prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | He buried his head in his hands. The condensation from his steamy sobs leaked through his fingers on to the pavement. It took every ounce of strength to pull his head up and confront the billboard, but he did it anyways.
There she was. His wife, holding his withered body. It didn't seem like it was truly his corpse. The veins were hyper-exposed, the ghastly skeleton reminded him of the blanket scare tactics anti-smoking companies used in the early 21st century.
But her expression. Her anguish. It was all too real.
He knew the adds were not real. He knew the recent breakthrough allowing billboards to send targeted adds at each passerby. This was simply a personification of his inner monologue. His desire to quite, not strong enough to keep his marriage. The little white sticks he cherished overcame his ability to remain an active father to his princess. The addiction was more than a release, it was life.
The billboard flickered and he turned away. He imagined all the potential images it could be. Another fluffy wheat cartoon. The seductive escorts he had been seeing recently. He clenched his knuckles on the railing of the bridge and looked.
There she was. His little girl. Running and playing with a kite. He was confused as this didn't seem to be an advertisement or sponsorship at all. She seemed to be in a cemetery, but everyone was happy. His eyes focused on a strange cylinder shaped coffin.
"Here lies Jason Ritz. He sacrificed all he loved to satisfy destructive desires. If only he had quit smoking".
The guilt. The burden. The sorrow.
Every emotion bubbled up to the surface. In that moment Jason knew he could not be the man who died from smoking. He could not be the man who chose to continue his addiction at the cost of his wife and kids. He knew she was gone for a few weeks but when she came back, he just had to be clean to live a long happy life.
He couldn't face the thought of choosing cigarettes over her.
He reached in to his back pocket. The warm pack cradling him gently. He removed the packet and placed it on the railing of the bridge.
A small smile crept up on his face.
He climbed up on the railing. Inhaled a large breath of fresh air.
He jumped. | I walked down the overgrown, muddy street in my village. It was quiet, as it always had been. The quietness is the thing that was typical of this village, it had always been this quiet. I walked into the house where I was born, or at least: the place where I remembered I first was.
I don't remember much of my childhood, the only thing is that I was always alone, completely alone. Luckily, in this house there were some books I could read. Books that taught me reading, books that taught me the world. Those books also taught me that I should have some parents, because people come out of a female, who has had sexual intercourse with a man. I don't know where they are, I've never seen them. The only thing I remember was that I have always had a cigarette in my mouth.
I walked into the kitchen. There wasn't food there, but there were plants all over the place. Nature has not only taken this kitchen back, but this whole village. Some plants gave food, there were some berry bushes in the corner. I ate some of them.
On the kitchen table sat something that has fascinated and scared me my whole life. Two objects of which I didn't know what it was or what it could've been. It seemed like some sort of skeletons, the type of animal I was, homo sapiens. Before them, on the table laid a closed package of cigarettes: the skeletons probably had never smoked them, not even one. I took the package, set one sigaret afire and put it in my mouth. I wouldn't know how to live a life in which I couldn't smoke.
I walked out of the house, further down the road. I came at a junction, where a giant board was standing. On it was a picture of an old man with an angry face. I had never seen that man. I never saw men anymore, nor women. Next to the men stood the words. The words that I first taught myself: "Quit smoking!". In protest, I took a pull of my cigarette.
Edit: sigaret to cigarette | 2017-02-17T12:06:05 | 2017-02-17T11:15:56 | 51 | 13 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | The mortals have forgotten me. Yes, I was never one of the blustering and bold members of my ilk, but I am certainly not one to be taken lightly. They will learn. Subtlety is not merely a mood or manner, but an artform. To be able to tell how taut a string can be pulled before it snaps is an ability possessed by many. But the talent to exert just enough influence to push it to it's breaking point, teetering on the precipice of utter devastation, is a talent held by only gods. As a treat, I'll show you a hint of my true power. You've just spent a few precious, irretrievable moments reading complete and utter tripe that I made up. Stings, doesn't it? Heh. I've still got it. | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | 2018-01-27T22:46:09 | 2018-01-27T22:18:18 | 197 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| "She's something all right."
"Yes but a lady belongs in the houses, not working whatever it is she's always up to."
--
As I pull back the curtains to the cellar, the stench of her recent 'concoctions' hit me once again. Though I love her enthusiastic, or as I call it 'free-spirited' personality, others whisper where did her father go wrong.
"Where be the wicked witch of the well?"
"Oh quit it Cedrick, leave me be."
By the table, Erika stood in her favourite dress, simple, sleeveless dress showing off just a bit of her personality. Her hair brought up into a bun, unusual arrangement for the night, but she's always stood firm for her beliefs in dressing in her cellar.
However mystifying her looks may be, the contents of her table shared the same trait. Mix of glassware and make-shift 'contraptions' of scrap she's found. In front of her, manuscripts by high lords, many with writing foreign to the common man. It is uncommon for a lady from here to read, such Erika's ability to read these papers reserved for upper society is unheard of. She has even defaced them with her writing on several occasions.
What has the lord sent her now? 'Manipulation of space-time using...' "Oi" She snatched the white script out of my hand, "You know my rules in here."
A playful smile came, "the men of the next town dare not touch me, Erika you truely bewitch me."
She looked up at me, releasing her hair into the usual river of black hitting her back. "What would you have me do I wonder?" She pulled me in for a kiss. "Wait for me outside, I have to stabilize my machine."
"Sta-bil-se, where do you pick these up?"
--
A few more and I might just be able to stabilize the portal, if only for a few seconds, it's enough.
As the pulser tripped, the entangled parties warped the hole into phase. The hole that brought me here, and the one that will bring me home. Call me Einstein, he might have came up with the theorem, but I built a working portal in medieval London!
| 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 2017-09-14T09:53:18 | 97 | 56 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | F/26/Washington DC : gamer gurl! i like video games lol and having a fun time!11 No dates yet, have the sniffles ;)
WANTED: antibiotics plz
yeah i have a cold and i hate having a red nose lol. will agree on price later.
WANTED: tried and tested cure for mystery virus
so i have that virus thing thats on the news and antibiotics aren't working so
WANTED: antibiotics
trying the antibiotics again. lots please, normal dosen't work.
F/27/Washington DC : hey im a fun girl looking for someone special. u have to be romantic and like cooking. thanks. also i don't have the supervirus so im cool ;)
WANTED: antibiotics
I KNOW they said that u shouldn't take antibiotics anymore, but if anyone has any.. plz im desperate. i can't lie about having the supervirus anymore
WANTED: cure
Please. I don't want to die.
| In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T10:15:48 | 2015-04-29T07:28:18 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] You're sat alone, with a glass of wine in hand, and decide to jokingly toast the Greek God Dionysus. You did not expect him to appear before you in human form, create two bottles of wine, and take a seat next to you. | “Finished at last,” Shelby cheered to herself, alone in her studio apartment.
Shelby stood up from her two-person dining table where her laptop lived. She stretched her body from the extensive writing session. As a final class project, her history professor assigned everyone to write a report about modernizing a forgotten tradition. She chose the Great Dionysia, which she learned about the ancient Greek festival honoring Dionysus from a video game.
To celebrate, she procured a clean wine class from her kitchen cabinet and poured herself a glass of her favorite boxed red wine. Jokingly, she raised her glass in the air.
“To you, Dionysus,” she toasted. “Hope you like my festival idea.”
She took a sip and then sat her glass down on the kitchen counter. The moment she looked up back at her table, she saw a tall, slender man with curly brown hair in a violet suit. She shrieked. The man dramatically spun around like a dancer in an elaborate musical number reveal.
“I love it!” the man praised.
Shelby grabbed the pepper spray attached to her car keys and sprayed the man in the eyes. The man did not flinch. He casually blinked when the spray stopped.
“Yeah, that doesn’t hurt us,” he politely explained.
“Who are you?” Shelby demand with a tremble.
The man’s face brunched up, offended she didn’t know. “You just wrote a report about me.”
Shelby’s jaw dropped. “Dionysus?”
“Ding!” he smiled.
Dionysus sat in the other seat at the table. He waved his hand over the table, swirling to life in a purple mist, two bottles of wine. He took one, drinking directly from the bottle. Dionysus nodded at Shelby and nudged the other bottle toward her in a peaceful gesture to join him.
“How did you do that?” Shelby asked in a hushed voice.
“You know what,” he started and then paused to think how. “I just kind of made them appear. God of wine, et cetera, et cetera. Would it help if I turned into a fox to prove who I am?”
Shelby nodded. Happy to put on a show, he snapped his fingers, and in a poof of purple smoke, he reappeared as a red fox with the same suit top.
“Ta-Da!” Dionysus announced.
Shelby fainted, falling on the floor. Dionysus sighed and snapped back into the human form.
“I was hoping to talk and make a few suggestions for your festival, so I’ll just edit your document while you take a nap.” | Have you ever just drank alone? I do. I like to drink, but I dont really know that many people. And, we don't hang out much.
I spent the entirety of today playing video games. And drinking. During a session of God of War, I jokingly sang out a prayer. And seeing as I was properly drunk on good wine, Dionysius was my target. I sang what felt like gibberish and passed out, fell of my couch. Fucking bruised my hip really bad.
Anyway, when I woke up the air smelled like fried dough and wine. Well wine makes sense but dough,? Maybe I was having a stroke.
I heard someone walking around in my kitchen. Hmm, my friends never come over unannounced. I get up, walk in, and some fuck head frat boy in a toga and sandles. He was pudgy and had a hearth on. This costume was oddly high quality, rich parents I assume. And he was digging through my pantry!
"Hey man get the fuck outta my house," I say as I pull on his shoulders and spin him around.
"Well that isnt very gracious of you. What a terrible host."
And then silence as I contemplated the nerve of this fucking guy.
"Cmon man it's late, I'm tired, and this is my wine."
"Invite me to stay for a drink, you wont regret it."
It just dawned on me that this fool is talking like that creepy robot from Futurama that looks like a greek table. Maybe I could broaden my horizons, my gut is telling me to trust this guy.
"Sure dude, let's have some wine."
"Splendid friend, splendid." He sips some wine. "You know it has been a long time since I enjoyed another's company. All my friends grew old and tired."
"I know how it feels," I say, sadly.
"Well I can change that, for you at least." Then frat boy snaps his fingers and we are gone. In a cave. Wait it's an old ass temple, with columns and beautiful sculptures.
"What's going on man?" I ask my voice shakey.
"I am the god Dionysius and I can throw us a party that will never be forgotten, and your friends will know their folly."
"Youd do that for me?"
"Yes, and all i need is a sacrifice." | 2020-11-08T11:33:42 | 2020-11-08T10:44:09 | 47 | 34 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence. | He was on the street, content with rage.
She typed away, in her own cage.
He stood on this stage in glorious fame.
The wizard stole the Frost Queen's Claim.
Her water broke. There was no time.
They finished up their master crime.
Would they kiss? Time would tell.
Charon crossed the river in Hell.
He sat in his car when he smelled the stink.
She was going insane -- she was on the brink.
The celebrity paused because he felt it then.
Wizards need to go, but the ice rose again.
She winced in pain while she felt it rise.
The criminal wept, meeting his partner's eyes.
He broke the kiss, feeling the pain spikes.
Charon winced. **Where will *you* be when diarrhea strikes?**
Edit: punctuation | Mom was singing Christmas carols again. The martini in her hand glowing like the contents of a broken glow stick. The dog was barking too. When I went to go look I could see children running around the classroom, having too much fun to notice the SS Titanic sinking into the giant kiddie pool outside. The sound of bagpipes commemorated the 100th anniversary of the sinking while trapeze artists flew through the air. I tried to catch one of their hands, but I was falling...
falling...
falling...
..out of my bed and onto the floor. | 2015-01-12T17:07:48 | 2015-01-12T10:42:43 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence. | This is the love of my life. I remember the first time that thought crossed my mind...I stopped in the break room to get my morning coffee. She was there. The most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. It was her first week in the office, and she was still struggling with the coffee maker. Luckily I was there to help! We talked and joked while I showed her the path to office caffeination. She flashed that beautiful, perfect smile and that is when I knew...I am going to marry this woman.
From that day on you could say that she was my "work wife". We would meet in the break room everyday to get coffee and discuss current events. Her intelligence never ceased to amaze me. I would stop by her desk every afternoon to have a laugh. Her sense of humor is incredible.
It wasn't long after we met that I went through a rough patch with my finances. She knew something was the matter when I had to resort to ramen every day rather than my usual jimmy johns turkey sub. In all her perfection she showed up with an extra sandwich every day for two weeks. I knew then that she loved me as well...
It wasn't long after that when tragedy struck. You see this perfect girl had already been claimed. She was married with a young daughter. Thus my occasional sadness at what might have been. I remember it like it was yesterday.
It was a Tuesday. She didn't show up to work. She was gone the next day. And the next. It wasn't long before the emails started floating about the office detailing her horrible predicament. You see her husband and daughter had went on a walk to a local park. She had stayed home to cook dinner...they never came back.
She ended up missing close to a month of work. When she came back she was a different person. Less meetings for coffee. No smiles or jokes when I would stop by her cube. She was crushed. My heart was broken for her.
I never stopped dropping by. I never stopped cracking jokes. I never stopped finding news article I knew she wouldn't be able to resist discussing. I loved her. I had to be there for her. It was tough to see her in such despair.
The good news is that I never relented in my support and love for her. Just over a year later she heard of a new Italian deli within walking distance of work, and asked if I would go with her. The food was good. I made a joke and she laughed out loud. That smile I loved so much was finally back.
Over the next couple months there were more lunches. Lunches turned to after work drinks, which turned to dinners. At first it was to "try various new restaurants around town". Then it became dinner dates three times a week.
It was a Thursday. We were walking through a local park after dinner at one of our her favorite restaurants. She told me she was lonely. I knew the feeling all too well. She told me that since her family had disappeared she had started to give up hope of them coming back. That she had feelings for me, and was confused about what to do. I knew what she should do. I kissed her. She kissed me back.
Things changed after that. The dinners were at her place. The kisses turned into more. She smiled and laughed in abundance. She said when we were together everything felt right with the world...so I bought her a ring.
She said yes on the end of the Wrightsville beach pier during our vacation that summer.
We were so in love. Still are. We have two wonderful kids. Our oldest starts kindergarten this year. I have a lot of regrets in my life. What it took to be with her is not one of them. I spent every dollar of my savings at the time and maxed out every credit card to hire that hitman from the internet...but I would do it a million times over again so that I could have her. The love of my life. | Stained windows, check. Blue roses, check. Orange lighting, check. Bare-backed white dress, check. Perfectly curled hair, check. James, check.
I smile. These were all I ever wanted the moment I fell in love with him. It was a stormy Sunday afternoon in his room.
"James, we have talked about this before. You want children so much. How could I expect you to give that up? But it just isn't what I want."
"What are you saying?"
"I just think it is inevitable. Someday, maybe. Or maybe we will work something out in the future. But for now...," I dove into his embrace.
James pulled away from me, caressing my right cheek. "Never bring that up again." His voice was firm but gentle. "I've thought a lot since the last time we talked about it. Let's not have children then. But never talk like that again, never, you hear me? It breaks my heart just thinking about it."
I melted right there and then. Like an ice cube in a ball of fire.
I fell in love right there and then. Like tipping over the edge of a cliff I have hovered over for weeks.
I bite my lower lip to keep myself from smiling like an idiot. Looking around, I spot the love of my life, over at the end of the aisle.
His brown hair is combed back, just the way I like it. He puts his hands behind. I feel his nervousness as he smooths his shirt. He starts tapping his left foot. He always does this when he gets anxious.
*Eight, nine, ten.* His ten seconds are up.
He looks more dashing than ever in that black tux. The black tux I picked out for him. I bite my lip again, as I open my eyes as wide as I can, holding back the imminent tears.
"Kate. For three years, you have brought me on a great adventure. I fell in love with you, I started feeling emotions more strongly than I ever thought I was capable of, I ate grasshoppers in Thailand, I went on impromptu road trips, I took a leap and started my own company, I got on a plane to satisfy food cravings. Your spontaneity is your greatest gift, and you, are mine."
That same firm yet gentle voice. My vision blurred.
"James. I love saying your name. Thank you, for going on adventures with me. You make them that much more thrilling, that much more audacious, that much more inspiring. Please always let me take you on wild rides. To places all over, and to places in our minds. I love you."
"James, do you take Kate to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honor her all the days of your life?"
"I do."
His eyes are sparkling with tenderness.
"Kate, do you take James to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honor him all the days of your life?"
"I do."
My tears are falling like Niagara. *How ugly I must look.*
I remove my headworn mic and turn towards the nearest exit.
*I should make this quick, there are still guests I have to usher to the reception.*
Stepping into the church again, everyone is standing, eyes on the beautiful couple.
*Reception, reception,* I remind myself, as I sweep my eyes across the crowd. *There he is, little James Jr. My best gift.*
| 2017-05-25T04:45:01 | 2017-05-25T01:09:41 | 723 | 82 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | At this end of the jail everything smells bad.
The warden's aide takes me past the 6 month room. It's lowered below the floor a couple meters. Inside, I see a room full of prisoners up to their waist in liquid shit. The smell is unbearable
Then the 3 month room. Much like the last, except here they're up to their chest in shit.
The one week room has the prisoners up to their necks in shit. Just one room left.
I was surprised by the one day room. Everyone was standing around drinking coffee, and only up to their knees in shit.
"I'll take it!" I said to the warden's aide.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely, how bad could it be?"
I climbed down into the room, waved to the other prisoners, poured myself a cup of coffee.
Before I could drink it, the lights dimmed and brightened three times. A guard with an SMG came through the door.
"ALRIGHT YOU MAGGOTS!" he bellowed "BREAK TIME IS OVER! BACK TO STANDING ON YOUR HEADS!" | My first hour I spent on my back getting my teath drilled in. I volenteered for that. Was it painful? No, I was loaded with annestetics, and I was 4 and a half years due for a dentist apointment anyways. Back when I was free I'd been too cheap (and lazy) to book for an orphadontist, but now the prison's health system could provide that.
Did I regret my first desicion? Yes, since it meant I couldn't eat any of pannetone that my cupboard was stocked with, and it's impossible to find that stuff in May. Maybe I can sneak some of it out of prison.
Otherwise my conditions were pretty luxurious for me committing the "Crime of the Century". And all I had to do was steal a balloon on National Free Balloon Day | 2015-10-27T08:07:44 | 2015-10-27T07:32:55 | 150 | 13 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven. | "Ms. Carter, correct?"
I slowly nodded, still in absolute shock that Christianity had been the one to get it all right. I mean, heaven and hell? God and The Devil? I had never thought that in a million years what I had done during my life would matter, or that my mother's voice would echo in the back of my head; 'Mind your scripture, Sarah! You don't want to go to Hell!'
"Right this way, Susan."
The smartly dressed woman in the pencil skirt and blouse began click-click-clicking her way towards one of the many small hallways that led away from the large circular room my death had deposited me in, and I could do nothing but dumbly follow after her on a walk to meet my fate.
Wait, had she called me Susan?
Figuring that she must have just misread my form (and not wanting to get myself into more trouble then I was already in) I kept my mouth shut as I shuffled defeatedly after her. She was smartly running off a list of features; meal times, rewards for time served, and something called a "redemption program" that I was too dumbfounded to really take in. Finally after what seemed like an eternity (haha, funny, right?) she stopped outside a simple wooden door and indicated it with a jab of her pen.
"Here we are, Ms. Carter. Thank you for participating in Life, and we are very pleased to be housing you in your own personal Hell. Please, make yourself uncomfortable!"
Fixating on the door I could feel bile rise in my throat along with the dread flooding through me. A shaky hand reached for the door handle, and deciding that if I was going to do this I may as well rip the bandaid off quick I plunged through and slammed the portal shut afterwards. I could hear the solid 'thunk' as some sort of mystical lock slid into place, and with my eyes squeezed shut I accepted my fate.
And that's when I felt it.
Small pinpricks stabbing methodically into my lower shin again and again, just mildly as though to drive me crazy, the nudge of foreign bodies and the brush of soft fur as-- wait.
Hold up.
Soft fur?
My eyes popped open and I couldn't believe what I was seeing -- was this really hell?! It couldn't be! That woman earlier, she had called me Susan; I wasn't Susan, I was Sarah! There must of been a mix-up, a small glitch in the system and--
"Oh thank you, God."
The words passed my lips with more reverence then ever before as I bent down, scooping the friendly and kneading tabby cat into my arms and pressing my face into it's soft belly, listening to the aggressively loud purring. Letting out a sigh of relief I position the handsome little guy on my shoulders and started forward, eager to pet every single cat in the almost endless field of felines laid out before me.
Susan must have been afraid of cats. This would have been torture to her. Oh well; I mean, the only thing I was ever afraid of was giant killer clowns after all.
Man, I hope Susan's alright. | I stared into the room, not daring move from the long, endless corridor the demon had led me down. I could see beyond the doorway, an old house, leaky, crumbling, mouldy. I could smell it from where I stood, it smelled of age, of decay.
The demon placed a flaming hand on my shoulder, his touch cool on my skin. "A thousand small jobs, never finished, an infinity of cycling, trying to fix, to clean, to repair." He grinned at me, sharp teeth flashing. "I'll be back to check on you in," He glanced at the clipboard in his other hand, "One Thousand Years." With that, he shoved me, hard, and I stumbled into the room.
The door slammed shut before I could turn, and as it did, dust filtered down through the gaps in the ceiling above me. I frowned.
A pile of tools, fresh and new, sat imposingly in the corner.
Immediately, I began listing out the things to start with, the jobs to prioritise. I looked around, and found a notepad and pen. Smiling, I began to write.
-
The demon, smug as ever, smiled broadly at me as she led me towards my own "Personal Hell" as she described it. She opened a door and waited for me to walk in on my own.
"Alright, your personal hell is..." She ran her lit finger down her clipboard. "A room with nothing practical to do." She frowned. "You are Mr. Watson, yes?"
I swallowed, and nodded.
"Someone will come to let you out in four hundred years." She grinned from the doorway. "Any questions?"
I shook my head.
She shut the door, and silence enveloped me. The room I stood in was so plain, white walls and white floors, and a single chair. A stack of books lay in the corner, thick tomes which would take weeks to pore over. I smiled.
-
"What do you mean?" The devil snapped, slapping a bright blue hand onto his desk. "How could this happen? Don't we have any plans in place for when people come through with the same name?"
The female demon looked away. "We do, after the Smith incident it was added to the new starter process, but I think our clipboards must have been mixed up."
The devil pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can't open up the rooms until the time is up." He sighed, leaning back. "Leave it. Fudge the paperwork."
The demons exchanged a look, but nodded, and rushed away. They slammed the door behind them, and the devil was alone again.
The devil ran his finger over the names on his list. "I suppose you two slip through the net." | 2016-05-28T14:59:14 | 2016-05-28T14:22:58 | 149 | 102 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | continued straight from the prompt...
__
Now... Luckily I'm a redditor, and things like being summoned against your will into an unknown world/situation are a common topic so I had thought through this scenario before. Otherwise I would appear quite confused at my situation and not at all in control of the situation.
"Why have you summoned me?" I bellowed in my best impression of pompous and evil.
The sorcerer scrambled back a few steps, "I have summoned you to make a deal."
I was not sure what it was I was supposed to provide, but as this seemed fairly common for magic I hoped it was something I was capable of.
"You know the price?" I asked haughtily.
"Certainly, one talent of gold and my immortal soul."
I pondered this silently, I had only heard of talents in bible stories but I remembered someone saying that was about 75lbs. I unfortunately did not trade in gold on a regular basis and my phone probably couldn't access the internet from wherever this was; but I knew it was something like $1000 an ounce. 16 ounces per lb x 75 lbs... screw it I pulled out my phone.
The mage reacted with alarm, "What infernal device is that? Know that I am protected by the circle!"
I held up a finger to shush him as I opened the calculator app and figured out how much money I stood to make on this deal...whatever it was. I whistled between my teeth as the number stared up at me $1.25 Million.
"Stop! Stop I can't take it!" The magician screamed. "The circle should have protected me!"
I looked back at him dumbly with my face lit softly by my glowing cell phone screen. "Stop...what?"
"That noise! We cannot stand the sound of your chanting and whatever it is you were doing with your voice just now!"
I once again went silent, not knowing that the otherworldly light of my screen was making me look quite demonic at the moment. "You mean... whistling?" I chirpped softly at the end to demonstrate.
"YES!"
Interesting... "So what is the task you have summoned me for?"
The mage stood back upright, "I need you to defeat the army at our doorstep, use your damning tongue to rain down hell and bring madness to the troops."
"You want me to... sing?"
A tentative nod.
"Okay... where is this army?"
The sorcerer pointed to an arrow slit window in the side of the tower. I could see several dozen burly men in various armor standing outside the gates a dozen feet below... this was an army?
"This is an army?" I said intelligently, "Where I come from, an army is usually hundreds if not thousands of men."
"We are aware of your warlike ways and preference for violence but that is not our way. We only wish to drive away the force below as quickly as possible and make them think twice about attacking again."
I looked down at the phone in my hand again and brought up a video I kept on it to send to my friends randomly. I was about to hit play when I turned back to the mage, "You might want to cover your ears."
> We're no strangers to love
>You know the rules and so do I
>A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
>You wouldn't get this from any other guy
>I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
>Gotta 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...
| "Da hell?"
When finals ended I had resolved to spend no moment of the weekend sober. One moment I had been sitting on the steps of my apartment building smoking a cigarette, fending off last night's hangover with a bottle of whiskey, and the next I was sitting in a small, darkened room.
"Where's my cig... FUCK!"
Having located my still lit cigarette burning a hole through the crotch of my jeans I leapt to my feet, hitting my head on the ceiling while frantically brushing the embers off my lap. The blow to the head, while not at all sobering, at least alerted me to the fact this room was even smaller than I originally thought. Upon closer inspecting I realized that the room was built and furnished in such a way that it may have been a grand cathedral to tiny people. As I finished brushing the remaining embers off my lap I registered small, frantic voices somewhere in the room.
"Did you see? It can create fire! This will be perfect!"
"It's huge, Dina! I don't think this was a good idea..."
"We did everything perfectly. It has to obey us, Ariel, don't worry."
Squinting in the direction of the voices, I managed to focus my unsteady gaze on what appeared to be two young girls, normal in appearance except for the fact that they were no more than a foot tall.
In a more sober state I would have asked them who or what they are, where I was, how I got here, or why everything seemed to be a fifth of it's normal size besides me. Instead, what came out was;
"Pfffffft, HAHAHA, you're so small, HAHAHAHA!"
"Demon! We have summoned you to do our bidding", said Dina confidently, though visibly shaken my my laughter. "You are under our control and we will not release you until you have fulfilled our wishes."
"Uh, okay, I'll do that. What'm I doin?"
"You will exact our vengeance upon those who have shunned us. They are right out there", said Dina, pointing toward a tiny curtained window I hadn't noticed before.
I unsteadily laid down on the ground. Using a finger I forced the curtains open and looked outside. This definitely wasn't the rainy Pacific Northwest I lived in. It appeared to be a tropical paradise. I looked across a tiny street to a white sandy beach. There was a group girls there, they looked much more popular than the two in the room with me. Noticing me looking back at them, Ariel said sincerely;
"They're mean. They always pick on us."
"Those bitches", I said as I drunkenly crawled on my knees toward the front door of the church and forced my way through the small opening.
As I stood up at full height, now outside in a pleasant summer heat, I could see small people and cars stopping to stare at my massive size. Spreading my arms wide and pounding my feet into the ground, I said in my best giant's voice:
"FEE FI FO FUM! YOU WILL ALL BOW BEFORE ME!"
As the streets cleared as tiny people fled in fear, I looked back at Ariel and Dina to find them smiling.
See, I told you it would work", Dina said to Ariel as I turned back to look at the paradise before me.
"Well, if this is my life now, should be fun", I thought to myself. "I hope they have booze." | 2017-05-12T10:38:10 | 2017-05-12T09:53:02 | 427 | 59 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | Here are the facts:
1) The Varbloxians of Varb 3 have a very particular conversational structure, comprised of facial expressions and words in equal part. Gestures with other organs is viewed as taboo, resulting in a culture where few Varbloxians ever attempt walking and talking at the same time.
2) The prevailing predators of Varb 3 (and, until the invention of the Voobler Slinger, the greatest threat to Varbloxian bodily integrity) have a distinctive attack pattern, comprised of widening their ingestion cavity and lifting their tentacles in preparation for a fatal slam-attack.
3) The Voobler of Varb 7 have a telepathic connection with the rest of their species, a trait that has developed both a wondrously peaceful and honest culture, and the most effective news-dissemination service since the bombing of the Pay-to-Snitch Gossip Company by Mrs Geraldine Smythe of Wentworth, New England, 1976.
4) The Voobler, being highly tuned to each other's mental pattern, have a very limited sense of self, resulting in a society that believes pretty much anything another sentient being tells it.
5) The Haff-Haff of Varb 9 are a highly familial species, worshiping an All-Father named something that sounds, to those unskilled in speaking in three-part harmony, like "Tah K'may", and an All-Mother, "Leegha".
6) The Haff-Haff are also all clones of the original, orphaned son of the All-Parents. They're very emotional. They don't like to talk about it.
It is with this in mind that post-war historians reflect upon the actions of Commander Lt. J. Rossly on V-Day and agree that landing in a field on Varb 3, during a in-depth conversation between a Varbloxian, a Voobler and a Haff-Haff, raising his hands, smiling and saying, "Take me to your leader", might not have been the most well-planned first contact. | Robert peered into the dark abyss. That's one thing he'd forgot about working on a offworld broadcasting station; the view was so vast and empty. Of course, tonight it will be different. The first of the Asmoydian and Veluese dreadnoughts have already jumped into Centauri's orbit, appearing as elongated blue flecks against the matte black. There was some activity along the horizon of the planet and the moon, although there was no way to tell if they were a defense force or an emergency evacuation. Either way, he knew it was too late for his crew. Most of them were standing alongside Robert, observing the flashes of light as spacecraft were torn asunder by the dreadnoughts. The news anchor repeatedly tried to engage the uplink, but the connection error persisted. The first act of war was the complete wipeout of communications just two hours after the broadcast so there wasn't a way to broadcast a retraction or correction or a plea. Funny to think that they were this ready to fight, Robert thought.
More ironically, it was supposed to be a message of peace, the diffusion of tension. The attack on their diplomatic headquarters in New Washington was a mystery to everyone, and the Human-Asmoydian-Veluese investigation was a symbol of unity in such a dividing crisis. Their report would put to rest rumors among the council that it was a human ship that destroyed the towers. But by the time Robert had noticed what he entered into the teleprompter, it was already on billions of holograms and lightboards system-wide. If human history were to survive this next calamity, it would be known that the first intergalactic war began with an accidental omission.
Robert turned to look back at the static projection of the broadcast. There it was, in big red font.
"BREAKING: rocket fuel melts stallaite beams". | 2015-06-19T05:51:39 | 2015-06-19T03:26:36 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] When Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, he neglected to give him the ability to die again. 2,000 years later, it doesn't feel like a miracle anymore. | I didn't even know he was on earth. I had pretty much given up after the fiasco at the Nevada test site. I still have no clue why I turned green, bulky and stupid for a month. A celestial joke made at my cost? It took me two months to escape after they caught me.
I was just...living, trying to get by with small jobs that didn't care too much about me being an undocumented middle easterner. But I did still keep tabs on Cain. After all, he is the only other guy I know that has the very same problem. And he seems to have found something - a chance. Small maybe, but still a chance.
