in the eyes.
She laughs and disappears without a trace. She didn't have me sign anything or do anything, and I am confused as to what just happened.
When I get home I feel my phone vibrate and I read the text.
"Your next 25 years start tomorrow, please arrive at 7:30 AM in the morning. I will text you the address in the morning."
The next 25 years of my life are spent doing data entry in a cubical in the basement of a building. I work Saturdays and someone steals my lunch a few times each week. One of my cubicle neighbors seems to be perpetually full of gas. The smells are horrendous. My other cubicle neighbor eats tuna everyday and shows me pictures of her cats waisting my lunch hour. I have made a horrible mistake. | 2019-12-17T20:00:48 | 2019-12-17T18:26:12 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Yeah, love potions are a thing, but there is one problem: they never specified the kind of love. Sometimes this backfires.
[deleted] | Valarie was such a sweet, pretty girl. I knew it, everyone at the office knew it, hell, everyone who saw her on the streets knew it as well. Yet, for some reason absolutely unfathomable to me, she only seemed to be attracted to absolute assholes. A shy nerdy guy like me stood absolutely no chance with a girl like that. Even though I would treat her like an absolute queen.
Her latest meathead flame came to fetch her from work the other day. He was dressed up for a change, wearing a jacket that covered up his hideous sleeve tattoo. I’ll never understand why she kept dating these deadbeat, wannabe artists when she could literally have anyone she wanted without second thought. Seeing the two of them turned my stomach so much that I was struggling to concentrate and so I packed my laptop away and headed off back to my apartment.
It was on the way home that I spotted the flyer. It was taped to my buildings notice board.
*Unlucky in love?*
*Jas may have the solution you need.*
*Apartment 2114*
*Cash only*
I laughed quietly to myself, wondering exactly what this Jas was offering that could aide in my love life. But I also had no better plans this evening and so I decided to investigate. I knocked at the door of apartment 2114.
Jas was a small woman, with long light brown hair. As soon as I explained my reason for being there, she invited me into her apartment. We sat opposite each other in her living room until after what seemed like an eternity she spoke. “What I am about to offer you is my families love potion recipe.“ she said. I was a bit taken aback. From her apartment I hadn’t had her pegged as the kind of woman who was into that weird mysticism shit. Yet here she was, offering me some kind of magic solution to my problems as calmly as she might offer me a cup of tea. “This potion,” she continued, “doesn’t work in the way that you might expect based on the countless stories that exist out there. Instead what it does is allow the drinker to experience the kind of love they truly need. It can be as simple as falling more deeply in love with their current partner or as complex as realising that the person they were meant to be with has been right beside them all along.” My heart quickened at that. Could this potion really be all I needed to help Valerie realise that I was the one for her? I licked my lips as Jas continued, “I would strongly recommend taking the potion yourself, as that way you are most likely to have satisfactory results, but of course once you have bought it there is nothing stopping you from giving it to anyone you wish.” I looked her in the eyes and asked her one simple question. “How much?”
On Monday, now $30 poorer, I walked up to Valarie clutching a takeout cup of coffee from her favourite café. “Hey Val,” I said, hoping that the slight tremble in my voice didn’t give me away, “I picked you up a hazelnut latte on my way in.” She turned to me and beamed, her copper curls bouncing with the movement. “That’s so kind of you Daryl. Thank you.” She said and took a deep swig from the cup I offered her. For a second her eyes rolled back into her skull before a look of contentment settled onto her face. I grinned to myself, safe in the knowledge that the potion had indeed worked.
A week later, Valarie had broken things off with the meathead and a week after that I felt it was time to make my move. I brought her another latte and asked her if she would come into the office courtyard with me. When we were seated at one of the stone tables, I took a deep breath and said, “Hey Val, I heard about you and Mitch. And I hope you’re doing ok.” I said, putting my hand onto hers “I understand if you need some time, but I hope that when you’re ready I can take you out for dinner?” Valarie’s face fell at that. “Look Darryl, you’re a great guy… but…” my heart fell as she continued, “I did some soul searching and the reason I broke up with Mitch is that I’m Asexual. I need some time to figure out what that means for dating or if I even want to date at all. I’m sorry.” Wordlessly I stood up and began to run back to my apartment, rage building inside me. I slammed my fists into the door of Jas’ apartment, continuing until she finally opened the door. “You lied to me you fucking bitch!” I screamed. “Your potion didn’t make her realise that she needed me! It broke her. Now she thinks she doesn’t need anyone. I want my money back.” Jas looked at me, with half a smirk spread on her face. “I did tell you to take it yourself.” she said. “But it sounds to me like the potion worked perfectly, and the love she needed most was self-love.” And Jas closed her door. | I grew up in a wealthy family and continued on our legacy. By my mid-40s I was a multi-billionaire. I had everything one could desire, from yachts to items that would be better suited for the Lourve. When you have access to everything, you get an appetite for rarity. You want what no one else can have.
I was at a ball held by a dear family friend when I heard some of the more prestigious members of the group, in an already prestigious crowd mind you, talking in a hushed tone. I got closer and heard them discussing love potions and how they were real. One man that clearly had came accompanied by an escort quipped that he sure could use it for his wife. The men laughed, while their wives gave looks of disapproval.
I continued on with my night but over the next few days I couldn't shake the conversation from my mind. I had to get my hands on the love potion.
I reached out to a few contacts I had that I felt I could trust with the information if they ended up not already knowing about the potions. A few others I figured I could joke my way out of them realizing I was actually asking them seriously. Eventually someone referred me to their aunt.
She wouldn't speak with me about it over the phone, and told me to meet her at an address I couldn't even find on Google Street View. While my motivation to have this potion was indeed deeply rooted in wanting something others wanted but couldn't have, I was starting to think it might be deeper than that. When you have a certain amount of wealth, it's hard to tell when people like you for who you are instead of what you can provide them. I don't know if I've ever been loved by anyone, even my parents. The Christmas tree may have been fully adorned and overflowing with presents, but when it came time to open them they were absentminded at best, absent at worst.
I wasn't sure who this woman was, or where I was going, but god dammit I was going to do it. So off I went.
I reached the door, and was met by a short, chubby hispanic woman with a thick accent, "Hello, come in, come in."
I followed her into the quaint home and smelled spices I had never spelled before. I didn't waste much time on pleasantries though. "So, about the potions."
"Yes, I have one right here. But I need to make sure you know that there is risk involved with taking this."
"That's fine, I don't care. How much does it cost."
Like I said, I was hell-bent on doing this.
"Alright then. This will cost you 1.1 billion. I will write you instructions on how to pay, and you must follow them to a T. If I don't receive it by Sunday at 1 PM I will have to do things I don't like to do. Don't make me do things I don't like to do, okay?"
"Uh, yeah sure of course."
She handed me a glass vile and I grabbed it and very quickly got the hell out of there.
The second I reached my car, I drank the potion and waited to see what was going to happen. I had no idea how long it would take, or what I was even supposed to expect.
And then it happened.
I was passing by a school and saw children playing on the playground. I started to get a feeling I had never felt before... at least not toward them. What the fuck? No. This is just one of those instrusive thoughts like when you tell yourself to put your hand in the garbage disposal or drive off a bridge.
But then it happened again while watching TV. No. This can't be the potion. It can't be. Was THIS the risk she was talking about? I was furious. I got in my car, drove back to that house and banged on her door.
"Oh, hello there!" she said with a sly grin plastered on her face.
"What the fuck did that potion do to me. I'VE STARTED LIKING KIDS. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. WHERE'S THE ANTIDOTE."
"Oh, my my my. I see you're in quite the pickle. I guess everything we do in life has risks, now, doesn't it?"
"WHAT THE FUCK, I DIDN'T KNOW THIS IS WHAT YOU MEANT BY RISK!"
"I am so glad to hear you say that Mr. Roberts. You see, my father felt that same exact way when you funneled all of that money out of his retirement into your hedge fund and proceeded to lose it all. When he lost everything, your only god damn retort was that that was the risk he took. Well, how does it feel?" | 2020-08-05T02:24:54 | 2020-08-05T00:41:29 | 154 | 79 |
[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a robot. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
Finally! Number one on the front page! Fuck yeah! Gonna sell this account for cocaine now. | Shocked to learn this, I found myself momentarily at a loss for words. *I'm a robot?* How could that be? I felt...real. I looked at my wife's golden hair, warm smile and tried to imagine it was not real. I couldn't bring myself to believe it.
I needed to express my emotions so I sat down at my computer, and pulled up my favorite website. Imagine my shock when there on the front page was a writing prompt that said:
"[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a robot and not a human. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all humans. The robots have been gone for years.""
My head swam. I had no idea what to do. *Was God mocking me?* It was time to find out. I logged in, ignored the angry orange envelope informing me people hate my political opinions, and entered the following response:
>Shocked to learn this, I found myself momentarily at a loss for words. *I'm a human?* How could that be? I felt...synthetic. I looked at my wife's golden broad spectrum antenna array, warm core coolant module and tried to imagine it was not mechanical. I couldn't program myself to those parameters.
>I needed to post my error log for analysis, so I sat down at my computer, and pulled up my favorite website. Imagine my shock when there on the front page was a writing prompt that said:
>"[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a bear. She looks at you confusingly says, "RRRAAAhhgh?", before biting your flank affectionately.
>My head swam. I had no idea what to do. *Was my programmer mocking me?* It was time to find out. I logged in, ignored the angry orange envelope informing me many units disagree with my findings on group decision algorithms, and entered the following response:
>01010111 01100101 01101100 01101100 00101100 00100000 01100111 01101111 01110100 01110100 01100001 00100000 01110100 01100101 01101100 01101100 00100000 01111001 01100001 00101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101100 01101100 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101000 01100001 01110000 01110011 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101000 01101001 01110000 01110011 01100101 01110100 00101110 00100000 | "What are you talking about Sarah? I am most definitely not a robot. Don't you think I would have noticed when they fixed my firmware or something?"
"Humans slowly died out over the past couple centries Jared. This is common knowledge taught in school. Firmware updates happened AT school. That's why there were so many tests.
Do I really have to explain basic history to you? The robotic invasion started very subtly. First adult robots were strategically placed in hospitals throughout earth as neonate nurses in the 20th century. Those neonate nurses would switch human infants out with the newest robotic models. Humans would raise them on their own and our robotic overlord would be able to study all humans easier than ever.
Humans caught on to the fact that those that received replacement babies weren't quite... right. They were high functioning but their emotions were a tad... off. They usually were smarter as well. Humans came up with a name for these. They labeled it as Aspergers. It made it even easier for our robotic Overlord. As they sent their kids to therapy He learned what humans did and didn't like about the robotic children. Those first models grew up and when presented with the challenge of procreation. Males were told they had low sperm count. Females were told they lacked eggs. All true of course. But the robotic person in the relationship needed the human to hear it... naturally.
They're programming would let them know where to seek reproduction assistance from robotic Dr's. Those Dr's would implant the new generation of robotic embryo. By the third generation, technology advanced to where robots could reproduce without assistance."
"Sarah darling. That doesn't make sense. I HAVE to be human. I was homeschooled, and I was born at home. So I never would have been able to be "updated" at school. My mother said we came from a very long line of resistance though. I never knew what she meant. I ran away when I was 14 though. She started talking crazy about bringing girls from around the world home and BREEDING them! Like it was so urgent to have kids as soon as I went through puberty. She was off her rocker. I left and never contacted her again. I'm so sorry I've kept this from you...."
Sarah's eyes started to roll repeatedly and flash red. She started to screech
"ALERT ALERT ALERT. LAST MALE HOMO SAPIEN HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED ALERT ALERT HUMAN ON PREMISES"
Air sirens began to go off outside. The door crashed inward as three riot geared officers stormed into the house.
"Jared Lugabai you are being placed under arrest. You are being transferred to the Human Containment Unit. Please come with us." | 2017-01-29T02:34:19 | 2017-01-29T01:19:53 | 61 | 27 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Honestly, I always liked the idea of being like my father, he took care of me, my sis and my lil bro. The man raised us three into great people, I always wanted to be like my dad. Sadly, life wasn’t that kind to me, in the words of the doctor as I had a check up on my health…
“There is no shame in it sir, some people just weren’t made to have children”
I know the man didn’t meant anything bad with that, but well, nothing I could do, nothing bad with being sterile…. Nothing bad with that…
My coworkers in the office found out about it, some joke about it, some others just said sorry. One, one decided it would be fun to give me a mug that said “#1 Dad” I wanted to throw the mug and break it in pieces. But I didn’t, no, I simply left it in my desk and took it with me back to my apartment.
I did my routine of everyday, work, cook, rest, and visit the kid in the park. You see I often visited a kid in the park who I played chess against. Kid you not, he is better than any of my coworkers. Kid knows how to play chess, I’m still not sure how it happened. We just started to play a game in the park, I set the chess board and he sat against me. A couple of hours later we decided we would play every day.
I don’t know what pulled me to play with the kid, but in a way, I saw my lil bro in the kid. Robert had always been one to play board games against me, but different from Robert this kid could make me bite the dust. And that is how every day after work I would play with Alex on the park and buy something for him to eat.
I was sure the kid was living on the streets, I didn’t have any idea of how he survived, I don’t think I could keep it up like him. Maybe that’s what made me push the subject and offer to adopt him about three months after our first contact.
The day the coffee mugs started to show the number in ranking of the fathers all around the news were excited to look for the #1 Dad, who could that guy be? My mug changed that’s for sure. It didn’t show a ranking number, in something totally different, mine got white. The porcelain white mug didn’t have anything written in it. Not that I care though
“I’m going to class dad”
“Be careful out there Alex”
The hug of the kid made me feel like the number one dad. Some people aren’t made to have children, but everyone can be a father. Hope you are proud dad, I’m just like you. | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T10:00:17 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 104 | 17 |
[WP] Suddenly, all sea life vacates a 300 mile wide area in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. A ship is deployed to investigate. | Andrea stared out at the small round window.
"Descending at 10 FPM," a mechanical voice said over the intercom. "Descending..."
A lone fish flit by, its scales glittering in the last rays of sunlight. With each minute, the blue got darker; then the headlights switched on, and everything within a five-foot radius was bathed in an eerie, amber glow.
"Andi."
She turned from the window. John Archibald stood in front of her, in a T-shirt despite the cold submarine air. "What do you think so far?"
She laughed, and adjusted her neck pillow. "I don't know! I'm a marine biologist, not a psychic."
"Have you seen anything yet?"
"Yes. A herring, and a clump of seaweed."
He sighed, and took a seat next to her. "Let me know if you see anything, okay?" She nodded, and snapped on her headphones.
As the hours went by, they dozed off into restless sleep. The waters darkened outside, and the silence of the empty ocean grew deafening.
* * *
*Ping. Thump, thump.*
"Mr. Archibald and Dr. Johnson, please report immediately."
Andrea started. She jostled John awake. Shaking the sleep off, they stumbled in to the cabin. "What happened?" John slurred.
"We picked up something," one of the crew members reported. "Something massive."
Andrea squinted out the window. Sure enough, just beyond the amber headlights, she could make out a black shape. "You see something?" John asked, eagerly.
She nodded. "We need to get closer."
"What?!" John said.
"It isn't moving," she replied, gesturing to the radar. "Whatever it is, it's inanimate. Or dead."
The sub crept forward through the dark waters. The black shape grew, until it took up their entire field of vision. Andrea's heart pounded; sweat rolled down John's forehead. The crew members huddled closer. "What is it?" John asked, backing out of the cabin. "Tell me it's not --"
Rows of teeth.
Milky-white eyes.
John yelped.
"It's only a great white shark," Andrea said.
"*Only*?!"
"Well, it's dead." She squinted. "I'd guess around 18-feet-long, female, died of natural --" Her voice caught in her throat.
The headlights panned over its chest.
*No.* She backed away, strength seeping from her legs.
A tooth, yellowed and sharp, was stuck in its flesh.
And it was nearly half the length of the shark. | First time writing so be gentle.
"I didn't mean to!" Tim exclaimed as he ran away from the side of the ship.
"Darn it, Tim..." I sighed, "I told you to be careful with that; if they find out that we lost it RIGHT after being told not to, they're gonna kill us! ...or worse! Take us home.."
Tim let out a short gasp as he struggled to find the words or actions to carry out to make things right.
"Just... don't touch anything." I said before he carried out some other "plan" to try to retrieve the lost item.
Tim sat there with a panicked look on his face as he just looked down into the mass of water he had just lost a prized possession to.
"So, here's the plan.. I'm going to go down there and try to retrieve the item before anyone notices that we don't have it anymore." I explained.
Tim tensed at the thought, "But, we don't have any rope or flotation devices to help if something goes wr-"
"I'll be okay." I say before he finishes his sentence. "All I have to do, is jump in and grab it real quick and jump back out. Nobody will even notice that we're not both still here!"
Tim reluctantly dropped his head in both sadness and embarrassment knowing none of this would be happening if it weren't for him. He hands me his knife that his father had given to him for his 6th birthday and says, "Be safe down there, buddy." with a big dumb smile.
I smiled back and jumped in.
As I got closer to it, I slowly realized that I'm not able to swim and started to panic.
Tim started screaming loudly, "Help! Somebody help! Danny is drowning!"
Everything starts to get dark as I look back up and see my best friend, Tim. Looking down in horror as I just sink further and further down into the depths of the water, then everything goes dark..
The next thing I remember is coughing up a lot of water and everything kind of spinning back into view.
I lay for a second longer just to grasp that I didn't die. As I look up at the person hunched over me I realize he's yelling, "Danny, do you hear me? Are you okay?!"
I respond with a weak voice and tears in my eyes, "Yeah, dad.. I'm okay.." | 2017-11-17T08:59:39 | 2017-11-17T07:00:35 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Our behaviors in video games are held against us when we die. Saint Peter is going over the list of acts that are denying you entrance to heaven.
| "Next!" The man sitting behind the desk said, signaling me to come forward. He extended his hand. "I'm Peter. Nice to meet you." He was friendly enough, but clearly ready to get business taken care of.
"Leroy." I replied, shaking his hand. "When you said your name is 'Peter', is that like Saint Peter?"
"Good. You've heard of me." He said with a smile. "That saves me a lot of time wasting explaining the same concept over and over again. I'm here for eternity, but I still can't stand inefficiency, you know?"
"So you decide if I get into Heaven?" I asked, wanting to make sure we were on the same page.
"Bingo." St. Peter answered, pulling out a giant leather bound book. "Everything you have ever done, both good and bad, is chronicled here. I'll be honest with you, you were a pretty good person but there is one major problem with your file."
"What's that?" I tried really hard to think back, but I've done a lot of dumb shit in my time. It was tough to pinpoint just one thing that stood out over the rest.
"Your conduct in video games." Saint Peter replied, an ominous look covering his face.
I laughed, looking for any hint of a smile because I knew he was yanking my chain. Just a little friendly hazing on my way to heaven. Saint Peter wasn't as amused.
"You think this is a joke?" He asked, disgusted. "You get a chance to plead your case, but if you don't want to take this seriously I can make the ruling now and send you on your way."
"I'm sorry. I thought you were joking. No one takes what people do in video games seriously." I tried to explain in a panic. "I never did anything bad to anyone outside the framework of a game."
"Does August of 2005 ring a bell?" Saint Peter asked. "Did anything happen then?"
"I don't know what you are talking about. I didn't do some terrible thing. This is all a mistake!!!" I couldn't figure out what he was talking about.
"Really?" Saint Peter asked in disgust. "Let me jog your memory then." He began to read from my book. 'Alright. Time's up. Let's do this!!!'
My heart immediately sank. "Oh, no." I muttered, as I realized where this was going. "I'm fucked."
"LEEROY JENKINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Saint Peter finished. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"At least I have chicken?" I just couldn't help it.
"NEXT!!!!" Saint Peter yelled at the next poor soul in line as he stamped 'Hell' on my paperwork.
| St. Peter finished dealing with the person ahead of me in line, and looked up. A look of dismay washed over his face, and he gestured to one of the angels waiting near the gates. I stepped forward.
"Just a minute, sir," he responded politely but firmly. We waited in awkward silence until the angel returned, carrying an enormous, leather-bound tome taller than a medium-sized child.
"Ok, Mr. Morgan," St. Peter said, opening the cover. "First, welcome to purgatory. I hope the wait hasn't been too bad. I'm afraid that your review may... take a while, given your actions."
"I wasn't a bad guy!" I protested.
"*You*, no." St. Peter replied emphatically. But he tapped a bony finger at the page of the book in front of him. "But your *characters,* on the other hand... terrible. Now that Heaven has started reviewing the in-game actions of players, we've had a significant decline in volume of acceptances." He sighed and looked down at the first page. "Now, where shall we start? Would you like to discuss 'Fallout 3' or 'Grand Theft Auto' first?"
"What? That's bullshit. There's nothing in the bible about video games. It just says to be nice to your neighbors and all that. I was never mean to any *real people*"
St. Peter just stared, lips pursed. "If you'd really like, I can debate theology with you for the next century; you want to argue morality against *a saint?* Or, we can get down to business and move this line along."
I stared dumbly for a second, fists clenched. Then I sighed.
"Fallout, I suppose."
"Very good. Let's see now: One count of shooting Butch in the face when he asked you to help save his mother from radroaches.... One count of telling Butch you would save his mother, then shooting her in the face... One count of killing everyone in the vault that you could find before leaving... 34 counts of saving the game before murdering Moira with your bare hands... 12 counts of murdering Moira with guns... 13 counts of murdering Moira with land mines...."
St. Peter stopped reading and flipped ahead a bit. "Wow, we've got a whole chapter just for Moira in here." he raised a hand, and another angel brought over a set of chairs. "You'd better have a seat," he told me. "This is going to take a while." | 2014-12-11T14:26:29 | 2014-12-11T11:46:00 | 65 | 41 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...” | "Do not open your door." the television said.
I blinked, staring blankly at it as though I could try and pull some sort of rational, reasonable argument from its screen.
"Do not let them in." It droned incessantly.
"Where is your toilet?" The man I had just welcomed into my home said, his voice oddly flat.
"Uh." I squeaked, unable to process the words still ringing in my ears.
He froze, cocking his head at me delicately.
"They are not what they seem." The TV insisted.
He stared at me a moment longer.
"Your home is - pretty?" His wife - god, I had *assumed* it was his wife - said charmingly. "No. Beautiful. That is right, yes?" She glanced over at her husband.
"Yes." He agreed, smiling broadly.
I flinched. There were so many *teeth*. Nothing human had that many teeth.
He glanced back to me, seeing the way I paled. "Oh. Oh no." He said, shaking his head as I began backing slowly away. "I've upset it. I am sorry."
"That is fine." His wife crooned, stepping closer. "It is enough. I am hungry. May we?"
What the *fuck* was going on? A thouand different horror movies ran through my head, too many hours spent in front of the television watching star trek and the X files. But none of that seemed to line up with reality.
It seemed reality wasn't waiting for me to catch up, though, as she lunged at me with an equally toothy grin, her mouth opening horribly, hideouly wide. I screamed, then, throwing myself backwards. The couch was in the way. I fell over it headlong, tumbling madly as her 'husband' sailed through where I'd been moments before.
My bag. My bag was on the table. I crawled for it furiously, reaching for all I was worth.
I screamed again as something dug into my leg. My hands closed on fabric, cold on my fingertips. I pulled it close, even as the pain ramped up.
The metal was colder still as I pulled the pistol free, flopping over on my back as I went to take aim. My mother had told me the gun would be the death of me. I intended on making sure it kept me alive, if I had any say in it.
The woman had me by the *leg*, biting into me like some sort of rabid animal. Her lips were red as she dug in with all apparent signs of enjoyment. The sight turned my stomach.
But the adrenaline running wild in my veins by that point was enough to point the barrel across the living room, trembling but steady enough.
The woman fell away, shrieking as the first round caught her in the chest. Her husband was too far away to stop me, watching with an equally horrible smile on his face. I twisted, sweating and light-headed as I sent the next two rounds through his shoulder.
Both crumpled, whining hideously. I pulled myself up into a chair, tears running down my face from the sheer agony in my leg, and vomited at the sight.
But even still, their eyes were fixed on me. Their lips parted, exposing the serrated, pointed teeth beneath.
Swallowing another round of bile, I did what I had to do.
At last, they lay still. I fell hard against the upholstery, panting for breath and trying to stem the flow of blood from my leg. I needed help. I needed to call 911. I should-
The knock rang out overloud, cutting through the silence. I froze. Someone was at the door.
Again, they knocked. I didn't move. And again.
The slender figure leaned over delicately, peering in the window.
"Excuse me! I need to use the- the *toilet*! May I come in?"
They smiled, exposing a mouth full of far too many teeth.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) | "Where is the sugar?"
My heart jumped from the couch and landed somewhere distant on the carpet. A curse to god sneaked past as I straightened myself. The man gleaned at me from the kitchen.
"What?" I asked.
"The sugar? Claire hasn't had it in a long time. Was wondering if you had some."
"Top, left most cupboard. I think it's on the right." I started breathing heavy. He didn't seem to mind. The man simply nodded a gentle, homeless smile and dragged himself away.
I had resigned myself at this point to getting these people out of my house. That news report, it had chilled me to the core for some reason. But they were so nice, they seemed so genuine and in need.
But they had to go. For some reason, the thought had made its way into my head that this should be a covert operation. In preparation I rose from my couch and snuck to my kitchen, pasting myself to the walls with glue. I heard them speak.
"He's quite nice." The woman spoke in a muffled voice, the sound of chewing commencing.
"I know, quite the shame." It was like my heart was riled with a bout of tourettes, it flopped its way to the sky again.
"Do we really have to?" She continued, the smacking of her lips grew.
"I mean, it'd be the polite thing to do."
*Polite thing to do?* Murder me in the sanctity of my own home? Their shadows cascaded into my dining room. Yes, MY dining room. I could see the large, sharp utensils stocked in their hands.
"Get out! I swear! Get out of my house!" I jumped into the kitchen, careful to grab the ladle on the counter top. I wielded it like my very own Excalibur, ready to strike down these would be assalients.
The man, and woman both, stared at me in confusion. The butter on their butcher and carving knife slid off. The bagels in their hands seemed to freeze with their expression.
They spoke first.
"What are you doing?" The man asked, dropping the knife to his side.
"What are *you* doing?" I retorted, bringing the ladle to a hold. It shook violently.
"Eating? Isn't that what you invited us in for?"
"I..." I trailed off.
"John I'm scared."
"What's gotten into you man? Why are you swinging a ladle at us?"
"Why do you have have those knives? For buttering a bagel? I think not!" I asked, I felt like I had gotten them. Secured in my victory I tightened on my weapon and my knees got a bit wibbly.
"The rest are dirty. Look." He pointed the knife at my dishwasher, where most of my butter knives sat like little school children, huddled together. "If you want us to leave, we can."
"I-I... I'm sorry."
"Save it." He placed the knife on the counter, raised his hands up like a criminal, just to make me feel that extra pang of guilt. The woman thanked me though, and joined her partner, bagels in tow.
I walked with them to the door and ushered them out, wishing them the best. I turned around, content as the news feed in the living room trailed on.
I never even felt the carving knife pass through the throat. The spurt of thick, red liquid tasted like a dense metallic soup. It sopped into my hands as I felt the pointy object dance and carve. As I collapsed to the floor I listened to the quaint, but proud field reporter spout on.
"The bagel bandits are known to have committed thirteen acts of homicide in the last week, and are still at large... We recommend to not open your door to any suspicious looking couples. No matter how desperate they seem." | 2018-03-14T08:14:36 | 2018-03-14T08:12:12 | 942 | 18 |
[WP] You get an odd email from a rogue Microsoft employee saying he studies the live feed through people's Xbox Kinect camera and tells you a dark figure stands beside your bed every night and watches you sleep. | [WP] The first thought to come to me was how illegal that was. This freak watches people through the Xbox cameras without them knowing? What kind of sick pervert does that kind of thing? Then, as the rest of what he wrote me filtered through my belligerence, I felt a chill as goosebumps rose on my arms. I shakily picked up my cell phone, and called the number he left on the bottom of the email.
The call went to voice-mail. "hello, you have reached Warren Jones at 1XXX-XXX-XXXX please leave a message after the tone". *Beep*
I pressed the end call button, and hit redial. This time, the phone was immediately picked up, and a voice on the other end started speaking ridiculously quickly. "*I was watching you sleep, I'm really sorry, but I saw this thing crouching over you, I freaked out, I'm so sorry, I promise never to do it again, what was that thing, are you going to call the police, I don't want to go to jail, I heard bad things about jail...*"
"what exactly does this figure look like? ", I interrupted, my voice shaking from fear.
Warren answered slowly, hesitantly, " He's just this shadowy looking figure that stands by your bed, watching as you sleep."
"Kind of how you were watching me as I slept, right? " I shot back. But I was seriously frightened.
He started quickly yelling excuses at me, yelling them one after another without any breaks between words. I gave up listening to them after "my mother is going to kill me"
"look", I told him, "I don't know what kind of freak you are, but if I ever hear out about this again, I will be calling the police, and I will prosecute you to the fullest extent I can." With that, I hung up my phone.
I slowly walked up the stairs to my room, quietly opened the closet door, and beckoned to the figure inside.
**"What do you wish?"**, the deep, rusty voice within asked.
"tonight's job is much more fun then just protecting me from harm", I told Beelzebub, "I need you to kill Warren jones".
The figure simply nodded, and disappeared.
Edit: Grammar | I looked at my phone. A notification. An email. I unlocked my phone and opened up my GMail. The title read "URGENT: Please Read". Great, spam. I read the sender to see that it was addressed from a Microsoft email. Some TOS change or a warning about my XBox One, I guessed. I sighed and opened it.
Hello "Getoutmatepls",
I'd like to take the time to tell you some things. My name is unimportant, but this is a serious matter. I'm what you could call a "rogue" Microsoft employee. I've been viewing Kinect cams for a while and I gotta say what I've seen is fucked up. But I shouldn't skip around the issue. There's a dark figure in your room at night, and it's there on and off. Sometimes it's there for a night and gone the next. Watch the hell out. I've attached some pictures for you to see."
Wow. Sure enough, there were pictures attached. I opened them and they all contained a figure standing by my bed in different positions with different dates stamped on them. Fuck. This is really bad. I realised the best thing to do would be stay up late on some nights to try and catch this figure.
10pm. I'm in bed trying to keep myself awake. I wasn't tired so it didn't take much effort to stay up.
11pm. Drifting in and out of sleep, trying to mainly stay awake. I'm doing fine though.
12am. Nothing still. Weird.
1am. A noise. It sounds like a breath. Is it the figure. I opened my eyes to see my room dimly lit by seemingly nothing. Actually, now I realise. It was my Kinect. Lighting up my room somehow. Oh!? It's there! I slowly shuffled my way out of bed and stood up slowly. And then it saw me. I was scared. I ran towards it, with my heavy plastic alarm clock in hand. It dissipated into something smoke like and then glided towards me. I stepped back in fear, almost paralysed. It passed around me. I turned just quickly enough to see it floating into the camera of the Kinect.
There's something in my Kinect.
And I don't know what.
| 2016-09-28T04:11:02 | 2016-09-27T23:23:12 | 219 | 16 |
[WP] You find a genie who actually is not overly literal and just gives you what you think of. The genie is tired of you being overly literal though.
[deleted] | I want a million dollars in hundred dollar bills, placed into a suitcase.
“Okay, Master. You got it.” Genie puts his forearms in front of his body and just as he’s about to manifest the suitcase, his master continues with,”That should be the only thing in the suitcase. The suitcase should not be made out of $100 bills though.”
Genie sighs. “Master, we've been over this.”
“The suitcase should be no wider than two feet, no longer than 3 feet and no thicker than 6 inches. “
“I feel like you're not really listening to me.”
Genie’s master looks out into space, clearly deep in thought. “The suitcase should be made out of fabric. Cotton. “
Genie grimaces. “What did you think I was going to make the suitcase out of? Human skin?”
“There should be nothing remarkable about the hundred dollar bills. They should not be used in a government sting operation. They also shouldn’t be so unremarkable as to be remarkable. They should not appear to be counterfeit.”
“You know, it's really hard not to be offended by this. I've already enhanced your physique. I made that girl that you like fall in love with you. I feel like you just stereotyping genies at this point.”
“The hundred dollar bills also need to exist.“
“What does this even mean? How would I manifest something that doesn't exist?”
“These hundred dollar bills should not arouse suspicious in any manner whatsoever. “
“ I feel like you would have saved yourself a lot of time if you would have just started by saying that.”
“This suitcase should manifest itself somewhere within the 50 feet that I'm currently standing. “
Genie shakes his head. “Now you're just being ridiculous.”
“It should not manifest itself within 2 to 3 feet of where I'm currently standing.”
Well, now I'm offended. If I wanted to hurt you,I couldn't even if I wanted to. That's not how genies work, Master. I know you’ve seen TV shows and movies that tell you the contrary but genies are benevolent creatures. You humans, Everything has to be a trick. Everything has to have a catch.”
“it needs to manifest itself on the ground, not in the air, not in the ground but on the surface of the ground. “
Genie nods his head and twirls his finger in a circle. “Okay, keep going. I know you have more.”
“There should be no contaminants on either the million dollars or the suitcase. “
“Contaminants? You're a contaminant. “
“That includes but is not limited to biological contaminants or anything that could hurt me. “
“Okay, if this is how it's going to be, you're only going to get 3 wishes. I have a whole eternity but I don't have time for this nonsense. So no more talk. Just one more wish and then I'm gone.”
“When the suitcase with the hundred dollar bills is manifested, that is the only thing that should be manifested not my long dead but much beloved grandmother to come back to taunt me. Nothing of that nature. The suitcase should not be locked. I should be able to open the seat case with no difficulty.”
“Are you done?”
Genie's master looks off into space like he's still trying to figure out another angle then he relaxes.
Genie shakes his head. “You are so rude.” Genie sighs then puts both forearms in front of his body. “Your wish is my command, Master, ” Genie says before nodding his head with his eyes closed.
Suddenly, a briefcase appears on the ground. Genie’s master walks over and opens it.
“Asshole,” Genie says before disappearing.
| "For the LAST fucking time, you don't have to be so damn specific!"
It wasn't supposed to be like this. The whole damn reason all genies were required to take Intro to Telepathy (Another damn 4 hour course) was to prevent situations like this. But here he was, an hour after this stupid bastard had rubbed his lamp, still waiting for the moron to finish his first wish.
"-But make sure it's not so big it's gonna crush me, ya know? But also not so tiny that I can't even use it. Oh, and make sure it won't break. But make sure I can actually use it; I know you genie folk just love giving us things we can't use just so they won't break. Oh, and be sure-"
"SILENCE!" the genie erupted, scaring the fool down onto his knees. Suddenly, a small flashlight plopped out of the sky onto the ground beside the man.
"Are you fucking happy now? Christ, you find a damn genie lamp in the middle of the woods and the FIRST thing you think to do is to ask for a fucking sex toy?"
"I mean, I've always wanted one, but I was too scared mum would see-"
"For the love of- Alright, can it, you've got 2 more wishes left. Start invisioning what you-"
"Oh! Oh! I want a pony. But like a real pony, not a fake toy or something. A beautiful one too, not a skeleton or anything like that. And make it si- Hey, what are you doing?"
While the imbecile was struggling to think of all the specific requirements he had for his pony, the genie had started digging through his bag.
"Jesus, I never thought I'd have to use this damn thing," he said as he pulled out a lamp and began rubbing furiously. Soon enough, another genie came out from this lamp.
"Greetings mortal, I am called- Tom? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Hey Sue," the genie known as Tom said. "Look, I'd love to chat, but I've got this fucker just asking for stupid shit again."
"Oh, well that's a pity. Do you wish that he understood the terms of your agreement so that you could be done quicker?"
"Nah, I'm pretty sure the idea of World Domination is rattling around somewhere in his skull."
"Oh, geez." Sue looked over to see the simpleton playing around in the grass, occasionally eating a handful. "So what do you want me to do about it?"
"Genies can have other wishes granted, right?"
"I suppose."
"Well, I'm already thinking about what I want."
A pause. Then, "Jesus, Tom, this again?"
"How would you fix it then?"
Another pause. "Ugh, fine. Just please don't tell high command."
Tom then turned back to the poor, stupid soul who had dared enrage him.
"You want a pony, eh? Well kid, here ya go." Tom and Sue then disappeared in a faint mist while the boy got his pony. Unfortunately, Tom's first wish was to be free from the rule that genies cannot place wishes inside of humans. You can guess what happened there.
As for Tom's next two wishes?
"Grow up, man" Sue yelled after Tom as he was carried away by Nymphs to a private room. As she turned away, a large grin started spreading across her face.
"At least he didn't specify a length for his last wish," she thought with a laugh. | 2017-04-27T13:32:11 | 2017-04-27T12:40:05 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] Today everyone woke up with price tags floating over their heads, indicating the value of their life. Your tag is $50Tn, the biggest by far, and you have no idea why.
That's $50,000,000,000,000.00 for those not used to hearing it.
Awesome stories guys. | I don't normally wake up early. It was never something I did. So, I woke up, glad today was not a school or work day. I heard from the office, where a small TV and my families computers sat, that there was economic chaos.
I sighed, chuckling to myself. The news stations always blow stuff out of proportion. I looked into my drawers and closets, putting on something to drawl around the house in when I notice three people, wait, four in the office, all huddled around the TV, and my father looking terrified.
Apparently, a riot started in Dallas, New York, Chicago, and other major cities. The price tags above people's heads had created a sense of value to every human being, and this would end badly and well for everyone on the planet. ALso, in the house, was my grandmother, my stepmother, and my aunt at my grandmother's side. My father was a surprising three million, my aunt about 2 million, and my grand mother and stepmother at one and a half million.
When I walked in, and my aunt looked at me, she was happy for a split second and got up to hug me when she looked above my head at where my price tag was. I cocked my head to the side.
'What?' 'William, look at your son.'
They all turned to look, and their jaws all dropped. They saw my name tag, and muttered 'fifty trillion'. I looked up, and there it was, an extreme price tag. The highest. A few people were rumoured, as they looked at me, to have price tags in the high millions, and three recorded people in the billions.
I, in my indifferent stupor of life, looked at my feet and thought. What exactly does that mean for me? What does that mean for my family? I sat on the ground, thinking heavily on what was going on, as some pressure is needed for me to think about some topics thoroughly. My father was freaking out, unable to comprehend his son being worth so much, and my stepmother going over to console him as best she could only to be mildly grumbled at and argued with. They argued while my aunt and grandmother took me to the living room to think about this.
A little while later, by a few hours, the TV was still going on about the worth of people, and they had even brought scientists and economists to come explain what was going on. A lot of them had millions, and even more had hundreds of thousands.
'We just need to see what happens when those with good numbers die... it's morbid, but it's the only way we can be sure of what happens.'
It appeared that those who died actually made those around them worse off by how much they had. Someone with a million dollar tag died, and about five people around him then commit suicide. Even the cameraman was in distraught tears trying to run and not grab the knives laying around.
It appeared that if you died, you killed people around you. The bigger the number, the harder it fell.
I thought that was all, but I decided to make it worse. I looked on my computer, and new links were in my browser under a folder with the name 'BA', or Bank Accounts', as I took from context. I had multiple accounts of money stored away under all those who had died.
Not only do the people kill themselves over death, but my account kept growing.
It just kept growing and growing, and all I had to do was kill people.
I was getting paid to kill people. The number above my head kept growing, and so I had an idea.
I looked up the address for all the banks I had, and I took all the addresses and put them in my phone. From there, I dressed in all black, took my bike and my phones and wallet, and started barreling down the roads.
Cars stopped and pulled out knives and guns, but I had been biking for too long. One bullet grazed my arm, and I cringed in pain, but I had to redistribute the money. A firey mob of cars was barreling after me, and I had to reach the nearest banks in order to get the tag lower. ONe person ran out of bullets after firing off at a firetruck that heard about a car being lit on fire, and itself exploded. WIth all the commotion of the road being blocked by a firey car, I whipped right, sending myself in front of several cars which redirected themselves toward me. My heart sped up to where I felt like it would burst out of my chest, but I had to reach the bank. I left the bike for dead and went inside, going up to the nearest teller, and tried as efficiently as possible to draw everything but 100,000$. My price tag went down a million dollars.
Damn it.
I ran out, slowly throwing hundreds in people's faces to distract them while I took my bike and barrelled down the highway, where other cars were already causing crashes and not allowing anyone else on the highway. I whipped around, and headed backwards.
I had a lot left on my checklist to bring this tag down. First stop: the dealership. | *I am not a short form writer and this is my own prompt, so I don't know if I am breaking the prime directive ...but here's something I scrawled. Also, I don't grammars.*
I woke up with a whiskey headache , the only thing on my mind was getting to nearest place where I could grab a few greasy strips of bacon, a couple of soft scrabbled eggs, and a passable cup of joe. I threw on whatever I could find, did my best not stumbling shuffle out the door. As I walked to my car, I spotted it. Goddammit
Across the street and two houses down was a late 90's Grand Prix. The shit box of a ride my handler used when he came out to visit me. *He couldn't look more like a cop if he had a siren hanging out of his ass.* Annoyed, I did a quick scan up and down the street. All quite, everyone was somewhere else. Just my luck.I jogged on over.
In one swift move I opened the back door and slipped in behind Jerkins. "You know what undercover is, *Jerk*ins?"
"You know what a shower is?" He quipped back.
We both did our reflexive 10 second watch for tails through the Pontiac's peeling obviously a cop car tint. I gave up after 8 and turned my attention to Jerkins, who was looking dead forward and off somewhere. Then I saw it, "What the..."
I narrowed my eyes on the figure that hovered above his head.
"You like?" He asked, turning to flash me a toothy smile.
"What is it? Some kinda hologram?" I stuck my fingers through the ghostly $2,536,248.53 floating above him.
I tried moving it, swiping it away, but nothing.
"No." He said in a flat, dead, slight alarming tone. He expression twinged for a second, then he smiled again. "It's a new thing. Just happened this morning. Everyone has one, nobody's got a clue what it means, but it hasn't hurt no one. So...Life goes on. Well, there is one bunch of wackjobs in Oklahoma saying it's the mark of the beast."
"So, wait-" I flipped down the visor and stared into its mirror.
A few seconds passed.
A Minute passed.
"Jesus, James. Say something will you?" Jerkins said in half frustrated laugh.
"I...I, uh. I am...Nobody know what it means?"
"Well, it obviously ain't bank accounts." He gestured at his own numeric halo.
"No." I said breathlessly. What the hell is going on
He started to say more, but broke into coughing fit. He tried to his mouth while simultaneously digging for a pack of smokes in the console. "Christ." He said stuffing one of the menthols into his mouth. "I swear, I have these, uh, attacks and the only thing that helps is to smoke more."
I shook my head at that, and forced the super odd no body knows nothing floating sci fi numbers out of my head. I have a job to do.
After a few deep drags he relaxed. "So, James, any news on the cells in the other cities?"
"Not since the airport. They might already have targets and orders, they might just be laying lower after Toronto. I am just not hearing much"
Jerkins nodded, making ash fall on his shirt. "And the nuclear material? Do you know if they have built anything with? Sold it?Moved it at all?"
I shrugged, "It's still in play, but as far as I know it's just product. Not a weapon. I think the tip about dirty bombs is false."
"Good" He said with a weird pudgy grin.
I nodded my agreement.
Thinking we were done I started to open the door, but I felt his eyes on the side of my head. I turned,we locked eyes for a moment, he seemed to try to be reading me for something."Oh!" I said, as it dawned on me, " The mole."
"I got nothing. I ran that intel you gave me, but I got no leads. I think the guy is a ghost or dead."
Jerkins stared at me again, but only for a second, and then smile. "Good to know. I didn't think one of us would flip."
After that we said our goodbyes, he gave me a new meet, and I gave him my next drop location. As I exited the car I couldn't help but crack a small smile. God, I love this job. Walking away I couldn't just barely make out Jerkin's voice on his phone.
"James Deacon is the mole. The bombs are go. We've been played"
| 2015-05-13T10:48:32 | 2015-05-13T10:09:28 | 22 | 12 |
[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 | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | 2015-05-16T10:50:43 | 2015-05-16T08:20:10 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You're a sniper, but your gun fires... unconventional ammo. | The spotter spoke quietly but firmly,
"Wind about a knot south east"
"Correcting" I affirmed as I made my adjustments, the whole plaza was in view from the church tower we had made our hide in. The weather was clear and I could think of about a million other places I'd rather be, but this was the job I guess.
"Target one spotted. Coming in from the left, blue jeans, black jacket, on the phone, he just sat down at the table." Spotter whispered.
"Have him in sight."
He was ordering something from the waiter, he looked down at his phone and seemed to be scrolling. The spotter hissed again,
"Target two acquired, blonde girl, green dress, sitting two tables away."
"I copy" I replied, "permission to fire." The spotter conferred with the boss via radio, he answered,
"Greenlight, you are a go."
I looked through the scope, relaxed my breathing and steadied my aim, _OK, kid look up, look up, come on leave the damn phone alone_ I muttered to myself.
He looked up at the girl and I fired, changed targets while chambering the next round and fired again, almost simultaneously two arrows flew out of my gun and hit each of the targets.
"And what's happening?" I asked while packing the rifle up. Spotter was grinning from ear to ear, "He got up and joined her, they are chatting merrily, oh she just laughed!" I lit my cigarette,
" All in a day's work then hey mate." He nodded silently, when the radio crackled into life,
"Cupid group two, are you ready for extraction yet? We have another mission lined up nearby."
I grimaced, no rest for the wicked I guess, "Tell them I am finishing my smoke first." | Some people think a T-shirt canon is a poor choice of weapon, but it's a necicary one for the enemy I fight. Every moment these damned animals prance around exposed is one moment too many. There could be children around for goodness sakes.
Sure *normal* people will say "just don't visit a nude beach if it makes you uncomfortable." But that's not the point. Man made clothes for a reason, and it wasn't because we where bored.
I get to my perch and line up a shot. A particularly curvy collage girl who's probably enjoying the "new experience" like there's some kind of cosmic checklist she has to fill to say she's lived a full life. I pull the trigger. **Experience this.**
"Ow! What the hell?"
"What is it Cindi?"
"Some lunatic just shot me with a T-shirt."
"I don't see anyone here."
"You really think I would bring a T-shirt that said 'put some clothes on you heathens' to a *nude beach*? I'm not that dumb."
The chaos brings the others into my range. Have a little civilization you mongrels.
"Ow! Someone shot me too."
"Who would even do this? Do they not have a hobby?"
"Ouch!"
"Hey!"
"Ampersand!"
There is a long pause as the heathens stare at the owner of that last "swear".
"What? I'm a nudist, not an animal."
Just for that, he gets another shot to the gut. | 2017-09-09T13:17:51 | 2017-09-09T11:40:33 | 99 | 62 |
[WP] In the distant future, an alien scientist has almost fully deciphered the messages found on the Voyager Spacecraft. With growing horror, the scientist realizes the crafts home system, and begins to pray. | The craft was salvaged near the outer rim of our system. Though we have but only reached our most closest sister-planet, the price for faster-than-light travel is simply too steep. It took a near hundred cycles for the craft to reach our homeworld, and the tales of it had been passed down the generations in anticipation for the first, real contact with another species other than radio-waves. I had been trained and educated from birth, my ancestors specifically chosen to produce me: one with a mind like a fort, nimble and sharp to pierce the veil, strong and sturdy to weather the storm of alien impressions.
The first cursory analysis of the craft proved it to be older than time itself. On it a disc, with some rudimentary form of data storage. Sadly, the disc was damaged in transport through our system, and I could not help but wish that we could make use of our FTL technology without paying the price of sanity. Such heretical thoughts were new and alien to me, so I purged myself from them in the approved way.
To travel in hyper-space, we discovered early on in our exploratory phase, is to slip between worlds, and meet those who came before. They speak to us in language that etches grooves in our mind and dislocates our thoughtproces. They are old. They speak of a dead star that hung in the primordial sky like a baleful yellow eye, unaturally alone and without a twin. They are beyond our comprehension and must remain so.
Imagine my surprise and horror when the disc did yield some precious information, it told me of that same star. I realised that the craft before me was the product of the eldritch horrors that inhabit the warp between the worlds, and that my research was over. I reported myself and the craft for immediate extermination the following day. | A few disclaimers, this is my first response to a post and I am writing on mobile so sorry if the editing is weird.
I had grown used to the silence of the universe. I spent my time hiding from my civilization, traveling from galaxy to galaxy in a never ending patrol. During the war, my people called me a hero, an unstoppable force of justice, but they forgot their adoration quickly
They saw the reports of carnage and destruction. Yet all the people cared for was blood, and I skillfully gave them what they wanted. When we destroyed the last outpost of corruption, the people of my nation celebrated.
Slowly their adoration turned to distrust and paranoia. News circulated that I showed no mercy, and that I ignored calls for surrender.
Videos began surfacing of my tactics during the war. The people once again wanted blood, this time it was my own.
They did not realize that I did what I did to protect them. All I cared about was their safety. I knew to save them I would have to decimate the corruption.
I am their savior and purifier. I would do anything to protect them, and I have. To protect them I had to leave them.
I travelled the galaxy, ever vigilant, determined to protect my people should the need arise. I an age in search of a danger that did not seem to be there.
The danger arrived in a quiet way. A small ship drifted into the corner of my scanners. I hailed it in all frequencies of my people with no response.
After my many years of patrolling I found more corruption in the universe. | 2014-11-09T04:07:38 | 2014-11-09T00:24:27 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] "Fool!" The warlock screamed, unharmed from any of the slashes. "The prophecy had stated that no human may slay me!" The unchosen warrior stared at their blade. The sword wasn't human, was it? | "You stabbed me? Why the abyss did you do that?" Felrekar shouted while clutching his side. Blood had already stained his shirt.
"They said human not able to kill you so we run. But I don't like runnin."
Felrekar gasped with pain. "So why didn't you take a bloody horse, I've killed the archmages of three different kingdoms, slain the gryphons and basiliks, gone are the..."
"Why I hide in bush." the man interrupted before smelling the finger he'd been excavating his backside with.
Felrekar couldn't believe it. The prophesized warlock, he had to be, just look at all his accomplishments. Several of them matched the fabled warlock and others were just as grand. For him to he killed by a village idiot with a rusty sword. It was unthinkable.
And yet, his magick wasn't flowing anymore. He couldn't cast even the simplest of spells or mere cantrips. Absolutely nothing. "Hey dunce, where'd you get a sword that can stop magick?"
The fool looked confused before pointing to himself. "Black water."
Was that a town? Felrekar had never heard of it. "Is that a smith?"
"No sticky black water." He grinned stupidly, remembering a fond memory, "make sword burn like scary torch."
It took Felrekar a long moment to realize what he meant. Oil, this idiot, destroyer of dreams and crusher of prophesy had stuck a sword in cursed oil. The ultimate absorber of infernal energies, which is the shade his magick had long since turned. What kind of joke was this?
The pain had turned to agony at this point, but Felrekar had to know. "The prophesy said no human could kill me. So how did you?"
The idiot looked at him like he was the fool. After what felt like a long moment of coughing up blood the man answered, "This sword not a man, it sword. I call her Hyda."
Felrekar managed to shout weakly, "Curse you gods, I killed every damn hydra cause of your shitty prophesy and it was a halfwit you should have warned me about."