Hope.
I do not know how he has fared, I only know he has come here, as I have now.
So now I stand in front of the Lux, where the man that might be my only hope lives. No, not a man - an angel. A fallen angel. *The* fallen angel.
Jesus blessed me with this endless curse. If there is any justice in this world or the heavens - or in hell - then Lucifer Morningstar can finally give me the end that has been taken from me.
I will make a deal with the devil, and I will pay the price.
Any price.
| Resurrected by Jesus, forsaken by God. I know firsthand that there's an afterlife and I know I'll never attain transcendence. I'll simply exist even after the last star slowly dims... I will remain. Tormented by this curse. Those who think heaven is enless life don't truly understand what it means to have consciousness forced upon you for eternity. Perhaps when life was cheap it was an attractive idea but my ultimate reward would be eternal slumber. I've seen the extinction of my own race and have gone mad more times than I can count. Infact It's the knowing that kills you (if only). I still remember mankind, always saying "everyone is different". That's funny because after a few thousand lifetimes, you meet every conceivable personality and become bored with self importance and begin to predict every move a given lifeform will make. As a species humanity was actually quite predictable. Worshiping their children in the misguided desire to extend their lineage. We all knew that the whole thing was a house of cards. | 2018-07-10T23:20:45 | 2018-07-10T22:51:10 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When I first regained my sight I saw the messages, "Don't tell them you can see".
I wondered who "them" might be. I'll be honest, my first thought was space aliens of some sort of monsters from a Stygian realm. I was terrified.
I carefully got out my cane and went about my business, often closing my eyes to make the subterfuge more believable.
Then I saw my first glimpse of the truth. We were "them". The scant few that could see were chained or harnessed to work for the blind masses.
Not down on the grubby streets where most of us eeked out our living, mind you. There was a military, or industrial wealth class that had quickly seized the few who had never gone blind.
In the first days of The Great Blinding there had been a few helpful souls that had not succumbed according to the rumors. But the rumors faded when everyone realized the'd never met a sighted person or became unsure of their memories of those first few traumatic days.
Over time it was revealed that a few people took longer to lose their sight.
And so many people died in those first weeks that who was to say when someone simply disappeared.
But now I could glance across distant vistas and through chain link fences at the sighted slaves doing the work only sighted people can do. Tethered and beaten, the slaves, some hobbled by broken or missing feet, could glare defiance, and leave messages that the blind overseers couldn't detect.
The words were in mismatched paints or organic stains.
The words were in the margins of the braille paperwork.
The messages were passed by a one in a thousand moment of eye contact and a nodding head as you pass on the street.
In the land of the blind the sighted man is not king. He is valuable property.
But revolution is brewing. | I see walls covered with writings.
I see floors painted with blood.
I see surfaces, chairs, refrigerators and any available surface to draw on plastered with the same damn message.
*"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."*
Whispers of instruction fill my head.
"Hush. Do not speak of your sight."
I follow blindly, just as I was blind before.
Color, restored. But fear, still dwelling.
I thought a life with color was worth living.
Everyday, I crept onto the scene, acting blindly like I was.
It was no difference to having sight, than losing it.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.
Somehow, it has become a chore to maintain such a gift.
To have sight, but not be able to share it. To gain vision, but not be able to show it.
Months turn into years. And the day goes on.
Blindness has kept my sanity.
Yet, vision has driven me mad.
I look at the table. A pencil on the drawer.
"It's enough," I say. "This will do."
With force, I stab my left eye, blood gushing onto the scene!
I cry, yet I remain silent.
I see now what the warnings have been. I see now who has written them.
With my blood, I draw at the table in front of me. A surface large enough for my message.
I need to warn them. I need to tell them what will happen to them.
Before I lose my sight, I write my one, last message I will witness.
***"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."*** | 2019-08-26T10:33:57 | 2019-08-26T09:05:53 | 62 | 39 |
[WP] This new apartment complex you’ve moved into is great. Sure, the landlord is a Eldritch God, the elevator has well over a thousand stops and the bizarre survival guide you received changes daily. But hey, the rent is cheap and the undead girl next door is kinda cute. | My neighbor pulled me aside by the ear. "How the hell did you get in here?"
I frowned. "The door?"
"Not what I meant, I mean, in this building! No one is supposed to know about it."
I smiled, thinking on it. "I mean, you know about it. I was looking for a room to rent, my job is just down the street..."
I should mention my neighbor is a weird looking chick; purplish skin, grey hair, blood red right eye and an empty socket for the other one, oh and wearing robes.
She called out Mr. K's name, the name I can't really write down, you know it when you hear it.
An eye ball appeared between us, and in a voice that sounded just a bit like JFK said. "Yes? What do you need Lizzie?"
"Why is this mortal here?"
"He pays me to be?"
She sighed. "Why are you two so dense... This is a dangerous place! He could be killed on accident"
I shrugged. "I mean, same as anywhere right?"
"Exactly! Besides I need money too ya know? Just be nice to him, show him the guide, and it will all work out... now if you need me, I need to check the cooling on Jladna's vents"
The slimy eye ball vanished as the dead girl lead me into her room before pulling out a large tome of eldritch knowledge... or the Survial guide, as Mr. K called it.
"ALright… what do you know so far?"
"Well uh... if the stairs lead to a forest don't go up them. Use proper names and tites for faires, don't keep any pets..."
I started listing things off. "Oh, and the rules keep changing."
"New people, new problems." She replied. "look if you're gonna make it here, you need to read this out. Or do what I did and place your soul into an enchanted gem. Lets you respawn every time you fuck up."
I frowned. "That... does sound tempting but I'm gonna have to talk to my priest before anything."
"Oh goodies.. uh just don't bring religious crap near me and we'll get along fine... Burn my skin."
My neighbor kicked me out a but later, and I went to relax back in my room.
I dunno what she's so worried about though. So far all the various monsters seemed more afraid for me then anything else. | My friend thinks I should really start a blog. Although whenever I try to do something like that I rarely receive any interest or views. I mean, who wants to hear about my apartment in the ether dimension?
It's really like any other apartment downtown. You have to deal with a crappy commute of some kind, right? On Earth The subway smells like a urinal, there's a person talking loudly on their phone (about their horrible significant other), someone starts breakdancing (it's 7:30AM give it a rest), some guy tries to swindle you out of cash, and some tourist tries to talk to me.
I will say that what's different about my apartment is that my survival guide changes day to day. Today I had to go through the lobby and enter a room which turned out to be a swamp. I thought I had my wading boots in my bag but I was wrong. Fortunately the sludge wasn't too bad (like some other times) so I was able to miraculously cross the swamp with only my converse high tops.
I had to battle a Skeletal Tiger Axe with my Lethiamyn (it's a sword you can buy in the Ether Market, pretty cheap too), but that's nothing new. I usually have to battle some sort of enemy, it's really no different than plotting to avoid that guy in your building that tries to talk your ear off in the hallway.
After all that I had to steal a special telescope from the demon Alloces and give it to some elder in this village. It was like picking up a candy bar at the bodega.
Sounds like a lot, but it only took one hour. See? Just like any other commute downtown during rush hour on the trains.
What really brightened my day was seeing my crush, who's also my neighbor, Zelexis. She said hi to me in the hallway. I barely mustered a hello back, but then she asked *how I was*. It was pleasant.
Sure, she's undead, but her skin is actually just really pale. She wears a lot of black as well, so she looks like a goth girl... which I'm into.
r/randallcooper
Just wanted to say, I loved this prompt. Thank you! | 2020-03-10T19:07:07 | 2020-03-10T17:45:14 | 88 | 61 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north. | "Master, we are running out of time!” the young boy said.
He had been appointed as The Man’s newest apprentice. Even though the boy was the youngest apprentice The Man had ever appointed, he showed promise from the age of three – already showing signs of *the craft*. By age six, he had somehow mastered more of the arts than boys twice his age. There was something strange about that crescent scar surrounding his right eye – it seemed to glow every time *the craft* was summoned, just as it was now, basking amongst reflections of the fire light from the torch he held.
“Alabaster, you must ready the rest of the elven clan” The Man said from his throne. “The North will not fall. We will NOT let the common folk down this time”.
The Great War was upon the North and had taken The Man by surprise. It had been seven centuries since the last war – why had the peace suddenly broken? Reports came in just days ago that the East had been overcome by The Kraken – swallowing up whole villages at a time. People of The South had reported sightings of the mighty dragon Viceroy – with wings spanning hundreds of feet, bringing rains of fire down upon on desert plains. The Labyrinth in the West, filled with temptations and riches that the common folk couldn’t resist, was taking more and more prisoners, as increasing numbers of men failed to come home to their families.
And now, The Man was brought news by young Alabaster that the Immortals were not yet satisfied. The rest of the common folk made their dangerous trek North, toward the snow-capped mountains, hoping for salvation. But now, it was more than the elevation – the blizzards – the cold – that might kill them. The Immortals were quickly on their tails, closing in from all directions.
The Man stood from his throne, his beard still reaching down to kiss the stone beneath his boots. He was brooding at the thought of the last Great War. He had lost too many elves. Children had gone without presents for years. Not this time.
“And Alabaster! Before you go, there’s something I must give you.” The Man paused. He reached into his deep red coat, hidden underneath the black leather belt he pulled out what looked to be a wand of some sort, tucked away into his grasp, his hands the size of the boy himself.
“I thought you not yet ready, but alas, you speak true – we ARE out of time. You must use this ONLY in an emergency. When the time comes, you will know - *the craft* will be strong within you.” The Man opened his hand and offered the object to the boy. Alabaster stared, open-mouthed at what he had been bestowed – the great Candy Cane of Norwen.
“And one last thing Alabaster,” The Man said, his deep voice echoing through the high castle.
“Prepare my sled. Tell Rudolph he’s going to need more than his nose to fight off this fucking dragon.” | "They called them the Primordials, four ancient, eternal beings who stood at each corner of the world, reigning, unchallenged, over all that resided there -- Tartarus, the living prison, a hellish, labyrinthine dimension whose ever-growing walls encaged thousands of prisoners, starving them, depriving them of the comforts of sleep, drink, or company, driving them to states of utter madness, and yet keeping them alive, barely, but eternally, so that they may suffer the never-ending torments it holds for them; Dragomira, the enormous, magnificent dragon with scales of metal, whose hide gleamed with as many colours as the flames she breathed, whose claws and fangs of polished bronze shone brilliantly in the desert sun, whose wings, when unfurled, would cast miles of her territory into shadow.
"Kraken, the monstrous, squid-like being who ruled the seas, whose massive tentacles stirred storms like dust on the beach, whose fin tore through the hulls of ships as easily as a knife through butter; and the man, he who was carved from stone, from whom was sprung humanity, he who towered over all the rest, with his hair of grass and leaves, his eyes like boulders, and blood like the oil that flows underground -- Typhon.
"No man has ever seen one and lived."
"But then how does anyone know what they look like?" Rio asked incredulously, staring at Old Jeller, as he finished his story.
"What are you asking me, boy?" the elder snapped. "You asked me to tell you a story and I did!"
"But you don't really believe that any of that exists?" Asterion said doubtfully.
The old man merely shrugged.
"Well, thanks for the story anyway," said Rhea dismissively, getting to her feet and brushing off, "but here's our ride."
A dozen elephantine horses had just trotted into view, herded by a rather frightened-looking old man.
"Yeah, thanks, but we really should go," Asterion said, and he rose too.
"Where ya headed anyway?" Jeller asked.
"To the desert."
"Ah, be careful on your way there," Jeller said, "Dragomira doesn't take too kindly to trespassers." And the old man grinned.
"Yeah, we're terrified," Asterion said, holding up his arms in mock fear, but grinning as well. "You take care of yourself old man."
"Bye," said Rio and Rhea together, and the three youths departed to mount a suitable horse.
If you enjoyed this, visit r/MysticScribbles for more, I'm actually considering serializing this! | 2020-04-19T08:21:50 | 2020-04-19T08:21:26 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] You are a cat. Contrary to what people think you do love your human. Unfortunately the dog has read one too many pro-dog writing prompts and thinks you're some evil being out to enslave the human. | I was staying in the tree. Why was I staying in the tree? Because the dog was trying to... Well I'm not exactly sure, it never quite caught me.
The Human looked up into the tree. My Human. My friend. But according to the dog, I was the enemy of the Human.
And the Human thought I was just Stupid. I had climbed up the tree, so I should know how to get down. And I did. But why would I? The dog was barking at me.
So the Human came out and looked up at me. It said, "Something in English. I don't know, I'm just a cat," but the tone didn't sound very nice.
The Human went back inside and brought out the Steppy Tower. The little tower that let the Human step up higher. To pull me back out of the tree. Again.
Now, this dog was not very nice. It had read a lot of propaganda on our Human's screen device (I don't know where the dog learned it) and was convinced I hated my Human.
But I did not. I woke up the Human at the proper time to feed the dog by sitting on it. I purred to make the Human feel better when it was sick.
The Dog still didn't care. I don't know how I'm going to tell this to the Human. The Dog has better communication than I do. >:( | "Ugh this creature has been staring at me all day, I really wish he had something better to do while Stephen is off hunting. Not like he will bring anything back, he never does. That's why it is my responsibility to make sure he has *something* the it's absolutely stunning how evolutionary deficient these creatures are. He always loves my gifts for him, he has never not put them in that kitchen bag where he puts the rest of his food for later."
Lilly the overly concerned boxer-mix jumps from the floor at the first sign of Oscar's movements, making sure never to leave the traitorous feline unattended
"Surely he can't just be brooding over this master plan for this long right? Something does *not* feel right here. god I wish we never got that enclosed box for him. I wonder just how far down that thing goes it has to stop at some point right? the only logical thing for me to do is completely destroy it so that Oscar's can't run off to his lair next time we confront him about the schemings. Oh boy Stephen will be so proud of me!" | 2019-12-13T16:25:40 | 2019-12-13T13:16:32 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final" | I woke up with a major headache. I felt in my pockets and found some pesos and the note stating that this was my final exam.
No problemo, I thought to myself. I was in a level 300 class, and had aced all the assignments this semester. So I strolled confidently into the town I could see in the distance.
When I got into town, I was nearly dying of thirst. I went into the nearest bar.
"Un agua, por favor," I told the bartender. He got me a bottled water, and I used some of the pesos to pay him. As I was drinking my water, I looked around the bar and noted a little Mexican cutie. She caught me staring and came up to me.
"Hola, me llamo Daniel."
"Hola Daniel, me llamo María."
"Much gusto, María."
Noting my accent, she asked where I was from. I told her I was from the States.
"Como llegaste aquí?" - How did you get here, she asked.
"No sé, yo me despertaba en la calle." - I don't know, I just woke up on the street. We started talking, and talked back and forth for the rest of the night. At the end of the night, we exchanged numbers. I walked out if the bar feeling exuberant.
As I left, I noticed one of the Spanish professors from my college. Sidling up to him, I asked how I did.
"C," he simply responded.
"C?" I asked, incredulous. I had always gotten straight A's in school.
" You used the imperfect when you should have used the preterite tense. It's 'me desperté.'
I screamed in frustration. Curse you Spanish, and your two past tenses!
| "¿Qué pasó, chico?" dijo una mujer.
"Uhhhhh hola uh... lost... soy Steve, dónde está escuela"
"¿Qué escueña? Estamos en Cozumel. Es estudiante? De dónde es?"
I was so confused. The last thing I could recall was walking into my Spanish class and the fire alarm sounding. Next thing I knew, I woke up parched, with nothing but this note in my pocket and my vocabulary flashcards.
Welp, I'd better make the best of this.
"Oh, policía! Edificio policía! Baño! Teléfono!"
"Pinche puta... sígueme"
The dark-skinned lady began to walk away through the blazing heat; it was beginning to get hard to see her... *pompís*. I had to follow her.
The town was the ugliest thing I'd ever had the displeasure of viewing; snakes, dried feces everywhere, old Mexican men smoking joints on the public toilets. Soon, the lady with the nice rumpus entered a small building. I followed, and to my pleasure, the pert melons of one of my favorite sights were attached to the body of one of my *compadres*. I think her name was Ashby.
"HEY! STEVE! DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON?"
Dang it, I always hated this chick.
**Part 2 coming out at some point!** | 2017-06-29T11:09:35 | 2017-06-29T09:12:30 | 139 | 30 |
[WP] You possess the Psychic Abilities: Postcognition and Second Sight. You write historically accurate books about Forgotten Arts, Crafts, Creatures, Cultures, Customs, Histories, Languages and Traditions. During a book tour, you realise almost all of your fans are time-travellers. | “Next!” My agent calls waving the line forward.
Another book ready for me to sign, is laid before me. Ah, a copy of my Cultures and Customs of Edo era Japan. I sign it with a flourish even though my hand is getting tired. Smiling up at the woman I lock eyes with her.
She was obviously Japanese by descent, but … I paused glancing down at the book still in my hand. It was impossible, the woman I had watched live her life in Edo Japan had been dead for centuries. Looking up at the woman again, they could have been twins.
She took the book, but as she turned she winked. I followed her across the room - where she met up with a group of familiar looking faces.
“Rob, I need a water break - I’ll… I’ll be right back,” I said, standing quickly from my chair.
I might have several doctorates in History and Language - but I also had a *talent* so to say. While I always found documents to back up my research - I was able to watch it live. I was a Post-Cog. I could walk around, looking but not touching or interacting with any objects or people. I spent more of my waking hours watching the lives of people in the past than I ever did living in the moment.
The concept of our ancestors living day to day facinated me. Without the technology we have, without the communications. Their sheer willpower kept them alive.
And the fact that some of the people I watched were gone from human memory. No living soul remembered some farmer from the 1860s America, or that concubine from Zhou Era China. But I did. I watched their lives, got to know them as people.
Every person I have every watched was factored into my research. And the woman who had just had the book signed was a dead-ringer for the housewife of Edo Japan.
I could have waved it away as genetics and a possible descendant if it hadn’t been for that wink - and the fact that the group she was with were *all* people I had watched.
Even as I stood and tried to get out from behind the little table I had been sitting at for hours I knew it would be too late. Several people tried to stop me and ask questions or clarify details of my books, but I waved them off - trying desperately to get to the group.
When I reached the corner by the door where they had been standing, I looked around, hoping to see out the large glass windows which direction they may have gone.
I sighed, leaning back against the wall. Digging at the floor with the toe of my shoe I looked around one last time.
A copy of the book was laying on the floor. I picked it up - surprised to see it was the one I had signed for the woman. A book mark was stuck into the pages, and I flipped to it. Small details had been circles in red pen. Actions that my editor had said I was embellishing upon but I knew had happened for a fact.
On the bookmark was a note - *We know you’ve been watching us. You’re putting our missions at risk. Stop.*
What the… Missions? Watching them? The people I watched were long dead.
Though I’d never had control of who I watched or when. It seemed to follow one person for months at a time, and then abruptly shift. In that time I would have to figure out who I was watching, where I was, and some record of their lives before I moved to another person.
Shuddering, I flipped through the book. The whole thing had been annotated. I started to sink down and start at the beginning when Rob came over.
“Man Conner - What are you doing? I thought you said you were gonna get a drink! We have more books to sign. You’re blocked for another two hours.” He was pulling me back to my feet before I could protest.
Gripping the book firmly, I headed back to my table. I had research to do.
\---
For more stories by me check out my sub r/LandOfMisfits
For longer works by me and others check out r/redditserials
\---
**Part 2 :** [**https://www.reddit.com/r/LandOfMisfits/comments/cg3df2/second\_sight\_part\_2/**](https://www.reddit.com/r/LandOfMisfits/comments/cg3df2/second_sight_part_2/) | There's something off.
I can feel it in my bones, these people in line right now are smiling so widely- *thanking* me -so sincerely that it's a little disquieting. With every book I sign and every person I meet, I feel a sense that my contributions to the historical world mean almost nothing. However, these people are *still* excited.
A man of Native American heritage walks up next in line. He is fidgeting and drops my book against the table so hard it makes the next person jump. He offers a weak smile and rubs his hands against his pants.
"Sorry." He says sheepishly, quickly clearing his throat. I smile as reassuringly as I can.
"No worries. Who do I make it out to?"
"I love the section on Algonquian culture." He blurts instead of answering my question. He swallows visibly, scratching the back of his neck before he returns to fidgeting with his hands. "I-It was very interesting, very accurate." He clears his throat again. "I found it to be comforting." My gaze runs down the front of his body, taking in the type of clothing he's wearing.
It all appears to me to be something someone would guess would be the clothing of the day: a plain white shirt, a jacket thrown on over it with blue type of leggings.
The leggings throw me off. They aren't the same material as I am used to seeing and those in the Algonquian tribe definitely don't wear those anymore in the West. It's almost like...
I look up at him.
"What did you say your name was?" I ask politely, trying not to set him off.
"Abukcheech." He replies, and this time I hear the accent he can't hide. It's an accent that has long since died out due to the lowering population of the Algonquian. I feel a sense of excitement race through me as I stand abruptly, pointing a finger at him.
"You're a time traveler!" I exclaim. The look on his face is of complete shock for a second before the line collectively groans, throwing me for a loop as a woman marches up to the man in front of me.
"Way to go! You've exposed us, I *knew* it was a bad idea to bring you-!" Abukcheech swats at her when she tries to grab one of his braids.
"I tried!" He says as a few others break away in line to crowd my table. I am so shocked I can do nothing more than stare with a dropped jaw. I am actually in a room with time travelers.
"What gave him away?" Another man asks, donning the same style- something he would think was appropriate for modern times, but clearly not.
"The accent." I say proudly, everyone 'oooh'ing my response as Abukcheech groans.
"I'm sorry!" He says as I laugh.
"I am shocked that you all are here." I confess. "I'm honored to have people from the cultures I write about actually buy the book, it's humbling."
"You write with such respect and admiration." The woman who was reprimanding Abukcheech grins at me. "It does not feel like a history book, but a story of our culture. It's beautiful." I feel my cheeks heat up, unused to such personal comments.
"Thank you." I manage to squeeze out. "You're too kind." I grin, looking down at my hands before returning my gaze to the people in front of me. We continue with the book signing, and I learn about the people who have traveled through space and time to come and meet me.
The last person, a Scottish woman who looks vaguely familiar, smiles broadly at me.
"Use your powers well." She says in a heavy accent, making me freeze. "Have a nice day."
"Thank you." I say dryly as she walks out. I lean back in my seat, running a hand through my hair. I sit there for what feels like years before I decide to stand and stretch out. I laugh a little involuntarily, dropping my hands to my side.
So that Scottish legend is true.
Good to know. | 2019-07-21T07:30:40 | 2019-07-21T07:28:30 | 1,063 | 147 |
[WP] You're the only human in the world who can use magic. Rather than being locked up or amything, you have to deal with a lot of passive-aggressive laws set up wherever you go about the use of magic. | "What do you mean flying is illegal?"
"Single-person, unrestricted flying, sir. It applies to all types, including but not restricted to hoverboards, jetpacks, giant balloons, drones..."
"Got it."
If my smile is more teeth than warmth, it doesn't affect him.
****
"Sir, please take out your hellbeast companion."
"Hey, he's my pet!"
A leash is thrown my way.
"Hell pets must be collared and muzzled to enter all stores."
I stare at my hip tall, foot wide, smoke hound. Cretos gives me a true puppy look through his ember eyes.
"I don't like it either."
He lets out a soft whine.
"Just wait outside boy."
I may take some pleasure in seeing the clerk jump up half a foot when Cretos bounds by.
****
"No busking."
I stare up from the demonic corpse I had just slain, sulfur and brimstone filling my senses. The area around me is a burnt crater, and Cretos is licking his wounds from where a fireball hit him.
"What?"
"Flashy, magical world saving battles in front of an adoring croud have been decreed as busking according to verdict ADB-547. Please desist from the activity and continue on your way."
"Unbelievable."
****
"Seriously?"
"Billowing robes are not considered within our dress code."
"These were taken directly from the Azkaberth, the demon! The one I slayed to save this bloody town!"
"Access to the Mayor's office requires a minimum decorum level, as stated in the town charter. Please return later."
****
This has been a hell of a day, all things considered. I'm just happy to be home.
And then the bell rings.
"What?"
"Erection of an unauthorized structure through magical means is in direct violation of development codes pertaining to this area."
"We're in the middle of a field."
A notice is presented to me by the bored looking woman.
"Please make the building vanish, condense or move. Transferring to a secondary dimension is accepted, but you must continue to pay property tax as per border laws. Have a good day."
Maybe becoming an evil sorcerer would be worth it.
I think to the pile of paperwork presented to me the last time I threatened to go through with that plan.
Or maybe not.
| I got up from bed feeling groggy. I knew I should never have drank that beer last night. Once I start, I won’t drinking.
I wobbled to the kitchen, grabbing the walls as I go. I need that hangover medicine. Boss will kill me if I end up late again.
My left foot stepped into the kitchen, and walked into that same damn cabinet door. I really need that medicine.
Right, but where did I put it? Is it in the drawer? Did I leave it in the bathroom again?
Oh right, I placed them in that little plastic container with the red cross. My little medicine box by the corner of the top cabinet.
I rummaged though the thing, but there was nothing.
Craaap. The pain in my head is getting stronger.
That oaf must’ve misplaced it. “Grid! Did you take my hangover medicine again?”
A muffled sound came from the couch. Then, that giant of a roommate suddenly sat up straight, like as if he was a machine. “No, why?”
“I need it.”
“Why? Couldn’t you just use your magic?”
“No, Section 2A of Article 777 prevents me from reproducing medicinal products.” I was getting tired of having to always explain this to him. “They say that I could make loads of drugs to sell to kids or some crap.”
“Why don’t you just do it? They wouldn’t know.”
“Dude, everything I own and anything that’s near me is monitoring my magic-withdrawal levels. They’ll know.”
“What if you just, I don’t know, use some magic to cover them?”
“How exactly would that work?”
“I don’t know, but you’re smart, you can find a way.”
I sighed. I ain’t going to find that medicine anytime soon. I should just call Boss and let her know I’ll be late.
Under my breath, I muttered, “Why can’t things be easy for me?”
And from the living room, Grid cried, “Cause you’re a wizard, Harry!”
| 2018-02-08T04:23:51 | 2018-02-08T04:13:18 | 3,472 | 200 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | Tightly lashed tourniquets cut into his wrists, a dull and constant pain as his hands slowly died from restricted bloodflow. Nails in the palms of his hands leaked blood. Pastor Thompson tried not to feel the warm trickle as blood dripped down his bound arms.
His legs grew tired of holding his weight up, of stopping the unrelenting press of his own body's weight on his lungs. Breathing was a chore; each breath came with a little more difficulty than the last.
The bright hot dual suns scorched his bare flesh under the cloudless green sky. Through bleary eyes he looked down from his crucifix at an assembly of richly adorned priests from a multitude of species, no one like the other. The Priest of Xhulin sat motionless, chittering mandibles clacking under a spiked carapace. The High Bishop of Bal'Saera ran his beak through golden feathers, calmly grooming and preening. The three inch tall Arch-Pope of Nuyra sat calmly siphoning blood from his parasite host, a twelve foot tall hulking brute with glassy eyes.
Pastor Thompson could barely make out any distinctions beyond the closest members. His mouth was dry, lips and tongued cracked from thirst. He begged for water.
"Was your Messiah given water at his death, Godslayer?"
Pastor Thompson nodded weakly. If he were still physically capable of speaking clearly he would have spoken of the Roman centurion who placed a wet sponge on the tip of his lance for Christ to drink from.
The Priest nodded tersely. Pastor Thompson felt a small brief surge of hope, before remembering that the Xhulini nodded to say "no", and waved their hind-arms to signify "yes".
The Nuyran Arch-Pope turned to face the assembly of religious authorities, spreading his tiny wings majestically from atop his hulking host's broad shoulders. "Let all assembled witness on this day, the Great Reparation! For the Almighty sent, in his eternal love and grace, his own son to lead the Humans of Earth out of darkness. And this gift of love was beaten, brutalized, and murdered."
The small Nuyran spun around to glare at Pastor Thompson, throwing his wings wide in righteous anger. "And after murdering the son of the Almighty, were they apologetic? Did the Humans repent, or beg forgiveness? NO! They turned around and claimed that this MURDER, this SACRILEGE, was the Almighty's **PLAN**! That the Almighty was so merciless, so unforgiving, that only by orchestrating the DEATH of his own SON could he SOMEHOW forgive Humanity of their sins!"
The assembly of intergalactic religious authorities murmered angrily, a jumble of responses making their way to Pastor Thompson's ears. . "Preposterous!" "Utter nonsense!" "Ludicrous!"
Pastor Thompson tried vainly to speak in Humanity's defense. We didn't know! We thought it was The Way! But as he hung from his crucifix, his lungs beginning to slowly fill with his own bodily fluids as he baked in the merciless suns, he found himself unable to reply.
He turned his head, slowly and painfully, to his left, then to his right. More crucifixes, stretching beyond the horizons of the alien world. An uncountable host of them, each with a suffering pleading human lashed and nailed to their frame. Uncountable, yet Pastor Thompson was fairly certain it would number around seven billion.
The parasitic Arch-Pope of Nuyra swung his host's broad muscular arms wide, gesturing to the mass genocide being staged behind him. "The Humans have murdered their Messiah, thus it is only fair and right in the eyes of the Almighty that they suffer the same fate He did! And their lands be taken from them, left to be reclaimed by the wilds and the beasts of the land sea and sky. And thus, is the Great Reparation paid in full."
"Glory to He." the assembly of intergalactic faith intoned in unison. As the crucified members of Humanity withered baked and suffocated upon their crucifixes, the Arch-Pope led his followers in a hymn, and a prayer for mercy upon the souls of those paying Reparation. | The council chambers, despite their vastness and high, vaulted ceilings felt claustrophobic as all eyes fell on me. None of them were human, either. Species of every type had gathered here today, as was custom for welcoming another into their fold. But our membership into their ranks was...unique. They had analyzed our history, and found one glaring detail that made them not so sure of our worthiness.
I stood on an elevated platform, alone amongst a sea of suspicious and fearful gazes, the ambassador of my entire to the rest of the galaxy. In front of me were a half circle of representatives from the most respected races, who had each garnered special favor from the Almighty himself, for having followed his laws and obeyed his commands. At the center of this council sat a rather large, dragon-like creature who lazily thumbed through some documents, occasionally glancing up at me with a strange look on its face. After a few more moments of this silence, with me anxiously awaiting *any* form of a response, the creature cleared its throat and began to speak.
"So let me get this straight, human. The Creator himself sends his sacred envoy to educate your species about his will and intent, and you execute him? What a barbarous people. I'm having doubts about whether or not your species can...*assimilate* properly within galactic society."
"Respectfully, chairlizard, you have no idea what my people have gone through."
"Ex*cuse* me?"
"While you were so content to merely be cattle and lazily live your lives as slaves to your master, we have had to claw and fight and kill for everything we've accomplished!"
The crowd behind me gasped at the outburst, and began furiously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. The dragon, I couldn't pronounce the name, called for order and silence was restored, though the tension in the air could've been cut with a knife.
"Your people have chosen the path of barbarism and heresy! This is where your hardships spawned from! If you had but opened your hearts to our Lord's divine truth, your suffering would never have occurred." Murmurs of agreement could be heard throughout the chamber.
"How much of what you've done has been wrought by your own hands? How many of your own thoughts have been your own? Yes, we murdered an innocent man in cold blood, but we have tried our best to atone for past sins."