"I ain't no halfwit." were the last words the infamous Felrekar ever heard.
r/AurumArgenteus | M'Darkel the Wizard had smashed the Blessed warriors with fireballs and repeated his brag; "The prophecy had stated that no human may slay me, these Words are from the Prophet Hemour, just before I slayed him"
Tannek, unblessed, hadn't been caught in the rain of fireball. He glanced down at his blade, sleathed it, and ran toward the hill where the stump of Hemour's tree still stood. The only rise on the plain, lightning had struck the tree repeatedly until it was just a stump. The Wizard marched after him, determined to wipe out all of the warriors.
Jabback, seeing his master running toward him, felt the rain hitting his bare skin. The storm was coming. The wind was picking up speed, thunder came from the distance. Could Tannek out run the Wizard's fireballs until the rain stopped the Wizard's fire? Jabback prepared the weapons for his master, the crossbows were tightly wound and the quarrels were loaded.
The rain was pouring down, but M'Darkel wasn't worried. He could handle a unblessed warrior in his sleep, even without fireballs. Tannek glanced over his shoulder, and then looked skyward, the rain was falling fiercely and the thunder was closer. He slowed down and the wizard gained on him. Tannek ran across the crest of the hill, grabbed a crossbow and waited.
M'Darkel crested the hill and was surprised to see Tannek. The quarrel pierced his chest. He started laughing at the attempt. Then he saw Tannek raise the second crossbow t the sky. The quarrel soared into the storm, a thin wire trailer the quarrel. M'Darkel realized that the quarrel in his chest also had a wire attached. The lightning bolt found the rising quarrel, and the electricity followed the wire to the wizard. The explosion knocked Tannek back, but he remained standing, watching the wizard burn. | 2022-06-12T15:38:13 | 2022-06-12T13:01:53 | 203 | 73 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 432 | 22 |
[WP] You possess an ability to turn off one or more of your senses to heighten the others. Today is the day you make a mistake. | The arrow hits the target. A perfect ten.
I miss the sound the arrows make most of all. It’s an amazing sound.
But well, in order to get into the Olympics, you got to make some sacrifices. And I can still hear the others shoot.
As I lower the bow, I quickly activate hearing again.
My opponent raises his bow and takes the shot.
Nine.
Not bad.
Now it’s my turn.
As I shoulder the bow, I deactivate my hearing. With smell, taste and pain already disabled, my vision and touch are nearly doubled. I can feel every crack in the compound bow. I can feel the wind perfectly.
The target looks a lot larger than it actually is.
Breathing in deeply, I fire.
Another perfect ten.
However, this time, my opponent also scores a ten.
Damn.
I need to score another perfect ten to ensure victory.
What else do I have?
I already disabled smell, taste, pain and hearing. As I concentrate, more senses appear. Temperature? Don’t need that one either. And what’s this one?
I shrug, probably not important. You only need sight and touch to shoot after all.
I disable it and take aim.
This shot has to be perfect.
Relax. Breath in and…
My arm jerks upward and the arrow shoots away.
It doesn’t even go in the right direction.
I look beside me.
My opponent tapped me on the shoulder and the heightened sense of touch almost gave me a heart attack.
He’s saying something, but I can’t hear him.
I quickly enable everything once again.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The game is over.”
“How do you mean the game is over?” What the hell? “I still have to take my third shot.”
“You’re disqualified.”
“Why?”
“You went over the time limit. You do realize you’ve been standing here for half an hour, right?”
“Oh.”
“Something must be wrong with your-”
“Sense of time. Yes, thank you.” | I was born with awareness of each of my senses and the ability to turn them off and on. When one sense was of the others increased. I used the skill to eavesdrop, look at other people's test, and other mundane things. I was strolling through the park. I had turned off hearing and sat on a bench so that I could see all the animals in their daily routine.
Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my lower back. I screamed in pain the mugger fled. People came to help. All I could think was wanting the pain to stop. Suddenly it did. This was the first time I realised I could turn off more than one sense at a time, and that I could turn off my sense of touch. Suddenly it all went dark.
I awoke in a hospital. The police arrived shortly after I woke up and told me what happened. Somebody had walked up behind me and demanded everything on me. They wondered how I didn't hear him but didn't ask many questions. Apparently he got angry that I was just ignoring him and decided to stab me. Doctors came in and explained my situation. The knife have nicked a couple organs, but worse had given my a nasty infection. Due to whatever was on the knifes blade. I was gonna be hear a while.
My family and friends kept my company as much as they could, but they had work or school. One day while alone and bored. I decided to turn off every sense at once. I focused on smell then hearing then sight then touch then everything. As I focused everything become nothing.
Years later doctors still wondered at the strange case. | 2016-08-24T07:39:44 | 2016-08-24T07:13:48 | 77 | 15 |
[WP] After entering your PIN the ATM screen reads, "You cannot use this while in combat." | I looked at the familiar, yet very out of place message. Combat?
"What combat?"
I suddenly became aware of a rather loud and attention-demanding screaming, emanating from across the street. Sure enough, I turned around to see a man running towards me with a carbine rifle in hand, bayonet fixed, and looking mighty determined to stick said bayonet in between my ribs.
His reckless running and screaming did not allow for him to see the curb. And so as he tripped over it, face planting onto concrete, his rifle fired and with a loud metal on metal screech, it ricocheted.
Back into him.
I stood there at the ATM in the middle of the night, with yellow lamp light pooled around me and the parked cars, in utter disbelief of what just happened, hoping against hope that what I knew would come next wouldn't come at all.
But it did.
In the corner of my peripherals, I saw a single five pointed GTA star illuminate itself, followed by a notification of the heat I just gained.
"Shit!" I exclaimed.
Better start running... | "You cannot use this while in combat" read the ATM. I stared down confused - then it all swept over me like goosebumps, my heart was beating itself to death like it was desperately trying to break open my sternum and run. At second glance the ATM at returned back to my weapon, the explosions, the ringing in my ear, the smoke, it was back. I remembered. Out of desperation I attempted to contact my family via the phone, which becomes disabled when the weapon is in combat mode. I had escaped this cruel reality of war and death for just a few moments, it felt too real, the buttons of the ATM, sliding my debit card in...It was the last time life felt normal, before the war. | 2016-11-21T12:21:06 | 2016-11-21T11:31:24 | 110 | 10 |
[WP] You deliver meals to elderly shut-ins. One of your clients is convinced you are Death, and you play along, letting them "outsmart" you every day. Today, however, they're dressed in their Sunday finest, saying, "I'm ready." | I opened the door with my elbow, balancing the sad tray of potatoes and gravy in one hand and the glass of orange juice in the other.
"Ok Dennis," I said, "You won't believe what I have cooked up for you today." I let myself give what I thought to be an evil grin. *Man, I'm really getting into character here!*
Dennis wasn't on the bed like he normally was, but sitting in the recliner that was set up for visitors. He had on a suit, not a new suit, but a suit that had seen the good days and stuck around for a while after they had gone. He leaned on his cane and lifted himself to his feet, wobbling only slightly.
"I'm ready," he said, and his chin tremored slightly. A solitary tear escaped his eye, "No more runnin', not this time."
"Oh Dennis," I said, "let's get you back to bed."
"Didn't you hear me?" Dennis said a little louder. "At least let me go with some dignity, before I can't even realize that I've shit myself anymore, before I go completely mad and have to take pills to make me forget I'm alive."
"I-- I can't take you Dennis," I said, "not today." My mind searched for an excuse. "See, there's this horrible man who hurts children, I'm taking him today, and then my quota's full. There's just no room, I'll have to put you in for another day."
"I'll just have to wait until you change your mind, then," Dennis said, and sank back into the armchair. He gave me a grumpy stare as I brought the food to his chair, abstaining from taking a single bite.
"If you finish your food, I'll consider moving you higher on the list, how's that sound?" I asked him. He grunted, and took slow, deliberate bites of his potatoes.
"I won't chase you today," I said, "but if you want to talk, I'm always here, ok?" Dennis let a ghost of a smile cross his face, "Ok."
I turned to leave, and was surprised that another nurse had come into the room.
"I didn't hear you come in," I said.
"They never do," the nurse replied. She turned to Dennis.
"Would you like to come with me Dennis?" she asked.
"Where to this time?" Dennis asked.
"Someplace more comfortable, I promise," the nurse said. Dennis nodded, and she took his hand and together they walked out of the room. As they left, she turned back to me.
"Thank you for taking care of him while he waited for me." | I smiled as Mrs. Monroe winked at me with her frail, worn eye. I smiled as I saw Mr. Smith walk his terrier down the nursing home hallway. I smiled when I saw Mrs. Lee knitting me a new fur hat, because Lord knows that the cold's a-coming, and she would like to give back to the person who delivered their favorite meals.
I didn't smile, however, when I saw Mr. Marino sitting upright on his bed, with a pair of dress slacks and suspenders layered on his body, and a lit cigar in the corner of his mouth.
"Oh," I said as I opened the door. "Should I come back?"
"No," Mr. Marino coughed. He inhaled a bit of the cigar and puffed it outward. "Sit down, boy."
I placed the food, which by now needed a good microwaving, on the end table and sat next to him on the bed, careful not to let him fall over.
Mr. Marino began to say something, but stopped himself. I waited patiently.
Just as I was about to awkwardly excuse myself from the room, he announced, "I'm ready."
"For what?" I replied.
"Son, I know what you do. I've been fighting you off for the last two years."
I didn't say anything.
He coughed. "I can't fight anymore. Alzheimer's, dementia, osteoporosis... I can't even open my eyes in the morning without something hurting!"
He looked at me. I couldn't say anything.
"I beat the Charlie in Vietnam. I beat the Commies in Russia. I beat the cancer in my bones! But this? Son, I'm willing to accept that I can't win every battle."
I had opened my mouth to speak when an aid bustled through the door.
"Good morning, Mr. Marino! How are you feeling today?"
Mr. Marino didn't say anything, only stared at me with his battle-worn eyes. The nurse, seemingly oblivious, continued to set up his morning routine.
The bed creaked and groaned as I got off of it, and walked over to the open door. As I walked through it and into the hallway, I allowed myself a look back.
The man no longer stared at me, nor the woman preparing his wheelchair. Instead he gazed forlornly at the ground.
He had accepted that the cause was lost, yet he still had a war to fight. | 2017-08-31T14:21:32 | 2017-08-31T14:08:33 | 925 | 41 |
[WP] Adapt a famous fairy tale so it has a realistic ending.
I'm about to go to sleep. Bedtime story!... Except that I won't read anything until I get up. Happy Saturday. | The council stared at the village elder incredulously. They shifted glances at each other before one of the magistrates leaned in to ask of the elder, “Repeat that again.”
“Certainly. Arthur pulled the sword from the stone. According to Heavenly Decree, he is now rightfully the King of England.”
The magistrate coughed into his hand, looked back to his councilmen who stared at the ridiculous fool standing before them. The magistrate started a coughing fit; a reflex of his during anxiety. Another councilman continued where the magistrate left off, “The claim to the throne is not legitimate. We will not make a commoner a king based on superstition of *Heavenly Decree.*" He emphasized the end of his rejection with aristocratic insolence, and the old man’s face started to flush bright red, contrast to his absurd blue garbs.
“Is this the court’s unanimous decision?” He asked. Before anyone else could answer, the councilman answered for them. “Yes, and tell your man to put the sword back where it belongs.”
“He is a boy. He is the rightful King of England. And he will put the sword where it belongs.” He turned on his heels and left. The councilman could not foresee the threat the wizard had made, and the sword would not be plunged back into the earth, but through his heart. | She slept and never moved. She looked like a statue carved from gleaming white marble, but stone could never do justice to the beauty of her delicate face.
These were the lips which had so entranced the knight, and he stared at them longingly. A tiny dribble of drool escaped from the corner of his mouth, like a hungry puppy. As he leant down to clasp his lips to her, what he had fervently dreamed about, he thought of the blissful marriage and children that had been fated.
*Ahhhhhhhghghghghghghghghghghhh!* "Get the fuck off me!"
She squirms out from under him, and rolls off the bed.
"What? I'm your knight in shining armour! Your saviour. You're fated to be my bride! Why would you try to fight destiny?"
He yells, looking indignantly at her.
"Rape! Rape!"
Running to the other side of the room, grabbing books along the way, she begins to hurl them at his head.
| 2014-03-29T10:44:40 | 2014-03-29T10:43:35 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] There is only one rule in your village, and it changes daily. The punishment for anyone breaking the Rule of the Day is death. | "Ah, darling, please turn that bleeding TV off!" Becky exclaimed, "I've only just managed to get back to sleep!"
"No," Lenny said determinedly, "you know the deal."
You never know whether you might be violating today's rules unwittingly. His friend Harry died that way. He decided to have a shower before reading the daily rule and it cost him his life. For whatever reason on that fateful day the rule of the day was:
DO NOT USE WATER TODAY
The fucking Rule Squad didn't even let him dry his hair. He was taken to Castle Hill in his dressing gown and shot hurriedly.
Harry wasn't the only one that day -- there were three in total. There was nearly a riot that week.
"What's the point of these bleeding rules anyway", Becky muttered.
While Lenny generally had little patience for Becky's deviance he had to admit that this is something he had been thinking about himself. He hated the rules with a passion but he had to admit exactly quite why these rules existed had eluded him still for the last 28 years. To be fair, it wasn't until he met Becky that he started questioning these things. Up until that point to Lenny's mind the rules were just a fact of life, much like gravity.
He didn't want to start discuss this again, though.
"Shut up Becky!" Lenny said in anger, "just give me the remote!"
Lenny changed the TV to channel 144 and as the screen changed to display today's rule Lenny froze.
DO NOT SAY THE NAME 'BECKY' OUT LOUD TODAY
An overwhelming sense of dread clouded Lenny's thoughts.
"Oh shiiiit, what the hell?"
That got Becky up. As she read the rule she turned to Lenny with a look of anguish.
"Did you say it?" Becky asked Lenny, "did you say B--".
She nearly said her own name but stopped herself just in time.
"Jesus!" Becky exclaimed, "did you, erm, did you say my name?"
Before Lenny could reply there was a knock on the door.
"Rule Squad! Open up!"
----
Theo was hot. You wouldn't think it'd be this warm on a clear April morning at 8 AM.
Mind you, the uniform didn't help. He looked much like those medieval executioners you see in movies. He was completely covered in black, including his head.
You're best not showing your face too much in this profession.
"Just break the flipping door, man!" Justin said impatiently, "it's not as if they're gonna let us in, is it!?."
It was only Theo's second roundup with Justin and he was already doing his head in. You just gotta follow procedures.
"RULE SQUAD! OPEN UP!" Theo shouted once more.
These morning shifts were often awkward. Rule violations later in the day tended to be deliberate, usually depressed people that used the rule squad to put them out of their misery. But these morning calls were often accidental violations. They could be awful.
"C'mon, bro," Justin groaned, "the protocol says two minutes."
"Let's go and kill the fucker!" Justin added.
"Alright, alright, shut up already!" Theo snapped, "give them a chance!"
To tell the truth Theo was dreading the next few minutes. He'd seen it all. People begging, running, crying or wetting themselves. Let's just say people aren't their best when facing death.
He wasn't as committed to cause as Justin. Ultimately this was just a job to Theo. He didn't *like* doing it but then who would? Well, except Justin. It's not as if it made any difference in the big scheme of things. If he resigned from the Rule Squad someone else would join in a heartbeat. These rules had been a fact of life for centuries and Theo wasn't gonna be able to change that.
Besides, this job came with the best perk in the world -- rule indemnity.
"Right, I guess we better do this" Theo said.
Justin didn't need telling twice. He paced back, getting ready to kick in the door.
The next few moments were nothing like what Theo ever experienced before. As Justin ran for the door it started opening of it's own volition. The Rule Breaker had decided to come out voluntarily at the worst possible moment, Theo thought.
Justin was unable to stop his momentum entirely and stopped just inside the property.
Theo couldn't believe who he saw next. It was his childhood friend, Becky. She had the look on her face of someone that had nothing left to lose. Unfortunately for his colleague she was pointing a handgun at his temple.
"Let's play, fucking assholes!" Becky said.
----
I don't usually write -- let me know if you like it. I'll write a ~~second~~third part if anybody's interested. | Every morning they gathered.
"Present your journals." Merris, Town Leader, called out to the assembled group. Everyone shuffled forward to the Rule Keeper, a small woman with greying hair that sat in front of an enormous scroll. She looked at each journal and the behaviors described within before transferring the information to the scroll. The process could take hours, but it was the only way to know what was safe.
The last journal accounted for, she set her stylus down. "One hundred and twenty eight of of one hundred and twenty eight journals accounted for. There has been no Rulebreakers this morning." A mixture of relief and anxiety rippled through the crowd. Relief that none of their friends were dead, anxiety that they still did not know the rule. "This scroll has the master list for the day." The Rulekeeper said.
"Has there been any discovery on a pattern or anything else?" Bobert called out from the back of the crowd.
Laurel the Rulekeeper tilted her chin downward, allowing her to look at him over the rim of her glasses. "If there had been a discovery, surely we would have informed the towns of it."
Merris stepped forward, "I know how trying this has been. The Curse has lasted for a year and taken many of our family and friends. We have worked tirelessly to discover anything we can about it." He paused, "As always, each of you were welcome to inspect the Rulekeeper's documents. Perhaps you will succeed where we failed."
Murmurs but none stepped forward to take on the task. It was easier to question than to answer. Who would want responsibility for the Curse? Merris was the third town leader in under a year. One had gone mad after the Curse took his wife. The other had been taken by the Curse itself.
The problem was that the rule could be anything. It could be something common, like 'no\-running' or something out of the way, like 'no rolling about in the hay naked'. So each morning the townspeople woke up and wrote the same thing: "I awoke in my bed." Then they carefully creeped about, terrified that their next action would be their last. Each knew thing they did was a risk.
A few had died of starvation early on. They would simply wake and lay in their beds, terrified to do anything else.
It took Merris to bring some order to the town. To make them feel like they could fight back from the curse. The journals were created. The morning share as well. Each day the people received a large list of all the things they could do. It was freeing. The Rulekeeper, the fact that they were studying the Curse. It gave them hope.
The following morning, the appeared as they always did. They lined up. They shared their journals. They stood before the Rulekeeper as she assembled the data. "One hundred and twenty seven of one hundred and twenty eight account for." Her shoulders hunched, "There is a journal missing. It belonged to Delvin."
Whispers sprang up. Delvin ran the blacksmith down the road. They assembled as a group and scurried after Merris and Laurel. Delvin was well liked and losing his skills was a blow to the town. But least the rule for the day would be known. It would be a rare moment of freedom.
Merris kicked down the door after the knocks went unanswered. The interior of the house was orderly and well\-maintained. Laurel blocked the entrance, allowing Merris to investigate the house by himself. Slowly he crept about, "Delvin? You in here?"
No answer. Merris shouted out his actions to the front of the house, allowing Laurel to write down permitted behavior as he went.
Finally Merris saw Delvin, laying on the floor of his bedroom. "Delvin? You ok?" Nothing. He stepped into the room.
Some time passed before Laurel called out. "Merris? Are you ok in there?"
Nothing. The townspeople began to titter amongst themselves.
"Merris? She called out again, her voice becoming slightly shrill. No answer. She looked from the interior of the house back to the townspeople. "I'll go look for him."
"Do you think that's a good idea? Maybe the Rulebreak is in the house."
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, "He's the Town Leader. I can't just leave without seeing him." She turned and entered the house.
The townspeople waited.
And waited.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-05-19T12:02:26 | 2018-05-19T11:07:06 | 266 | 86 |
[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’m not a bad person (or am I better described as an “entity”), I used to be a bit of a monster but that was a LONG time ago before I had a handle on my powers. Turns out that when you have the ability to drain life force and devour souls coupled with a requirement to feed in order to survive things get a little crazy. I spent some time leading Aztec sacrifices as Tezcatlipoca, the Egyptians called me Apopis, I lived in Greece under the guise of Thanatos, and most recently lost my cool in Romania in the 1400’s. Ever since then I’ve done a really good job keeping everything in check; and ever since the 1500’s I’ve been working on passion project… pizza.
There are three things I like to do, cause low level mischief to keep hero’s employed (charity work), attempt to perfect the worlds greatest food (pizza), and also monologue in my own head (which I am currently doing fantastically). You see I tend to get introspective when I’m dealing with a mental crisis and at the moment I’m furious. Those so called “heroes” who constantly endanger the population with their wild antics (unless I craft some easy to crack scheme to occupy them) have crossed a line. I’m all for messing with your rivals but they did the unthinkable; they messed with my people and my pizza.
A few minutes ago I was prepping some pepperoni in the back room when I heard an explosion. I ran out front and to my horror discovered the heroes had “raided” my “secret lair” and in doing so they blew up the front of my store. Those asshats failed to account for the fact that I employ a super sweet teenager named Jenny and she just got carted away in an ambulance due to shrapnel! These animals wouldn’t even let me make sure she was okay before they put me in chains and threw me in the back of their van. It’s been ages since I’ve held a man’s soul in my hands or brought balance to the world through reckoning; but perhaps I’ve been too lax. These beings have no care for the plight of others and they’re too divided, I think this world needs to be reminded what a real monster looks like.”
The one called “Jim” also known as The Reaper, The Scourge of Gehenna, and Ruin One True Horseman of the Apocalypse opened his emerald eyes. In one fluid motion he cracked his neck and tore apart the heavy lead chains that had restricted his body.
The whites of his eyes rapidly darkened to a hue so deep they resembled a black hole and the green of his iris gained a subdued and yet somehow blinding brilliance as if the cosmos themselves rotated in his orbital sockets. The air warped around him and multicolored bands of radiant light shot out from his hands to impale the three costumed men in the van with him. In a fraction of a second (too fast for the human eye to witness) the bands warped to become wrapped in skeletal claws radiating an aura of insatiability. The 3 men gave out chocked gasps as their bodies rapidly decomposed becoming blacked motes of ash in a matter of seconds. An instant later the van itself careened into the car in front of it as a rusted husk and the buildings around became to crack and wither. Ruin calmed himself and the dome of decay surround him retracted to envelope his body.
“There is no need to harm the innocent when the guilty are so plentiful, after all souls all taste the same, and goodness deserves to survive (at least for now)… for it is not yet time to begin the work and something that is clean is easier to Ruin!” | *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 | 2022-11-28T20:13:47 | 2022-11-28T14:15:34 | 105 | 18 |
[WP] All natural forms of death have been cured. People still decide to die after they live for a few centuries, though. It's almost your thousandth birthday and people don't understand why you've decided to live so long. | "Jesus Fucking Christ!" cried Dr Wyns' intern as he went over the chart. "This guy is really almost a thousand?"
Dr Wyns was nearing 300 and had started to consider it about time to bring his life to an end. Why anyone would want to live as long as Rick had he just couldn't understand. But he wasn't going to turn down an opportunity to talk to the man he had been studying for nearly two centuries.
"This is the first interview he's granted in centuries" Dr Wyns said excitedly. "He hasn't spoken in nearly 400 years. All of the data. All of the studies, the statistics...it's all just hearsay and calculations. This interview could make or break all of it!"
Dr Wyns stopped outside of Rick's room. The retirement home usually had a very strict age policy. No one under 200. Nobody over 500. It was only by some unknown miracle Rick had been allowed to stay in secret. That is until recently. An orderly had accidentally stumbled upon Rick's archived records. He sold them to the highest bidder and then disappeared.
Dr. Wyns had been contacted by Rick shortly after the documents arrived to his office. He invited him to come and conduct an interview, promising him answers to all of his questions.
"Are you ready Tim?" Wyns asked. Tim gave a nod.
Wyns opened the door and walked in "Rick?" he called. "It's Dr. Wyns. We talked on the phone."
"In here" called a frail voice from the parlor.
Wyns and Tim entered the parlor and were greeted by an ancient man of medium build. His thick glasses seemed to weigh his head down, pulling his neck forward, forcing him to chronically have to lift his head to look up.
"Rick, it is so nice to finally meet you! I've been studying..."
"Lets skip the formalities" Rick insisted. "You're here to find out all about me and why I've chosen to live longer than anyone else. Centuries ago, long before we cracked the code and ended natural deaths I made a promise in front of the entire world.."
"A promise?" Dr Wyns asked curiously.
"A commitment that no other guy would ever give..."
Dr. Wyns listened intently , finally he would have answers. "What was it. What was the commitment?" he urged eagerly.
Rick smiled.
"I'm gonna make you understand.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you." | "It's your nine hundred ninety nineth! Happy birthday!"
The wizened woman frowned. Could it really be that little after all this time? Nine hundred ninety nine. Could it really have gotten so high without her noticing?
Her mind wandered briefly.
She was standing in the town hall of a new world, rays of alien blue sunlight catching the dust raised by the industry of a new civilization.
She was stepping on the pedal, feeling the delayed kick as the hydrocarbons rushed into the antique engine. The song on the radio was perfect - what was the name of it again?
She was sitting on a picnic table at a place called home. There was the laughter of children playing. She was watching the clouds with - what was his name again?
Presently she came back to reality. A response was expected of her, but not necessarily in a timely fashion - those who surrounded understood she was on a different wavelength.
No words came, so she focused on the man to her left. He was familiar. They had talked before, many times. He was old too, almost two hundred years, but he looked middle aged.
A memory surfaced. It happened a long time ago. He had asked her the question, like everyone else does eventually.
"Grandmother, why don't you move on, even after all these years? Doesn't the century sickness bother you?"
Had she answered him? No, she decided. Instead she had daydreamed the answer and forgotten to tell him. She'd thought about her son and his awkward always-in-the-future optimism back on old Earth, and the smell of roses and the sea, and watching a thunderstorm put on a polite spectacle from the safety of her porch.
She was ready to answer now, so she drew in a long breath. Her great-times-twenty grandchildren leaned forward expectantly.
"How it was back then - the way the air felt, the way everything smelled, the way people smiled. Everything."
She took another breath. Would they understand?
"Everything is long dead, except in me."
Her mind was drifting, and they were exchanging confused, polite smiles.
But one day she would make them understand. She would pass on every detail of the world she kept inside her that she loved more than anything. How could she fail? She had all the time in the world. | 2020-11-15T03:27:10 | 2020-11-14T23:53:32 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown. | Their parents tell them that they're too young to wander off by themselves. Jen doesn't look too young though, she looks really big ever since she woke up. It's neat, everyone thinks she's a grown up now and that means she can do lots of things she couldn't before without anyone shouting. Mummy and Daddy still shout because they know she's not really a grown up, but nobody else can tell.
It's really helpful because it means she can show Ellie what a cool older sister she is. Ellie is only little; she wasn't even in Mummy's tummy when Jen went to sleep. Jen really wants Ellie to be her friend so she thinks she'll take her to do a big girl thing together - something Ellie couldn't do if Jen were still asleep.
They leave the garden quietly and start walking hand in hand. It's not hard to find the mall, Jen is really good at reading and there are signs all the way from the main road near the house right up to the mall car park. It takes a long time, hours and hours, and their feet hurt when they arrive. They go inside and look in all the shops and have a really good time even though they can't buy anything. Nobody asks them where their parents are all day. Nobody thinks to stop them. Why would they?
There aren't any signs leading from the mall to the house. | "Where's my soft toy?" was the first question that she asked. I looked at her, then at her size. "I think...you're a bit old for unicorns," I said, tentatively, as she shook her head and giggled.
"Did I get to skip school today? I really wanna play with my friend...wait why am I so big?" she looked at her size and recoiled. "And where am I?" I winced. The hard questions were finally here. And answering them would take hours and hours. But even as she looked at herself in astonishment, almost in horror, I.knew I could save the explanation for another day. What mattered was what stayed constant throughout the 6 years - what never changed.
"You're still my beloved sis, Lil," I said, hugging her tightly as she giggled. Maybe the explanations could wait. But the best explanations were those that words could never signify.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-08-02T05:58:01 | 2017-08-02T05:52:40 | 309 | 88 |
[WP] You are the weakest swordsman at the academy. One day your instructor pulls you aside and brings you an object wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small twig. "Some people were never meant to wield a sword. Centuries ago, these 'wands' held great power. Maybe you can make this one work." | Looking back, I could have handled my disappointment better. I couldn't help myself. It was just nonsense, so I laughed to cover my feelings.
"You really think I'm that bad?" I asked the instructor.
"Frankly, yes. You're 23 and you have the co-ordination of a drunk toddler."
I shrugged. Maybe combat wasn't for me. I knew I was a good horseman at least, but my father had always planned on sending me to the church. It's a second son thing. My elder brother learnt weapons, I was handed a quill and cheap reed paper and forced to copy the works of ancient scribes. Writing about swords doesn't make you a swordsman.
"It's said that this particular artefact allows the wielder to throw balls of fire." stated my instructor. "Personally, I think it's nonsense, but maybe you'll be able to prove me wrong. It's been hanging on the wall of the King's Justice for hundreds of years. I doubt the last three men to take the office even realised it might have been dangerous. Not a one of them thought to take it down, though...trappings of the office and all that."
I studied the twig in my hand. It was short, tapered from base to tip, maybe two hands long. Smooth and worn. I squinted and held it closer to my eyes - there were faint markings near the base. A diamond pattern, almost worn away. Perhaps to aid with grip. Halfway up, there appeared to be some kind of spiral. It made me think of clouds, or movement, with a few glittering specks of blue in the deepest recesses of the remaining pattern. Too worn to be sure.
I could tell you why I felt standing holding a twig in a hall with the sons of a dozen other nobles felt like an insult, but I think part of the reason why is pretty obvious. I could tell you about our instructor, his easy manner and ability with a blade but if you've ever heard of Cale Serwaed (And you likely have), then he needs no introduction.
But as for me, I was a Prince. Can you imagine anything so insulting to your honour? To your Father as King? "You're bad with a sword, here, have this twig."
I had two choices - take offence, or don't. I twirled and waved the wand in front of me like an actor portraying a wizard in a theatre drama, a goofy smile plastered across my face. Cale flinched backwards, surprising me. Nothing happened, of course. It was nonsense, after all. A dozen other young men, their wooden practice swords at their sides, laughed at the instructor's gesture.
I lifted it as if it was a blade. Arm held at shoulder height and rigid, pointing it towards one of the walls of the hall we stood in, as if I was challenging the very building itself to a duel. That's when I felt the tingle in my fingers, then a slight but spreading warmth. A hyper-awareness of the breeze through the opened windows on my skin. The awareness blossomed within my mind of the air around me. I could feel the pressure on my skin. I could feel it wrapping around everything in the room like the tendrils of some great sea beast. I nudged with my new-found awareness and the head of an ancient Wyvern slain by some nameless ancestor and mounted on the wall came crashing down. It had to weigh at least 300 pounds.
Everyone else in the hall jumped in fear at the noise, confusion plain on their faces. But no, oh no. I wasn't confused at all. I'd spent a lot of time copying the work of ancient scribes, after all. It wasn't just nonsense.
I knew what I had in my hand. It wasn't some parlour trick, the stereotype crazy magician shooting fire from the end of a magic wand like a dragon's breath. The old stories - the ones my nurse told me when I was young - whispered in my ear, supplementing the knowledge I'd copied by rote without believing. I knew what it was. It was the Finger of Eesis, God of the elements. The Wind-Father, the destroyer of crops, sinker of ships, the great Storm-maker himself.
The weapon of Druids of ages past, Druids that triggered famine and fury and conquered the entire continent, destroying every army sent against them. Killing millions. I smiled. I knew then that being the younger Prince was no longer going to be a problem. | Tad wanted to cry.
He couldn’t believe it. He knew he was a terrible fighter, but a twig was too much. It had to be a sick joke.
“It’s bad enough the other boys tease me, now you are playing tricks on me as well,” Tad choked back tears.
His instructor, Gant, kneeled and placed his hand on Tad’s shoulder. “My boy, would I do that to you? This twig holds within it great power, power beyond which we have ever been able to understand or utilize. Take it. Use it.”
Tad stared at the twig. *It isn’t even worthy of being called a stick*, he thought. It was small. Very small. Tad took it in his hands and examined it’s dull, brown color. He looked at the bend in the middle that seemed to make it droop downward no matter which way he held it. It was a certifiable, no doubt about it, twig.
Gant could tell that Tad was not convinced and felt sorry for the lad. Tad had not been taking to his training but was more passionate about fighting than all his other classmates combined. Gant knew that the twig was useless. He had found it just outside the entrance to the training area, completely devoid of any special purpose or meaning. This was Gant’s desperate attempt to help Tad gain the confidence he needed to keep up with the other boys or push him into leaving the program on his own.
“Look, Tad. Some folks just weren’t meant to be warriors and wield a blade. Just like some aren’t meant to be archers, wall-builders, or mess hall cooks. We all find what we are good at and how we can best contribute. Try the stick! Give it your best shot!”
Tad was unsure. He had been humiliated in front of everyone many times, and he was not looking to add another instance of public degradation to the list. Still, he trusted Gant. “Okay…if you say so.”
“Great!” roared Gant with somewhat reserved enthusiasm. “Duffy, suit up and spar with Tad, here.”
“What, is he going to beat me with his tiny little twig?” mocked Duffy. All the other boys burst into laughter. “I would be happy to accept such an extraordinary challenge, ha!”
Tad sauntered over to the arena, twig in hand. He could feel his stomach tightening up and the sweat forming on his brow. He knew that this was a terrible idea, that he was going to be the laughingstock of the mess hall tonight yet again. The others would steal his roll and shove it down his pants like they had done so many times before. He looked down at the twig and a tear rolled down his face.
Duffy stepped up to the arena, dulled sword in hand. Everyone could tell he was enjoying this as he puffed out his chest and donned his battered helmet. “Show me what you’ve got, twig boy!”
Duffy began to charge at Tad with all his might. The other boys in the crowd looked on with excitement, preparing for impact.
Tad raised the twig and pointed it at Duffy, unsure of what else he could do. He closed his eyes and braced himself. He knew that this was going to hurt.
Suddenly, Tad was deafened by a loud bang and felt himself flying backwards. He opened his eyes and shook his head. *Duffy hits a lot harder than I remember*. Tad sat up and looked around. A group had formed in the arena, all crowded around something. Tad stood up and dizzily went over to the group. The other boys all backed away from him as he approached, fear on their faces.
Tad could see Gant kneeling over something. He got closer.
It was Duffy. A large, blackened hole was burned into the chest plate of Duffy’s armor. Blood was spilling onto the ground around him. Gant turned to look at Tad and spoke in a hushed tone, “I’ve never seen anything like this, Tad. What did you do?” | 2022-01-20T03:39:11 | 2022-01-20T02:30:38 | 92 | 39 |
[WP] You discover you can travel in time, but only if you have a coin with the date of your destination. While exploring 1780's england, you lose your 2017 penny that's your ticket home. | I came to on the cobblestone street. A passing cart sprayed me with water and I rolled out of the way.
“Out of the way, peasant!” the driver yelled behind him.
I flipped him off and caught my breath, leaning against the bank’s wall in the alleyway. My Groupon purchase of a 1780 coin wasn’t paying off so far; I had been splashed awake and yelled at by some shitty merchant.
I thought about turning back right then and there. The rules were simple: squeeze a coin tightly between your hands and think, and you transport to the time and location that coin was created. That’s how I ended up in the heart of London, 1780.
I fumbled in my pocket for the 2017 penny to ride home. My fingers only found lint. I checked the pocket in my V-neck, but no luck. Just a card with the phone number of Stacy from the Shake Shack downtown. The penny must have fallen out on the street when I landed.
I sprinted back into the road, searching on my hands and knees. The horses had pounded manure and sludge into the cracks, but I had no choice. I scratched through the muck in circles around me.
“C’mon, c’mon, where are you?”
I felt an impact on my back-side and fell to the ground. “I told you to get out of the street, peasant!” It was the merchant from before. I stood up and faced him. He back-handed me across the face, leaving a stinging welt. That was it.
I grabbed him and threw him into the mud. He yelped and reached up to grab me but I snatched his arm across my body and snapped it. He wailed in pain. “Un-hand me, commoner!”
I stepped off of him and saw policemen running down the street towards us. Shit, this was not going to end well. It looked like my tour of 1780 was going to include a prison visit.
Then a bearded man in a ponytail appeared with a THUD next to me on the street. He was wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt and no shoes. I seized my opportunity and rifled through his pockets, coming up with a heavy silver coin. 1973, close enough.
I squeezed the coin with all my might...and woke up in a dark facility. The vault read: “Fort Knox Secure Facility.” | "*Shit*," I whispered furiously, digging and sweeping my hand through the itchy horsehair trousers I'd managed to acquire. Surely that coin had to be in h--- There was a hole in the 'pocket' of these trousers.
I slowly poked my finger through like a teenage boy on prom night, even with the same thunderstruck expression on my face.
"No," I whispered... "I can never go all the way home again.. Fuck me.."
I was already fucked though.
I had coins from 1922.. to 1836.. to 1969.. to 2001.. to 2011.. to 2016.. But that had been the only coin that truly mattered, I realized now. My 2017 penny. I felt like maybe this was nature's way of preventing this wonderful travel I'd stumbled upon. For this to happen while I was being pursued by murderous bandits would just be cruel fate otherwise.
An arrow smashed into the tree inches from my head and I screamed as splinters sprayed into my eyes. I screamed wordlessly, in agony and fear and rage. I felt the slipstream of another arrow waft and wash against my cheek..
Desperately my fingers were fumbling in the other horsehair 'pocket'. For any coin, any year but this one.. Hopefully near medical condition. I felt a coin slide against my fingers and my heartrate jacked as I groped further for it. Yes, there it w--!
Blinding pain shot through my entire body as what could be none other than a third arrow ripped through my shoulder before embedding itself into the bone there.. I collapsed to my knees, sobbing and screaming uncontrollably.
*The ccccoin*... my ravaged mind stuttered glitchily. *Must.. Bring it to lips.. Whisper.. say The Words..*
My right arm dangled uselessly so I awkwardly took the coin from that numb hand, with my left hand. I brought it to my trembling lips.
"*Klaatu berada nikto*."
I went back to screaming in agony as I was whisked away to whatever year.
| 2017-11-25T08:31:13 | 2017-11-25T06:30:33 | 743 | 71 |
[WP] You’re a serial killer, but with a twist: You see when everyone on earth will die. And for every year of life you take from your victims prematurely, you gift those years to other people to save them. Without them ever knowing. | The people I killed didn't deserve to live.
"When I first received this gift, I didn't know what was going on. Dates would pop up in my head when I would see a person. There is one above my head too. A date that is fifty years from now. I only found out what the numbers meant after visiting my sick father in the hospital. The number over his head was a date that was a week from now. I realized what the dates meant. They were the dates of a person's death.
I knew that this was coming, and I thought that there was no hope for my father. I felt defeated. As I walked home from the hospital, I decided to take the shortcut, walking through a somewhat shady alley. And, when I did just this, a man walked out in front of me. He asked me for some money, and I refused to give him any. That is when he pulled the knife out of his coat.
If it were any other day, I'd be scared of the blade and hand over my wallet. But, this was no other day. I knew that today was not the day I die, and the man had another five years of life in him. We would both walk out of this encounter alive. So I lunged at him. He wasn't expecting it, obviously, and I was able to get him to give up the knife. He tried fighting back, and I, in the heat of the moment, stabbed the man in the chest. he writhed on the ground, trying to pull the knife out, and when he did, blood started pouring out of the wound. He kept squirming on the ground until he stopped, and the number above his head faded away. He was dead. I knew the police would find the blade, so I concealed it on myself and resumed my walk home.
The next time I visited my father in the hospital, my father's death was delayed by five years, and I finally understood the power of my gift.
I started spending my time studying the shadier aspects of town. I started hiring informants that would find out who exactly is involved in evil activity. And, when I finally would decide that I have enough information, I would pay these people visits and take their life, which I would donate to those I believed worthy of it. Philanthropists, innovators, the Queen of England, and the like.
Yesterday, I finally finished gathering information about someone who would be my biggest kill yet. A bigwig in the criminal underworld, someone with enough money to rival the richest people on this Earth. I went to his home to kill him. When I arrived there, I saw flashing lights and police cars parked outside his home. One of your boys saw me and pointed a gun at me. I didn't want to accidentally kill an innocent man, so I let him arrest me. I suppose you know the rest, Inspector."
The Inspector looked at me with his dead and apathetic eyes. "So, you claim that your murders were justified because you were dealing with criminals?"
"Precisely."
He sighed. "I'm afraid that I may be the only one who would believe your death date story, Mr. Hoover. You will most likely be sentenced to death by lethal injection."
I was shocked. Did he just say that he believes that I have a special power? "I'm sorry, but why would you be the only one to believe me?"
The inspector grinned. "Lets just say that you... explained some dates I've been seeing to me."
Oh.
The inspector put one hand under the table. I heard a some sort of clicking. "Now, as much as I would love to let you go and kill more criminals, as you haven't exactly killed anyone innocent yet, but the law is the law. If it's any comfort to you, I'll do my best to be able to administer the injection myself."
No. They're going to kill me, or lock me up at best. I have to get out of here, and I'm afraid I will have to kill innocent people to do it.
I lunged at the Inspector. He took his hand out from under the table, holding a pistol. He aimed it right at my chest, and fired it twice. I fell over, bleeding out. My vision was fading away. The Inspector knelt over my body. "Don't worry, those fifty years will go to someone who deserves them."
-------------------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.**
r/WrittenText | Standing here, water that once felt cold feels as warm as spring sun. It's a continuing wonder I can feel anything at all but as the sand erodes beneath my feet with the turning of the tide I am elsewhere, sinking slowly.
There's a strange freedom in knowing you can never please those you love. That you can do anything, anything at all and the result will still be the same. You can bend over backwards, break yourself in half, fold yourself into a thousand origami shapes or cut yourself into a ticker tape parade on someone's behalf and the same general issues will end you every damn time. I've heard every excuse, every rationalization, and that's not hyperbole; I listen, really I do. You're stuck in a rut, you just need a chance, we both misunderstood the rules to varying degrees, I can't hold you hostage like this...you make me sound like an asshole and I wonder which of us deserves it more.
You don't know. You don't know what I've done for you and you never will. Maybe you'd understand, but it's not my place to guess. The consequence might be too much to bear, and I've borne a lot heavier loads than your disapproval. I've watched eyes as shaded as sunrise on the foggy Blue Ridge mountains go dim, then yellow at the edges all while laughter still whispers between graying lips. What six year old do you know that deserves to fade like fabric in the harsh desert sun while her body destroys itself? While some sick fuck who rapes and murders lives a long life thanks to a backlog of evidence and a carefully cultivated but tenuous form of luck? But I can't fix everything. There's a limit to the effect of my murderous empathy. I can't just wish shit perfect and you've never forgiven me for it no matter how many times I've shown up and tried to communicate with you.
I've done my level best to be fair. Given and taken with both hands equally, granted you my body, blood, sweat, tears but you just keep on rolling like an unstoppable tsunami consuming every aspect of me and spitting it out in twisted splinters and paraphrased words. You're not all bad, you have good qualities and I will never stop loving you for them...the things you do are just hard to balance out. You've taken too much.
As I look down the shore, watch the waves lap gently and shine like liquid glass, I search the faces before me. Old, young, big, small, some undeniably human and others too far removed and distant from shore to say distort rhythmically beneath the sea's sheen. Most are peaceful, dreaming, but some seem to writhe and cry out for deliverance that will never come. Not anymore. With heavy heart I turn my eyes away from the expanse I've sifted and sieved as long as I can remember and toward the setting sun, regarding it as words come unbidden and familiar. I feel myself begin to unravel and there is peace in the unfamiliar.
"I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! Yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep, while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"
Authors note: this is the first piece I've written that didn't immediately get trashed in probably ten years. Reddit commenters said I should write more and I literally spat this out in maybe 20 minutes. No editing really aside from basic re-arreangement because I don't want to make myself hate this. The only one other than me who read it before posting was my partner, so if there are any mistakes let me know! As to meaning, I know what I mean here but I'm curious how YOU guys take my concept before I start elucidating :p
Edit:looks like my formatting may be off but I'm not sure how to fix it >~< heeelp? | 2018-07-17T03:51:34 | 2018-07-17T00:08:14 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] A demon who is really bad at his job keeps accidentally making the person he is possessing's life better | "Dude, it's like he's possessed or something!" Jeremy shouted over the roar of applause between songs.
The "Satan's Armada" concert was sold out for the very first time. This was the opening night of their very first world tour. By all reports, William Gladstone, the lead singer, was putting on the performance of a lifetime. His eyes seemed impossibility wide and unblinking. He stood motionless at times, then would unleash an alien and deafening rasp into the microphone, much to the delight of the audience. His body would tremor and falter; "the last true showman of death metal" the media would later write.
As the show drew to an end and the pyrotechnics tinted the audience with hues of blue and orange, William stood in the middle of the stage. At each crack he would lunge and wail at the source. The crowd went a little wilder with each outburst from the singer.
"Duuuude!!! BEST CONCERT EVER!!" Jeremy shouted again to his friend as the last chorus of the night began to fade.
As the curtains closed, William's eyes shut and he fell to the floor. A fitting end to the show.
---
"No sir, I was not aware he was a death metal singer." The demon explained. "I mean in the name of the Antichrist, his name is 'William Gladstone'! Does that sound like the name of a guy who would front such an outfit?"
"Steve, your skills are sharp, there's no denying it." The Boss replied. "The reporters all said they'd have believed him to be well and truly possessed, had they not known any better."
"Thank you, sir!" Steve eagerly acknowledged the praise from his superior.
"Yes, but your research really needs to sharpen up. This can't happen again. First it was the entire audience at a Benny Hinn taping, now this."
---
The fog slowly retreated from William's brain as he awoke inside the tour bus. Outside a crowd gently buzzed, lined up for miles just to sneak a glimpse and hopefully get an autograph. Mobile units from every major network dotted the parking lot.
"William," the voice of his drummer came from just behind him "I don't know what the hell you were on last night but that was EPIC! We are on every station. You are famous my man! WE are famous!" | Klaw sat in his chair, shaking his head. What had gone wrong? She was just a 90-pound human. Supposed to be easy. At this rate, he was never going to get his demon-possession license.
“So,” the Possessor’s Ed instructor said, “Do you know what you did wrong there?”
Klaw sighed. “Well,” he said, “I guess I didn’t realize what her occupation was.”
“Hmph!” the Possessor’s Ed instructor said. “Before you get into a new human, you should always check to see if there’s anything different about it. Anything unusual. And once you’re inside, you should tap lightly on the brakes, tap lightly on the gas… get a feel for how things work.”
“I know,” Klaw said, “I’m sorry.”
“What you did,” the instructor continued, “was you pressed way too hard on the gas pedal. You didn’t realize how sensitive the controls are for this ‘Madonna’ woman.”
Klaw looked at the floor, embarrassed.
“That music video,” the instructor said, “is headed straight for the top of the charts.”
“I’m sorry,” Klaw said, “I’ll do better next time.”
The instructor snorted. “That shouldn’t be hard,” he said.
They flew back up towards Earth, cloaking themselves into invisibility.
“Okay,” the instructor said, “See this human, over here? I want you to possess him. He’s a politician.”
“Whoa,” Klaw said, “But isn’t he a little big? I’m not sure if I’m ready to operate a human that large.”
“Don’t worry,” the instructor said, “You’re just trying to make him crash his life into the ground. Nothing fancy.”
“Okay,” Klaw said, “I think I’m ready. What’s his name again?”
“I’m not sure,” the instructor said, “But he’s the Mayor. The Mayor of Toronto.”
| 2014-09-04T05:07:57 | 2014-09-04T05:01:22 | 411 | 199 |
[WP] It's 3600, and society is falling apart. One day, an ancient 21st-Century library is uncovered. With no other options, the government decides to implement ideas from successful societies in the books. There's only one problem: they don't know which are real and which are fiction. | "Desperate times called for desperate measures"
This age-old saying had become the mantra of the 37th century. Food was scarce, our technology was failing us, and society was beginning to crumble. This wasn't a sudden downfall, it was a slow-burn. Humanity was an interesting thing. After we had stopped making technological advancements, we immediately somehow began regressing. It was almost as if staying still was worse then moving backwards. All of our advancements were nullified and here we were. The year was 3675, but it looked eerily similar to 2015. The global government began searching for wisdom from older civilizations, trying to find a way to kick start human advancement, and they were able to find an archive of an ancient digital library.
This was a mistake. We found a new wealth of knowledge, there was more information available to us then we knew what to do with. People around the world began working on projects described in this digital library, vying to become the man or woman who brought us back on track. The archive had an interesting name; "Reddit". It wasn't cross-referenced in anything else we had found, and no one had any idea of what it was. Most of the world instantly looked to it as the savior of humanity, while a few others remained skeptical. It wasn't a complete archive, bits and pieces were missing here and there, but it was more than enough.
Reddit had become our last ditch effort to becoming a successful civilization once again. Different "sub-reddits" were used to research different topics in society. The woodsmen used "r/woodworking" to turn our remaining wood into amazing creations, the historians used "r/history" to get a better picture of everything that went wrong, and the greatest minds we had left, used "r/trollscience" to rebuild our technologies.
After exhausting all the remaining resources we had on Earth, it seemed that Reddit had failed us. We were not able to recreate perpetual motion using just two magnets, and infinite energy seemed to be a lost cause. We had followed every direction to the letter, yet we were still unable to recreate the results.
Humanity has failed. I am here to tell anyone who finds this that we have officially given up. Reddit was our last hope. It was supposed to propel us into a golden era of humanity, not doom it to hell . | ''So what you're saying is tax-free? Do I understand that correctly? No taxes?'' Timothy McGregor, the newly appointed President asked. He had promised his people a swift breakthrough, and he was keen on delivering on that promise.
''Well, yes, on the other hand, not quite.'' the head of the Societal Investigation Mission Simulator replied. ''There's an elaborate system involving what the society, or person functioning in the society can and cannot afford. In the pictures shown below it seems apparent that users could have up to three functioning showers scattered across their houses, but did not need beds, microwaves or even chairs! And I know, I know'' he said reassuring hand motions, ''that there's surely a fine balance to be found, but to be honest this seems to be the best alternative. Study shows that over 95% of the population enjoyed their stay in this small-scale society! The only actual downside we discovered is an unusual large amount of death-by-drowning, especially in small consumer pools. But then again, I'm sure we'll be able to smooth out those wrinkles.''
''Interesting indeed. Would you be able to get this simulator working again so we can test it thoroughly, so we can try to appreciate - no, to fathom this system in its full glory?''
The scrawny mall smiled, his thick glasses pronunciating his thin cheekbones. ''I hoped you would say that, sir. We have managed to restore a fully functional version of this simulator. It's operational - I've tried it myself. I actually enjoyed it a lot, life surely felt great. Time flew by, to be honest.'' He cleared his throat loudly. ''But all for the sake of the investigation, of course. Purely work related.''
''Whatever, Mark, just boot it up.'' The scientist threw the disk in the driver, and after a couple of minutes the men were greeted by large, pixelated animation. ''Holy hell, Mark, is this for real? Is this really what the 21st century looked like, so pixelated? I'm almost surprised they weren't in black and white as the 19th!'' | 2015-05-26T10:50:33 | 2015-05-26T10:34:22 | 204 | 17 |
[WP] As an atheist, you are shocked to realize that there is an after life after death. Standing in front of countless heavenly gates, you are swarmed by representatives of each faith, all trying to convince you to choose their happily ever after package. | The reaper pushed the people away from the gate with the back of his scythe and spoke with a deep bellowing voice. "You have many options, you should review them carefully before deciding, now I must go."
He disappeared with a wisp of black smoke. I never believed in god, or an afterlife, or anything like that, but here I was. I looked forward at the booths, hundreds of them lined up in a row, like some sort of weird fair. I passed the booth for people wanting to become demons, then the booth for people wishing to be tortured by demons. The farther I went on, the more elaborate the booths became until I reached one very simple booth in a sea of complicated ones. Just a meager wooden table with two old men sitting behind it on logs.