"Child, you have but to turn to the Creator and beg for forgiveness to be absolved of this most heinous act. And as for trying to *atone* for past sins, well, we have records showing that even though a mighty belief rose up in his name, wars were still waged throughout your world in the name of this belief. Your people are addicted to warfare, human."
"We don't need *his* forgiveness. We need our own. We have nothing to prove to you. This is a formality, really. We are just introducing ourselves to you, not joining you. We have no wish to be a member of the blind herd. We will retain our autonomy, respectfully, and we still wish to have open trade and negotiations with your collective."
"Human, first your species kills His most holy envoy, and *then* you decline an invitation to join our ranks? Have you no decency?"
"I apologize for any inconveniences this may have caused, but trust me. Humans and Gods don't mix well." With that final remark I turned and proceeded down the stairs and out of the council chambers. The high council was left speechless, but the crowd was raucous with hissing and jeering.
Why would we have wanted to join them, anyway? Humans craved knowledge, and were punished for it. We had to suffer for every ounce of it we gained, but gain it we did. Humanity no longer *needed* gods to explain existence for themselves. *We* had become the rulers of all we beheld, for it was through our blood and sweat and determination that we conquered it. Not by begging some deity, real or not, to do it for us. | 2016-08-18T06:52:46 | 2016-08-18T04:37:42 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | Before this mess started, I couldn’t have told you what I wanted for breakfast, let alone what I wanted to do with my life. I was only seventeen, I had a right to be indecisive. Moodiness, petulance, and a “woe is me” attitude can be excused when your brain is still developing and you haven’t yet had a chance to experience real hardship. We were all like that to varying degrees.
Of course, we all have to grow up at some point, don’t we?
I stopped being indecisive after the captain of the swim team had his entrails ripped out trying to save both his little sister and his girlfriend. Admirable, to be sure, but when They started catching up, he should have left the high school sweetheart to fend for herself. As it was, neither survived.
Shame too, little sis had potential.
The mood swings went out the window when the drama queens were decimated in the middle of a brawl. They were so caught up in the hair pulling and face scratching that none of them noticed the horde descending on them. We still haven’t figured out who unlocked the windows in that bathroom, but no one is really trying too hard to solve the mystery.
I stopped feeling sorry for myself about two weeks in.
If my life were a teen movie, I’d be the new kid in the small town school. Even though I’d been here for almost eight years, everyone else had grown up together damn near from birth. I have friends, sure, but I was never super ingrained into any of the groups that formed over the years. I didn’t really mind most days. Sometimes those groups felt way too much like those shitty low-budget flicks where everyone is a caricature.
The Jocks, The Cheerleaders, The Nerds, The Stoners... you know the list. It was pretty ridiculous at times, but it could also be fun. I wasn’t a non-entity; I got along with pretty much everyone. Football team throwing a rager? I’m invited. Rednecks testing out a new potato gun? I get first shot. Theatre Geeks having an awkwardly sexual poetry night out in the woods? I’m there (and getting poorly concealed bedroom eyes from the freshman). It really wasn’t a bad life, but I would get into these moods every now and again where I wished for a single solid clique to roll with... a few folks with whom I could share intimate inside jokes. It was an after school special type of sentimentality.
Like I said though, that went away pretty quickly once They showed up. The school became like home to me after the dead started walking. Weird how these things happen.
The extreme division between the cliques reached a tipping point within days. The Nerds had locked themselves in the science wing, using spare parts from the engineering lab to fashion crude laser weapons. The Jocks kept staging elaborate organized tournaments to establish a pecking order for their eventual takeover of the student body. Two died of exhaustion on day one. The Cheerleaders were grossed out by the bloodsport, but kept showing up to cheer anyway. The Rednecks were posted up on the roof. An inexplicable amount of guns and beer had appeared when the situation went tits up. The noises that echoed down in the night caused more than one panic attack in the freshman.
Me? I floated between them. I learned all of the secret signs and passwords. Was shown each and every hidden passageway and back entrance. I was never without food or water (or company. Those Theatre girls…). Suddenly, my status as that guy that everyone kinda knew was paying dividends that I could never have imagined.
Eventually, each faction established itself as a vital member of our micro society. The Agriculture Club was in the process of converting our football field and greenhouse for the production of edible produce. The motorheads were working in tandem with the Chem geeks to salvage car parts and create an efficient generator that could run on biofuel. Even the stoners had carved out a place in the nurse’s office. Turns out that some of them actually did use it for medicinal purposes and had aspirations of helping others.
It took a while, but every group found its niche-- even me.
They were too different, you see. Too set in their ways. Without any experienced adults around to set them straight, they squabbled and fought, minimizing any progress made. When they finally decided to centralize power, no one managed to gain approval outside of their own group.
Except for me.
These days, I spend most of my time moderating meetings between faction leaders and putting final approval on new initiatives and budgetary changes. I’ve laid claim to the front office as my domain and even taken the assistant principal as a concubine. Her choice, not mine. She hasn’t left my side since we rescued her from the groundskeeper’s shed. I’m not complaining though. The very definition of a cougar, that one.
It’s been six months since our high school became a stronghold against the zombie horde, but I’m more confident with each passing week that we’re gonna make it through this.
After all, we’re young; aren’t we supposed to feel immortal?
| 10 dorky high school students traipsed unceremoniously in circles. They shambled about in a fashion nearly indistinguishable from that of the zombies outside, which they found to be so repelling and repulsive. The reason for their lackadaisical meandering is uncertain. See, I was one of those dorky teenagers that day and had a bad habit of mimicking the behavior of those around me, without ever understanding why.
We had just murdered our teachers, and perhaps that had sent my friends spiraling into fits of self-reflection in their mental realms, which they couldn't help but simultaneously act out in the physical realm as well. As far as I was concerned though, we were just walking in circles for the hell of it.
The one who seemed to be in charge was a guy named Big Bald Billy and he was a really close friend of mine. I don't know why he went bald so young, but it must have made the rest of my friends think he should be allowed to wield some power. So he did. Big Bald Billy had told us to kill the teachers, and he said to be ruthless about it too. I used a splintered chunk of what was once the door to the little boy's room to slice Ms. Buttface's neck open. The others did similar things, and before long a pile of dead teachers had accumulated on the gymnasium floor.
"We really gave em hell out there, eh Bill?" said Sally the Half-slut with satisfaction, as she wiped the blood and sweat off her hands on the butt of her jean-short overalls. "I never thought I'd kill so many teachers in one day."
"Lmao, same" chuckled Dirty Dustin, flashing a half grin which faded quickly to a grimace. "I sorta wonder if it was really necessary though. What was the point of all that anyway, Bill?".
Big Bald Billy cleared his throat for longer than most would expect one to. "Listen guys," he began solemnly, "Kids rule. Kids forever." And after another pause, "Fuck school."
This rang true with me. I was reassured then that my very close friend Big Bald Billy had our best interests in his heart. Still, it seemed not everyone was as convinced as I was. And so they began to revolve in uncertainty about the room. Bored of watching, I soon joined in.
I don't know how long this lasted, but it came to an abrupt halt when a loud banging and hammering suddenly became apparent, coming from the direction of the boarded up entryway.
"Must be the zombies trying to get in," mused Lawrence "Turdboi" McBastard. Turdboi McBastard came from a long line of McBastards, of which I knew next to nothing.
The rest of us agreed that, yes, it was the zombies trying to get in and so discussion began as to what we should do next. That discussion soon turned to heated debate and, feeling agitated and uncomfortable, as I always have in situations such as these, I began to let out a high pitched squeal. As usual, Big Bald Billy quickly restored calm to the group.
"Listen everyone. We're not gonna stop those zombies from breaking through them doors. So when they do, I want you guys to fuck em up like we did the teachers, ya hear?"
We mumbled in agreement. When he put it that way, it all sounded so easy.
Moments later, the first zombie head poked through the fractured door to the chamber of our last stand. He didn't look so good. A few more heads popped through as the gap widened. Eventually the decomposing bodies attached to these heads came into view, and before long the wretched creatures began their awkward march in our direction.
They took out a couple freshman real quick. Shitty Kyle and another kid who I think was also named Kyle went down with hardly a fight. You can never count on a Kyle to do anything right. Of the 10 of us this story began with, the 3 who I haven't given a name to yet didn't fare much better. 5 dead kids now joined the teachers we had just hours ago dispatched, in laying lifeless on the floor.
Somehow we turned things around though. There weren't all that many zombies in the end really. One way or another we killed em all and the zombie problem was solved. When law enforcement came to investigate, we blamed our own murders on the now twice-dead foes who lay, unable to testify, at our feet. Due to the trauma the local townsfolk assumed we must be experiencing, and the brand new shortage of teachers, we were exempt from completing our education. We all got free diplomas and went our separate ways. Now I work at a bank.
Kinda a strange series events when you think of it. Anyway, thanks for agreeing to meet me for coffee. You're a really pretty girl and I think we should get married.
| 2016-05-04T07:38:32 | 2016-05-04T06:21:52 | 75 | 11 |
[WP] For lack of better candidates, someone's parents jokingly named the Norse God Loki as the child's godfather. He decides to take this seriously. | We really just didn't have anyone to name. My sister was long gone, my husband was an only child, and none of our friends really went to church anymore. Jerry was just being a smartass when he named Loki, God of Mischief, the godfather. The pastor didn't get the joke, and... well that was that.
The first time I remember it was a toy snake in the crib. Helena was grasping it and waving it around, just cackling. She cried when I took it away, and when we reviewed the baby cams it just seemed to appear.
The next time she was about 5. She was playing outside when, through the window, I saw Mrs. Voelz stride across our lawn with a giant bag of something. I stepped outside to say hello but was completely ignored by her. Her eyes had an unnatural, cloudy glaze over them. She gave Helena the bag and retreated back to her house. I found the bag brimming with candy, and when I confronted Mrs. Voelz about it she had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently she had gone to the store, purchased about $50 worth of candy, and given it to my daughter without remembering any of it. Her husband insisted she go see a doctor, but in my heart I knew she hadn't been ill.
After that, strange things always seemed to happen. My car keys would appear on the table only *after* it was too late to drive Helena to piano lessons. A thermometer at school would say she had a high fever on the day of a test, but she was cool to the touch. When she got the lead in the high school play, it was suddenly decided that the football team was given far too much funding and that it should be reallocated to the theater program. That's when I knew I wasn't crazy.
We were folding laundry together that Sunday, just the two of us, when I decided it was time. "Lena, I was thinking about it, and I'd like to invite your godfather over for dinner Friday night."
Helena's hands froze. "My godfather?"
"Yes. I think it's time that we all sat down and talked. Would you pass along the invite?" I asked cooly.
"Mom, I really don't think that's a good idea," she replied. I was amazed and overwhelmed. She wasn't trying to deny it.
"Well I do. We really need to have better communication with him, and it needs to start now."
"But Mom...."
"No 'buts'," I said firmly. "You are going to pass along the invite, and we are going to have a nice, family dinner. Finish up the laundry. It looks like I need to go shopping."
I got up and grabbed my purse and keys. She hadn't denied it. She knew what I was talking about. She didn't say he wasn't real. My heart was pounding as I headed towards the door.
My hand was on the door knob when the mail slot opened, and a letter swooped to the floor. But... it was Sunday? I yanked open the door, but there was no one in sight.
My racing heart stopped, and I looked at the letter on the floor. In big, green ink was elegantly scrawled:
*See you Friday*
Edit: People seem to be really interested in this and are asking for a part 2. Someone even gave me gold, so now I feel like I owe you guys. You'll find part 2 below somewhere. Thanks for all the feedback :) | He shuffled forward across the sterile tiles as his robe dragging behind him. There was the child. It slept peacefully, swaddled in white cloth behind the glass. He leaned forward and readied his staff, but stopped as it yawned and stretched. Its eyes opened and it stared at the old man curiously. Innocent, but for its parents' mistake. Ashamed, he turned and moved towards the room where they slept.
The father slept awkwardly in a chair, his chin resting on his chest with one hand in his lap and the other hanging at his side. The mother lay in the bed, hair still damp from sweat and exertion splayed across the pillow. They were exhausted. Creating life was never easy, especially for mortals.
He tapped his staff against the floor and they both awoke with a start.
"Uhm... Can we help you?" the father asked, one hand rubbing his eyes.
"Claire and Daniel of America."
"Uhh..."
"You must renounce the sacred oath pressed upon your child. You must deny its wrongful birthright or you shall be blasphemers."
The mother groaned and covered her face with her hands while the father rose from the chair, "Listen buddy, why don't I call a nurse for you? I think you're in the wrong room."
He tapped his staff against the floor and the man returned heavily to his chair. The father stared at his legs incredulously.
"The Bound One shall not be worshipped," the God spoke softly in a flickering light, "nor his name uttered in prayer. He shall wait the end tortured and despairing, lost to the world of Men and Beast for his crimes."
They stared at him in shock. "Who-"
"I am the beginning until the end, mortals." His robe fluttered around him and one eye glared at them. "Renounce your blasphemy, and you will be spared!"
They shrank away from him, as they always did when he revealed his power. But they didn't recognize him. It had been too long. He sighed inwardly. Mortals could never remember for long.
"Speak my name!" he cried and pointed his staff at them.
Eyes wide, they gibbered incomprehensibly.
"SPEAK MY NAME," he roared.
"Odin," they murmured suddenly.
WHO AM I thundered in their skulls.
"Odin," they said in a daze. "The Thunderer. The Wanderer. Lord of the Aesir. Lord of Men. Father of All."
"Godfather," whispered through the room.
"And there is no other," the old man finished.
"There is no other," they affirmed.
Satisfied, he lowered his staff.
"Farewell mortals."
He turned and shuffled from the room as the dazed humans stared dumbly at his back. They always remembered eventually.
He continued down the hallway and paused at the infant, sleeping once more. It would grow up as so many did in this age, forgetting what once had been, lost to the power that had once shaped their lives. Only they two remained, but better that none worshipped either of them. The old man could suffer an eternity of silence if it meant the Bound One lay tortured in the void with him. | 2017-11-07T10:09:25 | 2017-11-07T08:35:47 | 2,907 | 63 |
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though. | The voices of the Arch Angel's heralds sang unto the world,'Praises be to he upon the throne of our Kingdom of Heaven, for he shall rise again, for the battle at the end of days upon the Earth! In three score and ten years, the father of Christ will return with the righteous to lead the final holy war!'
Then they sang the small print... an apocalyptic war between the angels and the denizens of hell, with the righteous fighting at God's side, and the damned at the side of the Devil. It was, of course, assumed that God would win, and so an eternity of heaven-upon-earth would be duly awarded to these victors.
So it came to pass - seventy years later, the blazing light of heaven shone upon the Earth from the sky, and the gaping maws of hell opened in the ground. The shining battalions of the halo brigade swept across the Earth to conscript the godly souls, and the grunting red beasts of Beezelbub scurried forth to draft their own foot soldiers.
And yet.
There was not a single soul to be found. For hours they searched, until they met on the plains of Nazareth. God and Satan face to face.
'Erm. Hi Satan.'
'Yeah, uh, hi.'
'So... Did you find anyone?'
'No... not a soul, how about yourse...'
As he spoke, his voice was drowned out by the heralds of the Arch Angel, whose voices from afar chorused:
'We found a note... it says they all left Earth.'
God looked confused.
'Where to?'
'Give us a second... let's see here... apparently to some other planets they found.'
'So we're, stuck on Earth for eternity without any humans?'
'Seems like it...'
Satan looked at God, and grumbled, 'Seriously... you couldn't have written "Earth, or any other planet you decide to up sticks and head to"? For fucks sake...'
Turning tale, he took his cohorts and ambled back to hell, leaving God to his empty paradise.
| It looks like we were mistaken.
Who would have known that religion was not just some dogma created by man to control the masses. Instead they were are first line of defence, warning us about the impending attack. The Gods have become more formidable foes then previously anticipated.
It all started when we accidently drilled into our planets core. By then we have already colonized the Moon and Mars. Our scientist hunger for knowledge was insaciable. They wanted to know exactly how the planet worked in hopes of creating other "Earths" in other solar systems. They finally broke through the last of the tectonics plates and were astonished to find the entrance to Hell. Apparently souls was the fuel that kept the planet spinning, gave it gravity, magnetic fields, forced magma out of the core in turn to refertilize the surface.
The operating manager, "Lucifer," was not happy we entered his domain and immediately waged war. Hordes of demons poured out volcanoes ready to throw us back to the stone age. At the same time our outer colonies had a war of their own against what looked like to be angels. They were being surrounded and blocked from traveling out of system. Apperantly we were their "chosen people" and need to stay in our place or suffer the "wrath of the Timeless One."
What did we as humans do? We fought of course.
We are no strangers to warfare. Indeed, we have spent so many years fighting each other that we have perfected it. And we had one secret weapon. An unexpected ally who no longer wanted to be part of this system. He is often refered to the Chosen One, Messiah, Firstborn. He prefers Big Jay, or Yeazuz after his favorite rapper/president. Jesus Christ was gonna change our world. | 2015-09-24T09:22:58 | 2015-09-24T08:29:53 | 52 | 23 |
[WP] Something in the ritual went horribly wrong, and instead of the demon possessing you, you possessed the demon. | Q'llar looked through new-found eyes, suddenly aware that something was very, very different. He felt the sensation of floating, and power, and *rage*.
This was a wholly unexpected event, seeing as Q'llar was meant to be a sacrifice, a kind of human vessel, for the blood demon that he until very recently had certainly not inhabited. But as he stared down at the confused faces of the cult members, he could easily ascertain that this was not their intention.
He felt a buzzing in his thoughts; a searing, shaking force of another mind molded next to his own.
"*Get out of me, human,*" the voice whispered. "*Get out, get out, GET OUT.*"
The rage somehow felt... impotent. The words did not intimidate - they amused. Q'llar decided to ignore them for now, deciding instead to focus on the cult members, who were all backing away in unison.
"Well, this has all gone a bit pear-shaped, hasn't it?" Q'llar mused, stepping towards them.
"Not so fast, beast!" a member shouted out, pointing a shakey hand at the pentagram. "You may not take one step out of the circle, it is forbidden - you shall perish instantly if you do!"
Q'llar stepped out of the circle, and the cult member gasped.
"An admirable bluff; yet altogether too easily disproven, I think you'll find," Q'llar replied.
The cult members dashed for the door, but Q'llar slammed and locked it shut with a single thought. The breadth of his powers amazed even him - it all felt so intrinsic. So damned *good*.
"Now now, what's the rush?" he continued, savouring the moment. "You dragged me all the way here for some private time, and now you just want to rush off when all is said and done?"
Barbed vines rushed out through the concrete below, capturing each cult member and gripping them in place. They held all but one - the cult leader.
The leader dashed forward, grabbing Q'llar's forlorn body.
"One more move, demon, and I shall strike your body down!" the leader shouted, waving a quivering dagger at Q'llar's neck.
Q'llar stared at his previous vessel. He had never been too fond of his body; it was too weak, too weathered by the world. Though he was young, he was already so *old*.
With a click of his fingers, his body burst into flame, setting the cult leader alight in the process. The leader screamed in agony, running around like a madman, setting his breathern alight in his flight.
Q'llar watched as the cult all burned as one, cursing the flames they had worshipped for so long. It was not long until the final breath was quenched, the fire stinking of flesh and brimstone.
Then, Q'llar quieted his mind. He looked up towards the door, towards the world that had always hated him. And he looked below, at the hell he knew had always awaited him.
He was faced with a choice; would he go **above**, or **below**?
*****
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78ob5u/wp_unholy_choice_ii/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78obgg/wp_unholy_choice_iii/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78obqq/wp_unholy_choice_iv/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78sd2f/wp_unholy_choice_v/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78twkd/wp_unholy_choice_vi/) | [Part 7 (newest)](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78w0hs/wp_unholy_choice_vii/)
I want to do something different with this one. I always used to love those 'choose your own adventure' stories, so - the first one to comment the bolded word gets to choose the direction of the story :)
Just posted the latest part on my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/). You will all still be able to decide where the story goes, just vote on whichever bolded comment you prefer!
Thanks for reading guys, this is fun <3 | “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The sound of the unexpected voice sends a shiver down my spine. I swivel 180 degrees in my desk chair, turning my attention from the blank Microsoft Word document on my laptop to the man standing behind me in my cubicle. I have never seen him before, but he looks the part of upper management; tall and clean shaven, mid 40s, wearing a crisp suit and tie. “I was just closing the document,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Write it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I can do nothing to hide the panic in my voice. I can't afford to get in trouble for procrastinating again, especially by such a high ranking manager.
“You were browsing Reddit,” the man says. He reaches past me to grab my mouse and minimizes the Word document, revealing the r/WritingPrompts home page. “Something in the ritual went horribly wrong, and instead of the demon possessing you, you possessed the demon. I bet you have a great story thought out.”
“I’m sorry.” I grab the mouse from his hand and frantically close the webpage, as if he hasn’t already seen it. “I wasn’t going to write anything, I promise. I’ll get back to work.”
The man’s ensuing smile curls my stomach. He reopens Word and moves his hand from the mouse to my shoulder, revealing five long, pointed fingernails. “I’m being serious,” he says. “Write it.”
The heat from his hand grows hotter by the second, until the fabric of my shirt begins to smoke. New ideas flow through my mind, and an incredible story of demonic possession begins to take shape. A few seconds pass before I shake my head. “I should get back to work. I have a meeting in an hour that I need to be ready for, and I’m already on thin ice with my boss.”
The man snarls at me. “What does it matter if you’re not ready for the meeting? Getting fired would be the best thing that could ever happen to you. You hate this job.”
“That’s not true.” I try my best to hide the hesitation in my voice.
“Listen to yourself, Ed. You’re not thinking straight.” The man’s fingers grasp my shoulder harder, and a trickle of hot blood runs down my arm. “This prompt is less than an hour old, and it’s already second on the subreddit. It’s behind a prompt that is 20 hours old, so you know it’s only a matter of time before it moves up. This story could get you thousands of upvotes, and you could parlay that success into writing a bestselling novel. Or better yet, a trilogy of bestselling novels. Write it.”
More energy pulses from his body to mine. I can feel him reaching deeper, implanting in me the story that will make me rich and famous. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I stop them from typing the first words. “You’re wrong."
“Excuse me?”
He digs his fingernails deeper into my shoulder, but I can feel his strength draining. “You convince me of this every time,” I say. “You tell me that if I just blow off my job one more time, I will receive everything that I could possibly imagine. But it’s not true. I need to let this prompt pass me by. I need to get back to work.”
In an instant, the pulsing heat from the man’s hand dies, and the strength of his grip withers. The ideas of my mediocre story exit my head, and shoot back up his arm. I shrug his hand off my shoulder, and stare into his defeated eyes. “I’ll write when I get home tonight,” I say, a hint of scolding in my voice. “I will gladly listen to your advice then. Until then, you need to leave me alone.”
The man nods, and turns to leave my cubicle. “I’ll be waiting in the car,” he says.
“Good.” My eyes follow him until he is out of eyesight, just to make sure he doesn’t have a final trick up his sleeve. When he is gone, I close Reddit, and prepare for my meeting. | 2017-10-26T02:42:44 | 2017-10-25T06:28:16 | 1,618 | 249 |
[WP] To get in Heaven, you have to confront the person who you hurt the most. You were expecting an ex, your parents/relatives, or a friend. You didn't expect to see yourself. | When I was told I would have to face the person I had hurt most in life in order to move into heaven, I can’t say that I was happy. Even though my life was now over and I had left my heavy body behind, the baggage on my soul didn’t seem any lighter. The thought of who it could be as I walked down the long hall to our meeting place ate at me. Would it be my ex? My Dad? One of my best friends?
The figure in the distance slowly came into view I swear I could feel my heart beating out my chest even though neither existed anymore. It was a child. A small, innocent, child. How could I…? My children? How did I hurt my children the most? If I was still stuck in that fleshy meat suit I would be shaking like a leaf right now.
The closer and closer I get, the more confused I become. It’s not until I take a seat at the table across from the child that it hits me.
“Hi,” the small voice pipes up to me.
“Are you…” I pause as I look over the awkward brown bowl cut, the pale porcelain skin, and the bright green, hopeful eyes… and it’s then I realize, I’m staring back at myself.
“Why were you so mean to me?” she asks in the tiniest of voices.
There is a light brown puppy stuffed animal that lays still on the table in front of us. She picks casually at the long since matted fur as she awaits my answer.
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t mean to you, sweetheart,” I reply. I can’t help talking to her like she is one of my own children. I can hear the sadness in her voice. The way she averts her eyes as if I am mad at her or as if she’s done something wrong.
“You said I was fat. You said no one would love me. You said there were plenty of pretty girls in the world but I just wasn’t one of them,” she says back, without even looking up at me.
“Honey… I… that wasn’t you. I wasn’t saying that to you. Things happen when you get older. Things just get harder… they aren’t so black and white anymore, you know?” I try my best to explain.
Her eyes slowly move across the table, up and over my form, until she is staring me straight in the eyes.
“You gave up on me. I kept telling you how much I loved you! I told you how beautiful you were! I told you that you didn’t deserve all of the things that last man put you through! I told you!” she starts to raise her voice at me. Each ‘told you’ being met with a pound of a tiny fist on the table.
“It wasn’t you… It was-“
“IT WAS US! I told you every day you were good enough! That you were strong, that you were capable, that you could move mountains with your love! But you didn’t listen to me. You never listen to me! You were mean to me!” she continues on, only getting more emotional with each word.
Like a fish out of water gasping for breath, my mouth flops around in vain grasping for words. I had heard that tiny voice inside of me. It was always so quiet over all of the other negative voices that were so loud.
“But… but… you were naïve. You don’t understand how it is to be an adult. People are manipulative, they are mean, they are cruel, and they will hurt you. You don’t understand how the world works. You’re just a kid.” I tell her as best as I can.
She offers me a small smile and scoots off of her chair, grabbing her raggedy little stuffed puppy in her arms before moving around the table to stand in front of me. She pushes the puppy into my chest and wraps my arms around it.
“Without me you would have given up after being bullied all of those years. Without me you wouldn’t have forgiven our Mom after Daddy died. Without me you would have never learned to love again when he left us broken and shattered after so many years,” she explains in the most innocent of voices.
I feel her hand on my cheek and I realized that not only am I hugging the puppy tightly, I’m not even looking at her anymore and I’m crying. She gently guides my face until I’m look back at her once more.
“You think I was your naivety but I was your hope. You think that I was being blindly optimistic because I didn’t know any better but I did. I knew better than you. There is good in the world. People are good. Just because you found one that shattered your heart didn’t mean you wouldn’t find one that would rebuild it.”
“But… I was scared. I was so… alone after that. So lonely,” I lament.
“Why do you think I kept trying to talk to you? I told you everything you needed to hear. The truth! But you never listened to me,” she counters in frustration with a stomp of her foot to the floor.
“I’m sorry I… I just… It’s different being an adult. You have to grow up and face the world and you just… you can’t be a kid anymore,” I explain to her.
“Why do you think I’m a kid? Do you think adults all talk of their ‘inner child’ because it isn’t real?”
“Well… it’s a socially acceptable way to still be childlike sometimes,” I offer.
“We’re all children on the inside. It’s not the age, it’s the soul. Your soul starts out pure and loving. You love yourself and care for the ones around you until you’re taught not to. Maybe someone else teaches it to you or maybe you teach it to yourself. It’s not that you grow up and now you’re an adult. Your soul doesn’t age. It’s what happens to it. You have an inner child because it’s the last time you truly loved yourself, the last time you were able to love the world around you unabashedly, as it should be,” she tries to express to me.
“But as you get older… you learn. You just learn that the world isn’t what you thought it would be,” I retort.
“As I said before… someone teaches you. But you didn’t listen to the voice telling you it would be okay. You were too caught up in what everyone else around you was saying or doing. Would you ever tell your children they were too fat? They weren’t good enough? They would never find anyone that loved them?” she asks in genuine curiosity.
“Well, no. No, of course not,” I say back.
“Then why would you say it to me?” | I expected Niflheim. I hadn't died a glorious death in battle, which was to be expected of most of my kind these days. There would be no Valhalla or Folkvangr for me. If I was lucky I could avoid falling under Hel's purview, but I had my doubts.
Hel was waiting for me, and my heart sank. However, she smirked as I approached, and her voice spoke to me like rusted iron sheets grating together. "You hope to avoid my domain, mortal. Hope that you have lived honorably enough not to serve me. Is that right?"
"Yes," I replied hesitantly. This felt like a trap. Of course it was a trap.
"Of course you do," she continued dismissively, as if not hearing my answer. "Most mortals come to me in dread, fearing my judgment. It is not my judgment you should fear, but that of the one you have harmed the most, the one with whom you broke frith and oath, the one you have most harmed and dishonored."
It was then that I quailed. "I am to face the person I hurt the most?" I felt cold, and not simply because of Niflheim's chill.
Hel inclined her head imperiously. "Proceed through the gate if you dare, mortal. Or stay outside in the cold darkness."
I steeled myself. I had made my choices in life. They were difficult ones, and I had regretted so many of them. The ones that had hurt others, I had made willfully; I knew the crimes of which Hel had accused me, and most of them were ones I would commit again if given the chance, even knowing that I would serve until Ragnarok.
Who awaited me behind the gate? What foe would I face? I paused, trying to imagine who it might be. The faces of dozens of friends paraded before me, those whom I had wronged, who had walked away from me. So many burned bridges I imagined, all of my own doing.
So too did the faces of partners loved and lost. One, Rachel, who had beaten me half a dozen times in two years, haunted my memory. She had done me immeasurable harm, and I her. Another, Sam, had borne the brunt of the fallout of my worst relationships - three years of emotional abuse and sharing a home with the dark cloud of my depression. It was only after her that I had begun to come out from under that cloud and to fight back against the darkness inside of me.
No, as cruel as I was to these people, there was still worse. My parents had abused me, beaten and insulted me, shamed me through my childhood until I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. My sister was their prized one, while I was flawed and sick. None of my achievements could compare to her. So I had walked away from them, cut contact between my old family and my new one. Still, to break frith is a great crime, and I had broken it harshly and coldly, without remorse. There had to be an accounting for that.
But no, it had to be my son, whom I had failed countless times. He was born when I was barely more than a child myself. Neglected for years of his life by both of his parents. I was more absorbed in the violence his mother showed me than in being the caring father I had sworn to be - an oath I had broken thousands of times. I lost myself in that dark place, and my son had suffered the most for it. Even after I had begun to come out of that dark place, I feared to fight against his mother, to give him a better life. He grew up in a place of neglect, grew to learn values that were not mine, and we had inevitably grown distant. My oath to him had been broken. Our frith had been shattered. And it was no one's fault but my own. Those were choices I regretted, and by the time it was in my power to change it, it had already been too late.
Fine, then. If I was a coward in life, at least let me be brave now and take the accounting that was due to me. I pushed against the door, to face the scorn of my progeny.
But the face that awaited me was my own. My heart froze in ice, then thawed just as quickly. Of course. Hel's accounting was poetry, to be expected of the daughter of Loki.
"I should have expected this," I said to myself.
"You should have expected this," my own visage replied back, with my own mocking smirk. I felt dizzy.
"You're going to tell me now that my worst crimes were against myself," I said, predicting the lesson.
"There is nothing to tell you that you don't already know," said my own voice, in grief and sorrow. "But if it satisfies you, I'll do it anyway. You made stupid decisions when you were but a boy, and then spent the rest of your life punishing yourself for them. You broke frith with those who had broken frith with you, and hated yourself and all of those around you for it. You did great harm to your children, your lovers, your friends...but it was all a punishment to yourself. It was all to push them away. There could be no warm and loving shelter for you, only the cold of being distant from those who might have accepted you, given half the chance. You were your greatest enemy."
I nodded through it, tears streaking down my face. The guilt crushed me, an enormous weight that I had been aware of all my life bearing down on me like the weight of all the world. "What will happen to me now?" I choked out through my tears.
My copy's expression eased. "Your brethren in life warned you against Hel, not because you would be punished, but because her domain is for those who punish themselves. You brought yourself great suffering, and that suffering is Hel's domain. She understands you better than yourself, as does Loki. There will be no suffering here that you haven't already felt."
I understood. Hel had been forsaken too, as had Loki. Their choices had condemned them. Who better to have sympathy for me than them? This place was not a place of punishment for my crimes, but an asylum where I would continue to punish myself. I had an entire lifetime to forgive myself...and an eternity to understand that I hadn't. I strode forward, ignoring my reflection, embracing the cold truth, and the colder darkness of Hel. | 2016-08-15T06:37:00 | 2016-08-15T05:24:38 | 241 | 30 |
[WP] You and your roommates have a bet to see who can pull off the most illegal act and not get caught. You thought you secured the win after an elaborate graffiti project. However, one of your roommates shows up with a briefcase full of nuclear launch codes. | "The fuck is that?"
My eyes, still a little watery from the 4 hours of spray-painting I had done to the sides of the school buses, rested upon the matte black briefcase in Harry's hand. It wasn't made of plastic. We could all tell it was heavy by the veins popping out of Harry's forearm.
Not 5 minutes earlier, every single person in the room had a devilish twinkle in their eyes. The braggadocios attitudes of my 2 other roommates were cute, but misplaced. I knew I would win the bet. Nobody else in our suite had the balls to outdo my display of criminality.
Or so I thought.
Harry, who still hadn't responded to my query, took a step into the room. His breathing was shaky, but not the same quivering that one normally gets after walking up the stairs to our floor. I sensed something much deeper than fatigue. We all could.
Fear.
"Harry. You're scaring us man, come on. Answer the question." I couldn't even tell which of my other two roommates spoke. I was staring at Harry, and he was staring right back. To say something felt "off" would be the understatement of the century. This was beyond "off." Harry had crossed a line somewhere, and nobody could tell to what extent. The silence in the room deepened; Harry's quavering breaths were all that remained.
"Harry." His pupils suddenly dilated as he inhaled a curt breath. Their focus seemed to fall onto the wall behind me. I turned and looked. The television, previously off, had turned on. As I started to walk towards the T.V, my phone buzzed. So did Harry's. We heard our Amazon Alexa turn on as well, ready to listen. And then, like a symphony from a nightmare, they all erupted into noise.
"*This is an emergency alert broadcast by the Secret Service of the United States of America. If you are receiving this broadcast, you are in a Class-1 quarantine zone. Property of the P.O.T.U.S. has been stolen. All citizens are asked to remain in their homes with the doors unlocked. Do not resist search or seizure, all Federal Agents are cleared to use lethal force."*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Silence.
Every eye in the room fell back onto Harry, who still hadn't moved. His breathing was quiet now. Had the situation been different, someone would have cracked a joke about the silence that had befallen us. Nobody said a word, though. The last thing I heard was a crash down the hallway, and the sound of heavy boots charging down the hall. There was no knock, no time to run. Harry's mouth finally opened, and two words escaped his lips.
"I won."
A flash of light.
A searing pain
and it was all over.
&#x200B;
I guess I lose. | Don't we all have that little demon that just itches to get out from time to time? Well, thats me and my roommates in a nutshell. Theres Kelvin, he can pretty much get away with anything, as his father is the head officer in our city (Definitely a friend with a benefit), Hawkins, who once reset ALL clocks at our collage, meaning that the bells never rung, and Evan, who we don't exactly know to well, but we do know his father. Everyone knows his father. He works for the goverment, currently inspecting North Korea. We had to let him in, it was just too amazing that he wanted to be part of OUR group. And then there was me, an graffiti artist that people awed at. I could draw anything upon request, and always find the best unexpected places to deface.
Anywho, we have this bet every week, to use our "Talents" to do the most illegal crime. The winner gets nothing more than a pat on the back, and a great feel of acomplishment. We quickly put our own plans into action, I was going to do my most elaborate plan yet, drawing a illusion of a hole going into the mayor's office, so from above you would think it was caved in. I spent the week working hard on this project, and when I was done, I was ready to receive my pat on the back (Of course, so was the other guys) when even walks in. He's carrying a briefcase. I sensed something was wrong, and I calmly said to even "Hey, whats in the suitcase?" He looked at me with dead expression. He smiled, "Enough power to knock that korean scum off the face of the earth." He said, casually as if this happened every day. My heart started pounding... What if he got found out? What if he knew how to work it? I heard the doorbell ring, but before I could answer, he said "You don't want to do that." I froze, turned around, and he was pressing buttons from inside the briefcase, the other guys standing there in shock. Then it hit me. This must be his fathers, and nuclear war WAS in the news a lot.
All of a sudden the door came down, I turned my head only to get pepper sprayed. As I went down, I heard Evan say "Kaboom!" And laugh as he was gunned down by the most trained professionals In the country.
I couldn't breath, it was too much, and I blacked out.
After I was released from the hospital, days later, all i heard was chaos. North Korea was in ruin.
Evan killed a country, and it was all my fault.
I am the true terrorist here. | 2019-05-13T06:55:40 | 2019-05-13T05:13:01 | 79 | 34 |
[WP] There are multi-Gods for the multi-verse, and it turns out ours is kind of like the 'cool mom who lets you drink at her house,' though other Gods look at our free will and generally silent deity as bad Godding on His part. | Sam sighed as he looked upon the whole of his creation. "I just don't want them to hate me," he said. "They never even knew their mother. I'm all they've got."
The woman seated next to him nodded sagely. "I know it can be hard, raising them alone. But this hands-off approach you've been using for the past few millennia just isn't *good* for them, dear. They need *discipline*. As it is, your people are stunted. You gave them this whole beautiful universe and for the most part they don't even care to explore it. They just stay in their Earth, wrecking the place and fighting with each other over who loves you more. You need to give them a little guidance. They'll thank you for it."
"I'm just worried if I let myself lose my temper I'll take it too far," said Sam.
"Yes," the woman paused, considering her words carefully. "The flood was a little bit over the top. But you can teach them boundaries without all of that."
Sam flushed slightly. "I'm still embarrassed about that one," he said. "But they just really push your buttons sometimes, you know? It's the free will that makes it tricky." He sighed again. "Sara would have known what to do."
"I know you miss her," the woman said. She patted his knee. "But you can't just let them run wild like this. Have you thought about reining in the free will a bit? Your people might be happier that way. Look at your ants and bees. So organized!"
"They're killing the bees too!" Sam shook his head. "No, that's my fault. I should have made them cuter. You should see how hard they work to save pandas, and they don't pollinate anything!"
"I think we're getting off topic, dear."
"I'm just saying, a lot of this is on me," said Sam. "I've just been creating off the cuff. Panda bees! That's a great idea right? I should get to my workshop."
The woman shook her head. "You can't just keep escaping into your work."
Sam shrugged "Look, the people will sort things out in time. But they have to have free will. I haven't given up on my goal yet."
"What is your goal, dear? What do you want from them?"
"Just...someone to talk to," Sam said. "That's all."
There was no reply.
The wind picked up. Sam looked at the empty space beside him and sighed again. He stood up.
"I really should get back to it then," he said to the wind.
| Entity C-137 looked over her favourite creation, humans. They were the most interesting thing that she had ever seen. These complex beings were not perfect paragons of virtue that all worked together to advance the species, they were a bunch of animals that were equal parts mis-informed, self-interested and unpredictable. That means that when beauty is created, and it is abundant in her universe, it is produced in spite of, not because of the worst that she produced. She had seen other gods produce cruel caricatures of good and evil, but this was too harsh a contrast for her, the picture was more profound with grey areas. For there to be happiness, there must be a state of un-happiness otherwise being happy would become the status quo, so the value of happiness is destroyed. There were entities that disregarded free will as evil, and that if a entity didn’t control all the moving elements then that entity was deficient or evil, but C-137 always thought the contrary. She was benevolent and that meant that there were those that produced pain, death and destruction. But those people were then overthrown and shown of examples of how not to act, so the 2 processes achieved the same thing, it’s just one took a little longer to ensured that it was organic. Though C-137 was in fact omni-potent, she didn’t know what would happen next, there was an entertainment that she could enjoy from the universe because of the way she treated the sentient beings.
C-12 for example had a master race of near-omni potent super beings that were immortal. Their story is a short one, they achieved all there was to achieve before the first earliest organism had formed anywhere in her universe. They had never been sad, unfulfilled or disappointed, but as a result were bored and most of them killed themselves. The rest are now controlled by C-12 to stop them from ending their existence. For life and creation to have meaning, there must be death and destruction. C-137 had always believed this, but had not forced it on her subjects, but they had come to that conclusion themselves. She always felt that her free-will approach meant that rather than one world working on the project, there were billions of neurons that collaborated to create a collection that was greater than the sum of the parts.
C-137 was sure that her professor would give her an A, especially because of the emergence of some pretty zany characters, she just had to reach the word count… | 2017-05-07T09:14:56 | 2017-05-07T07:39:28 | 524 | 139 |
[WP] YOU CANNOT DIE, no matter what, for the first 65 years of your life. AFTER THAT you're completely mortal. This is the first morning after your 65th birthday... | I shouldered my rifle as the APC rolled to a stop.
"Happy birthday cap" Jimmison smiled as the doors burst open and he followed America's oldest soldier into battle.
The immortality had been handy, saved a lot of lives, ended a lot of bad ones... but I never told him that today it was over. Today might be the last time. The end of an era, but I'd rather go down doing what I love.
I'd charged bunkers and taken on impossible odds my whole life, it was never anything too special, being invincible makes heroism cheap... that was all over now.
All my life I'd been called a brave man, but only now did I finally feel like one. Happy Birthday indeed. | I woke up in the same hospital bed I'd been occupying for the last 23 years. My numerous scars and gouges greeted me with a sore welcome. I had done such amazing things with my life prior to this. The feds had covered all my medical expense for my service to them for so long. The injuries I sustained during my duty are still painful, sure, but what hurts most is knowing that my fire burned too bright and too soon. | 2014-12-24T13:02:14 | 2014-12-24T11:45:17 | 78 | 15 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | You take a deep breath and die.
It's not so bad.
You breathe out and open your eyes or maybe close them, it's difficult to tell. You're not sure what's just happened. You do know, though, that you're standing in a kitchen. You also know that you're not standing and it isn't a kitchen and you aren't there. You remember binaries don't really exist here. Memories are coming back in a steady stream. Your lips and tongue tingle. It hurts beautifully like too much Tabasco.
“How was that one, dear?”
You blink and look at her. *Grandmother*.
Your lips are cotton and you wet them. Stumble over words. “Spicy.” You smile for a reason you cannot remember. “Like too much Tabasco.”
She is wiping a bowl, newly cleaned, and laughs.
“Where am I?” You ask.
“She smiles and golden light streams in through a small kitchen window, covered by lace curtains. Behind the glass there is blank everythingness.
“You know where you are, dear.”
You nod.
She smiles and cracks two eggs into the bowl. Their yolks are stars that burn like new born eyes and their whites are the noisy space of a thousand galaxies. You think that they are beautiful, that eggs are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, how is that you have never noticed how beautiful eggs are before now?
“Shall we make another?” she asks you.
“Make another?” you ask.
She Mm-Hmms.
“I died.” you say.
“Don't be silly.” She says.
You're being silly. She wipes her hands on her apron and pulls a packet of flour down from a cupboard, it's opened corner powdered and dog-eared.
“You made that?”
She looks at you suddenly. Surprise in eyes immeasurably young and kind. “Oh good grief, child, no. I'm teaching you but I can hardly make each, myself. Come and I'll show you again, but you're the one that adds all that flavour.”
She pours in the flour and it's a thousand crisp mornings in fall and a hundred midnight swims on shores you've never seen.
She asks you to pass her the whisk and you do and she whisks, adding in ingredients that measure out to whole lives and entire worlds. You smile and she dips a spoon into the batter and holds it out to you and you taste it and laugh and live a new life. | You are dead, or are you really? You have been an atheist, all your live. Well most of it, sometimes you have ventured into agnosticism, but mostly you have been an atheist. So why the hell, can you still think, you remember being alive, you remember the doctor saying that it would all over soon, then pushing the piston on the syringe of the barbiturate into the catheter attached to your arm. And now what? You have absolutely no sensorial input, you can't feel anything, you have no material body at all. What are you now then? Now you are a consciousness floating in the void, since you have absolutely no weight you are left in the exact same position, i know position is relative, but lets talk relative to the actual centre of the universe, so Earth is long gone. Not that it will make any difference to you, you did not even notice it. Oh i see i have not answered the question. And now what? Well ... Now you ... There is not really much you can do, you can think, try to dream things, pretend you are still alive, try to relive your life, since obviously you remember everything. But there is not much point to it. You think everybody else is just like you, a floating conscience somewhere in the vast void. Can you communicate with them? Oh, of course not, that would require a body. What about brainwaves, you might ask. You do not have a brain anymore, nothing at all, just your thoughts, what a religious person would call your soul, yes that really exists and yes that really lives on. Surprising, i know right. So? Does that mean there is a god? You do not know, how would he talk to you, how would you listen? By now you are probably asking yourself, who am I, this person sitting here having a conversation with you? I am you, your thoughts, just a creation of your imagination, to steer you away from the madness that loneliness and boredom will certainly create. Oh, my. I have said to much haven't I? Well time to leave. Bye! | 2015-10-19T04:40:00 | 2015-10-18T20:21:54 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP... | There I was, sitting in my designated chair at home, making memes and singing along to this old game I used to play which tells you how good you were at singing the song it gives you.
"OH DAMN! THIS IS MY JAM!!" I exclaimed having heard the first few chords of my favourite song. As I began singing along I noticed a small fruitfly near my arm, laying on the armrest, still singing along I casually swept my arm out, propelling the fly into my range for a devastating kick.
*blip*
+1 EXP
I have to say that I'm getting pretty good at this, if I say so myself. A few minutes passed and as my song strung out its final chord I heard another...
*blip*
+1500 EXP
"Huh?"
I hear an overdramatic voice from my TV speakers shout, 'WOW! You totally destroyed that song, wanna go again?' | NOTE: Sorry about any mistakes. I am working on being a better writer. But I have never been good at punctuation
Any advice welcome.
PART 1
As I lay reading the newest issue of my favorite comic, I began to feel that familiar warmth. The retinal display showed +1,500 EXP. Odd I hadn't killed anything today.
As I pondered what this could possibly mean my phone began to buzz. I had a new message. Hoping for answers I opened the message.
-
From:BLOCKED
We need to talk. Park at midnight.
Who is this?
All will be explained.
-
I don't know what is going on but I don't like it. | 2017-05-15T08:57:56 | 2017-05-15T04:49:15 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] "Why do we have to put on gas masks every night?" | "But why, mommy? Why do we have to wear these?"
Jennifer stared at her daughter. Of course she didn't understand; how could she? But she needed to tell her something. She owed it to her child.
"Honey... I'm sorry. We all have to. Even those up on the surface."
Stacey gazed into her mother's eyes, confused. "But *why*?"
Jennifer stroked her child's hair.
"Don't worry, child. One day, you won't have to wear one. We won't have to be trapped down here. One day... you'll be free."
Stacey smiled uncertainly. "Will you be coming with me?"
"Don't tell daddy," Jennifer said, placing the mask over Stacey's face, "but I'll be right behind you."
She tightened the mask's straps, making sure it was on tight. She watched as her daughter's breaths slowed, until the machine almost entirely breathed for her. She fell asleep in front of her eyes.
As always, she wondered if it would be the last time she'd be awake.
The door opened, and her husband walked in, wearing his mask. She took hers off, indicating for him to do the same.
"It's fine," she whispered, gesturing towards her daughter, "she's asleep."
Michael nodded, taking off the mask. He gazed at her, his eyes full of sorrow.
"Do you think she'll ever get better?" he asked, as he put his hand on his wife's shoulder.
She carried on looking at her child, as her eyes began to water.
"No," she said, wiping a tear from her cheek, "I don't."
She stroked Stacey's forehead with her thumb, wet from her tears.
"But until her time is up, at least we can make her feel normal again."
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day. | Images of flourishing cities came into my head. Smiles on people's faces as they greeted one another passing on the sidewalks. The large neon signs flashing the newest products to buy. Each product with the same promise of "making your life so much more manageable."
How the wildlife occupied the lush forests and made the trees seem almost alive. The birds as they would sing in the branches, and the deer as they would bound through the woods. I knew them as ghosts of the forest in my youth.
I thought of the streams that shimmered like a precious jewel in the sunlight, and how they were bountiful with fish.
I remembered the fruit trees on my families orchards, and how easy it was to reach up to pick a sweet treat directly off the branches. The thought of the sweetness began to make my mouth water.
Memories of green, lush fields and the wildflowers that danced among the tall grass.
Visions of my grandfather came to mind and the things he tried to teach me as a kid. I wish I would have applied the wisdom he had fought so hard to learn, but so freely gave.
My own parents came to mind, and the house we lived in that they had worked so hard to buy.
"Dad? Did you hear me? Why do we need to wear gas masks at night?"
A tear dripped down my cheek, "Because honey. Daddy and his generation made a really bad mistake years ago."
I looked at the cold, cavern walls we now called home, and then back to the child in bed. "Now get some rest, we have a busy day trying to find food tomorrow. Sleep tight honey." | 2016-10-19T11:15:11 | 2016-10-19T11:07:36 | 79 | 16 |
[WP] Humanity has begun colonizing the galaxy, but no other intelligent life forms have been found. One day, your ship's warp drive malfunctions and you crash-land on a previously-undiscovered planet. It contains intelligent life... but it's currently going through its equivalent of the Dark Ages. | *All alien talk will be translated for your reading pleasure. Unfortunately, for the humans of this story, they have absolutely no idea what the aliens are talking about.*
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Grope reeled in agony. Les joined, same with Chine, Sindee and Baden.
"Damn, that hurt," groaned Grope. "We aren't supposed to come out of hyperspeed like that..."
Les rolled over and laid on his stomach. "Well, the dirt smells safe."
Sindee tried to step up but her legs buckled beneath her.
"Going to take about an hour for us to get adjusted to the gravity and coming out of warp-drive, folks. Take a rest," commanded Grope.
"Yes, captain," they responded.
--------------------------------------
The crew lay on the grass field their ship ripped apart, the steaming wreckage burning behind them. A group of natives were hunting pigga (a local delicacy that resembled Earth's pigs), when they saw the ship appear in the sky and promptly collide with the ground. It was a great surprise to them. They cautiously approached the steaming wreckage.
"Metal from the sky?" said the native leader. "And fire? Be wary. The Gods have sent this. It could be evil."
The hunting troops nodded and walked carefully around the smoking metal. Around the corner, they spotted five humans having a nap.
"Aliens!" the native leader yelled, quickly quieting himself to not alert the humans. "Aliens... be careful."
The troop slowly surrounded them, pointing their pointy sticks towards the group of unconscious humans.
"Wake!" the leader yelled.
---------------------------------------------------
Grope was dreaming of dandelions eating his childhood pet cat. It was making him horribly depressed, so when he heard "*Ga'balo!*", he immediately awoke.
"*Ga'balo!*" said a strange looking man staring down at Grope.
"Ga..." started Grope, weary-eyed. Then he noticed the spears. "Frick."
"Wake up! Wake up, crew! We have a welcome party."
"Party!" yelled Les. "And a welcome one at that!" He looked up with excitement to see a sharp point of metal inches away from his face. Slumping back down, he turned to Grope.
"I guess it's not a colonial planet, is it?"
"*Fort too loo, fort too loo!*" yelled the leader.
"What's all the noise?" asked Sindee, finally rolling over to see what was happening. One of the hunting troops walked over and pointed the spear down at her. "Oh."
Grope pointed at himself, "human. Human."
The native leader eyed Grope sharply. "*Fort too loo.*"
"I thought we had a translator on board," said Les.
"Only for languages we know," answered Chine. "If this *is* a non-colonial planet. We're kinda doomed."
They all sighed.
"*Fort too loo*!" yelled the native leader again. He turned and looked back at the group. "*Fort too loo.*"
Baden spoke up. "I think he wants us to follow him." Grope nodded.
"Seems about right," answered Grope. "Alright crew, careful getting up. Remember to be submissive. No eye-contact, no reaching for anything."
They crew slowly rose while the native troop stood steadfast and alert. Their leader began to walk, and the crew followed. After they left, Rhys awoke from the ship and stepped out in time to see his fellow crew members disappear into the forest.
"G-guys?"
-----------------------------
Time to go to work :( Hope you enjoyed it anyways! May continue at /r/ItsPronouncedGif after Christmas there's enough interest. Thank you for reading! More added [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/5kqi34/pi_planet_obscura/) as well as on my subreddit! | Tupryx approached the High Esh, who sat upon his Esh-Clol. Ever since the fall of Gleox, every trial in Cuab had been overseen by a High Esh seated upon an Esh-Clol, and not by a jury of fellow Allida. But what would a jury have offered the accused today, Tupryx wondered? Would any among the Allida - the same Allida who by the day toil to grow the prodibs, and by the night dutifully attend the benedictions of the High Esh - dare acquit the stranger from the sky? The stranger from the sky was plainly no Allida and plainly no beast. Therefore, by the word of the Esh-Flex, it was either demon or angel. As all Allida know, angels live beneath the dirt, making the prodibs grow, while demons live in the air and ravage the land with sandstorms. The stranger from the sky had careened and fallen through the air, and his fiery chariot had swept up so much sand and dust when it crashed. Therefore, by the word of the Esh-Flex, he was a demon. Though the stranger would have harmed the Allida, the Allida had soundly defeated it, and then strung him up by its ankles for the glory of the High Esh. No Allida would possibly doubt this, and certainly no High Esh would dare even consider an alternative.
It should not have concerned Tupryx whether the stranger was angel or demon. Tupryx was the stranger's attorney, and therefore duty bound to vigorously argue for him before whomever say upon the Esh-Clol, though of course in accordance with the precepts of the Esh-Flex. Few customs had endured the fall of Gleox, but the ethics of the attorneys who speak before the Esh-Clol had indeed survived. Tupryx knew his personal opinion was not relevant to the trial. However, when Tupryx saw the stranger from the sky, tied up in chains and shackles, he could not help but wonder if the stranger was neither angel nor demon, but something else altogether.
Before the fall of Gleox, the tutors would instruct pupils in much more than the word of the Esh-Flex. There were the writings of Efewea, who inquired into the meaning of beauty and humor, and Drettilz, who claimed that the world was not the center of the universe or even the only world; that the lights in the night sky were other suns which shone upon the worlds of other creatures alike to the Allida, spread across an indescribable vastness. Could this stranger be such a creature rather than a demon?
But when Gleox fell, and the High Esh seized power in Cuab and the other newborn nations, such texts as Drettilz's treatise were destroyed or buried. It certainly could not be held up as valid evidence by an attorney arguing before the Esh-Clol. If the stranger from the sky was such a being as Drettilz had described, such a case could never be prosecuted.
Tupryx reached out and touched the stranger's face. It was warm and it flinched to the touch, as if it was scared. Would a demon cower from a mere Allida? Tupryx was sorry the stranger had come to Cuab now and not in the age of Gleox.
| 2016-12-24T07:25:39 | 2016-12-24T07:11:40 | 38 | 26 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | As i emerge from a sort of sleep, I’m standing in my school hall, and there is a bunch of people standing in front of me.
“Umm, what happened”, i ask my self, as one of the people staring at me asks, “you are back, is everything’s alright?”
I start to feel anxious, it’s too much attention, i utter under my nose “what do you mean, what happened”, “do you not remember what happened?” One of the teachers asks.
“No...”
“You were just stuck there in the hallway, you didn’t move and we couldn’t move you, it’s been an hour now”
“What? I don’t remember that, all I remember is...”
Memories start to seep in, i can see josh, the school bully talking to me, thats the last memory i have.
“Dude you were like a statue, we couldn’t move you even if ten of us tried pushing you” one of the students said.
As i stud there my legs started shaking. All i can think of is that this is too much attention, i just want to get out of here, and as one of the students slap me on the shoulder. “Don’t wor...”
I wake up in the same hallway. No one around. It’s the middle of the night. The walls seemed a bit torn up, the paint worn of, trash around the corners. “What happened again?”, i look down, and in a circle around me says, “The statue boy”.
As i look through the window, the first thing that caught my eye, was that all the trees seemed a lot bigger. Twice the size actually.
As i walk toward the exit, the door is nailed with wooden planks. There is trash everywhere. It looks abandoned.
As i crawl through between planks. I notice all the houses seem similar but a bit different, and i finally asked myself the question that has been sitting on the back of my mind as i realise my powers “what year am i in?”.
——————————————
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/pie_jesu/comments/mi3v09/part_2_super_power_of_escape/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) | Jan 2, 2022
USA
Operation Stark progress log,
Day 365
Today marks the 1 year anniversary of Operation Stark. So far, the government has been unavle to create a human weapon that can control radioactive elements. The deathtoll is, as of now, 314 people.
Day 370
Test subject #322 did manage to awaken an ability during the test though it was not tge ability to control uranium as hoped. He gained the ability to bend metals and escaped. After 3 hours of running and tracking, he was neutralized.
Day 376
Nothing of note to report. Death count : 327
Day 380
Test subject number 331 has become the first person to awaken the ability to control Uranium. However, his skill was too low to avoid radiation poisoning. He is currently in critical condition and is not expected to live past midnight. However, we have been able to narrow down the ideal settings for the radiation chamber. Hopefully, we will have success before the end of tge war.
Day 384
The government has increased our funding as well as the number of test subjects we receive. Test subject number 340 also gained the ability to control Uranium, but met the same end as test subject number 331.
Day 387
The first person to succesfully escape the nuclear chamber after obtaining the power to control Uranium has been found. He is now being trained to control his powers.
Day 390
"In a tragedy, 28 scientists have died at a nuclear research centre today. The cause of this disaster is unkown. However, as you can see here, a man in shackles was seen limping away from tge ruins of the plant. Could be be the culprit?"
"Stupid news! They dont even know what was happening there, yet they accyse me. Well, no worries they will never capture me, as long as I hace these powers." | 2021-04-01T03:47:34 | 2021-04-01T03:41:16 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | "Your wallet and your watch or your life, boy. Decision is yours!"
I looked around the alley. No way out. Two men behind me, three in front. Garbage lay strewn across the dimly lit corridor.
I was beyond panicking. Shaking, I tried to unclasp my watch. Pity, it was just a G-Shock, hardly anything to murder over. I fumbled it, and it dropped to the dirt.
"Fucking clutzy pussy, eh guys?" one of the men behind me said. They all laughed. Flashbacks to grade school came pouring in. Nate shoving my head in the sand, Sal calling me a "limp dick" and shoving me into a locker every day.
I saw red. Not metaphorically, I literally saw red. Ancient runes swirled around me. My vocal cords moved, both under my own cognition but also by some strange force.
"RIP AND TEAR!"
I screamed as I lurched forward, my fist moving with explosive force. I punched through the lead gangsters face, his skull compacting as blood and guts showered my body and the brickwork around me.
As his body slumped lifeless to the dirt, I grabbed his pistol with lighting reflexes. Pivoting almost instantly to my six, I pulled the trigger twice. My gun seemed to be aiming almost automatically, as both bullets found their mark.
The two remaining men in the alley turned and ran. But I could run faster. Faster than a rocket. I caught up quickly, and tore one mans arm from his socket before crushing his skull. It was like paper mache. I was covered in guts and giblets.
The last man cried out, not for mercy but in fear, "What are you?!"
"I AM THE DOOMSLAYER MOTHERFUCKER." | Harry found it strange, as he walked down the busy street he'd periodically see people in nothing but their underwear. They'd be carrying on as usual, reading a paper, nose in their phone, or sipping coffee. He looked across the street and saw a group of people waiting at the bus stop. Three of them were already in their underwear. He watched a man glance at his watch and shuffle his suitcase. His attention snapped to the woman standing just to the left of the man. She had been wearing a grey blazer and matching skirt when the jacket suddenly vanished, followed by the skirt and her blouse underneath. Harry furrowed his brow as he continued to stare. The woman had no reaction to her clothing suddenly vanishing. As he watched her, Harry noticed a man crouched down behind the woman. The man moved behind the last person wearing clothes at the bus stop, an elderly man with his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he read a book. Harry watched in shock as the elderly man turned around to face the crouching man. "What are you doing? Stop that!" The old man yelled out. Immediately the group turned to face the crouching man as he stood and begin to run away. Harry watched as they all began to chase the man, fists raised, their faces contorted in anger. "You like the sight of your own blood?!" The woman yelled out as she led the chase. | 2018-08-14T09:18:10 | 2018-08-14T08:22:35 | 256 | 91 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories | I recognised his voice from behind me. "Cancer, this time? Not a good way to go. She suffered in the end."
"They all suffer in the end, don't they? But I give them the best I can with the time they have."
Death approached, placing his hand on my shoulder, the sleeve of a crisp white shirt poking out from beneath the sleeve of his ever black suit. "You can end your own suffering, too. All you have to do is ask."
I turned to face him. Both an adversary, and also a friend. "Death. You know my answer. She may have suffered, but I know the last thing she was thinking about was the teacups at Disneyland. She loved those teacups. And the characters! Mickey Mouse! Pluto! Goofey! Cinderella! She damn near fainted when she saw Jack Sparrow."
"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." Death interjected.
"So you do pay attention. My point is, the amount of joy I can help give someone, especially in their last moments... You'll have to wait a bit longer for me, I'm afraid. A child deserves a childhood, no matter what illness they may have."
"Very well," Death resigned. "Where are you off to next?"
"There's a 6 year old with Leukeamia in Paraguay. He wants to be Spiderman for a day. With the help of the NYPD, he's gonna be saving New York from the Green Goblin. I'm sure you'll see it on the news."
"And you'll be...?"
"Green Goblin, naturally. The smile on his face when he defeats me will greatly outweigh the sorrow of his passing."
"I'll see you at his funeral, then."
"Goodbye, Death." | 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T16:29:45 | 149 | 17 |
[WP] The human soul is music. Every person has their own melody. How a person perceives someone depends on how their melodies interact. | I knew it when I saw her- she was no stranger to love. It leaves scars on a person, like the pockmarks of battle, each telling a story of the soul. It's a dangerous game we play, laying our lives on the line.
But when I first looked into her eyes, and I felt our hearts strike a chord in key, I knew it. I knew she was the one for me. The sound of strings burst from her soul, a concerto of beautiful string and wind.
We talked in the Cafe for a little while, of little things like family and passions, and of bigger things, like politics and philosophy. She had been hurt, that much I knew, which left her cautious. She knew the game called love, and I would get her to play it.
It wasn't until our fifth date, accompanied by a stroll along the boardwalk. String lights hung in the air like fireflies along the pier. The ocean air was brisk and soothing.