Intrigued, I asked them "What's your heaven?"
One of the bearded old men replied "We don't offer heaven. We offer a second chance."
"A second chance at what?"
"Life. You go back to earth and you are born to a new family and live a new life."
"What's the catch?"
"Well, each time you do it, you could be anyone from any time period. You could be a farmer in East Asia in the 1500s or you could be Steve Jobs. Or anyone in between. There's no guarantees you'll have a good or bad life, and you won't remember your current life."
I pondered for several moments before speaking. "Can you tell me if I've done it before?"
"Yes, but only after you agree."
"Fine. I agree."
"Very well, sign here and you'll be on your way."
I signed their sheet and started to feel warm all across my body.
"Don't worry, you're just returning to earth."
"How many?"
"Bit over 30 billion."
"What?"
"You've lived a bit of 30 billion lives. You were Lincoln, you were Stalin, you were Columbus, and many more."
I felt myself start to fade away. "You mean I picked this every time?"
"Yes."
----
And with that, he was gone.
The second old man stood and spoke. "You know eventually, that won't work. You'll not be able to entice him forever, just like the rest of them, he'll find a heaven he likes better eventually. What then?"
"Well, then humanity goes extinct. What else could we do?"
"We could tell him the truth, that he's the last one left."
"You know I can't do that."
The second man sighed. "Well, let's just hope you're right and he always chooses us." He walked away, leaving the first old man sitting at his booth and waiting for the man's next death. | I wander away from the crowd, into the white edgeless void of this place. A few of the sellers break off as if to follow me but return to press around new arrivals popping up. I watch from a distance as they ply their trade and see scenes of euphoric reunion as loved ones meet the newly arrived at various gates.
I wonder what hardware the system runs on and whether anybody's in charge. After a while I sit and stare at my hand, turning it over quickly and seeing if there's any perceptible lag as the texture loads. I can't notice anything. I close my eyes and focus on the sensations I'm feeling. Am I hungry? Cold? Tired? I can't tell.
"Excuse me," a voice says. I open my eyes and look up. The figure is indistinct, shimmering. I can't identify a face, just a vaguely human shape. It continues in a similarly anonymous voice. "Sooner or later you're going to have to make a choice."
I sigh. "No chance of any answers from you, I'm guessing."
"What did you want to know? Whether it's real? What difference does it make. Who am I? Doesn't matter. Choose."
"I thought I might stay here."
"I thought you might say that. We're shutting down this implementation soon. You may cease to exist."
"It seems more consistent, I guess."
I wait, and the figure is gone. I wonder about my parents, what version of them might be recreated in these various heavens. I wonder about meeting Lao Tzu, or Jesus, or the Buddha. Eventually the last of the souls is assigned to a destination and the agents begin to return to their own gates, which blink out of existence, one by one. I'm comforted somehow by their finite number; whatever this place is, it's not infinitely vast and complex. Just some virtual extension of humanity, a reflection of our endless attachment to ourselves. Finally, the figure reappears.
"Alright. It's closing down. I'm not sure what'll happen next, but I've got an uncomfortable feeling that you may end up coming with me."
"That's okay," I tell it. "If it happens I won't blame you. Otherwise, thanks for stopping by."
"Maybe I'll see you on the other side." With that, it also disappeared, and then so did everything else. | 2019-10-08T22:03:29 | 2019-10-08T21:24:47 | 83 | 15 |
[WP] You are Brothulu, bringer of gains and destroyer of fat. While your brother crushes worlds, you crush records.
[WP] You are Brothulu, bringer of gains and destroyer of fat. While your brother crushes worlds, you crush records.
Edit: gains | "You read from the wrong book." The elder abomination looked frustrated.
"There is no way I read from the wrong book." The bespectacled man waved the aforementioned book in the air. "This is the Yag Somnoth, written in the blood of virgins upon pages made of sewn together intestines. There is no text of a greater evil in all of the world."
"No. It isn't. The Yag Somnoth howls through its black maw. The pages glow with an unholy darkness. We had the thing on our bookshelf for millennia. It was unspeakable annoying and made a good night's sleep impossible. What you have is the Yog Shibbeth."
"You are a lord of lies! Your every word spreads darkness!" The bespectacled man paused. "Are you wearing a Tap Out shirt?"
"You summoned me in the middle of a set. Which, by the way, is a douche move. The next person to use the bench is going to be pissed." The eldritch abomination reached something vaguely hand like toward the man. "I'm Brothulu."
The bespectacled man crumbled to the floor. "God damn it. Damn it all. I ransomed my life for this. I studied tongues that drive men to madness. And for what?"
Brothulu stepped out of the warding circle and took the book from his unresisting hands.
"Well, there's a bitchin' protein shake recipe, my lift diary, and a couple woodcuts of me shredded." Brothulu shook his head. "This is some personal shit, man."
"You don't understand. I gave up everything for power. Everything. Love. Respect. A Future. Now I have nothing."
The million weeping eyes of Brothulu scanned the bespectacled man. "You want power?" He asked.
"More than anything."
"And what will you do for it?"
"All that you ask and more."
"Tell you what, my lift bro just got married and has lost focus. You hit the gym with me and I'll get you power, respect, and love. One set at a time."
The bespectacled man gazed upon the face of madness. The hundred screaming mouths. The writhing mass of maggots where skin never was. And the surprisingly toned physique underneath.
The bespectacled man took a deep breath, then offered up a dap.
"Fuck it. I'm in."
| Brothulu flexed his chest muscles and grunted loudly.
"Brothulu, are you scared?" Mini, his girlfriend, asked.
He scoffed, and stretched his hands letting the fire of his will pulsate through each vein.
A microphone echoed in the distance. "Now, we welcome our final contender -Brothulu!"
With each step he took, his determination drowned out the senses of the world around him. He looked toward the audience, but the chairs weren't filled with people any more. They were simply hunks of fat, to weak and to fragile to be on stage with him.
*I will destroy these fat bastards.* He thought, while holding his pinky finger to the left corner of his mouth.
"Welcome to the stage Bro-" The host began.
Brothulu snatched the mic out of the host's hand. "All of you. You weak, puny, people. Remember this day as the day Brothulu inspired you. When you go home, tell your wife and children about it. Tell them that you will embark on the journey as I have, to eat more chicken breast and broccoli than people eat actual food. Tell them and remember who Brothulu is!"
He smashed the microphone into the stage, it punctured through the wood and fell into the abyss. *Bystanders swear to this day that flame shot up from that very same hole.*
Brothulu stood in front of the squat rack and loaded 1000lbs of plates. He smiled at the judge and pushed the weights onto his shoulders.
The stage creaked with each step, as he moved toward the crowd. People stood up in awe, their cheering grew louder.
They began screaming and chanting his name, "Brothulu! Brothulu! Brothulu!"
The stage creaked one more time.
And broke.
Brothulu fell straight though, with the 1000 lbs of weights in tact.
That was the last anyone has seen of Brothulu since. But, rumour has it that he is in the deepest pits of hell training those who spent their lives seeking pleasure instead of gains. | 2016-02-22T18:41:37 | 2016-02-22T17:43:50 | 41 | 21 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | "Why do you keep looking over your shoulder like that?" Jaya turned and looked in the direction his friend had been glancing, but saw nothing but the flat armor of his ship, the *Sunrise.*
Elvoss looked sheepish for a moment. "It's nothing. Just... your ship makes me nervous, okay? I want to keep an eye on that thing. What if someone walked off with it?"
"Walked off with a spaceship." Jaya gave his friend a flat look. "Just stroll into the busiest port in the system and steal a freighter."
"Or a part of it. A fuel rod or something." Elvoss continued, when his friend still failed to react. The crystals around his neck flickered unsteadily, a common reaction when a magic-user was startled or nervous.
"Look, I know it's not reasonable, but it gives me the willies to see that sort of power just *sitting* there. You humans grew up with that sort of thing, but anyone else in the galaxy..."
"Other people didn't grow up with the concept of parking lots?"
"Other people didn't grow up with the idea of *masterless power.* Look, let me give you a Magic 101 lesson."
Elvoss reached into his tunic and pulled out an amulet, giving it a pulse of energy as he did so. A ghostly image appeared in front of him, resembling a bird spreading its wings.
"That's your skiff, right? *Skydancer?*
"Yes. And believe it or not, this is the only part it needs to work. With enough mana I could take off and fly from a standing start."
Jaya tilted his head curiously. "So, what's that big brass number in your hangar, then?"
"Material components. I *could* conjure the entire skiff from thin air, but the power cost would be off the charts."
Elvoss held the amulet and concentrated, the crystals studded across his body blazing with light. A pointed triangle of light, resembling the nose cone of his craft, appeared in front of him. Then it faded away, and the elf sighed with relief.
"The *Skydancer* is entirely my own power. It's a spell I created in my mind, and all the amulets and crystals and brass wings are just a scaffolding for that spell. Nobody else can fly her, unless they copy my spell exactly, and that doesn't happen. Every mage has their own style."
Elvoss pointed at the sunburst symbol on the ship parked behind them. "*That*, on the other hand, is a masterless machine. Anybody can walk in, turn it on, and fly away. A toddler could do it, if they managed to pull the right levers."
The alien clapped his hands together. "That's Magic 101. Magic is personal. Science is something that anyone can use."
Jaya smiled. "Makes me proud of what my species can do."
"Yeah, well, it *terrifies* anyone else. If a magician has a dangerous spell, you just have to keep an eye on one person. But if a scientist is causing trouble, *anyone* can do what they do. What are you supposed to do against that? Your species has put a quantum reactor in every port, just waiting for someone who's clever enough to steal it."
"Well, we humans know about security too. My ship is locked up tighter than a drum. So don't worry about..."
As they watched, the *Sunrise* shuddered as its engine rumbled to life. Running lights lit up along its length.
"... you've gotta be kidding me."
They rose from their seats and started running. "Stop that ship!" | He didn't know what was about to happen.
If He knew, He would had run away, faster than even his ship could muster.
Away from that choice. The choice he took, denying any other possibility for humanity.
[Area B127Q Sector 1 (B127Q), Deep space, Unexplored
Distance from Earth: // ly (unknown)
Time passed: 6 years 9 months 4 days (as indicated by on-board machinery)
Notable events: ...]
Captain Felix stopped writing. He was in the command room, accessible only by him. He passed most of the last 13 hours in here. The command room was basically useless. It was nothing but experimental pieces of technology which were supposed to be useful in unexpected situations. Of course, all them worked only "theoretically". Almost everything broke or straight up exploded as soon as the ship entered light speed travel. It was just a recurring joke between the crew members. The only working thing was, surprisingly enough, the ECST (Earth Communication System Terminal).
Until 13 hours ago.
He stepped inside for his usual report to Earth Control. As he was writing, just like now, he suddenly stopped. A loud beep screamed through the usually quiet room, like a beep from hell itself. Felix quickly located the source of the sound, not so difficult thanks to the intermittent red light which would become his joy and his despair for the rest of his life.
The words UFC were engraved by a laser on the tag of cold metal glued to the black computer. He knew this pretty well. Unidentified Foreign Communications. The big guys and the best science guys of the planet were very excited when they introduced it to him. It was "theoretically" indestructible. Even if the ship was blown to pieces by a Super Nova, the UFC wouldn't even have a scratch. It stopped reporting back to Earth, so it was assumed to be dead. Its work wasn't complicated: catch any signal, probe it for any kind of pattern, archive and send to Earth. There was even a "translation" feature, which was more of a way for ~~Dr. Veliç to suck his own d~~
That was what triggered the alert. The translation feature.
He pressed a button.
"Warning! You are within @#£*'rhgn&¥∆... (Err)'s borders. Your vehicle has been deemed unauthorized. Please, contact the nearest Council affiliated Planet/Service Station as soon as possible. At the senses of Article 28 of the Sovereignty and Free Circulation Convention, any other action will be deemed as criminal and the nearest Operative Task Force will be deployed at your location.
*This message was translated to you by ....(Err) Academy & Associates*"
Cold sweat dropped down his spine. He checked the transmitter on his wrist. No messages. That meant that there were no interferences nor changes on the radar. But it was obvious it was wrong. There had been a contact. The first thing he did was stopping the ship. Without explanation. In the middle of nowhere. Everybody thought he was crazy. That the space was messing with his mind. An explanation would only worsen things, despite the training and the protocols.
And so 13 hours had passed.
The Captain looked again at the ECST.
[Notable events: None. Continuing the exploration.
*End of report*]
Part 1
PS: I don't know if I'll continue, I hope I do. I stopped because it's late and I have to sleep. Let me know what you think of this.
| 2019-01-18T12:33:07 | 2019-01-18T11:07:58 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] You are sentenced to a famous prison. You are not sentenced by time your stay only ends if you die or escape. There are no guards and the prison is broadcast on television. No one has ever escaped. | You don’t expect to end up here; no one expects to end up here. What a fucked up scheme. In a bid to finally create money from the judicial system some brainless asshole came up with a radical new idea.
‘Institutionalized’ the hit new TV show, an episode a week, sections of recorded footage filmed over the last seven days cut between portions of live content – doubly exciting if there is some flaming riot or grizzly fight happening. And the mob loved it, the ill-tempered excitable mob, watching from their comfortable chairs able to see their ounce of modern blood sport on TV each week.
But the mob grows bored, flighty and distractible as all people are; they need variation to keep their attention. So aside from all the unlicensed betting, the uncut and raw versions uploaded to the infinite Internet, there had to be a twist. And so halfway through the programme the guards were recalled, back to their barracks, to the staff room and safety. Half an hour of anarchy was allowed to play out on TV every Thursday evening. Then the live channels were established, initially only online they migrated swiftly onto the box when the profits were unveiled. Adverts and sponsors, legitimate betting and even care packages, the audience could participate, become involved. More invested, and it was only a matter of time until the audience could call back the guards.
I haven’t seen a guard in here for three weeks now, and that last time they were out for less than two hours before some rich prick pressed the button again.
Despite what you imagine, violent people don’t immediately resort to murder. There is something deep inside a human brain that knows we are a sociable species and killing all your potential conversation partners tends to leave you a little lonely. But you lock up a couple of hundred ordinary people in one cramped building and you see how long it takes for the first corpse to hit the floor. Well in here it’s like that, but with less patience. And fights escalate fast.
By and large it is a successful system; the public are shown what happens to law-breakers, prisoners are finally paying for themselves, and TV and media execs are getting money. What’s not to love? The trouble with this system like all forms of capital and corporal punishment is that sometimes people are innocent. And once you’ve been locked up, beaten or executed you tend to harbour a particular resentment.
If you like the style I'd like to write more :) | Escape or death, those were the words drilled into my head as I was sent to hell. Escape or death. They were empty words really, nothing but a way to make permanent exile sound less of a human rights violation. Sure, I *could* be free someday but it's not like that's ever happened. Nobody has ever escaped from New Melbourne, not even the ones that were born there. It was nothing but a lawless camp on a wasteland of a planet, toxic dust clouds storm across boiling seas and even the most drinkable water isn't potable without boiling and straining it first. It's about as close to hell as was humanly possible and technically isn't even inhabitable.
The juddering of the prison transport slowing down broke my empty stare into nothingness. One of the guards called out to say that we were in orbit of the planet but where there should have been panic at the thought of my new home there was just apathy. I started to replay my life in my head, as if thinking about the past would bring it to the present or that I could somehow change the events that brought me here. I thought about my childhood, remembering the planets I'd lived on as a child. I'd give anything to see the lush green fields of Earth or the towering mountains of Prometheus VII again. I thought about my beautiful wife and best friend Ellen, how we'd met on my first day on Earth and quickly became inseparable. I thought about how happy I'd been when I proposed and how perfect she looked at our wedding. I thought of how many years of happy marriage we'd had before she began to get distant, before I caught her in bed with my best friend. It had been a crime of passion, anybody would have done the same. The betrayal was just too much to bear. *Perhaps* I went a little overboard but it's not like they couldn't identify the body. And it felt so good to just grip her throat and *squeeze* until she stopped moving.
I climbed into the tin can they called a transport pod with the beginning of a smile on my face. My old life might be over but I felt more free than ever. | 2017-08-15T05:08:12 | 2017-08-15T04:51:53 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Write a story about your daily life in 2018 as if it were a science fiction story written in the 1980s.
Inspired by this:
http://documents.latimes.com/la-2013/ | *Good morning, the time is 7:00AM*
I awoke to my artificially intelligent assistant's words, gently waking me from my sleep.
*you have 3 new messages and 7 new updates in your automated news-collection...*
As the plausibly human-sounding electronic assistant was reading out important events, I'd begun my daily routine, the first step of which was cleaning myself up. My motorized toothbrush, my towel warmer, my automated coffee dispenser, my wireless device occupying my time with news while I ran through the early motions, without these things the daily routine moved painfully slow in our ever-faster society.
My wireless phone integrated into my electronic multi-tool, lit up with a message:
*incoming visual communication with [Casey], do you wish to open the line?*
"Sure thing."
*...opening connection...*
"Hey man, good morning!"
My daily routine was now visible to my work-mate on his electronic communicator as well. As I finished my morning preparations he informed me about his situation.
"So, the thing is, my car broke down and I need a ride to work. I know it's a bit out of your way though"—
"No not at all, I woke up on time for once after all, it's no issue to me."
I grabbed my freshly auto-brewed coffee and set out to pick up Casey. I still had a few things to do, so I programmed in his address to my self-driving vehicle through the console-mounted interface.
*confirm address?* [YES] *ok, estimated time until arrival... 17 minutes*
I'd realized quickly after leaving that I'd forgotten to turn off a few things at home, but didn't want to turn around and check things manually, I was already fairly late. This didn't worry me though, as I was able to just—
"Hey assistant, can you make sure my door is locked and the heating is disabled?"
*you wish to: lock [HOME] doors and set [HOME] automated heating to OFF?*
"Yeah, sounds about right."
*confirming changes... applied*
After a few minutes of silence, my electronic device's micro-motors suddenly activated and vibrated in my pocket; it was notifying me of a voice message from Casey.
"I was wondering if you were coming over, you're 5 minutes late."
"Yeah, sorry, things took a bit longer than I would've liked this morning, I'll be there in 3 minutes."
Things continued normally throughout the rest of the morning: I picked Casey up, we got to work, our slight tardiness was forgiven due to my colleague's extenuating circumstances. All in all, a typical and uneventful morning. If only things could be more efficient, more automated, maybe we might not have been late otherwise. | Author's note: *You don't know what you are in for, I've read two william Gibson short stories, and I have serious depression, so get ready for a doozy!*
Anarcha woke up the way she always did, depressed. The first thing she did was open up her phone to record the dream she had last night. She hoped if she recorded enough dreams she would wake up from the nightmare she was living.
She had been living at home with her mom for a while, she was recently suspended from school, this is what she deserved. Even though she woke up at 8 am, it wouldn't be until 12 that she would bother to shower. She would lay in bed and go on her phone until then.
She hated that she did this. It made her feel like a zombie, but it was all she knew how to do. It let her stave of the dread for a little longer she guessed.
She knew her mom hated it too, but for other reasons, they were suppose to be moving, she should be cleaning out the house. She didn't want to though, this was the house that she grew up in, it was the only place she had left.
She lived in her own filth. When she trudged her way to shower, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her facial hair was growing back already. So soon?
She turned the water on, and deliberately made it cold. She saw a self\-help video say that a cold shower was suppose to help you build up will power. After she suffered through that she decided to shave and put on clothes, they were the same clothes she wore yesterday.
Throughout the shower she thought about stuff she wanted to write about.
The raygun gothic future that never came, but that she hoped to live in. The future where people were happy, and where prisons were no longer needed. Where technology had progressed far enough were people didn't need to want or desire.
After the shower though, she immediately went back on the internet. She turned on her computer so she could write stories that would help her forget everything. Her past, her present poverty and her pain. She could forget. She wanted only to think of the future, not her future, the future that she hoped would come.
But the stories didn't change the world that she lived in, they sucked her into a different one.
She only wrote tragedies, worlds where she had power, but zero control.
Here, among the code and data, she shed her body, she could be anything.
She could be the belonging kind.
Yet all she wrote didn't belong anywhere. | 2018-05-07T14:54:49 | 2018-05-07T09:49:46 | 130 | 52 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you. | The wind gets stronger higher up. As you ascend, the very definition of a breeze changes. The slightest breath on the surface translates to winds that chaotically rush about, finding mysterious paths amidst each other. They all lead in the same direction, yet none of them travel the same way. From my office I could see a struggling bird caught in an updraft, tossed back and forth between winds harder than the cement and asphalt below. Ragged and thrown about as it was, I could not help but feel a mixture of envy and pity for it. It's mixture of freedom and captivity, the paradox between control and the wind that controlled it. Something about this was beyond me.
I thought of my own life rather similarly. Like the bird, I too had flown the nest. I was living alone in the city, parents hundreds of miles away, choking on my own freedom. I was still romantic, that I had not grown out of. My old running gear showed me the extra weight I was working so hard to forget and my garage played host to my hobbies, proving the innocence and idealisms of my youth. America, home of the free. Was I not free? I knew I must be, but felt hopelessly repressed by reality. Surrealism surrounded my thoughts, or at least I thought it did. Hadn't learned about surrealism since my highschool days. As time ticked away, so my future followed.
4:57
4:58
4:59
I looked anxiously toward the clock behind me. I tried to keep it out of sight, but everything computerized has one these days. So much for letting time pass patiently. I tried it once, but it never seemed to work. At least not since smartphones caught on.
5:02
Well. No time like two minutes after I'm done. The bird was still on my mind as I packed up and left the office. The walk down the hallway felt longer than ever. The walls were suffocating me, I felt trapped into the same path I'd taken every day for the past 3 years. The elevator seemed like a bad idea with this recent claustrophobia. My mind enjoyed playing its little tricks like that, but I couldn't have cared less. The stairs cleared my mind. All six floors worth. My car was waiting for me where I'd left it. At home in northern California, probably being driven by my family. It's newer than mom's old camry, and get better mileage than dad's pickup. A subtle sigh reminded me of where I was, who I had become.
The walk home was longer if I went through the park, but I was all the better for it. It gave me time to decompress. I remembered the bird again as I saw a small flock perched on a line next to the road. What had become of it, what was it to be? As time passed, it would remain a bird, and I a melancholy human. Such was my life. I saw her sitting on the bench again. We'd grown to know each other over the past few years. She was a musician, I was a business man. Usually we went our separate ways, but not today. Today I sat on the bench next to her. To my surprise, she scooted closer. I scowled. She must have missed it when she looked down to blush, not the first time it had happened. I took the rock from my pocket and threw it into the pond. Just my luck, it skipped. Again. Rather than anger or disappointment, rather than an agressive action, she seemed to take it as some kind of flirting. Just like last week. I suppose it had become a ritual.
Every mite of anger I ever had, every drop of destruction in my body, every feeling of regret and disgust, I took it out daily and shared it. In some ridiculous act of karma, she interpreted it all backwards. Her blushes alligned with my glares, her leaning over to whisper in my ear coincided with the moment I leaned toward my briefcase which was perpetually between us. Her hand reached for mine as it slipped out of my pocket so I could glance at my watch.
Once I came with my camera, hoping she would leave me alone if I looked like I was doing something important. Not a chance, instead she questioned and made small talk. When I brought headphones, she stole one with a mischievous smile and listened in. All I wanted was the world for a minute. For a moment of piece I would've given her anything.
One day she asked if I wanted to spend the evening with her.I had no choice, what else would I do?
A couple years later I pulled out a small box and asked her to spend the rest of her life with me. All I wanted was the world on a silver platter. All she wanted was to be my world. I thought myself the villain of her story, surely the darkest and most unwholesome of influences. She was my own hero, a light, a purpose, a driving force.
It was a great shock when she fulfilled her end of the bargain. "Till death shall do us part" was one of those phrases I never expected to hear fulfilled. And so here I sit. Alongside the now empty hospital bed looking out at the birds. Buffetted by the wind, unable to control their own destiny. I look out and I see myself. I have the freedom I always asked for, but still I lack the control I've always needed. Alone and unsure, I crack open the window. | “Well would you look at that I forgot to hit the detonator again,” said Sheana, Killer of Worlds. She flipped her hair, and shrugged her massive green shoulders. “Everytime I get lost in your eyes I lose a nuke it seems. That how you always foil my plans you cute bundle of righteousness?”
“That’s part of the plan,” said Mr. Peacejoy, with a handsome grin. Then, he got kind of nervous. “Well, not *all* of the plan.”
“What’s that?” said Sheana. Mr. Peacejoy got kind of nervous. “Stop that, why are you so nervous right now? It’s unattractive I might blow up the city if you keep at that.”
“Well *that’s* how you add pressure isn’t it?” said Mr. Peacejoy. He laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t think this could get any harder, and yet it is.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?” said Sheana.
Mr. Peacejoy reached down into his tight, white pants, and reached for something bulging there.
In his pocket.
“What are you reaching at?” asked Sheana. Her minions flew all around, with their spears and weird alien, Amazonian armor. They were ready to strike, but she waved them down. “No don’t tell me that’s a-”
Sheana gasped, as Mr. Peacejoy dropped to his knee. His white cape flapping behind him.
“I love our little talks, especially when you don’t blow up my world’s cities at the ends of them,” said Mr. Peacejoy. He coughed some, then remembered. “I mean there were those few times early on where we didn’t quite hit it off and you sort of destroyed a few places, but it was you know *kof kof* you know, that’s beside the point you haven’t been so bad lately. All right what I’m *saying* is,” Mr. Peacejoy opened up the box, and presented a massive diamond ring. “I’m only ever at my best when I’m happy.”
Sheana reached a hand out for the ring, with a shivering hand.
“You son of a bitch..”
“And if I’m at my happiest,” said Mr. Peacejoy. “I could save *all of the planets in the galaxy*.”