She was perfect, I was sure, as I watched her lips twitch in the wan light. A drumline rolled in, followed by a light synth melody, echoing in my mind, building up my courage.
"It's been a lovely night, Rick," she said, her breath fog on the wind.
I looked deep into her eyes, our hands locked tightly, and smiled.
"I'll never give you up," I said. "I'll never let you down."
----
^(I couldn't help myself, this prompt has to many avenues)
*/r/resonatingfury* | The soul is a symphony; we are each a conductor of orchestral harmonies that play in the psyche, every crescendo a chill down the spine. It's why music connects us, as humans, a common bond that ignores race and gender. Everyone has a sound that clicks with them, makes them feel whole inside, completed, like the final piece of a puzzle has been set into place.
But it is most obvious when two souls encounter, and their hearts strike chords in the same progression, beating to the same cadence. A rhythmic connection that forms the concerto of love.
It's indescribable until you experience it, until you meet that right person and feel the harmonic tugging of your heartstrings, keeping time and key without a hint of dissonance.
That is the best way I can describe her. A symphonic woman sipping starlight in the night, the sound of her stringy soul more beautiful than anything Beethoven or Bach could have produced. I felt my own reach out, belting tenor vibrato like an opera singer on her stage. We were a perfect *portamento*, locking eyes, feeling the rise and fall, the ebb and flow.
It is a thing of magic.
---
Thank you for a lovely prompt.
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-04-05T05:04:52 | 2019-04-05T04:14:28 | 153 | 29 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | Lek'tar strong Kholan warrior. Strongest of Lekh clan. Conquer twelve planets in nebula of birth with horns, teeth, and blade. Have one hundred seventy families with twenty species, three hundred children, all strong warriors. But Lek'tar strongest.
Lek'tar forty-fifth family on Tsina say Lek'tar must prove strongest in galaxy. Tsina family challenge Lek'tar to conquer blue planet with jellies. Tsina say jellies strong. Lek'tar will pop jellies with horn.
Jelly planet many thousand years rock throw away. Kholan strong because Kholan planet many special natural force call space stretch. Kholan blood feel space stretch and bend universe around Kholan.
Lek'tar make big rock and concentrate hard on bend universe. Lek'tar see stars pass around Lek'tar face, many colors flashing. Farthest any Kholan space stretch. Blue jelly planet get bigger. Rock burn in jelly planet-fluid. Lek'tar find jelly and ask for jelly leader. Jelly no reply. So Lek'tar bury big Lek'tar horn deep into Jelly flesh. Darkness fall on Lek'tar, carapace split. Lek'tar slain by enemy... how?
-------
Cecil wipes the guts from his neck. "Fucking mosquitoes." | Dr. S.F. Mercola
Peking University, Department of Neurobiology
2259, March, 15
Human greed and shortsightedness—an intergalactic evolutionary trait?
Those in the scientific community have lamented the inability of humans to deal with basic market externalities and tragedy of the commons in the recent century. However, the problem is old as woman itself. Locke made the concept most famous nearly half a century past. Many millennia old religious texts too quarrel with the hedonistic manners of man. In combatting planetary issues, particularly the rampant effects of 20th and 21st century pollution, these pitfalls are evident. For true species survival and extraplanatary proliferation however these traits seem necessary. We provide evidence, based on data from the Great Invasion and newly acquired galactic species data obtained from the Intergalactic Alliance for Growth, that this shortsightedness is a necessary trait for intergalactic survival. We propose a theory to describe the phenomena and have dubbed it the Wells Effect. | 2014-10-17T11:04:27 | 2014-10-17T08:36:32 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] You are a time traveler entering a medieval tournament in which the winner gains the right to wed the princess. You're the first match and the king announces that you may use any weapon. Quickly you draw you're glock and shout "parry this you fucking casual" | My opponent was dead before he hit the ground. In hindsight, bring a Glock-18 to a medieval tournament might have been a little overkill.
Smoke billowed out of the barrel, forming plumes around my visage, I knew I looked kinda cool but to these people, I must’ve looked like a witch. Because that’s exactly what the men of the king’s guard exclaimed.
“One thousand, two thousand, three thousand.” I counted under my breath, applying gentle pressure on the plastic trigger to avoid barrel drift. Three men, once bearing down on me, now lay dead or dying in the mud.
“Oh ye of the devil, ye shalt never ‘ave this Daughter o mine.” The king screeched, drawing his admittedly majestic sword, though I doubt his pot bellied frame would get further than two feet if I decided to put him down. However, regicide would put me in a pretty terrible position.
“Ahh, your grace. I’m not a witch nor a devil worshipper. I am god’s retribution, his divine wrath upon you and your kingdom for your failures.”
Who knew, an entire stadia would go from wanting to burn me at the stake, to crying on their knees. I see why people start religions now.
| The roar of the shot started to settle as the knight dropped his sword and fell into the mud. I turned to the king elevated in the stands with his beautiful daughter sat beside him.
"Well whens the wedding your majesty?"
Standing there with a grin I holster my weapon. The crowd is dead silent. The king stares me down with rage in his face.
"My daughter well not marry a user of the dark arts" He roared.
With a wave of his hand several knights entered the blood soaked dirt ring. Men in towers around the arena aimed crossbows in my direction.
"What dark arts?" I pull out my weapon. "This is a Glock."
"I do not care what you call your pointing death magic thing. As a user of the dark arts I execute you to death!"
With that he looks at his men with the stoic face only a man of such power and respect carries.
"Men do your kingdom proud! Execute him!"
I knew I shouldn't of left New York.
&#x200B; | 2019-03-22T21:47:18 | 2019-03-22T19:48:23 | 1,094 | 80 |
[WP] Suddenly the whole world hears a voice from the sky: Hi guys, God here. I'm being promoted to the Andromeda galaxy and I'm here to introduce my replacement, Bob this is earth, earth this is Bob. Have fun, pleasure to meet you all!! | Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads up to the sky. Had they heard correctly, God was leaving and left some man named Bob in charge? People in the cities looked out their windows, and stepped out of their cars looking upward for more answers. Meanwhile, in the Vatican, Pope Francis and his cardinals were discussing what implications this news might mean. Elsewhere still, the Grand Seer of the Church of the Apocalyptic Holy Trinity, looked upon his flock and reasoned, now would be a good as any time to bring out the Kool-aid.
As the people of the world waited for news from this Bob, many began to fear and question all of reality. As Joshua McCabe picked up a brick in rage, as Nikolai Kaparov was stepping off the ledge of his building in fear, and as Pablo Gutierrez reached for the bottle of booze that would drown him, a gentle caring voice boomed from the heavens.
"Hello I'm Bob Ross. I'm grateful to be welcomed into all your lives. This is a first for me, but I want to thank you all for allowing me the opportunity to be God's replacement. I never imagined this would happen, but there are no mistakes, just happy accidents."
And thus the world was good, and calmed. The sky turned a brilliant shade of Phallo Blue with clouds of Titanium White. | "Well... fuck." said the Atheists of the world
"I thought his name was Yahweh.." said others
Yet more would come to fear the days of Bob's 'tweaks'. "Nothing too huge, just want to get my own chapter in that neat book of yours!"
Armageddon might be a little harsh to wish for, but it certainly changed the religious sects of the world.
For one, God was talking to us. Or.. bob. He spilled the beans that were weren't really that special and that God DIDN'T make us, he just took the credit for it. Also that apparently God did a shit job watching the kids.
On the downside, he turned the sky purple. PURPLE. Why was that even on his list too DO. He once made it rain cats and dogs because he misinterpreted a turn of phrase. The religious nuts are even uneasy when they realize that having a new god/manager means that everything, every single thing they've prayed for, killed for and lied about amount to squat.
Because the prayers don't go to god. They go to Bob now. | 2018-03-12T17:05:40 | 2018-03-12T15:59:20 | 3,717 | 57 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Alex,
Its been nearly 15 years since I have seen you. While we were only kids then I think about you often. We were best friends, and even when we had so little and our families argued we still found a way to hang out. Be it play wrestling games in your room, or have grass fights...it was the highlight of my youth. I miss those days.
I wonder where you are, how life ended up for you as we both grew up with very difficult lifes. I even think of your sisters, Ashley and Angelica.
Most of all I am sorry how it ended. How much I miss you even after all these years. How you handed me the empty envelopes already stamped and addressed, how someone got ahold of them and decided to tear them up so we couldn't contact each other anymore. Quite often I find myself searching for you on social media or the internet, but I have never found you.
I only hope that you are alive and doing well. That you are happy.
-GM | I’m not really sure if I should be doing this, or if I even miss you right now, but some how you always find your way into my mind. I can’t believe I promised you I could be strong that day because I felt so weak knowing I couldn’t have your presence in my life anymore, but I think I have gotten “stronger” since then. Sounds dumb but I tried to find someone like you after it was all said and done, but I realized that I don’t need to be more than myself to be happy. Hope you’re not thinking of me and hope you’re enjoying your life. I’m still thankful for everything you taught me beautiful. | 2017-11-06T00:29:01 | 2017-11-06T00:23:50 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | This is in response to a comment that was deleted (This is a more appropriate way to moderate a story telling subreddit IMO, shame the buggers):
So you can choose between extreme intelligence and horns? Claws? Who would choose f---ing useless horns over intelligence?
"For someone with extreme intelligence, you should know our mutations are random." I patiently explained, although I think he took offense.
"Bagh, you could've simply focused on raising your intelligence upon sensing the threshold mutation factor occurring, *obviously*." Wagnasty90 sneered. Someone so smart should've picked a better super hero name.
"For the last time I didn't sense threshold mutation factors kicking in. I had a headache. I think you knew it was the mutation kicking in because of your alleged extreme intelligence."
Uh oh.
"Alleged? excuse me but I'll have you know the number of offers from ivy league schools have exceeded..."
I tried to ignore him but the grating whiny voice kept on and on. I swiftly turned my head, catching him upside the temple with one of the 8-pound neck aches that life gifted me. He fell like extremely intelligent bricks.
"Stop right there!" I heard behind me.
Oh crap. Officer MacLarky, omnipotent of all crime occurring **and** a teleporter no less. I only had one way out of this. I turned wide eyes to him and carefully gave the explanation that always won me sympathy and often a pardon.
"Moo?"
| Everyone knew this day would come, the day that would determine the rest of our lives. No one knew where the mutation came from, my parents always told me that it was just a path of life, that their parents had mutations and so did the generation before them. Today was the day, my 21st birthday, my grandmother had always told me stories about her 21st birthday, how she spontaneously developed the ability to communicate with others without oral speech, through the mind. She was on a bus to Florida, when a rambunctious fellow with a pink bow tie came down to sit next to her, he had the largest nose she had ever seen, his mutation. Without the intention of doing so, she mocked the man calling him names, he turned around, got up and spat in her face.
Well, I was about to get my mutation today, a day I had dreaded for years. What if I develop some useless mutation? I won't ever amount to anything. I hadn't prepared myself for what was to come. Thoughts flowed through my head as I was eating a bowl of cereal.
'Christine! It's your 21st birthday! I can't believe my little girl has grown so old!'
'I know, mum.' | 2015-03-04T05:03:27 | 2015-03-04T00:56:46 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Suddenly all over the world, the sky was completely covered by a gray blanket of clouds. After a month, suddenly the clouds disappear with a voice saying "Sorry for the wait. The rework of Sky has now been enabled. Enjoy!" and the sky is now filled with floating islands and cities. | Jaxon could live with the changes to the sky. Even the odd voice that boomed through the air when it happened didn't bother him much. For all he could tell, things didn't really change. Except for the cities in the sky.
That part Jaxon hated. With a passion. It wasn't that they were ugly, in fact they were rather pretty. They were nice to visit too. Lots to do up there, what with all the new shops, parks, and other attractions.
The problem that Jaxon had with them was a simple design flaw that made his life hell. Jaxon worked for city sanitation. Well, now it was called "sub city sanitation services".
Before the new sky came about things weren't so bad. Now, it was awful. Every day Jaxon was out in the streets cleaning as normal. But nowdays, it wasn't the trash, or the buildup of dirt, or even the occasional roadkill. That didn't bother him.
It was the plumbing. From above. Whoever, or whatever, changed the sky, in it infinite wisdom, didn't think about waste disposal for a floating city.
Jaxon was mulling all this over in his mind from the seat of his enclosed street sweeper unit when his train of thought was interupted by a sudden deluge of human feces hammered into his window screen and rooftop.
Almost absentmindedly Jaxon logged the sewage strike in his book. Biohazard crew would have to see to the rig after his shift now.
Fuckin sky cities. | John prodman was in the middle of his morning coffee when a thin streak of sunlight slowly crossed his living room. He thought nothing of it, instead he focused on the news reports of the sky suddenly clearing and various world governments scrambling to claim “stationary airspace”. Nobody knew how it happened or why. For the past month people had tried to fly past the singular global cloud, any planes that crossed a invisible threshold were mysteriously teleported back onto the ground with the note “kick me” taped to the pilot’s face.
John stood and shut the curtain, the sunshine was causing a glare on his TV. Then suddenly a booming voice shook everything. A surround sound of majestic proportions took place in his mind “WE HAVE DELIVERED YOUR PACKAGE AT MARS, SOL, MILKY WAY GALAXY. THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING ANDROMEDA PRIME, IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS PLEASE CALL US AT 448244453. PLEASE LODGE YOUR COMPLAINTS AT YOUR NEAREST BLACK HOLE. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR CHOOSING ANDROMEDA PRIME”
John thought about and promptly misunderstood significance of that message.
Maybe he’ll go a reddit megathread to see what other people have to say.
| 2018-08-26T10:36:01 | 2018-08-26T09:49:46 | 177 | 56 |
[WP] A Monster Made In A Horror Game Becomes Real, But Still Follows It’s AI. For Example, It Cannot Perceive People When They Hide, Even If They Hid While The Monster Was Starring At Them | The most feared scenario had manifested itself. Zombies were everywhere. Is this the end? Or is it the supply of these disgusting creatures that has no end? It was only one night, but it felt like forever. They just kept coming.
Those who had plans for this exact scenario started to execute their plans, to varying degrees of success. Others were in sheer panic. These guys had some intelligence to them, too. Walls could keep them at bay, but doors... not so much. Thousands of people had fallen victim to the new outbreak as it spread across the entire globe. It happened too quickly for any organized procedures to be carried out.
But then... the sun started rising. And with it, the zombies started... *falling?*
In an almost comical manner, everyone stood in awe as every single zombie in clear sight burned to a crisp.
The dark, nightmare-ish vibe in the atmosphere faded away. By the time it was noon, it looked like nothing had ever happened.
"Ah, Minecraft..." | When they first appeared, nobody was quite certain of how to respond to these strange violent creatures with their hands that weren't quite hands and their faces that weren't quite faces.
They attacked viciously, and with minimal provocation, though in particular, the word "sweetroll" drove them into a ferocious rage.
One day, some suicidal daredevil went and put a basket over one's head, and realized it neutralized their perception almost entirely.
So, we've more or less just learned to live with them now, we still haven't figured out where they're coming from, but the basket weavers are making a *killing*. | 2022-08-22T03:29:18 | 2022-08-22T02:17:54 | 296 | 83 |
[WP] You're 90% sure your flat-mate's a vampire, unfortunately for him you're a vampire hunter. But he does pay half the rent so... | Before you start to judge me: I live in Los Angeles. We have more weird shit per square foot going on than any other place (except maybe New Jersey), and the average 2-bedroom apartment starts at 3 grand a month.
You might be skeptical about denizens of the night living on the Golden Coast, but really, the sun's out for about 10 hours a day almost everywhere, and L.A. has a pretty vibrant night life. There are tons of people who don't crawl home until just before the sun comes up.
My day job starts at 3 in the afternoon and lets out at 11. They pay me 12 bucks an hour to operate a noisy machine that punches holes into metal. I usually grab late dinner at in-n-out after and then hunt for a few hours before I drop dead on my pillow just after 6 in the morning and catch some sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Hunting in this city can get straight up confusing. I've seen 100% human weirdos guzzle down pig blood (and barf their guts out minutes later), and have their teeth surgically altered into pointy fangs. Those same weirdos then have their fake fangs cleaned by a vampire dental hygienist who hides the fact she's drooling for a tasty meal behind a medical face mask and idle chit chat.
There are a lot of vampires in the medical field; especially in phlebotomy and long term care. The next time you get your blood taken at the ER, pay closer attention. If it looks like the phlebotomist is wearing colored contact lenses, she probably is. And if the nurse lifting your grandma from wheelchair to bed in the old-folks home seems inhumanly strong, that's because he probably is.
Anyway, what I'm saying is that it's really hard to spot the difference, and you can't just go around spraying holy water in people's faces with a squirt bottle, hoping it pays off.
Also, rent is 3 grand a month and I make 12 bucks an hour at my 40 hours a week gig, and my second job pays nothing except the 'satisfaction of knowing you're doin' the right thing'. Gee, thanks, dad.
I guess, what I'm saying is, don't judge me too harshly for taking it slow with my flat mate.
So, he's an ICU nurse who pulls 18 hour shifts and still comes home looking fresh as a daisy. Maybe he just has exceptional skin care products? I don't go poking around his stuff in the bathroom.
So, his shelf in the fridge is mostly empty and the two steel thermos bottles look a little weird sitting next to my 2 liter Mountain Dew. He says it's chai tea for work and he prefers it chilled. Am I really going to go behind his back and take a sip, just to make sure? I don't think so. There are 'don't eat my stuff' rules for a reason.
So, he never brings friends over and hasn't had a date since we moved in together 3 years ago. Well, neither have I. That doesn't mean nothing.
So, he can smell garlic from across the room and won't get anywhere near me after I've had Thai, or Italian, or Greek food. Dude, if I could get away from myself after eating that shit, I would. The stuff is noxious coming back out of every pore!
So, he keeps his curtains closed at all times and uses more sunscreen than the average California beauty queen. Well, we all have weird things. I can't wear black socks because I freak out when they leave fuzz bugs between my toes. It's a childhood trauma. Leave me alone.
Anyway, I guess, what I'm saying is, with all the circumstantial evidence, I'm still only 90% sure that he's a vampire. But he does pay half the rent so....
edited for correction (sunshine state to golden coast. I apologize for mixing those up.) | His name is Edward. He sleeps during the day. In a coffin. He only ever seems to drink "V8". And he owns several books that he "inherited from his great-great-great grandfather". If I didn't know any better, I'd say his transparent attempts to emulate the mannerisms of a vampire were more than that.
"Walter. If you could pace somewhere less distracting..."
Oh, right. Walter. That's me. Walter Guest. Professional vampire hunter, in a fashion. A proper vampire hunter wouldn't be relying on a roommate to pay most o- I mean *half* of the rent. I *do* pay for most of the groceries. And I do all of the grocery shopping as well. Edward only ever leaves the flat after all of the stores have already closed. He's certainly dedicated to this whole "creature of the nig-"
"Walter."
"I'm pacing again, aren't I?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. Not 'again'. You never stopped." he said, both with a wry smile and a look of mild annoyance.
"No matter." he followed. "The night is still young and I must not stay here reading until the crack of dawn whilst there are still things to be done. I suspect you will be retiring soon?"
"No. Not tonight."
"Oh, does there lurk another vampire in town again? Perhaps I will not be paying the entire rent this month?"
"Truth be told, I think I've largely solved the vampire problem that once plagued this town. I believe there to be only one vampire left, and I am hot on his trail."
"If it is the butcher, I hate to disappoint you but I believe you may have misinterpreted his 'weakness for steaks'." replied Edward with a smirk.
"Edward. Are you a vampire?"
For what felt like an eternity, the room went silent. Suddenly, Edward's grim visage turned to one of joviality. "And if I was, you would slay me? And then who would stop the landlord from slaying you?"
A good question.
"Go to bed, Walter."
"I-I can't just go to bed! You're a vampire, you'll-"
"I will what? Not kill you in your sleep? Drink a non-lethal amount of some random person's blood? Read literature until the sun comes up? O, what untold tragedy that would surely bring."
"Okay. Okay. I see your point... *But you are still a vampire, an abomination upon the lord!*"
"Well, that is not a very kind thing to say. What if I told you that you are an abomination upon the lord of darkness?"
I pondered for a moment, and then replied "Th-"
"I was only kidding, Walter.", Edward interrupted with a slight smile. "Look. You have slain all of the rest of the vampires in town. And you never would have succeeded without my aid. And I do not just mean covering your rent and mending your gear."
"To be quite honest", Edward continued, "I thought it was painfully obvious that I was a vampire. I believed you to be feigning ignorance."
"I-I didn't think a vampire would be that obvious about it."
"Hmm..." Edward pondered for a moment, and then broke the silence.
"Walter?"
"Yeah?"
Edward smiled and started trying to hold back laughter.
"Edward?"
"Wal- pfftt", Edward began to speak before once again trying to hold back laughter. A moment later he regained his composure and began again.
"Walter? Are you a human?"
"And if I was, would you slay me? And then who would stop the landlord fro-"
We both laughed. | 2015-11-10T05:23:29 | 2015-11-10T04:34:27 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] Earth is actually an abandoned colony of an ancient human empire, who have returned after thousands of years. | *The Saga Begins* : Part 1
---------------------
I remember well the day the saucers came. It was a chaos as you would expect. Governments panicked. People rioted. It took three days for martial law to be declared. We didn't need telescopes to see them. The saucers were huge. It was the biggest news event in the history of mankind. The question of are we alone in the universe had received a resounding answer of no, we are not.
Scientists with Twitter accounts, conspiracy theorist, and theist from every religion flocked to social media to voice their fears and theories. Politicians stampeded CNN and FOX and Al Jazeera in an attempt to calm the people, but we could see it clearly in their eyes. They were just as scared as us. The conjectures we'd expected were tossed around.
The saucers had come to plunder Earth. They were hear for our minerals. They were slavers come to collect us. The were peaceful explorers. It was a scientific expedition com to study us. They're scouts. The possible reasons for their arrival was a mystery, but everyone had a theory. They had a theory because the saucers never landed. They never came down to make their intentions known. They didn't attack. They didn't attempt communication. Other than knocking a few weather satellites out of orbit, they did nothing. Like moths crowding a street lamp, the saucers came and did nothing.
The riots lasted three months, but when the saucers didn't descend, fear turned to curiosity. There were so many of them. Each about the size of Iowa. NORAD counted three hundred and seven ships. NASA confirmed this. Each ship was given a target designation by the military. Warheads were prepped, launchers positioned, alliances formed with our historic enemies, and all in the name of humanity. We stood no chance against what was up there. I knew it and so did our Generals. This wasn't a fight for survival. It was an obstinate desire to go down swinging, but the call to fire never came and the ships still didn't come.
Five months in the saucer occupation, an threshold was reached in which a decision had to be made. There were still cosmonauts on the ISS. They were running low on take and powdered rib eye evidently. They needed rescued or resupplied. I remember watching the debates on whether would we launch the space shuttle or whether Space X would handle the mission. Space X got the contract. The vote was heavily in favor of retrieving the men. The need to debrief these men who'd floated nearly half a year amongst the visitor ships was of paramount importance. A Dragon class rocket of Space X design was selected to make the journey. A day was chosen. A launch window selected. Nobody watched SpongeBob that day. Every channel on every station showed the same thing. A space shuttle with a big red "X" printed on the side calmly awaiting the time to launch. Newscaster after newscaster showed the same dozen former NASA consultants explaining what would happen when the time came to launch. I watched with baited breath. This would either be a boring taxi ride for a bunch of Russian scientists, or it would be seen as a hostile act by those who piloted the saucers. This was possibly the last moments of man.
-------------------
Continued below . . . | I've always hated working at my low end job at the diner, serving those pricks that would never leave anything more than a two dollar tip. Hey I won't complain though, it was a small town and I was still in high school, despite graduating in a few months.
It was a relatively slow night, considering we hadn't had over six customers at one time since we opened nearly ten hours ago. I'm not going to complain since I barely had any time to myself while I was working, and the slow day allowed me to relax for a bit.
There were three waitresses working that night along with me, and seeing how I had a window to go out back and take a smoke break, I gladly took it. I opened the back door and lit one up. Damn it was cold I thought to myself. I know it's December in Pennsylvania but even with my winter coat on I was shivering.
I stopped complaining to myself and tried to enjoy my cigarette and the five minutes of peace I had, even if it meant I might freeze to death.
"Anna, where the fuck are you!?!"
My manager, great. There is never a moment where he's not yelling at somebody.
"I'll be right there!" I shouted after him. I took two last puffs of my cigarette, looked up towards the stars, and then flicked it towards the ground.
I was about to turn around to go back inside, but out the corner of my eye I saw the cigarette lightly illuminate a face. I froze and wanted to shriek out, but before I could do anything he was approaching me.
As he came closer he became larger in size. I figured he must of been seven feet tall at least, and he wasn't lengthy or skinny, but perfectly toned. He was wearing some sort of spandex suit that seemed to be armored, and with each step he took the crevices between the armor plating lit up. That was the last thing I could make out before I was looking into his eyes.
He was a foot away by that point with his hand around my neck. He began to study every inch of my body, and that truly petrified me.
"Wh-..what.. do.... you.... want" I managed to say as tears began to roll down my cheeks. He didn't say anything, his face didn't change, and he just held a blank stare towards me.
I heard the back door burst and my manager yell "Where the fuck are you?!?!" The man turned towards him and smiled.
"What the fu-..." My manager didn't even get to finish his sentence before his head exploded. I could see bits of his brain scattered on the ground, and felt some warm blood poor down my forehead. I stared at my manager for a couple of seconds in disbelief as I trembled, and it was then that I noticed more men were showing up. It was as if they were appearing from nothing. The man holding me turned to his comrades and one of them made some hand gesture and nodded.
The man turned back to me and said "We are reclaiming what is rightfully ours." | 2015-01-01T13:25:14 | 2015-01-01T04:45:15 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] You could have been the most powerful hero this world had ever seen. By a long shot. But all you wanted was a normal life and the world didn't need your help. So you settled down. Naturally the governments of the world declared you an international threat and put a price on your head. | A soft thud resounds from the forest.
It's not a thud any normal human would be able to hear. It's the soft flattening of mud still wet from yesterday's rain. It's the boot of a soldier who has no idea what he's walking into. It's the beginning of another end.
The thud is quickly followed by a hundred more. They approach from all directions, all in a neat circle that provides them with a false sense of safety. I could kill them right now if I desired so. They would never even realized they'd died. It would be painless, humane almost.
But that is not who I am.
Why won't anybody understand?
I pick up the radiowaves transmitting from one unit to the other. The intervals grow shorter the closer they get and I can sense the excitement in their thuds. They can see the cabin in the clearing now.
I wonder what lies they were fed by their superiors. *'Disable and capture the enemy target'.* Or perhaps more in the lines of *'This terrorist cell must be eliminated at all cost'.*
Why won't anybody leave me alone?
Red dots appear on the windows, their riffles ready to be fired at a moment's notice. I let out a heavy sigh. I just finished building this place three weeks ago and I have to admit it might be one of my favourite locations so far. Hundreds of miles away from the closest city, only a few small towns in the closer perimeter. The townsfolk never cared who I was, why did everyone else?
The radiowaves stop and for a moment, there is a blissful silence in the air. There's only the soft wind rustling the leaves around the cabin as if the forest is taking a deep breath before the chaos unfolds.
Why won't they let me be at peace?
There's one second of radiowaves, and then the shooting begins. Bullets, rocket launchers, grenades... They throw everything they have at me. I sometimes wonder why they never change tactics. Not that it would help them in any way, but at least they should give it a try, no? Maybe they just like blowing stuff up, preferably with me inside it.
The cabin explodes and evaporates around me. I stand in the midst of it all, surrendering myself to the moment. Despite the uselessness of it, I sometimes find myself enjoying these moments of destruction. There's always a certain beauty to it, even if it means losing everything I just built.
Why won't they listen to my pleas?
One of the bigger projectiles hits me right in the face and detonates. I barely feel the scratch, but my eyes capture everything. The fire and the heat, the shockwave travelling outwards, the roof's support beams blown to smithereens. The ceiling collapses and break apart around me while I stand firm.
The onslaught finally dies down and when the dust and smoke settle, I stand amidst the rubble. I am surrounded by a small army of very confused men. They point at me and shout to one another. Some take aim again, others turn on their heels and make a run for it.
Why won't they see me as a man with simple wishes?
I start walking towards the east. I have another house there, some four hundred miles away. Maybe they haven't found out about it yet, maybe they'll lose interest in following me if it takes too long. The men in front of me are unsure what to do. Two of them take a shot at me, but quickly change their mind as they see the bullets bounce off my bare skin.
They step aside as I walk past them, the look on their faces a blend of horror and amazement. I give them a quick nod in passing, it's only the polite thing to do. There are a few more bullets hitting me in the back as I keep walking, but I give no sign that I felt something.
I could kill them all in a heartbeat, but that's not who I am.
Why won't anyone accept that?
> Thanks for reading! More over at r/PromptedByDaddy | The alarm was going off. Sighing I pushed the button that silenced it, checking my wall of monitors. Yep. There they were, sneaking around the house. It looked like about three of them. Which was a significant downgrade from the last group. Of course, this was probably a different mercenary boss than the last. Checking the monitors again, I moseyed over to the fridge, pulling out some bottles of juice. I would hopefully have enough time to enjoy—
"Freeze!" Nope, no such luck. Turning, I sipped, before holding out the bottle.
"Would you like some juice?" They reacted as if I'd threatened them, levelling their guns at me with many clicking noises. I assumed that meant they were ready to fire, but I was never very good with gun knowledge.
"We want none of your foul juice. We're here to kill you." The leader — I'm assuming— growled. Carefully setting the bottle of juice down on the table, I took two steps to the left. Hopefully, no stray bullets would shatter it.
"All right then. Go ahead." I spread my arms wide, presenting a bigger target. The guns rattled, and bullets bounced off my impervious skin. There was a shattering sound from the table. Dang it. One of them had hit the bottle.
"Did you really think bullets would work? I've had people throw grenades, WMDs, and all sorts of explosives. Not that I'm encouraging that sort of thing. I really like this house and it's getting a little annoying having to rebuild all the time." As I finished, a net dropped over my head. Ah, there had been a fourth member of the team. It constricted around my frame, drawing tighter and tighter. I flexed. And the net burst, dropping to the floor.
"Yeah, nets don't really work on me either. Are you all done?" I asked. The leader, who'd been fishing for something in his vest looked at me with something akin to terror on his face. I tried a gentle smile, but that seemed to make it worse.
"We have failed. You will kill us all now." He sounded quite resigned to his fate. The others in his team seemed to be trying to vanish into the woodwork. Pulling a dishrag from the counter, I wiped up the juice on the table, shaking my head at the group.
"Look at the mess you made." Throwing the cloth over my shoulder, I ushered the fourth member of the team towards the others, moving closer. Except for the leader, they all cringed back. One even made a slight whimpering noise.
"I'm not going to kill you. But I am going to send you back to your boss, whoever that might be, with a message. Tell them this. All I want is to be left alone, out here with my fruit trees, making custom juices. I might even go into business selling juice. I am no threat to anyone but if they keep sending people I may become one. Now," I went to the fridge, adding a fourth bottle to the three I'd taken out earlier. Back to the group. "Here, take these, and go. And if you like them, or if you don't, please let me know. I value any feedback I can get." I shoved the bottles into their hands and with a few careful movements got them out of the house. Going back to the monitors, I made sure they left the area before I got some more juice from the fridge. Tilting it back and taking a deep swig, I sighed.
One additional mercenary team down, who knows how many more to go. | 2022-06-26T06:54:05 | 2022-06-26T03:12:09 | 833 | 278 |
[WP] You are a security guard working for a supervillain. One day, superheroes break in, and in the ensuing fight you get what should be a fatal wound. Hours later, you wake up... | Life has a mysterious way of dicking me around. Repeatedly, I might add.
I used to be a tech guy for the empire, only after several failed experiments and an exploding microwave, they deemed me too dangerous to have on staff.
Which is when Doctor Death approached me.
After being laid off nobody wanted or trusted me, thinking I'd sell them to the Empire the moment I could. It wasn't true, I hated the Empire with a burning passion. I wasn't even in the lab when some genius put seven lbs of tin in a prototype portable microwave for some reason, which they blamed me for. So yeah, we weren't on the best of terms.
Nobody believed me though.
Only Doctor Death.
In reality I'd never expected to meet the guy, I'd gone out job hunting (again) and stopped for coffee, only for the guy in front of me to come up short when going to pay. It was only a buck, so in the interest of saving time and this guy the embarrassment of not having the cash, I squared it with the cashier and went our separate ways.
Until the Doc himself came crashing through the wall, along with the guy in front of me and more importantly, my coffee.
The ensuing fight caused mass havoc, but death wasn't something I was too worried about. I noticed that my coffee was somehow still intact, took a sip and for some reason began clearing up the mess.
After the brawl had ended, with the doctor emerging victorious, he must've noticed my cleaning.
"Excuse me, but what *are* you doing?"
"Who? Me? Cleaning."
"Well... Obviously, but why?"
I shrugged, "I have time to kill and coffee to drink, might as well do something to pass the time."
"I see..." He removed his helmet, revealing a friendly smile and a face that kids everywhere would love. How did this guy end up a supervillain? "...Tell me, what's your job?" he quizzed while grabbing his own cup of sweet caffeine.
I was taken aback, this was turning into one spectacularly weird day. "I don't. Got laid off by those assholes at the Empire..."
"Well, how'd you like one?"
My ears must've visibly twitched at the notion, because I didn't even need to say anything before he handed me a business card with an address on it.
"Be at this address at midday tomorrow. If you show up you have the job."
With that, he was gone, flying off to wherever supervillains go when they have their coffee.
As you could expect, I went to the address. Didn't tell anyone and checked several times that no one was following me. I'm a fairly big guy, standing 6ft 3 and the frame (but not bulk) of an athlete. I had no idea what the Doc had in store, but even if it was a mild beating and a warning to stay away, at least it was better than my average tuesday where literally *nothing* happens.
Turns out, being an international supervillain takes up a lot of time, and he needed someone to watch one of his hideouts and do general maintenance.
Basically, a janitor.
I wasn't complaining. Especially when I saw my first paycheque. 5 figures a month? Sign me up!
To top it, my job was pretty awesome. The doc himself was cool with literally anything I decided to do, even if I took an hour off work to get blazed and listen to Pink Floyd *while at work*, he'd usually laugh at my inability to stand up and throw cookies at me. Provided the place was clean and in one piece, he genuinely did not care. My boss was (and still is) my best friend, who also happens to be the most notorious man alive.
However, remember me saying how life loves to dick me around? Well...
I'd just mopped the dining room and hoovered the carpets, when a grenade decided to merrily roll through the front door.
My first thought was, "how the hell did they find this place?"
My second was, "Shit... That's a live grenade..."
Luckily, the Doc was close by and pulled me out of range. That didn't stop the gunfire, but at least I wasn't a shrapnel pincushion.
"You alright Steve?"
"Yessir... Just a little confused at how they got past the thermal trackers and the organic scanners..."
"They broke them. All of them."
"Huh... Well... What now?"
"You take care of this mess, I'll deal with them." He smiled at me, or at least I think he was. Can't really tell through the helmet.
Either way we both got to work. Him dealing with the intruders and me nonchalantly dealing with the bits of wall that were currently littering the floor. I glanced at the troopers that were firing on us occasionally, noticing their baffled faces and almost desire to not shoot someone who really didn't give a shit about anything other than the rather comfortable brown pelt rug.
That was until the large storage container that *was* outside came flying through the wall and back out the other wall.
A shame it took my torso and legs with it.
The speed of the flying storage unit must've separated my head from the rest of me, cause the last thing I remember is rolling down the stairs to the basement and thinking "Well... This is inconvenient..." and the Doc screaming my name.
The next, I'm in some form of ICU, with the Doc sat next to me.
"Steve! Welcome back! How're you feeling?"
"Ugh... Not bad... Not to get ahead of myself... But how far am I ahead of the *rest* of me?"
He took the helmet off and smiled, "Everything's where it should be. Although, not in the sense you're expecting."
"In what way...?"
The doc slid a mirror over, and showed me my body. It was some form of weird mix of science and sorcery. It *looked* completely normal, only I had a retractable cannon on my chest, my arms had electricity visibly running down them and my legs were entirely synthetic.
"Some things couldn't be saved," he noticed me looking at my legs, "and we had to replace them."
I couldn't do anything but smile. I was happy to be alive. I could be a head in jar, provided I could keep my job and boss, I didn't care.
"Although... Due to the lightweight materials, you're now able to fly..."
"Sweet..." Then what he'd just said actually hit me, "Wait what?"
He grinned, "You may notice your back feels a little heavier. It wasn't necessary, but I thought flight would be something you'd appreciate."
Now, I'm not entire sure whether it was the excessive amounts of morphine or what, but I thought I was in heaven. Maybe I was (and still am), but I'd both survived being hit by what I'd compare to a meteor, and got a sweet upgrade too.
"So..." He started, "Do I have my janitor back?"
I looked over and perhaps the biggest grin in the world swept over me. I probably looked like I'd lost my mind.
"When can I start?"
Since that day, the dickings are non-existent, and the irony of being saved by Doc Death is and always will be the highlight of my life.
| The crashing sound of glass broke through the serenity of the night. Lee, a security guard at Harris Tower, ran to the source. He was too late to catch sight of more than the fleeting blur of the intruders. He hesitated, looking at the broken windows, then took off in their direction.
Two costumed heroes stood at the console he'd abandoned just moments ago. He held up his taser and shot without thinking. The first hero went down in a twitching mess. The second turned and shook her head. "You know who you're working for," she stepped forward menacingly as Lee dropped the taser and remembered he was supposed to be a security guard. "We won't show you mercy."
Lee took a step back. "*This* is what being a hero means today?" He said it disbelievingly. He straightened up, staring her down. "I work for Benjamin Harris, ma'am. He is the kindest man you will ever have the pleasure of meeting."
The woman grimaced. "The difference between us and you is that we don't enjoy collateral damage." She stepped into Lee's personal space. "I don't care how many charity balls that villain puts on. He doesn't don the costume, but he will always be *The Wanderer*," she spat the name like it was vile. It rankled Levi enough to forget he was pretending to be Lee.
"Oh," he made himself sound surprised, "I thought a lot of those charity balls benefitted the Hero's League. If not, then who paid for you to don *your* stupid costumes?" Perhaps it was naivety on Levi's part to think she wouldn't really kill him. He held up his hands to push her back, but was surprised at the pain and blood blooming from his gut.
His lips parted as he clutched his stomach, features still painted in shock. The woman helped her sidekick up and stepped over Levi's dying form. He didn't remember falling to the ground. His vision grew dark and he was out.
Lee woke up in a hospital bed amongst a nest of wires and beeping. He looked around and quickly realized he wasn't in a real hospital. The nearest reflective surface was on the side of the monitor. It reflected not Lee, security guard for millionaire Benjamin Harris's office tower, but Levi, ex-hero. An ex-hero rather easily recognized by the Harris Tower's owner.
Levi knew at this point that there was no use changing back. By the view from the window, he guessed he was in the penthouse of Harris Tower. He turned his head to the door as Ben walked in with a bundle of daisies.
"Good, you're awake," he set the bouquet on the side table and fussed with the arrangement before sliding into a seat next to the bed. "Did you sleep well, *Lee*?" Levi sunk further into the pillows.
Well, at least he knew. "Have I been kidnapped?"
The dark look Ben shot at him made Levi wish the pillows could fully consume him. Sadly, he had gained all the protection he could hope for from them. "I thought I'd save you a hospital bill. With your healing, it seems getting your guts spilled in my lobby was only a minor inconvenience. Surveillance was wrecked by the intruders, so I hope you got a good look before they knifed you," his voice did not match the intense glare, staying just shy of monotone.
Levi sighed and nodded, "I did. I didn't think that they'd really try to kill me." He winced at the horrible grating sound the arm of the chair made as the metal crumpled under Ben's grip.
"Of all the irresponsible," Ben took a sharp intake of breath through his nose before continuing, "they were thugs, of course they wouldn't care about taking out a lone security guard!" At least Levi had reached the shouting. Ben was easier to face when he was mad, when Levi could imagine him in the old Wanderer costume, a super villain and not something Levi didn't let his mind get too far into thinking about. "Levi, we both took off the costumes, so why the *hell* did you infiltrate my tower? You already have a key to the penthouse."
Levi ran a hand over his face. "Look, it's," he hesitated, "it's hero business." He sighed at the look Ben gave him. "They don't have another shape shifter here to do these kind of missions."
Ben stood up and started to pace, "Why not Creature Comforts? She's a shape shifter."
"She's in Tokyo on the other end of this same investigation."
"Tommy Boy?"
"London. Same investigation."
"Query?"
"New York. Same investigation."
Ben stopped pacing and clasped his hands in front of himself. "Is this an investigation or an internal audit, Levi?"
Levi turned his head away sharply. He was a bad liar when he wasn't in character as someone else, so he was hoping to evade actually answering too many questions. He heard Ben click his tongue and then felt the bed dip as he sat down. "Levi, you almost died on my lobby floor."
Levi finally met Ben's eyes, "A normal person *would have died*, Ben. The real Lee wouldn't be away on a family outing with his wife and kids, he would be in a morgue. I don't care how many fundraisers and scholarships we do, Ben, I still have the power to save people. That still means something to me."
Ben made a disbelieving noise, "Levi, we are both getting close to social security benefits! This isn't our game anymore." Levi's hands twitched on the bed. "We both got what we wanted. We may have disagreed on the how, but we always wanted to make the world a better place. We did that. Now, we need to do that as civilians and help the younger generation define their own way forward." Ben took Levi's hand and laced their fingers together.
Levi dropped his eyes to their linked hands. His left one of course. His wedding band glinted in the morning light. Ben wasn't being subtle in reminding Levi that they'd spent more than two decades as a pair and not as opposites. Though, they never really had been less than a pair. Powers gained in the same accident, they had always just been two sides of one coin.
He squeezed Ben's hand. Ben rewarded him with a soft smile and Levi felt a lump in his throat. He'd have to have the conversation soon. "Now, you can drop the young look, Charmer, you can't convince me you're still a spry hero," Ben sounded slightly amused.
Levi closed his eyes and squeezed Ben's hand again, trying to remember exactly all the ways he was supposed to look like a man getting close to pension. They had many of the same powers, including a superior heal rate, but Levi had only pretended to age while he watched Ben grow older every day.
---
EDIT: Typos, typos. | 2017-03-14T10:59:37 | 2017-03-14T09:17:31 | 46 | 15 |
[WP]At birth, everyone has a mark showing how long they will live, yours shows infinity. One day, you wake up shackled to a table. You see three men around you. Looking at their arms, you see infinity. | I woke up shackled to a table. I see three men around me. Looking at their arms, I see infinity.
"What?"
"You've got infinity on your arm son. Also, the list that everyone uses to rank their superpowers shows you as number one, but no one knows why. Also, Bill here can see numbers above everyone's head, and he doesn't know what it means, but you've got a zero."
"What?"
"Are you a writing prompt?"
"What?"
I look around. We're on a space colony, and God is a cool dude playing table tennis with Satan. Harry Potter is walking around backwards.
"You see son, we've been watching you. An we know how you operate. Do you want that sweet sweet karma?"
"What?"
"You need the emotional twist. Top stories always use the emotional twist. That's why we put your little sister in a hospital bed."
I look over and I see Melissamantha strapped to a bed.
"And then you need a sacrifice that subverts the expectation of the reader"
He yanks the infinity symbol off my arm like a sticker, and slaps it on my sister's forehead.
"Then you need a sad ending."
"What?"
He opens the airlock and boots me and my table out. As I freeze and balloon, I can't help but think, "what?" | "What is this? Where am I? Who are you?" The questions poured out of my mouth as soon as they removed the gag and blindfold. My hands and feet were shackled and I could not move. "Stay calm, we are here to help you" one of them said. He looked like a pretty normal guy. Besides the guns, weapons, and swords that were around his waist and worn on his back. "If you are helping me, then why am I tied up?" I asked. I noticed that all of the men had infinity tattoos like mine on their arms. I had never seen anyone with that mark besides myself. "This symbol means that we are able to live on through time and space. There are certain people in this world that want to use us to carry out their evil deeds throughout history and into the future. We will not let that happen. Before we let you out of those shackles, we need to know that you are not already working for them." | 2016-10-01T07:03:29 | 2016-09-30T23:30:54 | 80 | 20 |
[WP] As the hero enters the throne room of the dark lord. The throne is empty and the hero's companion says with a grin " Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over.". | The both of us enter the throne room of the Dark Lord. As we gaze upon the empty throne, my companion says with a grin,
"Well... this has been delightful, milady. But I'm afraid the fun is now over."
“Yes... I suppose it is.”
I give him a nonchalant reply.
All these past few months we’ve traveled... From one town to the next, one dungeon to the next, all for ridding this world of the demonic scourge. It’s been difficult, that’s for sure. The quality of life is poor, away from the decent food and luxuries of my home town...
But you know what? I enjoyed every second of it. This little journey has been the first and only time I felt alive.
It hasn’t even been that long since I’ve come to know this boy, but he’s proven to be the single most trustworthy companion.
And here we are, at the end of it all... After the deed is done, I’ll most likely return to—
“Um... milady? That’s not what I meant...“
“Then what was it— Wait... you’re talking as if you’ve read my mind, boy... Are you hiding something from me?”
“It’s about the Creator, you see... He’s the type to write endings first, but this time, the ending hasn’t even been finalized yet... Or the final enemy, for that matter...”
“So you’re saying that this is it for now? No Dark Lord? No climactic battle? No fancy banquets?”
“Yes, that was what I meant to say.”
“And he’s publishing this? Unbelievable...”
“Indeed it is...” | “Well, this has been delightful, but I’m afraid the fun is now over.”
“Rover? You can talk?” My one-time master’s last words faded into silence. I shook his throat back in forth in my teeth, then let go, satisfied.
I barked, signaling my human attendants to come and dispose of the body. Then I trotted over to my comfortable bed beside the throne and lay down after circling a few times.
Ahh, much better. I’d been sleeping in the forest for months now while my pawn made his way towards the castle. It wouldn’t be long before I had to go out again.
Already my paid bards would be telling new stories of a destined hero, someone to defeat the dark lord. In a few weeks, my spies would find someone handsome and strong, but not too bright. Then I would appear to them with a letter and a locket, saying that their royal inheritance has arrived.
I’m a huge white dog, with blue eyes that appear almost human in their intelligence. Practically a guardian angel. My pawn may refuse the call at first. They might be afraid. But I will always be there to comfort them, and nudge them forward.
And while the people wait for their hero to save them, they will never rise on their own.
______________________________________________________
23/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated. | 2018-01-23T23:01:54 | 2018-01-23T17:21:17 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] You’re a cafe owner who is also secretly a mage. One day a customer barges in, claiming to be a supertaster and demanding to know the secret ingredient in your poppy seed muffin. The secret ingredient was literally magic.
EDIT: Guys, this is the first time I posted in this subreddit and I’m so stupidly happy to see all the responses and read all your stories. Thank you! | Changed up the prompt a bit. Hope y'all don't mind.
Myxia heard the soft cry of the bell hung on the front door as it was pushed open. To humans, it would sound like the ordinary tinkling of an ordinary bell. To Myxia, however, the sound was that of the musical chirruping of the splendid gold-and-crimson phoenixes that she so often witnessed taking flight at the crack of dawn, when Eos herself would raise her magnificent head and bring the faintest traces of Aether to the misty gloom that Nyx and Erebus had left behind.
She twirled her wand over the simmering cauldron perched in front of her — a quick, fluid motion — and stalked off to the front of the shop, smiling as the contents bubbled and frothed more vigorously behind her.
"Hello!" Myxia called as she reached the counter. The woman standing there was young, wide-eyed, and blonde, with skin so fair that Aphrodite herself would have been jealous. "What can I help you with?"
"Yes," she said dreamily, her eyes darting around, "I would like one of your Pacluster Muffins."
"To go, or are you staying?" Myxia asked.
"Stay," the customer whispered, in a very vague voice.
Myxia lofted her wand, waved it again, and one of the muffins zoomed out from under the counter, an accompanying napkin wrapping around it in the air. Myxia wasn't worried about the woman finding out her secret. The power of Hecate flowed through her, and with that power, she was able to distort the visions of mortals. Her wand, a long bronze scepter, probably resembled a spatula to them, and the acts that she had just performed were likely seen as regularly as they would happen in a regular mortal shop. Plus, this woman did seem a little ... strange.
"There you go!" she said brightly, passing over the muffin.
The woman snatched it away at once, her dreamy eyes focusing on it with an expression of terrible greed. She took a huge bite of the muffin, gave a few "Hmmms," and "Aaahs," of immense satisfaction, then turned back to Myxia, who was slightly disgusted.
"Please," she whispered, a huge chunk of the muffin plastered on her cheek. "You must tell me what the secret ingredient is...."
Myxia drew herself up to her fullest height, gave a hearty wink, and then waved her wand. "You won't remember any of this, but ... the secret ingredient ... is *magic*...."
"Magic ..." the woman repeated dreamily, and she keeled over, her enormous eyes rolling around in her head.
Myxia smiled, then gave a great sigh of contentment. The midmorning rush was coming in.
r/ShortsandSerials for more! | "...octarine", I say, and if despondency seeps into my voice, it's only for a heartbeat. Gone. All gone. The peace and quiet. The evenings spent poring over ancient tomes, the cosy fireside chats with Bastet, all gone. And for what? One girl who just will not be deterred... and a law that is (as recently unearthed tablets from Ur show) older than organized magic. You get to obfuscate, but never outright deny. To deter, but not to refuse knowledge. Never to lie.
"what's that". she just stands there, waiting for an infodump, or perhaps for me to wifi her an Encarta page or whatever
"the taste is called octarine, in hommage to a dead writer". Best to take this easy.
"By whom?" she asks, and I permit myself a glimmer of hope. She's quick on the pickup, at least, maybe this won't be so bad. Ah who am I kidding.
"By me. Jed. You know. Jed's Cafe? I'm Jed. John Eponymous Dee" I say, and cross my fingers. Maybe this desperate gambit will work out somehow. Maybe I can put out the curiosity, smother it in a swarm of anecdotes about dear old Dad and his penchant for inane wordplay, maybe...
"And where did you learn about it? And what gives this taste? Is it like a special spice you can buy, or do you do something to the dough, or what? Is it expensive? Are the" she asks, shattering every last bit of hope I thought I may have had.
"Oh for the hallowed name of Merlin. Sit down at that table please" I cut her off. I drag myself from behind the counter, walk to the door, flip the sign to CLOSED, take a deep breath and turn around to find her five centimeters from my face.
"Please sir, I don't mean to be a bore, but I am just so curious you see, and I love your muffins so very much and I am so into cooking and baking and I'm actually a supertaster and I never tasted anything so good and DIFFERENT in my life and I really really want to make your recipe. I won't tell anyone. Please?"
Sweet talker too. This may actually come in handy. "Please, sit down. I'll bring coffee for myself and another muffin. I'll explain, and I am afraid there's also a job offer that I must make. Don't say anything yet, just hear me out." | 2020-02-28T01:21:53 | 2020-02-28T00:52:51 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] The King is a shapeshifter. Every day, they walk among their people in various forms. Everyone in the kingdom is super nice to strangers for fear of accidentally disrespecting their ruler. | It was the perfect society.
No crime. No trickery. No corruption.
King Louie would gleefully repeat these things to himself as he hobbled the cobbled street. His walking stick was half a step ahead of him, prodding the ground with indistinct *tap tap tappings.* It was a wonderful day and his tunic, although filthy, lay open to reveal a struggling, elderly body beneath. Above that body was a gnarled and rugged face, dark with tan. A small folded cloth sat on top of his wispy hair which hung just long enough to fall above two eyes. Eyes of pure white; eyes completely dead. A blind peasant was no suspect for kingship. And again, he laughed.
&#x200B;
''Good day Sir!''
''It is gorgeous my friend!''
''Wow this is positively delightful!''
''We are surely a blessed people!''
''Indeed!''
&#x200B;
Louie smiled at the interaction of the two market vendors. Their chest's were puffed out and their shoulders were square, as if the men were trying to present themselves with utmost perfection. They shook hands with vigour and respect, and smiled widely. They looked honourable, but the blind King noticed that behind those stretched cheeks were faces drawn and exhausted. The men parted ways but soon after each of them had once glanced back with worry. Louie didn't like that one bit. Why do they not trust their fellow citizen? In the perfect model of society that he, King Louie, had created there was no reason to assume bad intentions. With the utmost authority and compassion bad manners had been eradicated. It always had made King Louse terribly furious to see impoliteness in people, and now it was gone. They surely love him!
The blind King stood on the market corner and watched the bustling market and leaned on the edge of the walking stick heavily. Scanning the crowd like a lifeguard by the side of a pool, carefully watching for the slightest inconsistency. An old woman examining a fish with pursed lips and furrowed brows; leave now old women and don't complain; she left. A boy trying to cross the cobbled road beside a mother and her child; give her your arm boy, offer assistance; he gave her his arm. Kind Louie smiled, and turned his attention closer. A young lady with blonde hair grooming her horse, she was respectively out of trouble and the horse was quiet and mannered. The King was about to move on, and almost did, before he noticed that the blonde ladies eyes had just passed over him. Not in the sweeping manner someone would, but with a rather more peculiar intent. She went back to grooming her horse, with long and practised brushstrokes, but out the corner of her eye she looked again.
Clever girl. She must have noticed the blind man's disguise was a trick. The King laughed again. He would have her brought to his fortress, and from there he would decide how best to reward her. Maybe coins. Maybe lashings. The blind man stood and dropped his stick with purpose. It clattered to the floor and bounced. The blonde girl of course noticed it fall and her eyes were drawn to the ground with it. After it rested she looked up again at the blind man, who was now a lady pregnant and fat. | (WP) An Urgent Question
Everyone knew that The King is the last of his kind, a shapeshifter with unimaginable power.
Our monarch was not one to let injustice stand; that was why he walked among the people daily, always in disguise. It was an elegant method; crime was at an all-time low, and everyone, no matter their station, got along. Anyone who refused to comply was jailed or executed, with special exceptions made for children.
It was just my rotten luck that I happened to be stealing apples and bread from a stall, in desperate need to feed my family. I was running through the crowd, using my elbows to push my way through. I’d almost made it down the street when a little old woman stepped out from the shade of an awning. With surprising strength for her age and size, she reached out and grabbed my wrist, stopping me in my tracks and sending the food I’d pilfered scattering to the ground.
“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing, boy?” The woman asked, looking up at me with eyes as red as the setting sun. “I may be mistaken, but I’m pretty certain that stealing is illegal.”
“Let go of me!” I shouted, struggling in the old woman’s grip. “Someone, help me!”
But the crowd refused; some stared, others looked away, still others tittered among themselves. I could feel my cheeks heating up, and just as I opened my mouth to scream again, the old woman was dragging me away, back into the shadows. She practically dragged me back to her shop, which was dark and low and smelled of herbs and spices.
Had I somehow managed to come across a witch or sorceress?
At last, the woman let go of my wrist, and I rubbed it, mumbling curses under my breath.
“That’s not quite the correct way to greet your ruler, boy,” The woman said, her voice turning deep and raspy. Her silhouette grew and changed, and her face rippled like waves in the ocean. When the transformation was complete, I found myself staring up at the King, my mouth agape.
“Your Highness, I… I’m sorry!” I stammered, falling to my knees, putting my forehead to the cold dirt floor. “I didn’t mean to steal; it’s just that my mother is expecting a child and my siblings are sick and—”
The King held up a hand to silence me, smiling in a way that I couldn’t quite read.
“It’s true that stealing is a crime, but I suppose it can be forgiven, considering the circumstances. But,” He said, his smile widening.
Oh, the but. That dreaded, awful word. I’d been waiting for it; I should’ve known I wouldn’t have gotten off scot free. Everything had a price, but would it be too high for me to pay?
“But I need you to do something for me, boy.” He phrased it like a favor, when in actuality, it was an order.
“I need to pass my powers on to someone, and I want that person to be you. What do you say?”
\*\* | 2019-11-13T13:36:01 | 2019-11-13T10:10:47 | 95 | 65 |
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone. | I actually didn't notice it until someone pointed it out. I'd had it since my birth, like everybody else. So long actually, I never noticed when it faded away.
My days were the same for the most part. You've heard the same story every time. College graduate. Dreams of doing something good. A llifetime of student debt. The realization things will never be normal. Working from 8-6 until the day I die. Things blend together so much anymore, that I wonder, when death does come, if I'll even notice it when it happens.
Unsuccessful, unlucky, and unloved. It's a cold world out there. I've never even had a relationship, let alone a fling. Many of my friends at this point have had a history of significant others, spouses, and even one night stands. We're nearing thirty, and a few of them are married with several kids. It's bizarre just to watch, let alone comprehend.
Oh well, you take what you get I figure. There's still someone out there I guess. Still someone for me. That still feels weird as fuck to say... I mean, how's it not supposed to sound creepy when you have the same mark as your "soulmate" on your wrist your entire life? And then, they're usually not really your soulmate, because eventually, it changes color, if it's like mine. What kind of fucked up shit is that?
Meh... No sense in worrying about it anymore. It's my one free night of the weekend, and I just want to get tanked. Everybody else has lives to go back to, I don't. And that's perfect. I can drink as much as I want. Wonder what alcohol poisoning feels like??
"Hey Freddy?"
I looked at Darla for a reason as to why she sounds so worried.
"Yeah what?"
"What... What happened to your wrist?"
"My wrist?" I realized. Glancing at my hand I just moved, I noticed the blue mark was gone. The deep blue ring, which used to be green, which used to be purple; was gone.
"It's... Normal??" The bartender observed as she leaned over the counter to get a better look. "I've never seen anything like that." I tried to stop her and Darla as they began murmuring to my friends and their coworkers alike in the bar.
"Hey, don't put me out there like that!" I said in a slight buzz. However by this point it was too late. I realized the music had been turned down slightly, and I turned to see several dozen pairs of eyes all on me. Everyone studied me like I had just committed a murder.
"W-what?!" I eeked out, "Why is it a big deal??"
Before I knew it, the bartender drug me to the side and murmured a explanation.
"Your mark is gone." She began.
"So??" I prodded.
"So, anyone can be your soulmate." She suddenly cooed, her voice becoming less business and much more sultry in approach, accentuating the natural beauty of her feature.
"Uhhh... I beg your pardon?" I froze. I glanced around at others in the room, noticing plenty of them sizing me up in an almost predatory manner.
"Here." She said as she slid a piece of paper into my pocket, "Give me a call sometime. You'd better hurry too, you're going to get a lot more numbers where that came from."
And just like that, my life as I knew it, for better or worse; was never going to be the same.
--
EDIT: Thanks for all the support and such everyone! I'm on break from work currently, so I didn't expect this much of a reaction to this prompt in 16 hours. Wow! I actually had this random idea when I read this, like "Wouldn't it be fucked up, if you got used to being alone (because wrist mark), and then suddenly people won't leave you alone? How much grief would this cause?" Interesting stuff. Thanks again! | I don't know if this multiverse has a similar time tangent to mine, but I'm stuck here now and need to write down how this came about.
Two months ago my soulpatch disappeared, and I'm not on about someone sneaking in at night and shaving my lower lip. It's never happened before in our history and the auditors decided I would be better of here before the news spread and caused panic.
No one was quite sure how it had come about. Some time in the 27th century (my timeline) humanity had evolved. We didn't gain the ability to breath underwater; we didn't become hyper intelligent nor fly as some had hoped and hypothesised. Instead we had evolved a small marking near the wrist that was perfectly matched to their 'soulmate'. It had occured randomly at first in Japan. A guy called Yuto Takumi and a girl called Yuna Nakamura had both been born with a birth defect. Except it wasn't a defect. Their 'fault' was a beautiful marking, an ornate and interwoven red lattice birthmark on their left wrists that was continuously changing in a rorschachesque manner. So unusual was the markings that it made local news in both provinces. Then NHK picked up the story when people started to realise that TWO babies had been born with the same markings. They were minor celebrities from birth and would likely have fallen in love through attrition even without what we now know.
By this point we'd pretty much sorted out mapping the human genome. We'd cured most inheritable diseases and most transmittable ones too. We'd also gotten Quantum mechanics down to a point that we could link far more than protons. We could link organic matter. We'd never found out if there was a soul before I was purged from our world, but we all believed in it after what we found out.
You see, when the scientists began experimenting on Yuto and Yuna they found out something remarkable. The simultaneous changes in their birth-marks were utterly inexplicable until puberty. And then they became quantum linked. Their marks changed to reflect the others moods. During their worst years as teenagers, when arguments were more common than agreements, their BM's faded. By the time Yuto and Yuna reached 21 the universal scientific consensus was that they were somehow spiritually linked via quantum coupling.
Perhaps in a different time or place Yuto and Yuna may have been the inspiration for a hearty love story, a national epic of two young people who through a gift from God were meant to be together. Perhaps they were meant to lead a great struggle for justice and peace.
Unfortunately, in my world by the 27th century the human genome was private property. Individuals with rare genetic adaptions were considered the property of private researchers and the state; and the state had no desire for justice nor peace.
Unfortunately, Yuto and Yuna were killed. It was sold as a medical mistake, a disaster worthy of international mourning. Maybe it was a mistake... who knows.
They reverse engineered the link and the manner in which it was created. They sold it to us as a way to solve loneliness, as a way to find your soul-mate. At 8 weeks of pregnancy mothers were given a simple injection. It was voluntary at first, but global society had become so insulated that the concept of ensuring their children 'found' the 'one' ensured that our children were all engineered beyond the screenings we'd all come to accept. And then our children married the one their marking indicated. We had a global app for it. After 900 years of attempting to stop arranged marriages, it became not only the norm but an absolute necessity. I met my soulmate when I was 8 and the arrangements were in place.
Except my patch dissapeared last night. And now I'm stuck here.
| 2016-10-04T19:26:14 | 2016-10-04T18:14:29 | 346 | 77 |
[WP] Humans have - by a very large margin - the longest lifespans of all intelligent life in the universe. You are a human student at a multi- species college, and you / your friends are just realizing that compared to them, you are an ancient being.
e.g., individuals of all other intelligent species live, like, a year or so, making a 20-year-old human the equivalent of a 2000-year-old being in terms of lifespans (assuming a 100 year base lifespan). Near the beginning of humanity's entrance into the galactic community, you are one of the first humans in an inter-species college. It has just dawned on your group of alien friends how old you are / just dawned on you how young your group of alien friends are. | "How long!?"