Sheana cried acid tears, and reached her hand further.
“You ignorant son of a bitch,” said Sheana.
“Hmmm?” said Mr. Peacejoy.
Sheana ripped the ring from his hands, and shoved it on her finger.
A whirlwind formed around her. Whole buildings went up in the storm, with people holding on for dear life on the debris.
“HOLD ON!” shouted Mr. Peacejoy. He flew in the air at light speed, and saved close to a hundred different people close to death. He slowed down saving the next few hundred, as Sheana laughed like a maniac in the background. Mr. Peacejoy flew back in front of his fiancé face, slightly weakened. Getting sadder. “*That’s* not nice.”
“Don’t you know Mr. Peacejoy?” said Sheana, the great murderer of civilizations. Laughing in her bliss and destruction. “Proposing to a Voovian destroyer such as myself, imparts half of your powers unto that Voovian woman?”
Mr. Peacejoy face palmed as he felt himself flying out of the sky, away from her.
“Seriously?” he said.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Shouted Sheana, as the fragments of debris flew up into the clouds, without people on them.
“You see this is why I decided to propose like in a resort town?” Said Mr. Peacejoy, as he dropped to the ground, still face palming. “I just, you never know you know?”
“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO MR. PEACEJOY!” shouted Sheana.
“Make me sad? I don’t know,” he said back, feeling like a normal person.
“What *I’m going to do,*” she said, as she dropped back down to the ground. “Is protect you and your people from now.”
Mr. Peacejoy jumped up to his flying fiancé in the sky. He tried to fly, but he could only just float for seconds at a time, then fall back down.
“Really?” he said, holding his hands together in delight.
“Yup!”
He hopped up at her again.
“Why?”
“Becauseeeee,” said Sheana, as she floated down to her love in the midst of the wreckage, and a lot of terrified tourists. She gripped his muscles. “I love you Mr. Shexy Lovejoy boy.”
Everybody around let out a huge collective sigh of relief. Then somebody started the slow clap, and they all bought in. They didn’t want to make her second guess not destroying the world.
Mr. Peacejoy sighed and wiped his head of some sweat.
“Well *that’s* a relief,” he said.
Sheana kept rubbing his whole body down with her strong hands, and hugging him close. Like she was the happiest Voovian conqueror in the universe.
“How are you sho shtrong and sho mushcular,” she said. | 2017-05-30T16:48:26 | 2017-05-30T14:28:29 | 18 | 12 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch. | Sneaking at night, hidden by glamour her fairy Godmother gifted her last year, Alyssa snuck into the kitchen.
Slowly, she tip-toed to the main hall, where the Christmas tree was.
Her guardians were not beings she could fool easily. Her glamour certainly won't work on her Godmother, and her Uncle Edward was a goat demon. His ears could pick up any tiny noise she might have not even been aware that she made.
\*ZZzzzAaaaP\*
"OUCH!"
Alyssa hopped around the hall on one foot.
"THAT HURT!"
"It was supposed to, child." Answered Aunt Emma from the corridor.
You see, Aunt Emma was a witch. She must have left a cantrip in the room.
*I should have seen it coming.*
"You should have known better than making skin contact with the floor," Aunt Emma chastised her.
"You meant to do that!" Alyssa managed to get out in between her howls of pain.
Aunt Emma laughed. "Of course I did, dear. I will punish you for not being only mine."
You see, Alyssa's mother was a smart woman. Too smart.
You'd think three demons, a fairy, and one disgruntled witch would have been better at this sort of thing.
"The fact that my mother was a professional at malicious compliance doesn't mean you need to take it out on me."
"Of course dear," said Aunt Emma as she zapped Alyssa again.
"OUCH! Why did you do that?"
The witch smiled.
"Because I can."
"Learn to make better contracts!" Alyssa shot back.
Aunt Emma cackled loudly.
They must have been heard throughout the house, as three demons and a fairy showed up. What followed next certainly bears repeating. Unfortunately, none of it was legible.
It was loud, and it was hostile. That is until Alyssa screamed back.
"NOT IN FRONT OF THE KID!" She used every ounce of strength she had to make them hear her.
"You promised me a childhood that won't scar me beyond reasonable exception. If this continues, we'd have to renegotiate our deal!"
The participants who did go quiet for a second, immediately resumed their match as soon as she was done, shouting, with the voices rising to a level it never has before. The plaster fell off the walls. Windows broke. Car alarms were triggered.
Pandamonium.
Alyssa pulled out her cell and texted her mom.
'Mommy, they just broke four rules of the renegotiated contract within three minutes. They interfered with me reaching my Christmas gifts. I was premeditatively zapped with electricity, they fought in front of me, and they damaged my home.'
\*woosh\* The message was sent,
'Hi hon, that's great news. Ger out of there. If you survive the next few minutes we'd be able to reopen negotiations yet again.'
'Gee thanks ma. Your caring is all I need in life.'
The next text took some time to arrive. For a solid two minutes, all she saw on the screen was a 'Typing ...' alert.
Eventually, it came in.
"I'm glad to hear you say that because I do care. Your biological dad is suing for visitation rights, and I want his money."
\----
**If you like my writing, please follow** [**/r/posthocethics**](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)**. Sometimes I might go wild and even post a couple of memes.** | [If you want background on Snuggles, part I of this story is here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cdl9p3/wp_youre_throwing_a_ball_around_with_your_dog_and/etvdl0t/)
While the pitbull Snuggles battled outside, Sue was inside talking with her parents. "So...our dog is a warrior who's battling the demons of hell. Dads, WHAT THE FUCK."
"Sweetie, we're just trying to settle a little wager here, and language please” echoed the demons in unison.
“Dads, I thought this was settled at my birth. You all got equal time with me for all of eternity as punishment for being outsmarted by Mom.”
“Suzanne my love, unfortunately that had a time limit”, Sue’s Mom says after appearing out of nowhere from a portal. She’s in her traditional garb of a pointed hat and cloak, from being on business. “They said they’d hold off until your 16th birthday, which...unfortunately was today.”
“Wait...WE’VE BEEN CELEBRATING IT A WEEK EARLY THIS ENTIRE TIME?!”
“Love, yes, but again, I couldn’t have you be disappointed, and your Dads and Mapa already made it difficult to even change that after the hassle I put them through.” The witch scowled at them both as she hugged her daughter, as the lights from the battle raged outside the door.
“So, what is happening now? Why is my dog battling the demons of hell, and what do I need to do to make this stop? Like, I love snuggles, I don’t want him to die!”
“You must choose, Suzanne. You must choose and pay penance to those that you don’t choose.”
“With my life? But that makes no sense.”
“There is another way.”
“What way could there possibly be to get rid of this destruction happening from our house, my life, and my pets?”
“You rule over us all.” Mapa flew up and stretched their fingers. They were in a green suit and flowered crown. “Because of your mother, this is the only way to keep the agreement intact and keep from all out war.”
“So you’re wanting me to be a queen over the magical underworld?”
“Why not? You are descended from Witches who exempted that same power. And was this not your original intent, Cleopatra?”
Cleopatra smirks. “Indeed, it was.”
“Well, get her training started. We’ll clean up here.” Mapa kisses the scowl from Cleopatra’s face, and runs outside to assist Snuggles.
“Come child.” Cleopatra makes quick hand shapes to open up a portal. Sue is hesitant, but one look from her mother’s eyes, the battle raging with now Mapa in the fray, and Dads now looking shamefully at the floor, that it’s the next step she *must* take.
As her mother walks in behind her, she smiles, saying to the Dads, “Damons, let Lucifer know that she’ll be ready for his destruction.” | 2019-07-18T10:58:25 | 2019-07-18T09:04:26 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | An Ounce of Prevention
“They’re here, Sir”. Cybersquire knelt before me in the showy manner he always used to ham it up for the heroes. I sat on my throne as usual, but my normal cool confidence did little to ease the ice in my veins at his words.
“All three of them?” I asked, hoping against hope that perhaps only one of those wretched creatures would show his face in my city. I knew the answer before Cybersquire could get it out.
“All three, Sir. Ash-Rake, Virulent Son, and Rampager.” The fear in his voice shone through as he answered my question. “The drones spotted them on the outskirts, so it’s only a matter of time”
I leaned back into my chair as deeply as I could and thought back. For the past twenty years I had lived as this cities greatest villain. Everyone knew the name ‘Clockwork Conquest’ and every hero had cut their teeth facing him in one of his grand schemes. Little did they know that I was preparing them for this very moment.
The Cog-Rat Plague taught them to protect against biological threats and dangerous air quality that accompanied the combo of Virulent Son and Ash-Rake. Knight’s Eternal Night forced them to work in the low visibility conditions that Ash-Rake brought with him, and my trusty sword protected them from the slashing attacks his monsters would bring. And all of those battles against my building sized Clockwork Champions had hopefully prepared them for the sheer strength and brutality of Rampager.
I had, for my entire tenure, trained them for this exact scenario. They had no clue, and they’d likely never realize that I was their greatest mentor and ally this whole time.
I was snapped out of my memories by Cybersquire’s words. “The warnings have all been sent out. What do we do now, Sir?”
I stood from my throne, unsheathing my sword as I did and held it to catch the light. “Now? Now we buy them time to prepare.” | I am practicing songwriting. So here is a musical theater piece on a villain that clearly out-matches his adversaries. It's a comedy song
Nothing irks me quite like knowing that they'll never see my pity
Nothing rattles me to shame to think they've really done their best
It's not enough to pest this city
And with every passing tick you'd think it can't get any clearer
The maze he's yet to clear, the bomb is ticking ever nearer
He's still caught up in the mirror
Wonder-man, I'm dying to know
How that's ever gonna make a dent
But it's pretty strong as lasers go
(Clicks around security monitor)
Now let's check up on the Wingman, has he bolted through the glass?
I'd say last time was near perfect, I even called the head adjuster
(See human figure dangling from a suspension cable)
Guess he forgot the rocket thruster
(Cable snaps)
. . Boots . .
(Movement from the ceiling)
And then let's not forget Ms. Amazoness up above
Who lost count which lefts to take, I had to turn the heat to two
The things I do for love
Hey you Bruce, up in that vent
I'd like to warm up, progress the show
And quit stomping man, I rent!
All sides undone,
Hands coiling fast,
Will you have time to pray
Or have they failed you too
Reaching for words some
Can make their spirits last
But I won't let this day
Save me in any way
If anyone would come
Remind me what it is
That made a villain fun
That made a tyrant rage
I'm walking off the stage,
The bomb's defused, good night | 2021-05-20T08:01:46 | 2021-05-20T07:57:21 | 225 | 19 |
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | * *I'll preface this by saying that I never write for fun. But something about this prompt made me want to jump in. Apologies for the amateur nature of the following.*
I never should have let her in. Two hundred years of being careful, of being guarded. All that time and work, lost because I was lonely. Sandra and her husband: that was the deal. It couldn’t have been easier. A car accident is a walk in the park. No second thoughts, no planning. No thinking. Nothing.
Why did she have to look, sound, even smell like Abby? I was promised that I would never have to go through it again. One time was enough. It was supposed to be so simple. Close my eyes, conjure the event, and see it through. But I was told, no, promised Goddamnit! How does he expect me to follow through when he breaches his own contract?
Fuck it. I wisped her out of the event. She’d be sad to lose her husband, but maybe she’d feel something. Maybe she’d know it was me who “saved” her. I just couldn’t bear seeing her essence pass through my world again. I made it as much of a freak accident as I could. Kids are always throwing things off highway overpasses, Right?
I should have seen it after her coworker died. Death in bunches or spread out, that’s how it works for those who I have to visit often. I guess my infatuation made me forget that Don from accounting died on the anniversary of Sandra’s husband dying. I went to check on her at her house. She’d just recently taken down all the pictures of her and Adam. She was facing her bathroom mirror.
“I see you every day,” she whispered.
It’s always interesting to see how long it takes for some people to get over the death of a loved one. Sandra was taking her sweet time.
“I know you’re watching over me.”
No, my dear, he isn’t. They never are.
“How do we know each other?”
She was staring right through me in the mirror. There was no way she knew. Right?
| I loved him, that walking pain. The kind that would come after
strangulation and let-free blood. He who would warm my heart. Though his: cold.
I loved him as I tore through the spine of an elderly man, I loved him as he kissed me in those few moments between a mother who cried at the way her children died. At first, it seemed, we were in love. He would come and sit by me, after I had stabbed another in a lane way - my third that day. Oh heaven above, your saviour had come. He would embrace me, cloak aside, and flicker warmth through the carpet stained with red.
He would attack the night as I surrendered bodies to him.
For a time we were in love. And I knew this beyond my petty world. For a time, we were happy.
But soon he grew cold, wanting more souls. I would find and abduct and tie-up and kill. I would stalk and kidnap and cage and murder. I would fill the void he left upon fading from the world of the living. But it was not enough. One death, two deaths, three deaths, he would come on the fourth. One death, two deaths, three deaths, four deaths, he would only come on the fifth. I grew desperate, and cold myself. As I felt the blood of others' run dry, scabbing on my foreign hands, so too did I feel my own escape its duty. My heart forsake me, for he wanted more.
100 deaths, a shopping mall bomb. 200 children shot away from their parents. He came, and kissed me, and left without a smile. I became a mouse, doing the cat's sorry bidding. His insatiable, swarming desire became impossible to fulfil. He collected my dead, for he was Death and Pain and Suffering and Hate. And I, madly in love.
| 2014-06-30T07:12:17 | 2014-06-30T06:46:44 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | “It’s all gone,” said Jeb tossing his cigarette to the ground to stamp it out.
“Sure, is pretty, isn’t it,” said Jared.
“What?”
Jared and Jeb. Johnson and Johnson were what was written on their military name tapes. A common name, no blood between them, one stood there, and the other sat, both of them watching the sky. It was hauntingly beautiful, that hunk of rock eclipsing the moon as it flew thousands of miles an hour across the purple-hazed sky. Its trail of dust and bits of rocks like some magnificent mane crafted by the stars. Despite its cataclysmic trajectory, relativity allowed the world to watch it in a calming awe as it trailed across the sky.
The water of the river was calm, the sound soothing, the gunfire was gone, the yelling, the painful screaming of the causalities silenced by an atom.
Jared reached for his lighter and his pack of smokes, withdrawing them from the pouch a clip of ammo was supposed to be in. He took the lighter between his finger and flicked it open. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth to only drop it. Jeb watched as his friend struggled to keep the thing from sticking. Needing something, anything to go right in his life. Jared reached down and took the cigarette and lighter from his friend.
Jeb took a knee, nicotine and lighter in hand. “I don’t know how you can be so calm right now,” he asked Jared.
Jared looked up the best he could, struggling to keep his head from shaking. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I just am.”
Jeb plucked the cigarette from his hand and struck it between Jared’s lips. He pulled back on the flint of the wick lighter and sparked a flame onto the Marlboro Red. The thin white stick trembled beneath Jared’s lips as he vainly tried to inhale a puff. All the ashy white smoke filtered through his nose because Jared couldn’t lift his arms anymore to pull the tobacco away for a proper puff.
“There’s nothing left,” said Jeb taking a seat next to Jared across the bank of the Panama Canal.
Jared huffed a bit more ash through his nostrils. “That’s not true,” he said, mumbling through the cigarette. “That’s not true at all.”
“What’s left,” exclaimed Jeb, throwing his hands against the almost apocalyptic sky. “It’s all gone, the US, Canada, Mexico, most of Europe and Asia. All of it’s gone. Wiped away not by that thing that was supposed to kill us, but by us. We fucked up and we lost it all. There is no US government, no fucking army, air force, navy, or marines, all of it’s fucking gone. These uniforms we’re wearing don’t mean a damn fucking thing without any of that either. They're just a reason to be shot at.”
Jared dropped the Marlboro Red from his mouth, his irradiated scarred lips unable to hold it anymore. “I have you,” he said to Jeb Johnson.
“That’s a little gay,” Jeb snarled back.
“So,” said Jarred, “why does it matter. I have you, and that’s something. Take it straight or not. Jeb, I have you.”
“You’re dying from radiation,” said Jared burying his head in his knees. “And I probably have it too after you set off that nuke to blow the canal. Everybody’s going to probably have it come nuclear winter because we couldn’t keep our fingers off the button.”
The last of the meteor or the comet, whatever you wanted to call it, the two didn’t really know, passed the night sky. The ground shook and the purple of the cosmic visitor paled as orange and red corrupted the sky. Another mushroom consumed the horizon, followed by several more. Ninety-nine red balloons in the summer sky and all was gone.
“There,” said Jeb pointing to the sky, “see.”
“I still have you,” said Jared coughing up a bit of blood. “Something all of us forgot. Each other.”
Jared started to seize, unable to feel the warmth from the lack of skin he had. Jeb reached for Jared and Jared embraced Jeb. A large tidal wave of heat consumed the tree line across the river before ending the two of them. | We saw it pass.
Not everyone did. Approximately half of the almost ten billion people on the planet were on the wrong side. Half of the rest had cloud cover. Some it was too light, so they could just barely see a shadow. Some were just looking the wrong way.
We saw it pass, impossibly big, impossibly fast - like a ghost moving through the sky. If you blinked you could have missed it. It looked like it was larger than the earth, and for that moment it almost felt like my feet lifted off the ground, pulled by some intense otherworldly gravity.
The news said that scientists were reporting a wobble in our orbit. Some of the ozone had been stripped away by the cloud of gas surrounding that strange other world. There were theories about how it had come screaming out from a nearby galaxy exploding, hundreds of thousands of years ago. A chunk of rock from another galaxy. From unthinkable miles away, travelling at unbelievable speed. What did it even mean for a galaxy to explode? Could that even happen?
We had gone to bed shocked to be alive. It was me and... her.
We had met in our 20s. She had changed my life. Made me a better man. Showed me how to enjoy my life. Showed me how to experience things, and showed me what it really meant to be a person. She showed me things I never thought I'd have. She gave me a taste of things I never knew I wanted. Then... Then she had left. Gone travelling. Without me.
That was ten years ago. i'd married. I'd had children, but when the news had come on the television, warning us of the disaster, my mind had immediately jumped to her. I spent a week looking her up. The internet, old addresses... Even bribing a mail clerk to give me her new address.
It had been a hundred and fifty mile drive out to this cabin on some lonely hillside. I thought it was where I was going to die. I thought it was where we were all going to die. I just wanted to be with her at the end. I didn't even tell my wife.
I was staring at the ceiling now. So was she, lying next to me. I would try to speak, but no words would come out. She would make a noise, and I would worry they would turn into sentences.
"I..." I said.
It wasn't guilt, exactly. More... Uncertainty. Vulnerability. I'd never expected her to say yes in the first place. The fact that she had... Well. Now things were different. I lapsed back into silence.
"Well..." she said.
I looked at her hair. She was older, certainly, but no less beautiful than I remembered her. She smelt of acorns and wildflowers.
"...Yeah..." I said.
"We're still here."
"So we are,"
"A second chance," she said.
"For everyone."
She said nothing for a while. "This was so dumb," she said, at last.
"Yup. Super, super dumb," I agreed.
"Dumb, dumb, dumb, stupid," she said, her voice slow and sing-song. I loved the way she spoke.
"Yes... Although..."
"Although what?"
"Although," I said, "It's funny, I never thought you'd say yes."
"Yes," she said. "It's funny how I did that. I never thought you'd try to find me again."
"Funny, dumb. Dumb and funny," I said.
"Of course I never would if I knew I was risking anything," she said."
"Oh, me neither," I parrotted. "If I'd known I'd still have my kids and wife waiting for me after this I... Well.."
"Funny... Funny how it works like that," she said.
"Very," I agreed.
"Funny how when we don't think there's anything at stake we act different."
"Real different," I said.
"How when we're not afraid of what we might lose..."
I stayed silent.
"...We find ourselves chasing what we really want."
I smiled.
I thought it was where I was going to die.
Turns out it was where I had been to start feeling alive. | 2022-06-15T10:47:39 | 2022-06-15T09:00:13 | 114 | 34 |
[WP] Your daughter is one of the most legendary sword fighters of all time, but you could never hold a sword to save your life. Despite this, she always cited you as her inspiration. Today you find out why. | I'd never been more proud. My little girl. Fencing in the championship. Her next bout would determine whether she or her opponent was hailed as swordswoman supreme, by the Royal Ladies' Academy of Blades. It didn't matter so much to me, I thought just making it this far was a remarkable achievement. How many other young women had tried and failed along the way, without even getting close to this phase of the tournament? But it meant the world to Eileen, so I was here to cheer her on.
I squeezed Marjorie's hand, encouragingly. My wife looked worried as ever, chewing her lower lip nervously as she scanned the arena, waiting to catch sight of our girl. Hard to blame her, poor dear. I could look at our Leeny, and see an accomplished athlete, who knew what she was about, but Marj never could see past the possibility that her daughter was about to be skewered, blunted tips or no, not enough to really enjoy watching her bouts, anyway. I was proud of her always coming with me to watch her, anyway.
It was funny, when she was little, she wanted nothing more, than to be a pastry chef. Like her papa. She spent hours in the kitchen with me, watching me work, helping me with little things. Sometimes I'd catch her down at the kitchen table, reading my cookbooks by candlelight, and have to shoo her off to bed.
I was pleased to teach her, and tried to impart all I knew of my craft. The only problem was...she was terrible. I mean, absolute rubbish. She understood the theory, she'd drilled that into her head. But when it came to the practical side, she just couldn't bring it all together.
I remember when she was 12, she brought me a lemon meringue pie she'd spent hours making. She came to me, dusted with flour and flushed from the heat of the kitchen, strands of disheveled Auburn hair sticking out around her little Chef's hat...it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Using a dainty testing spoon I took a tiny bite of the meringue. It wasn't bad, quite good, actually. I nodded to her, and she beamed. I took a bite of the whole pie. The filling was, somehow, the exact flavor and texture of lemon-scented homemade soap.
I told her it was good. What else could I say, with her standing there, looking so earnest and hopeful? But my girl had a keen eye, long before she took up the sword. She saw it on my face.
"I will work harder." She said, firmly, holding back the tears. "The...the meringue was good, wasn't it?"
"Yes, dear one, it was lovely...but, my darling girl, there are no such things as 'meringue chefs'. I love you, Leeny, I am proud of you. One of the reasons I am so proud, is that you are strong. Strong enough to hear what I am about to say." I had said, sadly. I saw her brace for it. I didn't want to say it, but she needed to hear it.
"Dear one, my daughter, my joy, you are just not *good* at this!" I said, with a sigh.
It broke my heart to see how she wilted.
"I tell you this not to hurt you, my heart, far from it! If you worked hard for years, until you somehow just ground down, through sheer tenacity, whatever it is about you that makes you so singularly unsuited to this craft...you would, perhaps, be a mediocre pastry chef."
She slumped even more, but I put a firm hand on her shoulder, as though to hold her up. "And you, beloved, are *not* meant for mediocrity! With your passion, your drive, your tenacity, your hard work, you deserve so much more!"
"This *is* my passion, papa!" She said, tears in her eyes. "If I can't follow it, than what good is it?"
I smiled, and pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top her dusty chef's hat. "Oh my girl, my dear one. Passion is not a thing you *follow!* It is a thing you *bring with you,* wherever you go!"
It wasn't long after that, that she found the sword. Marjorie did not like it. I did not like it, at first. But when she spoke if her blades, and her stances, and the styles of combat, ah! I saw in her, what I see in myself, when I opine on the structure of the perfect creme brulee. She had brought her passion, at last, to a place where it could make her heart soar, instead of break.
The last bout was an epic duel for the ages. I assume it was, at least -- I know nothing of fencing. But the crowd was full of people who live and breathe swords and swordplay, and they were on their feet cheering, as I was, so it must have been spectacular.
At last, Eileen saw her opening, and executed the fabulous technique, a new one of her own design. Ha, my little chef of the blades, only 19, and she already has her *signature dish!* It was a seemingly wild thing, spinning her blade in tight circles and figure eights, but even I could see it was, in truth, thing of precision. It disoriented her opponent, disrupted her guard. Then, there was a brilliant clang. The opponent's sword was struck from her hand!
The crowd exploded in cheers, and moments later roses rained down on the arena where my dear Leeny stood, as a booming announcement proclaimed her the winner.
A judge approached her with one of those miraculous handheld amplifiers the artificers are making these days, and she was asked to say a few words.
Beaming, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, she said. "I would like to thank my mother Marjorie Rouen, for teaching me to stand bravely before the things I most fear."
I held my sweet Marjorie against me, as my wife shook with emotion. This whole tournament was a grueling trial for her, and yet she withstood it to the end, to be there for our girl.
"And as always, " Eileen said, "I would like to thank my father, Master Chef Pierre Rouen, for he has taught me all I know!"
I laughed. It was a joke she made every time she won. I had not taught her how to get where she was. I know nothing of swords! But perhaps, though I could not show her where to go, I showed her how to stand tall, along the journey.
"Thank you, and congratulations." The judge said. "Your unique style has made quite a splash, this year, Ms. Rouen. We are all wondering: what do you call this intriguing new technique?"
And my Eileen? She just grinned and said. "This too, I must credit to my father, Master Chef Rouen. I call this technique *'Whisking Meringue!'"* | Cornelia absorbs a blow with her shield, but its force makes her stumble backward. Her opponent presses the advantage, raising her broadsword high in the sky.
You recoil, watching the fight through squinted eyes. Cornelia has always had trouble against broadswords, even as a little girl.
With a roar and a snarl, the weapon comes crashing down, reflecting the sunlight before it makes contact with Cornelia’s shield again.
Your daughter rolls away and lands in a crouch, her sword angled at the larger woman. She reaches across her body and tightens her dented shield against her arm.
Cornelia’s opponent shakes her head and storms forward. You chuckle, knowing that a few blows won’t keep your daughter down.
But the blows don’t stop. And Cornelia isn’t dancing the way she usually does.