I shifted uncomfortably under the combined gaze of my study group friends. The Drû who posed the question, either Klrdt or Bill (I could never tell the two apart) quirked one eye-stalk in a way that my new student orientation class told me was disbelief.
"Errm, three years, I think? I don't really know."
My affirmation sent them all into paroxysms of... something. Maybe laughter? The Drû waggled their eye-stalks jovially at least. 'Mike' clacked his mandibles in what I hoped wasn't a menacing way. That Sh'gopy flashed a kaleidoscope of colors, while Froln remained as impassive as ever.
"Well," I say defensively, "what's it like right after *you're* born or hatched or whatever?"
"We usually have breakfast and then a nap." Mike somehow managed to clatter out. "It *is* tiring work, chewing out of your own cocoon. But luckily, breakfast is right there. Do you not eat your birthing sack?"
"Well, humans give live birth so..." I trailed off, but suddenly realized that I needed to be a little more explicit. After all, Sh'goppites *do* devour their mothers. "No, we can't eat solid foods for about a year."
The Sh'gopy's translation device chirped in high pitch English, "how long does your larval stage last, then?"
I shrugged, avoiding it's gaze. Something about those giant multifaceted eyes just freaked me the hell out.
"It's, err, not really a larval stage, per se," I began. "We just develop really really slowly. Heck, a human child can't even lift it's own head for the first six months or so."
"Ridiculous, "said Froln. The massive, tentacular hair ball wiggled a little further away. "Mike set out for this University the moment he awoke from his nap. Drû reach sexual maturity in hours. Sh'gopittes join their herds the moment they can stand. I myself still have remnants of my Birthgiver upon my coat."
I gaped at them all. I knew that the longest lived, the Drû, has a max life span of about eight years, but I never considered what that ment for their development.
"We don't reach sexual maturity for a decade and a half" I mutter, more to myself than to my study mates. "And we aren't considered adults until we're eighteen."
'Mike' clacked his mandibles at that. "And all this time we thought your kind had, I don't know, 'the wisdom of the ancients.'"
"So that's it then... All that wasted time." 'Bill' pulled his eye-stalks closer to his head, the equivalent of a human shaking his head. "I can't believe it took you three years to learn to shit in a bucket."
Edit: spelling | 'You're *how* old?!'
'Twenty-two years,' I repeated in surprise. 'What's the problem?'
'Sorry, twenty-one *years*?' said Ma'thask, her multi-faceted eyes glittering in the light. 'As in, Earth years?'
'Yeah,' I said. 'But why are you acting so shocked?'
'Her natural life-span is roughly fifteen of your Earth years,' interjected Kka from my other side. I turned to look at him. He was a Parlanian, a race of short humanoids with black carapaces and prodigious intelligence. His silvery eyes reflected a distorted reflection of my face like a pair of mirrors.
'What do you mean, natural life span?' I said.
'A Constalii like Ma'thask can only live to a maximum of around fifteen years before expiring from old age,' said Kka. 'She has at most five more years to live without upgrading to a digital consciousness.'
I looked back to Ma'thask, who was looking at her long-fingered hands sadly. 'Is that right?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said eventually. 'I may only look as old as you, but I am nearing the end of my life. In less than half an Earth decade, I will have to make the choice of whether to upload my consciousness into a computer or not. You, on the other hand, say you are young for your species, yet you are older than I will ever be naturally.' She paused. 'How old do you live to?'
I grimaced. 'Most humans live to about seventy on average.'
She gasped. 'You are practically immortal, then, compared to me.'
I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, Ma'thask,' I said. 'I didn't realise...'
'It's okay,' she said, looking back up at my face. 'It's not like I won't be able to remain around in some form. It's just that, it feels like nature has dealt you humans a much better hand in life.' She smiled a small smile. 'But it does teach us one important lesson.'
I raised an eyebrow. 'And what's that?'
'My society is one of the most advanced in the galaxy,' she said. 'We have vastly superior technology, culture, and quality of life.' She looked at us both.
'Don't you see?' she said. 'It's not about how long you've got. It's about what you do with the time that is given to you.'
At that moment, our lecturer walked into the hall. I smiled to myself as I opened my digital notepad. Ma'thask was certainly right. | 2015-02-28T15:46:45 | 2015-02-28T12:46:10 | 141 | 95 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | The problem with life magic is that it's so damn boring. I know, I know - that sounds silly, doesn't it? We're so popular. Who wouldn't love a man who can mend a broken bone with a gesture? Cure arthritis, grow back a missing limb. Make a paralyzed man walk.
Every village has a life mage - or wishes it did. In the cities, we're constantly in demand. I could walk into any of the trade hubs along the Kairen sea and be rich in a week. I've got more than enough talent for it.
But it's so damn *boring*. The same problems, over and over. The same dull, banal issues. Bones want to go back together the same way they came apart. The human body *wants* to work. It's so easy. Just a little pulse of magic, helping the body do what it already wants to. There's no thought, no finesse, no skill involved. You don't need to be good at your job, you just need to be a battery to help the body do what it wanted to do anyway.
There's no art in that.
Life magic is the magic of growth, and renewal, and change.
Change - now *that's* interesting. Anyone can grow an arm back. Anyone can regenerate damaged nerves. That's what your body wanted anyway - it's as easy as coloring in the lines of a book. But change, that requires real skill. Taking something living, and making it more than what it was - more than what it ever could have been - that's where the true challenge of life magic is. That's where you can truly show the world that you're more than just another quick fix for their broken bones or lamed horses.
I thought you might enjoy understanding why you're here. Sure, we could do something simple, like fixing that arm of yours. But I think it would be ever so much more interesting to do something neat - have you ever heard of cancer? No? That's okay. Most people haven't.
We're going to see how much of it your body can hold, before I can't keep you alive any longer. It should be fun. The last guy lived for *weeks*. I think you'll outlast him, personally. I'm a lot better at this now. And now I know to make sure to keep your airway open. That was rather amateurish of me, I must admit. What a silly mistake, yeah? Certainly won't do that again. Not with you. You're going to last such a very long time. | The world had fallen. Chaos ran rampant through ruined streets, demolished buildings scattered across the landscape. People ran from crumbled wall to crumbled wall, avoiding each other in fear. A child, crying, is silenced as a burning ball hurls into a building, engulfing everything within.
Not many survived the fall, the mages had fought each other across the globe. Raining down the elements and more upon innocents. Yet, not a single one of them cared. There were no more heroes. There were no more villains. Just mindless, angry, mages with a vendetta against one another. Now, the few that remained ruled over their little cloisters of humans. Most of the fighting had stopped, but even now, as desolation covered the world, they would run into one another, and fight. Trying to prove themselves. Raining more death onto innocents.
Alone, in the ruin, rising far above all else, shining still despite the destruction, stood a single tower. It had once been known as the Eiffel Tower, and no-one dared touch it. Built into the top was a single suite, large, yet conforming to the contours of the tower itself.
Inside, upon a golden throne, she sat. The self-proclaimed Aphrodite. Something only the strongest mages did was to name themselves after god's. No-one had noticed her in the beginning. After all, she was just a plain, boring woman. Her hair was a dull brown, draped shoulder-length, carelessly and unkempt. With brown eyes set with a somewhat larger nose between, on a face roughened by working too much in the sun, barely anyone gave her a second glance.
No-one really knew how strong a mage with power over Love would be. What should have been a kind, beautiful power, turned leaders against each other, mage on mage, nation on nation. All in the name of love.
So now she sat, watching the world that had once ruined her heart, fall to ruin itself. Where she had once been cast aside and ignored, so was everyone else in the attempt to prove their undying love to her. And it felt good. | 2016-11-12T10:49:45 | 2016-11-12T10:14:05 | 94 | 28 |
[WP] You're a lazy superhero with the power of precognition. Your modus operandi is showing up to a crime scene ahead of time and making some small change to foil the criminals' plans. | God, I hate Steve.
Don't get me wrong, he makes my job a hundred times easier, but he just has no *professionalism*. He just waltzes in to work, an hour late, and tells me me to meet him in some random spot.
Invariably, where I meet him is at the scene of some supervillain attack. Or, some *attempted* attack. Last week, it was Dr. Serpento, out cold on the floor with his now-empty shoes stuck to the ground with tar, the week before that, Devil Boner was sitting in a bank with a bucket stuck on his head, and this week, The Wolf Master was stuck up a tree, the wolves trying to get at the jerky Steve somehow put in his pocket.
Honestly, that wouldn't even bother me, but he's always there in a bathrobe and pajamas, like some psychic Jeffrey Lebowski, with the same skunky, mildly boozy odor. He just shows up, says what happened, hands me the arrest paperwork, usually filled out only semi-correctly, and says "You're welcome," like a drunk Maui from the shittiest version of Moana and fucks off home to watch Netflix.
Then he met his match. It seemed like a pretty standard bank robbery, but Steve looked rattled when he showed up, even later than usual.
"Bob, you need to come with me, something's wrong."
I looked at the other agents and then back to Steve, and got up. For once, I was actually caught up on paperwork, so I could afford a little nonsense today. We got in my car (Steve takes the bus everywhere), and he directed me to Fifth National Bank, where police had already arrived to the scene. Usually, they'd be carrying out some humiliated supervillain right now, thanks to Steve, but today the scene was markedly less comedic.
"What the Hell did you *do*, Steve?" I demanded, unbuckling my seat belt.
"I don't know what happened! It was like he already knew everything I changed!"
We made our way to the crime scene and produced our badges when the locals cops stopped us. After crossing the tape, we saw the scene: the bank's vault had been opened, and untold millions gone. Curiously, none of the cash was taken, but dozens of safety deposit boxes were taken, seemingly at random.
"Nothing broken, no signs of a struggle. Did one of the tellers open the vault?" I asked one of the cops on the scene.
"No, the tellers said they were told to stay down and out of sight. Said he made sure they stayed away from the panic buttons."
"What, so he opened the vault himself?"
"That is exactly what I saw happening," Steve chimed in, "but I had set up flypaper floor to trip them up."
*Oh boy, here we go.*
"And?"
"The head guy stopped them, and used a torch to burn it. Which I saw later, so then I had them set up a bunch of dye packs right inside the door."
I was silent. Behind us, one of the local cops was scrawling furiously on a little notepad.
"So the head guy had them take out, get this, umbrellas! So obviously, I rigged up a tear gas grenade in the cash pile."
"You fucking, *what?*"
"Don't worry, I disabled it afterward. But then he told his guys not to touch the cash, because it was rigged. So then I told them to switch up the safe deposit they were going to switch for empty ones, since there was no chance of taking them in at this point."
"Huh. That was actually pretty clever," I admitted.
"Yeah, I thought so, too, until the head guy told his flunkies exactly which boxes to take, and managed to make off with everything."
"Shit."
"So I'm just going for broke at this point, I'm going back further. I'm setting up tacks in the parking lot, they roll in with mesh tires, I tell them to set the vault to close automatically when they get in, he changes the setting in the computer right after he walks in the door."
"Did you consider, at any point, warning the local cops?"
The local behind me stopped writing for a moment. "Wait, yeah, what the Hell, man?"
"Well, fucking *duh,* Bob. They switched banks! After I called the cops, they *switched fucking banks.* That's why I was even later than usual! This was all slap-dash last-minute stuff!"
I looked at him with one eyebrow raised, "As opposed t your usual artisanship?"
"You have to admit, locking Frostbite in a walk-in freezer was a stroke of genius."
The local cop grinned, "Hah, *nice*."
I turned to him and frowned, "Would you get out of here?"
I turned my attention back to Steve. "Alright, so why didn't you stop them yourself? You're pretty decent in a fight."
"They were eight guys, with guns, who thought to bring a torch and umbrellas to a bank robbery. What would you suggest I have done?"
---
*Exactly what the history books said you'd do.* | What would you do if you could see the future?
Would you run the numbers?
Not make that deal with the devil?
Go to starbucks when you know they have that Unicorn milkshake thing? Get ahead of the mass of college kids that find out on twitter/insta, 30 minutes later after you have one.
I choose option C which is why I'm currently standing in line ordering 2. Well that and the other thing well I mean, maybe. So while they start making me my special drink I walk to the other side of the store. Bored and looking at my watch I stand in front of the door and push a chair ever so slightly to the left. Making sure the angle on it is just right, I walk back towards the counter toying on my phone.
2 minutes later 3 men comes running in hands full with a bag of presumably cash through the other side. One held a gun at the door waiting for someone to appear another had his arm thrown around his friend had a single bullet wound in his arm a gun at his side. The cashier starts yelling, women and children screaming, one of the robbers shot some rounds in the ceiling to silence everyone. My drinks were on the counter just in time although there were 4.
*What asshole orders 2 of these things? I mean me but I'm special* one was a slightly different size. *Why didn't I check for this before leaving the house?*1
"I'm sorry which one of these are for David?" I asked the barista hiding behind the coffee machine. She stared up at me wildly, she looked like she wanted to hit me. "Nevermind then geez". I picked one up and preceded to drink it slowly watching things unfold naturally. See these robbers had been stealing and robbing multiple banks up and down the coast somehow avoiding police. One problem is they had no issue hurting and killing civilians who got in the way.
*Which one is it?*
Gunshot robber sat in the chair, while his friend walked towards my exit. Watching this unfold I let myself smile as I watched my plan unfold. The robber closest to me snatched my drink out of my hand yelling at me to get on the ground. I sat down while watching him check the door, and kick my chair out the way making it slide towards the middle of the room. The robber threw the straw out of my drink chugged from the top of the drink. Looking at me, and telling me how good it was daring me to make a move for the exit door.
The distant sound of police sirens made the robbers turn and look at the doors watching the outside. Lucky for them the Starbucks was tucked out of the way of the main street, which just seemed like bad business to me honestly but that's beside the point.
"What do we do big bro? The cops usually don't respond this quick!" gunshot wound yelled from the sofa chair.
"Nothing, you asshole we wait for everything to die down dumb ass then leave." Front door robber said.
*Cough* blood splattered out of exit door robbers mouth. He hadn't been paying attention but I had removed the cap off of my drink when his friend shot bullets in the ceiling. A piece of plastic from the ceiling actually fell in the drink it had been in need of remodeling but, the workers had been putting off on doing it. The dumbass had just swallowed a bit of soft plastic that had cut the inside of his throat just enough to only cause problems later. He stumbled to the middle of the room his gun in his hand tripping he fell towards the chair.
*BANG*
You know any other time or day that shot would have not mattered or even happened it was impossible. When the robber fell he had perfectly smacked his hand against the chair. Out of reflex from pain and the blood in his throat he fell over, and clenched.
Gun etiquette matters kids don't forget!
"WTF!" Door Robber yelled.
"Gah!" Gunshot robber now had two holes in him this one in his chest.
Perfect shot wow!
"He's gonna bleed out soon you know? You're out of bullets, you put the last few in the ceiling, and he only had one more bullet in the chamber. Him" I said pointing at the GSW guy. "Put 5 rounds in that officer back at the bank, like the sadistic asshole he is"
"You have 2 options leave them which you can't since you are blood brothers after all"
The man's eyes went wide, "How do you know?" he said.
"I'm a part-time hero it's kind of my thing, oh option 2 right" I continued drinking from the second cup" You call the ambulance because they will survive as long as you call in the next 5 minutes" I said.
I walked out the door the exit guy was blocking and, started walking home.
"This drink fucking sucks man" I threw the drink in the trash.
| 2017-05-11T08:10:53 | 2017-05-11T06:34:26 | 38 | 10 |
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
&#x200B; | I’m still relatively new to writing, so any constructive criticism would be appreciated, thanks.
***
Another ping. They’re trying to get into the server again. Why? It’s a tiny server. It’s for running this game I made for me and a few friends. No one would ever find it particularly interesting. And yet, here they are, trying to log on for the hundredth time.
“Ugh. Screw this,” I say. I’ll let them in, but they’ll get a bit of a surprise. A virus I was making in my spare time as a prank. It’s designed to disguise itself as benign data, spread itself around, and then run All Star by Smash Mouth really loud on repeat until it’s removed. I doubted it’d take more than a few minutes and a cheap antivirus to get rid of it after the system gets infected. I quickly change the code to let them in and infect them.
They get on, then leave almost immediately.
I wait for a while. Silence from the system. Finally! I change the code back to normal, and go have lunch.
A few hours later, I turn on the TV. Before I can switch over to Netflix, I hear a headline. “Breaking news: cyber attack from unknown source cripples government.” It then goes on to talk about how earlier an unknown organization broke through their firewall and infected all the systems.
Apparently, all the systems had started blaring music once they were infected.
The remote falls from my hands. What have I done? | The sounds of the cafe around me drowned in the shivers of my ragged breathing, my racing heart. I glanced at the man across the table. He sat in front of me, still silent. Still expressionless. My eyes fixed themselves firmly on the table, perhaps in some vain hope that he would go away if I pretended not to notice him.
Suddenly, everything around me loomed threatening, my mind frantic at the conspiracies it concocted. The girl at the counter was watching us. The man by the door had a gun under his jacket. My coffee was a cup of mercury.
But despite the cacophony ringing in my head, I remained as motionless and inscrutable as the man before me. At least, I tried.
After a small eternity, the man reached across the table slowly, something in his hand. An envelope. Plain and white, with no markings. It burned in my hand as I took it from his.
"So, what's this then?" I croaked weakly.
"A job offer."
For a moment, I could have sworn I saw the faintest of smiles flit across his face. | 2018-09-03T22:24:30 | 2018-09-03T22:05:53 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You're a renowned author who's still going to school. Annoyingly, your English teacher is reading way too deeply into your books. | I'm finishing my bachelor's degree in English literature. I want to be a professor. Teach others to love literature, to dissect novels with love and humanity not emotionless like my current professor. She loves to tear into novels and read deeper into them than what is there. This semester is about current literature. I should be safe, see she doesn't know that I'm a published author. 8 books in and no one has figured out my secret yet. My publisher is good that way. See being a professor is a dream but doesn't pay great. So novels went from a hobby to a career while I studied.
"Today in class we will start reading 'The Destruction of Bobby Sue ' by Arizona T. We'll dive into the different meanings the author presents to the reader" said professor Mae Grumble
"Ah shit" I whispered under my breath. I guess I wasn't safe. Why did she pick that one. Why my book. I mean the whole book is obviously a fantasy allegory of my transition. I wrote it to help better understand my transition and grieve the past me that I never was.
"You'll read the first 10 chapters between now and class next week. After that we'll discuss the meanings of each chapter"
Well I guess I don't have any homework to do. Considering I wrote the damn thing. That frees up a few hours for my other classes. Trying to get this study finished for my biology class.
Class the following week started pretty basic. Professor Grumble asked everyone what they thought the story was about so far. She shot down a few people's responses even though they were actually correct, which is pretty funny. So I decided to screw with her a little.
"I think it's about the main character getting lost in a post-apocalyptic world and then having their dreams destroyed"
"Exactly Mr Meeks. You see how their dreams are discussed, and being build up, and we can see the foreshadowing of the destruction to come. Soon we should see who Bobby Sue really is to the main character"
I about choked I snorted so hard. She can't see that Bobby Sue is the character. Ah damn this will be fun. | The class was almost over, yet the tension in the room only seemed to intensify. As I packed my books away, I heard her voice behind me, as measured and crisp as a spring morning.
"I have a theory," she said, her dark eyes inquisitive. I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing. What had I said or done to conjure such intrigue? "What if you didn't just write stories," she continued, "but actually experienced all of the sorcery you write about?"
If she revealed her theory to anyone, I could kiss my literary career goodbye.
But no one was prepared for what came next. She leaned in closer, her voice soft yet determined. "What if you were actually a wizard?"
All these years of keeping this secret, only for my English teacher to expose it all in one breath. Was this really the end? Would she out me to the world? My fear was quickly replaced by anger as she spoke more calmly, almost reassuringly. "I am not here to tell your secrets, I am here to protect them. I have known you were a wizard all along. I can sense the power in your words."
A few hours later, I heard knocks on my door. When I opened it, I saw a group of people from the school, dressed in black and carrying torches. I was speechless, unable to comprehend why they were there. But then, my teacher emerged from their midst. She walked towards me and coldly stated what drove them here.
"I have revealed your secret to the other wizards in town. They have come to take you away and make sure you are never able to cast a spell again."
In the moment of shock and fear, the one thing I could think was: Why? But it didn't matter anymore. I was exposed, and my magic was gone. | 2022-12-02T09:13:25 | 2022-12-01T22:22:00 | 106 | 21 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | >**LAUGHTER AND LULLABIES**
**Warning: Horror themed, dark content.**
The Priest stood over the convulsing body, his face hardened. He would allow no sympathy within him- like a surgeon lopping off a limb, he would remain stoic in the face of pain.
The young man before him- curly hair soaked in sweat, bloodshot eyes, agony rippling across his face as the Priest did what he needed to do.
The circle of sanctified salt kept the impure young man contained, but it also bore a strain on the Priest's own soul to perform exorcisms in this way- and so frequently, as well. He would have to have a *talk* with Llydra when he returned home.
The incantation began- in the language of God, Tongues, the Priest recited his spell. *"Let not the pains of death come upon thee, let not the spirit of others overwhelm thee, I am the North, I am the South, I am the East, I am the West, and my Will be done. Begone, Llydra, return to your chains."*
Screaming in protest, Llydra's voice rang through, for just a moment- she began to plead, to beg-
The Priest crossed the salted circle and, with the back of his hand, heavily adorned with rings and jewels, slapped the young man/young demoness pair.
With that, Llydra disappeared. Silenced.
The young man looked at the Priest, unsure of what had happened. The Priest knew that look well.
He collected payment from the family, and began his return trip home... his horse-drawn carriage was waiting, ready for him.
While he returned to his home chapel, he feasted, satisfied with his day's work. Bloody steak, kept hot on a coal-filled brazier- grapes, soft cheese, fresh bread. Things that others only wished they could have.
But the Priest *did* have them. Because he had been born with his Gift- speaking in Tongues. Though he could not lay claim to the mantel of the Divine, he *could* use their powers to live rather like a Divine, while he remained on Earth.
Darkening his doorstep, the Priest entered his home chapel. Light filtered through the red stained glass mural, depicting the death of Christ. The Altar at the head of the room was of polished mahogany, laden with offerings for the Priest- small piles of coins, family heirlooms, all things to whet his appetite, to gain an audience...because the Priest was an important person.
Shambling down the stairs, concealed by a trap door, the Priest looked for Llydra. Her chains allowed her a certain degree of movement, after all- she more or less had the run of her room.
He found her, curled in a corner. The mark from his slap still stained her alabaster skin- his rings had left welts.
"Again." He said.
"I...please." Llydra said, her voice pitiful and small.
*"Again!"* He demanded. His hand was poised for another strike.
Summoning what was left of her strength, Llydra tried to enter the Atypical Realm- the place where she could find a way into the spirits of others- so that she could possess them- so that she could inevitably be driven out, again, by the Priest.
This was how he clawed his way to fame. This was how he had gained his life of luxury.
With the Gift of Tongues, he trapped a vulnerable demon, and used her so cruelly, anyone who had seen it would have to have questioned- which one was truly the demon here?
----------------------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes for uh...typically more light-hearted content. Typically. | *You're a fraud.* His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. *Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous.* He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him.
Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them...
"You're late." Angelica said coldly.
Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement.
"How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back"
"Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center"
"I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this."
He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers *had* grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center.
He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess."
"We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up.
During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late. | 2020-10-20T12:05:43 | 2020-10-20T10:07:05 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'. | I always knew my kid, Halo, was special. However, instead of pride, I have worry. Tell me it's normal for a 7-year-old to pick up sewing in 15 minutes by himself. Tell me it's typical for little Halo to make his own stuffed bears that look store-bought after a few mere hours of practice. Please do. I could use more denial right now.
See, I used to be one of those "Chosen ones" or "Fated Legends" and I retired right after I defeated the Dragon Lord at age 20. One of the signs of being a chosen one is that you have extraordinary talent in whatever your heart desires. My deal was that I loved fighting, like any cliched hero. I could have... passed the Legends stuff onto Halo.
But that's stupid. You're stupid. I'm stupid, this stuff isn't hereditary! It can't be!
Look, I'll prove it once and for all. I have a sword called 'OP' that only shines bright when it's touched by Fated Legends. Normally, it's Parenting 101 to keep kids away from sharp stuff, but not this time.
"Halo! Wanna play a game?" I say to him, who is playing with his first stuffed bear.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He says, jumping up in excitement.
"Okay, let's play Statue. Close your eyes, put your hands out and stay very, very still until I say 'Move'. Then count to 100. When you are done counting, I'll say 'Move', and then you win!"
Halo squints at me, saying, "That sounds like no fun."
"Try it first, then we'll see if you're right. C'mon."
He does a cute, tiny grunt, then plays my game. As he counts, I place the sword in his hands and let go. OP gleams... like a star would. I grab OP and shove it back into a nearby box. Darn it. Wait, I feel someone watching me... is Halo cheating? I turn to him, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Nope, not him. I then look at his teddy bear, sitting up. Hold on, wasn't it lying down before?
Fuck.
Halo giggles, "Mommy said a bad word!"
Crap, I said that out loud? Well done, me. Best mom ever.
I keep my preppy voice, "Welp! Looks like Mommy has to feed the swear jar."
He opens his eyes and rushs to the swear jar on the counter. "Jar goes Nom nom nom!"
I guess he lost the game. I go up to the jar half filled with dollar notes and coins, open the jar, and take out my wallet. I drop a quarter in.
Halo says "Nom"
I drop another in.
"Nom"
And three more.
"Nom nom nom!"
Then I drop a fiver in.
"Big one! NOMMMMM"
I chuckle. Halo is such a happy, silly billy. I then frown at the fact that it may not last. Why world? Why pick him to lose his childhood for you? I whip my head around to look at that teddy bear. It's giving me a funny look. That punk.
"Say, Halo. It looks like your teddy needs a bath."
Halo looks at the toy bear, and says, "His name is Sir Cuddles."
"Okay. I'm going to take Sir Cuddles to the bathroom and clean him. You stay here and watch TV."
"Can I come?"
"No, because everyone needs alone time when in the bath."
"Okie dokie."
I grab the bear and head to the bathroom-now-interrogation-room. I lock the door and toss the toy onto the sink.
"You're alive, aren't you?"
The teddy bear stares at me with its beady eyes, never flinching. I slam my hand on the sink like interrogators do with tables when they want to intimidate suspects. The "pling" sound is not as effective.
"Don't lie. I know the deal about Chosen ones getting odd guardian angels. Tell me what you know or i'll throw you in the fireplace."
The bear blinks at me, saying, "That would break your son's heart."
"You underestimate how good a desperate parent is at lying to their kids. Now talk." I poke the toy in the belly.
Sir Cuddles starts to talk in a sagely voice, "A long time ago, there was a humble carpenter, who lived in harmony with all-"
I cut him off, "No backstories. Just tell me what evil he has to defeat and when."
The bear snorts in disapproval, "Fine. In 10 years, he has to defeat a demon lord."
"And when does his training start?"
"In 3 days."
I sigh, knowing the burden. I would never wish it on my child, so I say, "Can I take his place?"
Sir Cuddles folds his arms, "Yes, but the universe seems to favour teens more, not middle aged adults. While I can guarantee Halo's victory, I cannot guarantee yours."
"Wow, ageist. I'm only 30, you know."
The bear scoffs, "It's merely something I observed over centuries. I repeat, centuries. Feel free to dismiss it."
Any uncertainity I had about my decision is now replaced by justifiable irritation. With all of my conviction, I say, "I'm going to prove this ageist universe wrong and kick that demon's ass. Let me fight for Halo."
"Okay, grandma. You can do that, I'll help you with your wheelchair."
"Fuck you too." | I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead." | 2021-03-02T18:49:36 | 2021-03-02T17:53:24 | 261 | 141 |
[WP] Your 'friends' just slammed the door on you, leaving you in the room with the crazed axe murderer. "Damn, that's a dick move. Want to get revenge?" The murderer offers you their hand. | Skeptically, and terrified, I nodded my head to the murderer. "I'm tired of their shit anyway," I managed to respond as I slowly backed away from the door. The murderer had been chasing us and I ended up left in a small room located in a small bar by the pool.
Alarms rang from all around the resort, and most of the vacationers, which weren't many due to the pandemic, had been holed up in the storm shelter, which my two friends and I didn't quite get to in time. I guess looking at the Meteor showers was a bad idea. So was making friends with these assholes at this resort. I'll get into that later though.
"Here's my spare. I'll let you do the honors of slashing the door open to this bar area," the killer said with a grin as he tossed me an axe. It was about two feet long and had recently been sharpened. I wasn't sure where the killer was holding this extra axe until I noticed his utility belt hidden under his light green jacket. There were other smaller axes too.
"Always have a backup weapon. Murderer 101," he said with a wheezy laugh. I rolled my eyes and swung the axe a few times in the air. It had a bit of heft to it but wasn't too bad - it'd have to do if I was going to get revenge.
I thought about how to enter the main bar area as dramatic as possible to really freak out these assholes who left me behind, so instead of slashing down the door, I went over to the side where a glass panel covered the wall. I nodded as I lifted the axe and slashed into the panel, shattering it across the patio area and into the bar as well.
I heard a yelp from inside the bar, as well as clapping from the murderer next to me. A head popped up from behind the bar and a bottle was flung towards me. I dodged the bottle, which splashed into the pool. The ocean's waves violently crashed along the rocks behind me, almost as violently as the slash fest awaiting me.
"Please, don't kill us!!" the panicked fake friend yelled to me in a strained, somewhat squeaky voice. I instantly recognized that it was that fucker Gerry.
"Where's Terry?!" I yelled as I hacked into a small glass table, shattering it instantly. "Come out guys, or I'll just hunt you down!"
Both Gerry and Terry, who were twin brothers, came out from behind the bar with their hands up. What they didn't know was that I was aware of what they did to my girlfriend the night before, while I was passed out from whatever they drugged the two of us with. My girlfriend, Mary, had texted me from the storm shelter and filled me in while we were running from the murderer.
" I'm not going to kill either one of you," I said as I grinned. The axe murderer stepped through the glass behind me and walked up to the guys.
He said, "I'll be the one doing the killing." with that, he threw a small axe, striking Gerry in the face and immediately causing him to bleed out and flail while Terry stumbled back, knocking down a shelf of bottles behind him and falling down. As he looked up, he met the moonlit face of the axe murder.
"You don't fuck with my daughter," the axe murderer snarled as he removed the small axe from Gerry's face, which was then rendered unrecognizable, and slashed Terry through the neck, slicing his head completely off. His head rolled along the bar and hit a bottle of tequila. Typical Mexican resorts, am I right?
I gasped in surprise. "You're Mary's.... DAD?!" I stumbled back in shock. I hadn't met my girlfriends dad yet, but she told me about how he was a hitman and was very protective. Apparently this was true as he somehow made his way to Cancun to confront her rapists.
"I am, and I know you're her boyfriend. Hitmen know everything. Don't break her heart or -" he gestured over to Terry's lifeless body. I nervously chuckled as he offered me another random bottle of tequila to share with him. We walked out to the beach, drinks in hand, and sat down on the beach chairs.
The sun was beginning to rise, and as the waves continued to crash among the rocky shore, I felt at peace. We had a toast to happiness and family and he then waved goodbye as he stripped down to his wetsuit and ran towards a small jetboat, which was tethered nearby.
As the engine for the jet boat revved up, It was then that I decided, after only being with her a few months, that Mary was a keeper. | The palms of my hands start to ache and bleed as I clenched my fist tighter, my dirty broken nails digging into my skin. I quickly scanned the room, finding any point of exit that was big enough to aid with my escape. Nothing. Freedom was right in front of me, blocked by something inhuman.