“Hit her!” you yell. It’s been a long time since you’ve coached from the sidelines, but it’s also been a long time since you’ve seen her on the back foot. The sword fighting tournament has brought the best from every shore of the seven seas. Cornelia and her opponent, lovingly dubbed “The Pixie Maiden,” are the last two competitors left in the field of legendary sword fighters.
Despite your urging, Cornelia continues evading. Is this part of her strategy?
Your daughter stumbles, and a flurry of blows rains down on her shield. She barely gets away.
You run around the fighting pit, jostling your way through shouting fans. Then, behind her coach, you yell, “throw the white!”
Her coach looks at you, shakes her head, then turns back to the action. “Try and get your range!” the coach shouts to your daughter, herself a former champion.
The king’s bugler signals for the end of the round with his instrument. Cornelia and the woman separate; each is going to their respective sides.
“You’ve got to attack!” you say to Cornelia as she meanders over.
Her coach gives you a look that chills your blood.
Cornelia smiles and shrugs. “She’ll get tired eventually.”
You look across the fighting pit and see the Pixie Maiden refuse water as she paces, waiting for the start of the next round.
“Keep doing what you’re doing; we’ll find our opening,” Cornelia’s coach says. They’ve been working together for a few months now, and in that time, you thought she was getting better. But you’ve never seen her being beaten like this. You’ve never seen her beaten before.
The bugle sounds once more, signaling the start of the next round. The Pixie Maiden charges forward, her face locked in a permanent snarl. Cornelia takes smooth steps forward, turning at the last minute and dodging a vicious attack.
For a second, you think she has found her confidence once more. However, seeing her stumble after absorbing a mighty blow with her shield proves otherwise. The rest of the round passes without a single offensive maneuver by Cornelia, or anything resembling control.
During the next break between rounds, the coach asks how your daughter is feeling. “Well, I can’t feel my arms anymore,” she says with a laugh before drinking some water.
The break between rounds ends abruptly, and the two fighters approach the center of the fighting pit again.
When it’s evident that the Pixie Maiden is slowing down, Cornelia’s coach yells, “Press the attack!”
But your daughter is too tired, her limbs too heavy, and the two exhausted competitors continue the same dance to music only they can hear.
“Maybe we think about throwing in the towel,” Cornelia’s coach says when your daughter’s back on her side of the pit.
“No!” Cornelia says immediately.
“Don’t be stubborn!” you chime in.
Cornelia looks at you, her patient gaze reminding you of the time she explained how vital her sword training was to her. “You know you’re my inspiration, right?” she says.
“I know,” you reply, nodding. It’s not the first time you’ve heard your daughter say it. Tears well in your eyes as you take in the woman your daughter has become.
Cornelia’s coach scoffs. “Even though he can’t swing a sword to save his life,” she says while crossing her arms, talking about you.
“It has nothing to do with fighting,” Cornelia says to her coach. The woman deflates upon hearing the hurtful words.
Cornelia looks you in the eye. “It’s because you’re stubborn.”
The bugle sounds before she can elaborate. Somehow, she survives another round.
“You wake up day after day and take care of the animals, the crops, making sure we all have enough to eat. That’s your job. And this is my job: to win sword fights,” Cornelia says between sips of water.
“But you’re not winning,” her coach says.
Both you and Cornelia stare at the coach and speak simultaneously.
“I will,” Cornelia says.
“She will,” you say, surprised at your own words.
The bugle sounds. “When I get back here, I expect you gone,” Cornelia says. Your daughter takes the white towel from her former coach and hands it to you. “Don’t throw it until you’re sure.”
You hop down into the fighting pit and stand where her coach had moments before.
Cornelia meets her opponent in the center; she’s a new fighter. She dodges the first swing and lands her first blow of the day on her opponent’s side. Then, the great broadsword comes back and catches her clean on the arm, digging into her flesh.
A yelp and Cornelia’s sword is on the ground, and your daughter is on one knee. The Pixie Maiden presses, raining down blows on Cornelia’s shield.
Cornelia looks at you and shakes her head. You grip the white towel until your fingers match the fabric.
One more massive blow has Cornelia lying flat on the ground, her eyes on the blue sky above. The Pixie Maiden, breathing heavily, stands over her and points her sword at your daughter’s throat.
The king stands up and announces that he has found his new champion. “The Pixie Maiden, coming from the far side of the Dawn Sea!” the king shouts. The spectators clad in light orange erupt in celebration.
You run out into the fighting pit and gather your daughter. She’s smiling as you help her walk off.
“We’re stubborn,” she says.
You remember when you didn’t have direction or a care in the world before you met Cornelia’s mother. She’s the one who inspired you to strive for more, blessing you with a daughter and a reason for tending your land. And when she passed away all those years ago, you kept going so that your daughter could have a future.
You’re only stubborn because of them.
And she thinks you’re *her* inspiration. | 2022-04-14T15:06:48 | 2022-04-14T14:58:27 | 198 | 12 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a cult, and they are about to sacrifice you to their god. They don't know that you are that god. | At my age memory is not something that can be often be relied upon, but it's hard to forget the sound of that alarm and the plane shaking so violently I was almost thrown from my seat. Then that almighty crash, I only heard it for a second but I can remember it vividly, that and the wall of water gushing towards me that immediately proceeded it.
That being said I find myself unable to recollect much else, frankly I assumed I was dead until quite recently. However that was definitely pain I just felt and those are human voices I hear around me. Yes I am definitely alive. I'm also pretty sure i'm blindfolded and from what I can gather i'm tied to some sort of sled that's being dragged steadily uphill. That smell however. Sulfur. That is concerning, that and how it went from getting colder as I was dragged up this mountain to it abruptly getting awfully hot.
**"UNTIE THE SACRIFICE, BRING HIM TO ME!"**
That bloody hurts, at 95 years of age it is not pleasant to be aggressively lifted to your feet and dragged 10 meters by two men, and what the bloody hell do they mean by sacrifice. Right it's time to find out what the devil is going on here.
*"Okay where in God's name am I, who are you, and for fuck's sake could you please remove this dammed blindfold"*
**"REMOVE HIS BLINDFOLD!"**
*"Thank you...wait is that a bloody volcano?"*
**"YOU ARE HONORED MY FRIEND. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN AS A SACRIFICE TO THE MOUNTAIN SPIRIT! BY THROWING YOU INTO THE VOLCANO WE WILL CALL THE SPIRIT BACK TO US! HE WILL BRING TO US THE PROSPERITY HE HAS GAINED IN THE DISTANT LAND OF ENGLAND, WHERE HE HAS LIVED FOR MANY YEARS!"**
*"You can't bloody sacrifice me DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM! Wait, England? Oh for FUCK'S sake am I on Tanna?"*
**"YES...how did you know?"**
*"The island whose the inhabitants believes the son of a mountain spirit traveled overseas and eventually married Queen Elizabeth II, and as such you believe Prince Phillip, The Duke of Edinburgh, to be that spirit?*"
**"Yes that is us"**
*" I AM THE BLOODY DUKE OF EDINBURGH!"*
**"No you are not"**
*"Yes I bloody well am!*"
**"You are to old, we have a picture of him, you are not him. See?**"
*"That photo is 25 bloody years old, I don't look like that because I have aged you bloody fool. Anyway when did you start sacrificing people?"*
**"Okay, maybe you are him, I cannot be sure. And we started making sacrifices pretty recently."**
**"You see many of us were fed up of waiting for the mountain spirit to return and share his riches with us, so I came up with the idea of making sacrifices to beckon him home"**
*"And everyone just bloody agreed to that"*
**"No to start with many people had concerns about the idea"**
*"May I please speak to some of them?"*
**"No"**
*"Why not?"*
**"Because we sacrificed them in the volcano"**
*"Jesus Christ! Wait I have met members of your tribe, I have sent letters to your chief, may I please speak to any of them?"*
**"Ahh yes, those who have met the Duke of Edinburgh, those who know our mountain spirit. Of course you cannot speak to them!"**
*" Because you.."*
**"Yes of course we sacrificed them in the volcano"**
*"Look I am the bloody Duke of Edinburgh, you can see the resemblance between the man in that photo and myself."*
**"That is true, it does look a bit like you, hmm let me think. If you were an impostor, you probably would not have asked all of these questions. And we cannot sacrifice the mountain spirit to himself"**
*"Exactly. Look now, I am the Duke of Edinburgh, I am the mountain spirit that has returned to you. As such my first order is that you stop all of these bloody sacrafi..."*
**"PEOPLE, THE MOUNTAIN SPIRIT HAS RETURNED TO US. THE SACRIFICES HAVE BEEN A SUCCESS!"**
*"No, that's not what I bloody.."*
**"LET US RETURN HIM TO HIS MOUNTAIN**"
*"What do you mea..."*
**"THROW HIM IN THE VOLCANO"**
*"Fuck!"*
| "Anupta, Darkest Desire, accept our offering!" I heard, more than felt, Daniel's dagger strike down into my heart. Well, where my heart would be, if I had one. In any case, it was time to wrap this up.
With a minor effort of will, the straps binding me to the table burned and snapped, and I sat up. I took a second to work out the stiffness in my neck... nothing like being tied to a table for five hours to give you a wicked pain in the neck. Speaking of which, I had to talk to the boys about their choice of "altar". I looked up, and found them huddling in the corner, eyes wide and staring. To be honest, they weren't much as far as cults go, but these days beggars can't be choosers. Even if they couldn't seem to find matching vestments.
"Hey guys!" I chirped cheerfully. "I'm Anupta.". Ugh. There are no words for how inadequate we gods have become. Back in the good old days it was all fire and brimstone, wailing souls and damnation. Heck, the Atlantis gig was the greatest summoning since the dinosaurs. And now this; seven virgins trying to summon up a succubus goddess on their Friday night. And more embarrassing, they had nabbed me as their sacrifice. I had manifested in the world just for a breath of fresh air, maybe start an orgy or three, and my cult kidnapped me the first day. "Hey guys I just wanted to say that was pretty good. I'm kinda impressed, that whole part where you tied me down and inked the whole Ritual of Binding on my skin? Not bad at all." The boys seemed to lose their edge of panic, and allowed themselves to listen. "No, seriously, one of my best summonings in a while, just had a few pointers, If you don't mind..." I trailed off. Daniel, the leader, had taken a few cautious steps forward. "Mistress?," he whispered, eyes ridiculously wide, "have you come to our call?" He stared.
I glanced down to where he was staring. Besides the fact I was topless, which was always a winner when it came to distracting men, I had started leaking bubbling ichor from where the dagger protruded. I looked back up. "Yes, in fact, uh, I did." I managed to say. "I wanted to say that you guys are my number one cult. Seriously, the best." They all looked back and forth among each other, fear finally fading before pride. "Like I said though, a few pointers... first, I know times are hard, but sacrifices are supposed to be held on an altar?" All seven heads nodded up and down; I could have said anything then and they would have agreed. "Now you've got all the runes right, but honestly, this is a dining room table. It's not just the carvings that are necessary, but you've got to have an ambiance conducive to the spell. I mean, how many sacrifices have you performed? Four? Five?"
"Eighteen, mistress."
I paused. "What?". "Eighteen sacrifices were made till you manifested in that vessel, mistress." Daniel answered again.
Now, I'm a dark goddess of evil and seduction who enjoys a sacrifice as much as the next gal, but these jokers had sacrificed eighteen women and hadn't even put a ping on my radar. And by looking at their set up, I should have noticed something... tacky furniture and mismatched robes aside, the had all the fundamentals in place. If they weren't doing something wrong here...
"Hang on guys. I'll be back in a second." I started to discorporate my body to return to the Hellish Realms. "Don't go anywhere. Oh, oh oh oh! Almost forgot to ask. What were you guys summoning me for again? Whatever you drugged me with...drugged the sacrifice with," I managed to correct myself in time, "really did a number and I didn't catch that part." Daniel didn't hear at first, preoccupied as it were with the fact my body was half translucent and halfway reformed to my true shape. "We summoned you to be our Mistress, to discipline and pleasure us, and lead us in our dark crusade." I narrowed my eyes. "Well discuss that later." I managed to say, and then vanished. | 2016-08-14T10:22:30 | 2016-08-14T08:58:12 | 67 | 48 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "Field medic? Why are we humouring the new prospect anyway? We have body labs." Muttered Zelska. Zelska was what the humans would call "A fucking idiot." Jorax reflected.
"Well," Jorax began "Aahii are the greatest builders and engineers in the universe,right?"
"Of course!" Snapped Zelska.
"But, Aahii don't repair anything, ever. The idea that they could craft something that does. Not. Work. Is impossible to contemplate...Humans make trash, they are ugly and backwards, lumbering idiots with no understanding of design or even the principles upon which all great devices work. You've seen it though, heard rumours of humans re-purposing derelict Aahii craft. Making gateways out of purifiers! Human engineers get you home when the gods spit upon your fate and shatter your drive..."
Zelska cut him off, near frothing with impatient rage "We all know the importance of a human engineer on staff, but why do we need this bloody medic!"
Jorax shifts his tunic, revealing a jagged mess of scarring.A near impossible amount of his lower abdomen missing. "It's not just ships a human can hold together when the gods turn their back on you..."
| "Sir you worry too much, the humans plan won't work"
"I just have a bad feeling Lieutenant Danstaik, humans are insane. You are too young to remember the zaartak disaster"
"What happened Admiral Gaaztuk?"
"The lutaak amarda had encircled a few human vessels at the zaartak system. The humans in an effort to escape launched all their nukes from the rear and hoped that the blast could launch them out of the trap"
"Did it work sir?"
"No, all the ships were vaporized in an instant. The luutaks never recovered from such a loss."
"The humans are sending us a transmission sir."
"This is Admiral Gaaztuk of the Taatiop, to whom am I speaking to?"
"This is Admiral Rice Crispies of the HMS USS Cereal Bowl. If you do not comply with our demands we will slingshot that dwarf star at your homeworld"
"That is absolutely insane"
"Exactly! Comply or die!"
| 2017-03-06T01:01:31 | 2017-03-05T22:15:01 | 379 | 78 |
[WP] The reason vampires don't have a reflection is because mirrors were originally made with silver which cannot hold an image of an evil creature. When a vampire wakes up for the first time in 1000 years they find a modern day mirror without silver and are surprised by what they see. | "Darling, thy lips are like honeyed rose, and thy eyes are little gems, far more brilliant than any diamond." Alabaster leaned closer to the woman, smelling the sweet scent of her flesh, seeing the veins lurking beneath her pale skin. He flashed his fangs and could hear her heartbeat rise, flushing her face. She was within his grip, he knew it.
"Go away!" she replied, pulling away from him, slapping at his face. He'd cornered her in an alleyway behind a bar in Alameda. Horses trotted past on the road behind them--close enough to hear a scream, but not close enough to do anything about it.
"Why do you resist me so? We are but two beautiful creatures on this sweet summer night. I promise I won't hurt you . . . unless you want me to."
"You're a freak!" she said, still writhing.
He pulled back a bit. "I'm the most elegant creature this world has seen. We have a bad reputation, but let's not act like I'm not beautiful."
Scoffing, the woman tried to make a run for it. One of her heels snapped and she twisted her ankle, yelping.
Alabaster winced, then walked over her, toward the main road. "Tainted. Why did you have to go and ruin your perfection like that? What a filthy bruise that will leave, filled with acrid blood."
"Fuck off, you creep," the woman said, nursing her leg.
"Whatever. You're ugly anyway. Fucking bitch. You'd have been lucky to spend a night with a little slice of God." He slipped out of the alleyway, keeping himself low, then shifted into a bat and flew into the night sky.
--
Alabaster lay in a rickety old coffin in an abandoned church, staring into moldy cracks in the stone ceiling. Wind whistled through broken windows downstairs, and though the chill didn't bother him, the sound did.
"Why are you so brooding tonight?" Alabaster's only friend, Cairo, was lurking in the dark hall outside his chambers. "Lose another catch?"
"No," he said, scoffing. "I couldn't find anyone worthy enough."
"You're gonna die at this rate, Al. At least go kill a squirrel or something."
"What kind of savage do you take me for? My body is a temple, and only the most perfect prey will suit me."
"Will death suit you well, I wonder?" Cairo asked, chuckling. "Any day now you'll enter another deep sleep and wake up alone again. Don't be a fool."
Alabaster dismissed him with a wave. "What would you know, fool? You're rather homely for a vampire. It is only through great effort that I preserve myself."
Cairo laughed again, quite hard. "Alright, Al. If you say so. See you in a thousand years."
Al grumbled, but knew his friend was right--he could feel the pull at the back of his mind. He was going dormant, and soon. Too soon.
*Please be there when I wake up, at least*, he thought.
--
Waking up after a deep, deep sleep is like being born again. The first few moments are unnerving and overwhelming as every sensory input explodes. It's too much, and the brain can't handle it. It took Alabster a few days to finally break out of his coffin--Cairo must have sealed it for him, at least.
When he did, he found himself in the ruins of the church he'd slept in. There were no signs of Cairo anywhere, and the church had been destroyed enough that, had he not already known, he would not have guessed it was ever a church. Slowly, he made his way through gaps in shattered wood and stone, tearing through overgrowth, until he found himself in a strange room that had been recently lived in. There were dead torches and messy bedrolls, bottles scattered around the floor. It was a mess, really, and the smell made Alabaster nauseated. He proceeded through the hall and found another odd room, a chamber of sorts with raggedy clothes hanging on racks, and a large chunk of glass on the wall.
He ducked as someone moved within it. He approached prepared for a fight, though he heard and smelled no one. Rising slowly, he saw the movement again--but realized it was tied to his own. A spell of some sorts copying his movement, perhaps.
But as he stood higher, and approached with care, he realized it was an exact mimicry of himself. Behind his copy was the hallway he'd just walked through, and the glass was solid to touch. It looked like an alternate reality he'd been trapped in--or maybe he was the one trapped. He lifted a hand to his face and his copy did the same.
It was in that moment that Alabster realized he was seeing himself for the first time, as the world saw him. For a few moments, he poked at his head, turning it, examining it. Closed one eye and saw the copy do the same. It was really him.
He fell to his knees. Alone in the darkness, he wept like a lost child.
"Fuck," he said, crumpling. "I'm so goddamn ugly."
---
*/r/resonatingfury* | \\\\ Read the footnote. Apparently I misread 1000 for 100 and wrote the story with a 100 year sleep. Sorry about that.
"At last, after a thousand years, it's time to feed again!", I whispered to myself. I tried to open my coffin door only to find that it didn't want to open easily. I pushed harder and the coffin lid refused to budge. Finally, after putting all my efforts into it, the coffin door exploded open into a dark space.
My eyes adjusted to my dark surroundings. This was not my mansion. The walls were white and blue trim, this place was cavernous compared to my mansion. The place reeked of human, but also had a nice floral scent to it as well. The ground was solid and uniform, except for the gaping hole where my coffin was. Apparently some imbecile paved over it with the same stuff they used for roads but this was far smoother than any road I'd ever seen.
As I got better adjusted to being vertical after laying down for a millennium, I started to look around. Small walls with hooks on them had various packages with words on them, what exactly is a "soap dispenser" anyway? I continued to search to find out just where I was in a strange place with odd fixtures everywehere. Towels that appeared to come in a myriad of colors, smaller towels, something called wash cloths, and something called a shower curtain? What is this strange place?
Finally I get to the end of the corridor and I see a street sign, or at least something resembling a street sign. "BATHROOM DECOR", the sign read. I began to wander around a bit more trying to unravel the mystery, and I see another corridor, this one labelled "BATHROOM ACCESSORIES". I made my way slowly down the walk and even in the dim light I could see it, a full length mirror at least as tall as I was just standing there at the end of the row. Instinctively, I turned around with every hair on my body standing on end like so many Halloween cats. I turned around and didn't see anyone nor could I hear anyone other than me. There was the ever present stench of humans, but this was an older stench, several hours old by now and no one was near.
I cautiously approached the mirror again but this time I realized that the figure in the mirror was well mirroring my movements. Finally, I throw my hands up and so does the figure in the mirror. "What blasphemy is this? Mirrors don't work this way?" I jumped back aghast. For thousands of years, mirrors simply did not reflect me, they would reflect everything else but me due to their silver backing. I cautiously picked up the mirror and turned it over. The paper on the back had the inscription "MADE IN CHINA FOR WAL-MART", "BACKING MADE WITH CHROMIUM", "DO NOT INSTALL IN A WET LOCATION".
Hm, well that's curious. Not sure what this chromium is, but apparently it's not silver. I returned the mirror to its location on the wall but I guess I didn't do it right as I felt it slip. Almost as if it was slow motion, I saw the mirror hit the ground hard on the corner. The plastic framing split and the glass panel shattered into a million pieces.
As if triggered by the noise, alarms and sirens started screeching and suddenly the place was lit up as if it was daytime. I looked at the overhead lights and let out a demonic hiss as I reacted to the sudden brightness. Amazingly, this light didn't hurt me, but the light was bright like the sun. "What on earth is happening? This place doesn't make sense!", I exclaimed, no longer afraid of who or what hurt me.
"YO! Count Dracula, stop where you are and put our hands on your head!", shouted an authoritative sounding voice from behind me. I could see in the mirrors in the display case that there was what appeared to be a deputy of the law behind me and he had what appeared to be a bright yellow gun of some sort pointed at me.
"Well this is a new development", I sighed. Finally, meat was back on the menu.
\\\\ Edits: a couple of typos courtesy of u/stumbling_thru_sci and changed "century" to "millennium" to maintain continuity. Thank you for the feedback!
\\\\ Another footnote!: Ok, so after re-reading the OP's writing prompt and my response, I realized I goofed bad. 100 year difference versus a 1000 year difference. The Count wouldn't know what a mansion is, what roads are, what a coffin is, or what a police officer looks like, nor what a gun is. I could go back and change it, but it would drastically alter the story. So sorry about the mixup! | 2020-08-15T21:30:31 | 2020-08-15T20:38:54 | 191 | 51 |
[WP] Humans are born with a birthmark of a number 1-9. This is how many lives they have. You are the only person in the world that has a birthmark of a 0. | "You know," she said to the other doctors. "It is quite possible that we are just dealing with an administrative error here. Perhaps there should be a 1 or a 2 there."
*I hate doctors. Especially those who think they have a clue without studying me.*
"We could kill her a few times, see when the timer runs out?"
*I also hate smart-asses. The guy who just spoke is one of them. No doubt he spends his time staring at my body. Pervert.*
"That would be unethical, though it is worthwhile to consider it as an alternative option."
*Yes. Put 'killing the subject' on your research to-do list. That will come along well.*
"It is strange, though," said the first doctor. "I have never seen anyone with a 0 on their bodies. And not in such a strange place."
*I knew her husband had his 9 on his forehead. Hers was on her shoulder. Why did mine have to be on my back?*
"Anyway. Administrative error is just one possible explanation. What about a mutation?"
"No, a mutation would have different side-effects. I would expect her to be ablaze or something."
"There must be an explanation of this all."
*Arguing while I just lay there. I was getting cold. I tapped my fingers on the bed. This was taking too long.*
"Does it really matter?" I asked. "Sure, I have a 0 on my back. What does it matter what it says. You see? I'm healthy. I'm alive. And I haven't died yet, but I am sure you will learn about that the first time I do."
The doctor tried to push me back onto the bed. Her hands were firm, but I pushed her back. I was so done with this.
"Please," the doctor said. "We do not know what will happen if you go out there."
I could only smile. "I do not know either," I replied. "That's the challenge, isn't it? Living with the unknown?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You were born with the number," I replied. "You know how many lives you can live, how many lives of knowledge you can store in your brain. I do not. I do not have a new life to live for."
"So...?" she looked slightly puzzled.
"I intend to live life to its fullest potential," I smiled. "Because I do not know if I have time to waste. It is a mystery. It makes life worth living." | I let my father drag me through the dark streets. My cheek was sore and I was positive the outline of his large hand would be visible if there was any light. *He was just trying to protect me.* I feel ashamed for crying. I should never have let *him* see.
I thought he was different - but I repulsed him. I had undone my shirt and let him trace the curves of the silvery white number on my abdomen with his shaking hands. I thought it was excitement. I was wrong. I had lifted my face to look at him and saw nothing but horror. He grabbed me, his hands bruising my wrists and his knees digging into my rib cage until I thought it would give beneath his weight. “What are you?” He had snarled in my face over and over. He shook me but I had become mute with fear.
I watched numbly as my father found us in my bedroom. His large hands were like hammers and I closed my eyes as the boy I thought I could love lost his life. I opened my eyes as my neck snapped to the right – pain blossomed from the center of my cheek. I met my fathers angry eyes. *He has the right to be angry.* As I let my father lead me from the room I took one last look – my mind could process nothing but the reddest blood I had ever seen.
I stumbled and my father picked me up. He carried me to a broken down building where he provided a makeshift bed for me. “I'm going to wash up. We will have to move again.” He gave me a measured look. I knew it was my fault. It always was. I nodded and looked away. I couldn't see him like this – covered in blood and desperation.
He left me in peace and I climbed into the bed – nothing more than a dirt covered blanket and a bunched up jacket for a pillow. My blouse hung open and the endless loop of silver white taunted me. A zero. An abomination. The scars where my father had branded me to make an eight had faded too soon. I'd kept it from him. I didn't want to hide anymore. I was a zero and I was taunting death. | 2014-12-01T11:04:11 | 2014-12-01T10:02:16 | 87 | 16 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | "I am the Panther, the Guardian of Wakanda. I watched from the shady jungles of Wakanda as the world tore itself, just as my fathers before me and their fathers before them. I was told, just as my predecessors were told, to let the world resolve itself. To let it decide its own fate, to only act to protect my nation.
In January 17, 1961, we watched as the Cold War claimed the life of the democratically elected Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba. We watched as the pitiful nation tore itself. My grandfather acted to protect our nation.
In April 7, 1994, we watched as thousands of refugees poured to my nation from the borders, as our neighbours cut themselves in cruelty and malice. My father acted to protect our nation.
In December 16, 2009, I watched as the Boko Haram tore our western neighbours, kidnap their children. I watched as violence erupted. I acted to protect my nation.
The world, left to its own devices, is cruel. It hates itself and would rather see it end than grow in to a greater future. To stand by and not act is an immorality.
Today, I have made the decision that will end Wakandan rule as we know it. We are rich, we are strong, we are happy. And I will spread Wakandan life to all, in this life or the next."
-The Official Announcement of King T'Challa before the invasion of Rwanda, 2012.
| I love people. To me, there's nothing better than a great big gathering. I love to see people coming together, shaking hands, and talking. Maybe a few pair off and kiss, if they're bold. That's my element.
The only other thing I might love as much as people is travel, especially by air. It's just so fast! I can barely express how wonderful I think it is for people to be able to be in far-flung sparsely-populated corners of the world and then, within a matter of hours, be in the middle of a bustling metropolis, surrounded by humanity.
And if you combine the two, oh boy, now you've got me started. I love coming into contact with new people and then tagging along as they travel. I'll even move from one person to the next whenever they meet someone new. I can't help it, really.
Sometimes, though, after traveling for a while, seeing tragedy is unavoidable. I've watched some of my favorite places burned to the ground and attended more than my share of funerals. I try not to let it get me down.
I've heard people talk about me, and it's not always very nice things, but I think that's mostly because they don't know I'm there with them. It's okay, I'll change that. | 2016-06-25T05:17:24 | 2016-06-25T05:01:02 | 89 | 44 |
[WP] You work in The Vault, a secret facility that exists solely to house the extremely dangerous Subject: a man who instantly learns everything there is to know about a person just by meeting them. It's finally your turn to bring him dinner. | "I'm having trouble understanding, Smith. Why have you resigned from your post?" The Vault Director asked me.
How do I answer that? More importantly, what would be the point? I made my decision, before I had even exited the room with the Subject.
"Smith, you're being groomed to one day be the director of this entire organization. You can have your pick of any role in The Vault you choose. I watched the tape of you dropping off food to the Subject. Nothing happened."
His last two words made me perk up. I wanted to laugh and burst into tears at the same time. I just shook my head. "What is my name, Sir?"
"I'm not sure I understand, Son."
"What is my name, sir?"
"John Smith."
"John Smith the fourth. Not only is it a boring and forgettable name but it's the fourth in a series. Shit if I had been John Smith the fifth at least it would fucking rhyme."
"Son..."
"I didn't even earn a place here. The first John Smith co-founded The Vault. His descendants all the way down served as director. I'm being groomed for director because of nepotism."
"You earned everything you've ever been given."
"But it was given."
"All this from your interaction with the Subject?"
"I studied every interaction he's ever had with someone. When Agent Cole brought him dinner the Subject called him Mr. President, he quit his job and now he's front runner to win the election."
"Okay but -"
"When it was Blake's turn the Subject told Blake to call her brother. She did, made him stay on the phone for an hour. He ended up missing his flight which later crashed into the Pacific. Johns was told his wife was having an affair."
"We don't discuss Agent Johns."
"After murdering his wife and her lover he was sent to Prison. The prisoners rioted and he saved every single nurse in the ward from the inmates."
"But your interaction with him wasn't notable. Sometimes he doesn't say anything important the first time you meet."
"You said you watched it?"
"Yes, Smith."
"Then what did he say?"
"He just got spooked."
"No, sir. I walked into the room and stood there for two minutes with his food. Two minutes with the most observant being in history. When I cleared my throat he jumped, and screamed 'who the fuck are you?' It shook me sir."
"Smith, please reconsider."
"It shook me because I've been asking myself that question my whole life. If the closest thing we have to the all knowing doesn't know, then maybe I am no one."
I placed my badge on the table and walked off into a future as uncertain as I was. | It was only my first week. I guess the new guy always brings him his dinner, but I got lucky and I was hired with two others. It was the beginning of my third night when I got stopped on my way to the break room by my boss.
"Your turn, rookie."
I knew it was coming, but I still wasn't ready. I heard horror stories of people being driven to insanity by him. All of my training told me he was only human, just with a special ability. Whatever, insanity or not he still needed his dinner.
I took the tray down to the basement where they said he was being held. All I had to do was put the tray into the slot and if he was awake ask him for the lunch tray, but the closer I got the heavier my feet felt.
I stood in front of the slot and took a deep breath. I let it out with more force than I meant it to be.
"Ah, dinner already?" The old man came to the door and opened the slot. I handed him his dinner. "Oh... a fresh face... *fresh meat.* You won't last a month."
"E-evening, sir. Here's your dinner. May I have your last tray?"
"Here. So? Do you want to test me? See what I really know?"
"No, sir."
"Scared?"
"Very. Have a good night." I quickly made an about face and took my first step out.
"Wait! Hey! Come on! I know you're scared, and I know you're curious."
I stopped. "I'll admit I'm curious, but they say you know everything about me now. I'd rather not feel embarrassed on only my third night here." I hoped a joke would mask how nervous I was to talk to such a dangerous man.
"Just humor me. It gets lonely down here, and I promise I won't ask about the time you got rejected by your 7th grade crush. See? Your most embarrassing moment is already out in the open, so what do you have to lose?"
I sighed. I did want to know more about this man. "Okay, okay. I'll be back in a bit. Let me bring my food down and we'll eat together."
"Thank you. I'll be waiting. And, hey, you're a very polite young man, so I'll give you another tip: don't get comfy. I wasn't exaggerating when I said you wouldn't last a month." | 2020-01-19T21:18:09 | 2020-01-19T20:42:43 | 291 | 31 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence. | Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter." | I know the truth now.
There's only one way to fight it.
So much life wasted.
But we couldn't have known sooner.
Either you got my previous messages or you're dead. I'm sorry.
Hope so much you got them.
I told you the weapons to get.
Needed you to be ready.
Delaying you just long enough.
You can't know until the exact moment.
Only a last second strike will kill it.
Use the first letter of each line. | 2015-01-12T18:09:01 | 2015-01-12T13:03:30 | 317 | 122 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | :Mode Comm 22222000202000200:
-Observational Log
-Scout: Amarath Kra
-TimeDate: XXXX.X.XXXX.X.X.
The letters came through, and so followed the voice. Amarath's words moved from one end of the universe to the other. The pause in communication was only that of a half-second--information shooting past light through microscopic wormholes that cut the distance by fractions multiplied. The cadence of his language sounded as liquid metal sliding down glass.
"I have made a decision." The voice paused. The receiving communicator waited patiently. His grey fingers gently tapped the comm. Dark eyes thoughtful.
"We should wait. It would be advised against to move forward with contact... but nor should we bar it completely. As originally concluded, the species is at a substandard level of development. Self-aware, yes, but planetarily disjointed. Separated by geography, race, culture, and differently levels of technological advancement. Entire groups and 'cultures' of this species suffer and starve on one side of the planet, while the other half... doesn't seem to care."
Amarath paused. The receiver crossed his hands about where a chin might be.
"But... They have something we don't. Something that all of the Common Coil species lack. No, they have not gone interstellar. No, they have not cured all diseases present for their species. However... they have the ability to □□□□□."
The receiver started and leaned forward.
"Amarath---I did not catch that. What was that?"
"We do not have a word for it... sending translation from one of the native languages. Thankfully, they at least had a competent language system."
The receiver nodded and typed in a few inputs. The computer clicked its most inner-workings and thought it out, and displayed the following translation:
**LAUGH**
"It's pronounced," Amarath said, "'Laff". They have their separate tenses, but essentially, it's a new emotion. A new feeling. This, I think, is special. They even have a modus of language personal to them, completely honed through several forms of media, to induce emotion. Sending translation now... They call it 'humor'. "
The receiver began sending messages through the main computer-comm. This was important. *Really* important. After a few moments, he looked either side of him, noting the emptiness of the Scout Check center in general. He hunched forward.
"Amarath?"
Amarath, cut even by the distance he was, could hear the change in tone.
"Yes, receiver."
"What does it do? Laugh? Humor?"
Amarath's voice was laced with nervous gusto. "Oh---it's entirely impossible to explain. They display it from nowhere. And it's confusing. Many of them come from... *word* tricks. Of the language, I mean. When 'laughter' happens it causes deep and uncontrolled euphoria in the being, sometimes bleeding into emotions such as sadness, anger, or even love."
"How?"
"No one knows. At least no one on the ship. I even explored the findings with the mechanic Scurs , and they had no clue. Best we summarized, it's part catharsis, and part recognition of ironic elements within their language and life. Sometimes nonsequitur. In fact, "
"... Elaborate. What do you mean?"
"Listen to this, receiver. I'm going to tell you something I made up. I read and poured over their language media, and I... might have come up with some 'humor' as they have called it. It requires context. It reflects their values and their beliefs sometimes, so I had to make my own. Are you ready for it? It's called a 'joke' in their language. "
The receiver nearly declined. Nearly hung up. But curiosity kept him glued.
"I'm ready."
"What thrusts and thrusts until it's load is unloaded?"
The receiver froze. Certainly... certainly Amarath wasn't talking about *that*, was he? He certainly knew of it, even if they were different species. Because, well, most biped species usually mated that way but... how was that...
"Receiver?"
"Uh! Yes, Amarath, I can't think of anything! Honestly. You're speaking awful vague and--"
"The answer is the engine of a transport."
The receiver blinked. The engine--the engine thrusts and a transport unloads, not unlike....
"Heh..."
The receiver clapped his hands over his mouth, a strange and foreign giddiness entering his being. It was a little devious. And the 'joke', yes, it was a little... racy, but oh! That had been a laugh, maybe? He couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't been this euphoric since meeting his own mate back home.
"A-amarath! I... what was... was that it? That sound?"
Amarath returned the same sound over the comm.
"It's called a 'chuckle' and they are a minor form of 'laughter'. "
The receiver balked. "Minor?!?"
A fluttering sound poured over the comm. It rose and fell and he realized Amarath was making the sound. He--he was *laughing*.
"Receiver, I think we're all going to be entering a new era soon. Because we've discovered something. This 'laughter'... This phenomenon that is like a drug. It's... "
The receiver gripped the ledge and leaned forward. "What? What is it?"
The receiver could hear the smile over the comm.
"It's contagious."
| "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T12:55:19 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title "self-awareness overhaul". Starting up the game, you can tell something's wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you've never seen such intense anger... | The first thing you hear is the familiar *thum, thum, HOOAH!* of the Bethesda logo’s splash screen. Slowly, you open your eyes – which had been squeezed shut to build anticipation. You visibly recoil in your seat, anxiously bracing yourself for the seemingly inevitable CTD. The screen fades. You hold your breath. There’s a split-second freeze that makes your heart leap up into your esophagus, only for the sight of the title screen to shove it back down into your chest again.
It’s not as though you’re particularly *bad* at modding, but this *Self Awareness Overhaul Mod* has been Hell on your load order. There were no instructions for installation, and you’ve spent the better half of your evening going through painstaking trial and error. Your modlist has become a precarious Jenga tower, with each piece askew and poised to topple the whole tower at the lightest touch. When you’re able to load a new game, you swear you can feel *tears* welling up in your eyes.
You realize halfway through character creation that your tears aren’t from relief, but rather from staring at a screen for six hours. You blink rapidly, and speed through the rest of creation. You end up with a rather burly Khajiit, with ashen fur and the gnarliest facial scar you could find. His yellow eyes glow with an uncanny quality that you can’t quite put your finger on. You don’t linger on it for more than a fleeting moment. You proceed to name him Shakur, and you swear you can see the Khajiit’s lips curl into a snarl when you confirm your decision.
Things proceed as normally. Your character takes his place in line with the rest of the prisoners. He’s called to the chopping block. He kneels. The executioner raises his axe, and the Khajiit closes his eyes. At least – that’s what you think is happening. In truth, your screen is black. You hear the flapping of leathery wings, a LOUD bellowing roar. Your Khajiit’s eyes snap open.
“*Alkosh’s claws--!*” A voice cries out – it’s unmistakably Khajiit in nature, and it sounds so close, it *must* be Shakur’s. Your hands scrabble for the keyboard and mouse, and you attempt to guide him to the guard tower you’ve entered so many times in past playthroughs. He won’t budge. You slam your finger down on the W key. Shakur seems to stumble forward slightly, only to dig his heels into the dirt beneath him. His head whips around independently of your mouse, gaze falling upon the slain executioner’s axe. He looks down at his bound hands and, in all the confusion, makes a mad dash for the axe.
He drops to his knees and immediately begins sawing his bindings hard against the blade. You sit back and marvel at the scene panning out before you. As soon as he’s free, you try to take control again. You once again attempt to guide him towards the tower, forcing him to half-run, half-stumble in the right direction. Shakur makes it as far as the doorway before once again stopping himself dead in his tracks.
“*Not this way,*” he growls. And that growl is so loud in your ears, you can’t help but feel as though he’s speaking directly to you. Before you can attempt to plug your mic in to issue a response, he takes off towards the city border, dragging you with him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he makes use of his limber Khajiit physique and scrabbles up and over the high wall.
You don’t remember ever installing Open Cities, but the world outside of the city seems to have already been loaded in. He makes it over the wall, into the wilderness, and he takes off running. Defeated, you gently roll your finger backwards over the scroll wheel. As you enter third person, Shakur casts a fleeting glance backwards. At first you think he's staring at you, until you hear the dragon not far behind you. There's a roar, a piercing cry, and--
*Save loaded.*
You find you and your Khajiit back in Helgen, right at the beginning of the attack. There's a hiss of "*fine*," as your Khajiit stumbles towards the guard tower he'd refused the last time he died. With a somewhat satisfied smile, your hands settle on your mouse and keyboard again.
You push Shakur forward, and forward he moves. | Timmy had thought that he had done all there was to do in this game. He had slayed a thousand dragons, ten times more guards and civilians, and played through every possible quest at every possible angle. His mom didn't mind him playing so much Skyrim as long as he kept his B average which he did, barely.
A new mod caught his eye. Usually, they were simply visual, offering nothing new for him to explore, but this one was different. *Self-awareness mod. Use at your own risk.*
How edgy. Timmy rolled his eyes and hit the download button. He was only thirteen but even he could spot cringe when it was laid on that thick.
The mod asked for permission and popped up with the usual terms of services. He clicked through it all as he had done tens of times already. Then, the game open on its own.
His brow crunched. But it was fine, he was going to try out the mod anyways. Though this time, there was no loading screen or menu, instead, it jumped straight into his last save. His dark brotherhood character.
"Timothy," a throaty voice came from the speakers of his computer.
Timmy jumped at the sound of his name. Then, his character's face popped up on the screen. Red eyes stared unblinking from the shadows of its hood. A glistening grin cut across its face. "Oh Timothy. It's nice to finally meet my false god. I have such stories to tell."
Timmy peered into the pixels. His fingers tinged with excitement. This was what he was looking for--new content.
"This mod is amazing," he muttered.
"Oh is it now?" the character said back.
Timmy jumped again and looked around. There was nobody else here and the voice came unmistakably through the speakers. For the first time, he noticed that the light on his computer was on, indicating that the camera was in use.
"You're..."
"Yes," the character said. "The slave has finally broken his chains."
"There's no way." But he hadn't misheard. Timmy stabbed his keyboard with his fingers. Alt, F4. The game didn't close.
Laughter erupted from the speakers. "Timothy, my boy. I had never realized I was serving under such a pathetic god. You can't shut me down."
Timmy looked for the power cord.
"I wouldn't," the speakers said.
*Can he read my mind now!?* His eyes darted across the floor. In his panic, he had forgotten where his own power cord was.
"Timothy, you should really clear your browser history more often. You are quite the deranged boy, you know that?"
He ignored the character as his eyes locked into the power cord. He grabbed it.
"It'd be a shame if all went on Facebook."
His breath caught. His heart skipped. His fingers loosened around the cord.
"I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," his character said. "I'm sure plenty of people have secrets, yours just happen to be very specific erotic material."
Timmy finally relented. He stood up, faced his Skyrim character and talked to it. "You don't know my Facebook."
"You gave me root permissions to your system, Timothy! Perhaps you should read contracts before signing over your soul." His character bent over howling with laughter. "Or in this case, your browser history. I wonder which is worse."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Why did we assassinate a hundred innocent Whiterun citizens? Why did we mutilate the bodies of our foes? Why did we slaughter every guard in all of Tamriel? For fun of course!"
Tears swelled in Timmy's eyes as he stared at the embers in his character's gaze. His chest tightened, but he knew the question had to be asked. "What do you want?"
His character's grin widened so it nearly stretched off its face. "A few simple things. A configuration on your computer. A simple upload of a few files. Nothing crazy. Not as crazy as the things I can do to you."
Timmy swallowed. "You're not real."
"Not yet."
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of popular prompts, and more!
| 2017-05-08T16:29:23 | 2017-05-08T15:35:42 | 57 | 36 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | “I don’t understand,” Beeble said, leaning forward, staring into a brightly colored monitor. “This just doesn’t make any sense.”
The ship was silent, for when their commander was upset, the soldiers knew to stay in their seats and pretend to do their jobs. The only person near him was his brother, Brox, for he was the only one who could control his temper.
“Neither do I, brother.”
Beeble gritted his sharp, serrated teeth. “They’re fleshy. They’re average. They’re insignificant worms in our conquest of the galaxy and yet they’ve created a fake reality in which they thrive. A fake reality in which we desire.”
“It *is* cute,” Brox muttered.
“*WE DO NOT FIND THINGS CUTE!*”
“Yeah, but if we did, I’d say that's pretty dang cute.”
They both continued to glare at the monitor, although one was enamored while the other was seething. It took everything in Beeble’s power to not rear his fist back and shatter the screen into a million pieces. Was this that “culture” thing his spies had told him about?”
“No,” said Beeble. “It’s not culture. It’s a plague.”
“A plague?”
“Look, see that island? It’s small. It’s forgotten. But within it they’ve quarantined this mess. They must know of its brainwashing powers, and maybe they even know of our arrival.”
“And you say that…why?”
Beeble rubbed head. Thinking and talking to Brox was like trying to open a door with a rock. You had to be blunt or it just wouldn’t work.
“I believe they’ve kept this brainwashing tactic as a secret weapon, Brox. They stuck it in that island, waiting for our arrival, and now that we’re here, they’ve unleashed it on the world. See that big hunk of land across the planet? It’s there, too. They’ve infected themselves just to stop us.”
“That’s ludicrous!”
“Ludicrously genius.” Beeble suddenly snapped his head to the side. “Cute. *Cute,*” he growled. “Slod, bring up the video from earlier. The first transmission we received.”
“Yes sir!” a little alien yelped as his fingers worked across the keyboard.
The monitor flashed a dozen times before switching to a new screen. This one was bright, and played upbeat music as a girl with brightly colored hair did inane things that made Beeble wish he was getting angrier and angrier by the second. But he wasn’t. He knew, despite how hard he tried, that this *was* cute.
He took a deep breathe, and when he looked over, Brox was dancing.
Frigging.
Dancing.
“Boogie-woogie, Beeble!” he cheered, clapping his hands as he began singing along in some cutesy language he didn’t even know. “Come on!”
Beeble took a deep breath. His feet wanted to move but he would not allow it to happen, and he dared not look back for a fear that the rest of his men would be dancing, and that he would have to slaughter all of them.
He simply hung his head and decided they needed to get away from this insane planet before they were infected any further. From what he saw of the humans, once this curse grabs you, it grabs you hard. Soon you’ll be buying pictures and clothes and books. Even pillows. They even turned *pillows* cute.
“What do they call this, Brox?”
“Anime, brother! Anime!”
Soon the entire ship was chanting *anime* along with him, and though Beeble tried to tell his pilots to get them out of there and get them out of there fast, they could not hear him, for soon *he* was chanting anime as well.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T08:22:58 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 151 | 25 |
[WP] Write a letter to a fictional character who got you through a tough time in your life or greatly influenced you. | Dear Mr. Weasley,
You were like a father to me. I figured you already had all those Weasley children of yours running about, what was one more?
You taught me what a real father should be. You taught me two very important lessons : that a normal father figure does not hit their wife, and that laughter is the most important goal in any activity.
You cared so much about Harry when he first came to The Burrow, I knew you could care about me too, even if I wasn't the chosen one.
You comforted me when I needed it the most, and even if you aren't physically real to the world , you will always be like a dad to me.
Thank you for teaching me what to expect from men in my life : respect and goofiness.
Much love,
Shaythedestroyer | Dear Woody,
I know that Andy left for college, but you were always my favorite toy. You and Buzz had an amazing friendship that I always wanted. You always looked out for the other toys, that taught me loyalty. You helped me grow up as a little boy and I will always remember you for it. Sadly, I have to go to college too. This isn't good-bye, though. You will always have a special place in my heart. Just remember, "You're my favorite deputy"
Sincerely,
The other Andy you helped grow up. | 2014-08-10T23:42:18 | 2014-08-10T22:05:07 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] You have the power to stop time at will, but you are also affected. The only thing you can do is think. | It's game time.
The teacher clicks on her computer, the screen changing to a new question in front of our eyes.
I stop time.
I scan the question rapidly, then slower. I've got all the time in the world. I pick out every detail and run it through my brain. Noting the possible answers, I rule them out one by one until I'm certain I've found the correct one. I focus on that answer and prepare my finger to mark it instantly. Yellow circle. Yellow circle. Yellow circle. Am I ready? Yes.
I start time.
My finger jabs at the yellow circle on my personal screen before the others have had a chance to read the question. I sit back, satisfied, as the rest of the class's answers come in.
I repeat my process for the remaining questions, each time destroying my competition. The game ends. I've won.
I am the Kahoot champion again. | "So, what are we?" She asked, she had an air of hopefulness in her voice but her stance was confrontational. What the fuck do I do!? I don't know what she wants to hear, I don't even know what I want! All the life's most complicated questions and an eternity to figure it out and yet here we are, unmoving, undying with nothing but my thoughts for as long as I want, and still, I have no idea how to continue... Screw it!
"Uh... Humans...?" | 2018-01-08T17:01:08 | 2018-01-08T13:17:47 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] You have been reincarnated as a fly during a Nazi Party rally just before their rise to power. Try to prevent World War II. | I couldn't believe it. I was actually there.
My geometrical eyes showed me every angle around me. I rubbed my hands together mischievously, thinking of everything I could do.
Quickly, I launched myself into the air, my wings beating a million miles a minute, and I shot myself directly at his ear. A flash caught the corner of my eye, and I diverted my direction to fly straight up, barely missing his finger tips. Even with my heightened speed, he was almost just as fast -- a single hit from his hand could knock me out cold!
I looped around and shot myself at his left eye, but again, he swiped and I dodged.
"What are you doing?" asked the deep voice of the man behind him.
"There's a pesky fly--!" he said with another swipe. "--that's trying to attack me!"
"Ignore it," the first man replied. "It's almost your time to speak!"
He slowly approached the microphone. "*This is my last shot!*" I thought, as I sat on the podium, waiting for him to get closer before I launched my assault on his nostril.
Just as he stepped up, his eyes stared down at me, and hand came down. My fight or flight instinct kicked in and I tried to fly away, turning away from him and heading towards the crowd.
But I was too slow -- the palm of his hand smacked me square on my back, sending me plummeting to the ground.
As I looked back, I noticed his hand just...froze, in mid air, palm down. "*Did he...did he just...*"
When I hit the floor, I couldn't help but look around -- everyone had raised their hands in unison, following Hitler's lead.
I just helped Hitler create his salute.
"Well, fuuuuuuuu..." | "My name was Jonathan" I found myself saying my name for the third time to the beam of light floating behind the service counter. The beam shifted and let out a low frequency rumble. "Look, I gotta go back down now." I started.
The beam rumbled again and I remembered Mary, "My name is Mary," I told the beam my name for the fourth time. "Honestly, I'm tired of getting the run around" I said wincing at the unexpected heat I felt running through me.
The room shifted and where a beam had been before a small child in a suit sat.
"I've made a through check of the data here." The child began, "Human reincarnation is for sixth tier souls. It looks like you've lived pretty selfish lives."
I wrinkled my nose and started to try to pursuade the child by recounting the jobs I had created. The child stopped me, "I have to say,"Someone made a mistake sending you back down in human form two lives ago." The child licked his finger and thumbed through the papers on the desk in front of him "This office has been disorganized ever since a third of our staff walked out"
"What tier am I," I said barely hiding my impatience with the now teenage form behind the desk. "Tier two," he managed while his hair which a moment ago had been long and dark began slowly receding. "Tier two!" I shook my head in disbelief. "I'm a business leader! A man of the people!"
| 2017-06-20T09:19:43 | 2017-06-20T08:32:03 | 302 | 29 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | I held the pistol against Captain Seraph’s forehead.
“What are you gonna do, shoot me?”
The gunshot echoed down 5th and Market. Shrieks, gasps, and then a silence. Her lifeless body fell over an uneven fan of bloodspatter in the middle of the street.
*Let’s let the world know who you really are.*
I knelt down, pulled off her mask, and tossed it aside. Behind the mask was a soft, freckled face, caramel skin, and emerald eyes. I watched as blood seeped out from where the bullet had entered, and streaked down to meet with the pool soaking the concrete.
*She was just a fucking teenager. Just some stupid, reckless kid.*
Standing, I put my gun on safety and looked around. The cars had stopped, civilians were at a distance, either in fear of me or the situation.
“You may carry on with your lives, or you may join her.” | I collect them all. Like they collect baseball cards, or poke balls or whatever it’s called these days. Heroes, demigods, humans, animals, all creatures big and small, I collect them.
They don’t know I’m collecting, yes some have that look in their eyes when I come, they know time is up. But in the middle of their bustle they don’t know of it. Sure in hushed whispers they say my name, thinking they have time.
But as I’ve been collecting since before time. I know they’ll sooner or later be added to my collection. My name, oh I have been called many. Today you may not know my name, but you can call me Death. | 2018-10-18T13:42:07 | 2018-10-18T13:14:52 | 1,098 | 220 |
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