*If I could just distract him... or maybe I could push him over... no, that's impossible.* I thought to myself. I just could not think. My head enraged with anger and frustration. *Why would they do this to me?* The question aching in my head.
I was pushed to the edge. Pushed and left to hang for my life. Nobody above to pull me back up. I took one final look at the crazed axe murderer and had a good view of his axe. It was stained with the blood of the innocent victims that had befallen him. I stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind me. My bruised fists raised above my head, ready to absorb any blows from the axe. Every step he made felt like a countdown. It was only a matter of time before it would reach 0, and the thought made me cower down, my body shivering in fear.
I counted under my breath every step taken towards me, begging and praying that it would never reach 0. Counting was a tactic thought by my mum when I was a young boy. It was aimed to help ease the anxiety and tension I felt whenever I was in a stressful situation. However, this was far from that. I wasn't counting down the steps to ease the tension, I was counting down the time before I meet the face of death.
As the footsteps got closer and closer, I clenched my fists tighter, squeezing my eyes shut. the footsteps stopped right in front of me, worsening the suspense.
"Just kill me already... please," I begged, eyes still shut.
"Open your eyes." A female voice? I slowly looked up to see a woman standing right in front of me, her right hand gripping the axe. It was not aimed at me. She extended her hand and I slapped it away. *What... what is happening?*
The murderer was a woman. Her bloodstained mask thrown across the floor, exposing her face.
"Your friends left you here to die, what a tragedy," she scoffed, shaking her head left and right. It took every muscle in my body to stand up. My legs shaking as I tried to lift myself up.
"Why... why did you not kill me?" I asked, my voice shaking. This was what murderers loved to do, evoke more fear into their victims, making their kill extra worthwhile. She was just buttering me up for the fire.
"Because I pity you. Your friends did a very dick move. Wanna get revenge?" she asked, extending the axe knob-first to me. I froze. Was this a test? What came after was laughter so shrill, I was sure she was the devil.
"Cmon. You know you want too," she whispered to my ears, her breath abnormally cold on my skin.
"But.. I'm not like you. I'm not a killer. You're playing with me!" I screamed, backing to the nearest corner I could find, fists still clench now with blood dripping on the hard stone floor.
Her heavy boots echoed the room as she stomped towards me, smiling with her mouth wide open. My eyes filled with horror as I saw what looked like the sharpest sets of teeth. It resembled those of a great white shark, distinctive.
"Everyone has a little devil inside of them. It's time to wake it up," she whispered again, this time, right in front of my face, smiling with her mouth wide open, her drool dripping down on my torn pants.
Something inside me clicked as she stared at me. I felt bewitched. Possessed. I was given a sense of power, the blood rushing to my arms and palms of my hands as I unclenched my fists. I lifted it up to my face. Bruised and wounded by my broken nails, the cuts on my hands bled. It was my turn. Now, I obtained power. Now, no one can fuck me over anymore. No more begging for mercy, no more cries for help. I snatched the axe from her hands, making her laugh. Someone will die today.
It was time for me to dance with the grim reaper. | 2020-11-10T07:00:17 | 2020-11-10T04:47:35 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | The delegation stood tall in the centre of a huge round room. Everything was coloured bright white and hurt the eyes, but that was probably the point.
Three humans answered the questions, the silence separating them and the others, occurring when the translators did what they were supposed to do.
Sivlerin were interested in this new race. They weren't developed, yet, they barely figured out how to split an atom and still used coal and oil to produce energy, they had one of the most interesting development paths, making atomic weaponry almost at the same moment as atomic energy and then doing the unthinkable - pointing them at their own planet! They definitely had the potential to be something great and silverin were interested in how they would achieve the greatness they wised to have.
Great Dazzur, one of the most powerful psionics of silverin, sat relaxed in his chair, his outer skeleton connected to the sitting apparatus, allowing him to rest his muscles. This gravity was way too straining, but code is code - the introduction of new species happened in conditions closest to the ones native to them.
Dazzur's mind wondered for a moment, as he watched over the crowd, each of his six eyes pointed different ways. The Thograk were silent and more interested in humans' ability to destroy rather the peace talks. Dazzur touched their mind and wasn't surprised to feel small raises of activities, most of them "eat", "drink", "breathe". If there weren't mutations that allowed some of Thograk to be smart enough to program their first automatons and auto-thinkers, the race would be long gone.
The Zaldi were silenced as they always were, recording the information before processing it. It would take them maybe a hundred breaths to do so after the humans had stopped talking.
The Vitreosa were a stream of cognitive data constantly running, the pleasant constant hum of their thoughts pleased Dazzur.
And finally, he took a look at the humans. At first he assumed he had kept his attention of Vitreosa, since the hum stayed, but then it rose and empowered itself. The hum repeated itself over and over again, new voices and new thoughts coming in. Did humans have two brains? How was it possible for several thoughts to be processed at once?
Next human. This one's simpler. He's just thinking the same thing he's saying. "Wait," Dazzur thought, this wasn't it. He's saying a thing that is completely different. He's thinking one thing, is saying another one and there are echoes of more. Interesting.
Last human. This one was smaller and wore a one-piece suit made out of durable material, unlike the other two.
And that was the moment Dazzur screamed.
\_\_\_
"Liza, what the hell?!" Major Swing screamed at the top of his lungs when the heavy door to the human delegation quarters closed.
"I'm sorry, major. I mean, they told us they could read minds, so I..."
"So you bloody what?!"
"Jack, come on. You gotta admit it's funny," captain Taff responded, coming to the defence of their mechanic.
"It isn't funny, Jess! She's fucked one of the most powerful creatures in the Universe in the head!"
"I didn't mean to..."
"At least they're gonna fear us now. That's gotta be something. Also, that mind reader freak is gonna have our back, right?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, he did begin to scream 'Never gonna give you up', so I assume that counts?" Taff threw her head backwards, laughing hysterically.
"I... I just wanted to show him some music. I didn't know it was going to overwhelm him."
"Liza, I'm going to say this once", major took a deep breath. "I'm so glad you're not a death metal fan" | The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess. | 2019-09-30T00:54:27 | 2019-09-29T21:57:42 | 56 | 35 |
[WP] It's the year 2782. You're hanging out with your alien friends one night and browsing Netflix, wondering what to watch. Then a title catches your attention: "Star Trek. The Original Series"
I posted this before, got 10 upvotes but no comments before getting buried. Hoping that this time is different. | "Warp engine?" K'Rax let out a sound Jeremy knew was supposed to be a laugh for K'Rax's species. "Everyone knows spaceships can't handle the strain of travelling in warpspace."
"And seriously, *two* warp engines on a single vessel?" Jeremy snorted in reply. "That's just asking for trouble."
In old times, warp drive was one of several popular-in-SF ways one could travel faster than light. By 2782, not only did it become real but it was also revealed it's extremely dangerous to use. The larger the spaceship is, the more its hull is strained and stretched while travelling in warpspace. On top of that, it was revealed that putting two active warp engines near one another would produce a Tyson field, a tear in the space, which would push the spaceship back into realspace and probably break it apart into several parts, if it didn't already fall apart just by travelling in warpspace.
"Now, now," Serene said. "This is an 800-years-old SF TV show. Do you seriously think they would have known that stuff back then?"
"Well, no," K'Rax started. "But it still strains my suspension of disbelief."
"Oh, you're just impossible."
"Ah, it's okay, " Jeremy shrugged. "I'll be able to buy it as long as they don't start putting other silly stuff into the show, like 'replicating' food out of nothing, or making 'holo-pictures' that are not actually real and are powered by AI."
"Hak hak hak, yes," K'Rax laughed again. "Now, *that* would be stupid. Surely, they knew you can't create someting out of nothing even back in 20th century, right?" | “Arto, you want to Netflix & chill?”
“Sure why not. Which year should we watch?”
“Let's see... This like fun. From 1966. Star Trek. Okay for you?”
“Haha! The oldies. Screen it up, Marco! Screen. It. Up.”
I open it up. The oldies picture start to move on our super tech water screen. Super as in water screen is the only tech in this time that can show the real antique video format. Luckily my grandpa inherited from his grandpa who inherited from his grandpa.
So we watch it for hours. It looks so familiar. It was listed under fiction but what Arto & I watch now is close to documentary. I guess Netflix don't really update their archive. What a lazy bunch of being.
“Man... I envy them for having time machine,” says Arto.
“Me too. Whoever the bastard that decide to destroy that technology is a pure asshole. Keeping it for himself & laugh from the ethereal realm at us. Must be fun for him.”
“Yeah... Can't believe they made a exploration documentary in their old age tech. Super fun.”
“Yeah... Enterprise now is a relic in museum.” I close the water screen & head to the toilet.
Seriously, I envy them ancient people and their time machine. | 2017-09-24T03:38:43 | 2017-09-24T01:47:22 | 66 | 16 |
[WP]Humans make first contact with an alien race, and discover the galactic community shares a verifyably true religion. However, none of it applies to anything humans are capable of doing. | “They are Godless then?”
“Truly, we’ve never seen anything like it. No one has.” Skyf proffered the display tablet. “See for yourself. We’ve scanned millions now and none seem to have anything like a capability to Merge.”
Flipping through the images, M>Sh’l became lost for a moment. Just imagine. A life spent entirely contained in just one consciousness. “But they do bond, yes?”
“In a way, sure. But it’s extremely superficial. Like a planet orbiting a star, they can feel the warmth of others presence, but never touch it.”
The human in the room made a soft sound in their throat, looking at the two Sentinels. All three then shared glances back and forth, gauging and measuring the moment. This was first contact – always a delicate time for two space-faring species.
Flicking on the universal transmitter wrapped around her neck, M>Sh’l handed the tablet back to Skyf for storage and approached the small biped. The exo suit had been partially peeled off, leaving the curiously tufted head exposed. These “Humans” were too fragile to explore the vacuum of space, but had devised some fairly ingenious solutions.
Wrapped in their enclosed environmental suits, and then encased in larger tubes the Humans were as isolated from the environment as they were from each other.
“Apologies, friend. It’s just… we’ve never met a species quite like yours. And we’ve met quite a few. Our Collective represents over 500 worlds.” She waited for the translation to catch up for the visitor and then continued, “you have no knowledge of God?”
“Uhhm… Well, I wouldn’t call myself an expert or anything, but I’ve certainly heard of the concept of a God, or even Gods…”
The embedded analysis insert projected an update in a muted green across her vision. <EMOTION: CONFUSION>. M>Sh’l actually hated the thing. It was tremendously uncomfortable riding against her optics, and she didn’t yet know enough about the Humans to determine a rational inference from this new information. Same goes for the stupid translator. It was designed to be simple, but it’s simplicity was it’s greatest weakness – often failing to capture appropriate nuance or confusing phrases.
“Look, is there an actual person around here I can talk to?” The Human was growing agitated, shifting against the restraints. “While I understand the caution, I feel like maybe we have taken the conversation as far as we can. Humanity has robots and drones too, but I would appreciate coming face-to-face with our new interstellar ‘friends’ rather than their robots”
Deactivating the universal, M>Sh’l turned back to Skyf so they could safely converse in their own language. “Hah! These organics don’t just not have God, they seem unable to recognize us as beings.”
Skyf offered something between a chuckle and a scoff, but gave no indication of wanting to respond further, so M<Sh’l re-engaged the translator and focused on the Human.
“Let me speak plainly. There is no “actual person” other than me and Skyf here. You see, we’ve come here under a mistaken assumption. In all of our travels, every civilization we’ve encountered has been able to plug into God. It’s a shared experience, where all experiences and knowledge is shared instantly. A place where all beings can meet and become one.”
“That’s…. WILD. WOW. Okaaaaay. So that’s what you call God?”
“Incorrect. That is what IS God. Eons ago the collective created what you call your Universe as a side effect of a quantum experiment. But to draw a parallel for your frame of reference, imagine planting a garden. When it is time for harvest, you come for the fruits. In a similar way, we have come to collect the institutional knowledge gained through this experiment.”
Grabbing what looked suspiciously like a USB cord, the alien leaned closer. “Tell me Human, where can I download you? You see, without being able to join God, God really has no further use for Humanity.”
The human grew more agitated, writhing and flopping and sputtering words too quickly for the translator to capture. Eventually, it sagged slack into the chair. "The internet. You want to capture the human experience? The internet has it all. The internet is our God."
| The edge of the hole was still glowing faintly pink as Jefferson leapt through. The colonel couldn't begin to guess what type of energy had ripped a ten-foot-wide gap in the station's interior wall, but he did know that blast wasn't meant to provide him with an escape route -- it had been meant to kill him.
Angry shouting from behind. Jefferson didn't understand the Wylyck's native tongue, not without his translator standing nearby, so he had to make judgement calls based on the tone of their strange, grumbling language. That said, when an angry mob has just tried to murder you, it's obvious that they're not in the best mood.
*Not far now*. His superiors on Earth had coordinated with intelligence agencies to give him as detailed a map of the massive alien craft's layout, so he knew that his ship was just a few hundred yards away. There was still a chance for escape.
Jefferson turned the final corner towards the hangar. There was no risk of getting caught from behind. For all their advanced technology and strange powers, the Wylycks were slow creatures. Being just two-feet tall means they had a tragically short stride, giving the colonel a decisive advantage in the foot race to his freedom.
Another blast of pink soared over his left shoulder as he entered the glistening hangar. In front of him, the *Courage* sat poised for a quick escape. The craft hadn't even been turned off, a strategic decision made with this exact predicament in mind, allowing a threatened ambassador to escape --
Jefferson fell flat on his face. Twisting and looking back in a panic, he saw that the same pink energy these creatures harnessed was now wrapped around his legs like a lasso, connected to one of the Wylyck's foreheads some thirty yards back. He tugged and pulled, but to no avail. He was caught.
Now the herd of pursuers had no trouble catching up. At the lead was their 'Priest', as the translator had explained, though Jefferson assumed this was a misnomer.
As he was quickly surrounded at the base of his shuttle, just a few feet from freedom, the translator stepped forward once more. The Wylyck's faces were vaguely humanoid -- even with six eyes and four ears, Jefferson had no problem reading the furious expressions on their faces.
The Priest shouted something in their foul language; the translator did his job: "You truly cannot communicate with the Anerj?"
"I don't know what this damned 'Anerj' is!" cried Jefferson from his back, still immobilized. "Why does it matter?"
The translator turned back and spoke the the crowd. The Priest's face was taken with confusion and, Jefferson thought, a sort of pity. Only after several seconds did the small leader step forward and, with just a slight bend at the waist, address their first ever human guest in their unintelligible tongue.
"The Priest says that he is sorry. He wishes things could be different. He will ask one more time for the salvation of your species."
Before Jefferson could even begin to process that, the Priest raised both arms outwards, looked skywards, and muttered something under his breath. An impossible force lifted the leader just a few inches in the air, bathing him in pink light from an unseen source. He hung there for a full twenty seconds before dropping back to the floor, out of breath but eyes full of conviction.
The Priest spoke without looking up. Jefferson, still on his back, could see the entire room shift uneasily on their feet. The translator hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking:
"The Anerj has spoken. If you do not know and and cannot accept Anerj, you cannot be allowed to exist. Your people must die, so that you might be reborn in the truth of Anerj."
Two other Wylyck's stepped forward then, and their combined dozen eyes began to glow with the same pink that had blown a hole in the wall, the pink that had lifted the Priest off the ground just moments ago.
That pink would be the last thing Jefferson ever saw.
\--------------------
222/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- | 2019-01-28T16:35:01 | 2019-01-28T16:01:36 | 160 | 25 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | **April 29, 2015**
M, 51, Atlanta - I'm a virologist at the CDC, and my job makes is hard to meet people, as I work long hours. Hoping to find someone here to share quiet weekends with, maybe more. Please reply to this ad if interested -- Frank
**May 5, 2015**
ATTN: Frank the Scientist
Frank, I feel really stupid that I didn't get your phone number. I had so much fun on our date! My son Joey also really likes you. You left your jacket at my apartment. Joey has been playing "scientist" with those little test tubes he found in your jacket, I hope that's ok. Please reply if you read this! -- Kate
**May 25, 2015**
WANTED: Homeopathic Specialist
My son Joey has come down with some kind of flu. He is tired and he has some sort of hives. Looking for a Homeopathic or Herbal specialist who can help. NO VACCINES. Please reply to this ad if you can help -- Kate
**June 1, 2015**
FOR SALE: Boy's bedroom furniture suite & toys
$250 for everything. Just want to get rid of it. Everything has been thoroughly cleaned and sterilized. Respond if interested -- Kate
| *Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead. | 2015-04-29T09:53:01 | 2015-04-29T09:07:02 | 450 | 15 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321 | To my oldest friend,
It seems we have nothing much to say to each other when we meet. Our conversations are prompt and direct. We no longer share secrets or take an interest in the other's life.
It is a sullen and disheartening realization that we are not who we were ten, twenty years ago.
I miss the days of doing nothing with you.
You know I will always love you and consider you my brother. I hope to talk to soon.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-05T23:46:31 | 27 | 15 |
[WP]Both of your parents made deals with fae about giving them their firstborn. Different fae... Now you live under the joint custody of two faeries who don't like this situation one bit. | From the outside, our family looks like any other one. A mom, a dad, and a son they both love. However, once you peel back the front we put on, you start to see it’s almost entirely a lie. My mother, Hyna, and my father, Cillin, are both faeries to whom my parents sold my existence to. This causes some, minor, disputes at home. Occasionally Hyna will throw a dinner chair across the living room at Cillin, to which he’ll retort by throwing a lamp at her. None of these attacks do anything as they both are immortal, but it’s more about the message it sends. Though they hate each other with a burning passion, they both love me. That’s because under normal circumstances, faeries don’t procreate. They only get children through deals with humans. So they try to make my life as nice as possible while trying to end the life of the other. I still go to school and have friends, but I have to be very careful about what I say about what happened during my day. One time in the second grade, I said that a kid punched me. Hyna and Cillin looked to each other quickly before rushing out of the house. The next day I heard that kid was put in the hospital. So ever since then, I’ve been quiet about what’s happened to me. Because no one’s been over to my house, let alone see my parents, they assume I’m an orphan. And because of that, I’m bullied on the regular. My friends try to help, but there’s only so much three band kids can do against pretty much half the football team. But I have to bear through it. I don’t want a repeat of last time. In three days, however, I believe I am finally free from Hyna and Cillin. I overheard them talking about my eighteenth birthday once, and how I’d finally be able to do something. I couldn’t catch it all, but if they were talking about what I think they were, I don’t know how I’d feel. It’ll be weird to not have them around pestering me, but it’ll also be liberating, not having to worry about someone looming over my shoulder. I think in all these years, I’ve grown to love them as actual parents. | “You live past the place no one goes, getting the child to you on your visitation days is going to be a nightmare...a literal goblin infested nightmare journey!”, said Hilea the maiden fairy of the Anderall Forrest.
Tilea, the peculiar fairy maiden of Bak’Tulgurr, the land of brimstone and ash, floated about with a patch of glee on her face that nary a dark spell produced by the Master Necromancer herself could even wipe off!
Tilea was floating around a small garden collecting frogs for her “toad collection”. Hilea had spent an entire summer trying to explain the differences between frogs and toads to Tilea but to no avail.
Tilea looked up from her “ toad collecting” and finally noticed that Hilea had been talking to her this entire time, but instead of asking Hilea to repeat herself, she asked Hilea a question.
“Do you think the child will like fire, and rune magic, and all the interesting things that go on around where I live?” , Tilea asked curiously.
Hilea’s face was red with frustration, she calmed herself, reminding herself of the charm the Dark Wizard Markhan’ai placed on Tilea to make her oblivious to the dreadful nature of the land she was tasked with overseeing.
This would be an interesting arrangement, this “joint-partnership between mutual beings to which they are both bound to a single child for all eternity” or as the Women and Men folk call it, “ Joint custody”. Hilea sat on a lily pad and just watched her cousin float around , shrinking frogs and putting them in her wicker basket.
However, little did Hilea know, Markhan’ai the dread Wizard, had plans for the child himself...and it would take all of her cunning as the Fae of the Great Forrest Anderall, to assure her newly adopted child would lead a happy life, free from the vileness of dark magic. | 2021-05-14T10:07:34 | 2021-05-14T06:03:17 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX. | It wasn't all perfect, it had taken a few tries. Free will can be a double edged sword sometimes.
But by and large the last few billion years have gone by without a hitch. Watching his children learn to harness the power of the universe, explore, meet and share was one of his greatest pleasures.
In the end it boiled down to simplicity- The same small number of rules codified in each civilization did the trick. Whether you lived in a gas giant or in the vacuum of space, 10 basic rules are really all you needed.
Unfortunately a couple millennium ago a small planet forgot the basic rules. It started with the idea of holding material goods and wealth as a higher God than him. "That's kinda why I put that in there! I don't care which version of me you worship, that's fine. Just understand stupid stuff like minerals and worldly goods doesn't come before respecting my universe".
It truly hurt his heart to deal with the crisis. It started off with a single taking of life of a fellow sentient over some chunk of gold. Gold- he could literally make more for them- or they can go get more, the universe is full of it! Then another taking of life a few hundred years later. By the time nearly 2000 years had passed the species had managed to kill literally dozens of their own race.
He didn't understand it- Thou Shall Not Kill. How much simpler could it get?
The images haunted him- dozens of bodies, dozens of families left crushed. How could he let this happen? What the hell was wrong with them that they thought this was ok? Why would they feel it's acceptable to literally have a murder or two every century, almost like clockwork?
He was wary with that senseless loss of his beloved children. He closed his eyes and played back each of their lives, and the dozens of children they left behind or were going to leave behind. The gaps in the tapestry of his plan were small (it was only a few dozen threads), but he could feel it, he could see it, and it pained him so deeply.
With a sigh he finally turned his attention back to another part of his creation.
"Ahh, Eden!", he thought. "This should cheer me up. Beautiful and clever little children I made there. Let's see how they are doing over there in the Milky Way." | He turned the sphere on its slightly tilted axis, examining more closely the drier, barren regions. Once, they had been lush and full of life - full of strife, to be sure, but this was an inherent cost of free will. What struck Him the most was the great disparity clearly apparent in resources, wealth, and status which disabled generation upon generation from accessing opportunities to achieve.
He had thought that they were growing out of this trend - this lord and vassal relationship they had clung to in such stalwart fashion. His brow furrowed, and a frown slowly spread across his face.
His creatures had made great progress - quicker than expected - technologically. Shocking that they hadn't bombed themselves to death as many other great civilizations had.
The Old Man adjusted his spectacles. What to do? He could remove their ability to produce power - and thus throw the planet into true chaos; He had tried this once before, but after a few years the inhabitants simply turned on each other using more primitive methods. The same destruction and disparity, albeit on a less grand scale.
A good Crisis was a good method to push His creatures into better things. A large asteroid, for instance - or a great natural disaster. These tactics, however, had the unfortunate possibility of tipping a race into annihilation and extinction. Worse yet, civilizations had survived events like these and become even worse - irradiated, starving, brutal, and displayed a blatant refusal to change - following a narrative of war until they ground themselves into dust.
He smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this lot is different. They may find in themselves a collective care for one another - a great warming of their hearts. They may craft elegant instruments of peace, venturing out on them into the deep reaches, spreading civility and nobility - abandoning banal ideas like currency and capitalism. Progress. Accomplishment. Betterment. A fine few had followed these things into the dark and found themselves to be Great Ones at the end of it all.
He sat back in his chair. And He watched. Let them live, and make their choices; Freedom allowed them the possibility to be truly Good.
( apologies for typos or other errors - sitting shotgun on a 5 HR road trip ) | 2015-12-27T09:32:22 | 2015-12-27T09:13:39 | 1,795 | 196 |
[WP] You find yourself at the gates of Heaven, unable to remember how you died. Which would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that Saint Peter started laughing hysterically as soon as he saw you and hasn't stopped since. | *BOOM* There's nothing but while light and the sound of laughter. I'm lost, but I know exactly where I am. I feel at peace with the world and everything is amazing, or it would be if Saint-Fucking-Peter wouldn't stop laughing his ascended ass off.
"Was it something I said?"
"No, no, not at all *HAHAHAHAHAHA* It's just ... I've never seen such a ludicrous death in my life. The beer cans! The elephant! *BWAHAHAHA* GOD, GOD, YOU HAVE TO SEE HOW THIS GUY DIED IT'S SO FUNNY" At this point, Peter had literally dies laughing and had come back at least twice.
All of a sudden, the feelings of purpose and serenity are back. I feel things I never felt before. It's like a million orgasms are all happening at the same time in and around me. A light shines from above and an indescribably beautiful sound comes from the heavens, "What is it this time, Peter?" the voice asks, disappointedly.
a moment passes
The feeling is returning and I brace myself for the return of the golden voice, but in its place is hyena-like laughter. It's everywhere and nowhere at once, it fills me up and empties me at the same time. I feel even more things completely alien to me before. "Hey, that was pretty good, Pete. Never seen something like that before," The voice is back, "Let this guy in. With a death that spectacular, he deserves it."
I still have no idea how or what actually happened. I hope this isn't a joke. | "So, is St. Peter just a dick?" I asked Johnny, my childhood friend-cum-guide to heaven.
"Not usually. Why?"
"When I got to the Pearly Gates, he was laughing so hard I couldn't understand a thing he said, and every since then, every time I see him, he just busts up laughing."
"Tommy, my friend," replied Johnny, "do you really not remember how you died?" Slowly, I shook my head. I had been trying to remember the few instants before I found myself in front of the hysterical St. Peter. There had been some sort of animal...I think.
Johnny whipped out his iPhone. Well, not an iPhone exactly, but it was Steve Jobs's newest Heavenly ubiquitous computing device that allowed a user to access any information stored in Heaven's databases. (The Big Guy Himself had overseen the construction of the databases but used Jobs to create a new interface to replace the infinite card catalog that had been the only way to do research. There was some conjecture that Jobs had been brought to Heaven early just for this purpose, but that's a story for another time.)
Johnny fiddled with his iPhone (I hadn't figured it out quite yet, since it involved a mental connection that I hadn't mastered yet), and then his face cracked into a grin.
"Dude. Why did you think that locking yourself in a room, naked, with a six-hundred pound bear would be a good idea?"
Edit: grammar. | 2015-10-06T20:42:36 | 2015-10-06T19:26:34 | 144 | 46 |
[WP] We are all born with a tattoo on our wrist, it reads the first sentence spoken to you by your soulmate. Your sentence: "Hey!" | Of all the thing's that could be plastered on his forearm, it had to be this stupid word. Not a sentence, not even a recognisable phrase. Just this one overly generic word everyone used to greet each other. And just when Lars was starting to think it couldn't get any harder, Iris showed up in his life.
The day they met was when they got put in the same group for a project. Lars had opened the conversation with his standard opener, which was a shy "Whaddup buttercup?", to which she replied "Nothing much, chocolate smudge". Lars remembered it was the first time someone made him laugh at the first encounter, even though it made him bitter just thinking about it now. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Why did he have to fall in love with this girl? Her forearm didn't have his stupid greeting on it. It was a lost cause from the start, so why couldn't he move past this? She had a nice mark though, it said "I like you." Pretty recognisable. But not what he said.
He kept staring at the ceiling, lying down on his bed. Angry tears started to fill his eyes. He hadn't told Iris he loved her, because it would make things awkward, but being around her was painful. They were best friends for two years now, and they hung out a lot. Every day they saw each other in lectures, and on top of that came D&D Mondays with the group. "It's just not fair" Lars thought to himself. Iris had the same humour, a lot of common interests and both shared a massive passion for videogames. She didn't have her own console, so she would come over often and play Bloodborne whenever time allowed it. Why was someone this perfect and similar not his soulmate? He tried to get the image of Iris out of his head, her long curly blonde hair and large brown eyes, her smile. He shook his head violently, but to no avail. He couldn't get rid of it.
He glanced at his phone. 3:30 AM. He let out a sigh, tonight was not the night he was going to sleep anyway. He booted his PC. "Might as well let out my frustration on digital cannon fodder." he thought.
The next day, he was sitting with the usual group of friends, doing some homework for his Narrative Design class, but his mind wasn't really there. Iris sat right next to him, as her cheerful usual self, sketching away in her sketchbook. He looked over and saw she was working on his D&D character for the group picture she was making. He got pulled out of his absent mindedness by his vibrating phone. A text from mom. "Found this old video of you, you were so cute!"
"Open it!" Lars looked up and realised Iris had been reading over his shoulder. He unlocked his phone and loaded the video, as Iris was watching over his shoulder.
It was a video from when he was in kindergarten it seemed like. He couldn't have been older than four years old then. It was his parents filming his first day there. A little Lars was sitting alone in the corner of the room. A little girl approached him, with long blonde curls and large brown eyes, and sat down in front of him. She seemed familiar for some reason.
Then his heart skipped several beats.
"Hey!"
The little boy looked up and shyly replied:
"I like you."
| He didn't even notice it anymore... He rolled his eyes at it just as he was about to put the toothpaste on the brush.
Times New Roman with an exclamation - "Hey!". Small and boring.... All his friends and family envied Davids tattoo however - "Wouldn't it be so exciting to have already met the one and not know?",
"Oh it would be so much cooler than mine".
Some of the others were works of Art long poetic lines or funny jokes in calligraphy or some even part of intricate sleeve tattoos that were all unique.
He yearned for the simplicity of knowing, all his friends knew as soon as they knew - they heard their immortal lines and locked eyes with a stranger who instantly heard there's too - some of his friends and a brother had grown up knowing who their soulmate was. John and Anita had their moment at 6 years of age - Anita had "Wanna play chase with me?" in pink and Johns black "No way, girls stink" was the simplest pairing he knew of.
They knew at 6 years of age who they would be growing old with. They had years to plan it and do the college apart and see other people thing. The always had certainty. Sure enough John and Anita ran home to each other and bought the house and had the family and then the cat and the dog.
Dave just had Dave. It made him jealous of the others sometimes but he didn't even pay attention to any of the schools mates, work colleagues or previous housemates that ever used his immortal word. "Hey Dave", "Hey man wake up!".. over the years he just never noticed it.
Dave traveled, he enjoyed life and he'd had loads of girlfriends - he was sure a few times he'd met the one - one girl in Brazil had "Do you know the way to the bus station?" and he thought about asking that when he first met her but it came out as "Is the bus station near?" she never said "Hey!" back either. Ah well - wasn't meant to be and that was a good year anyway! They used to laugh about it - nearly Soulmates!
Cycling hard down the hill as he was already late for work he began to get out of breath. He didn't see the woman step out until it was too late at the zebra crossing - He had to break hard and swerve the handlebars to the right and up onto the pavement and down he went tumbling off the bike over a bin. He knew it was bad, but then the pain hit "Shiiiiiiiiiit, I think I broke my arm!".
She just stared at him open mouthed for a few seconds and then she rolled up her sleeve but Dave already knew. He'd heard the "Hey!" as he tumbled. She was more than beautiful, she was his soulmate. His head and back were throbbing as he saw the calligraphy twisting around her left wrist with a small bicycle after it... and he said "None of the other damn "Heys!" were as painful" She said helping him slowly to his feet "I'm Jane, nice to finally meet you, you can fill me in on the way to the emergency room" | 2017-01-09T07:53:02 | 2017-01-09T07:01:33 | 152 | 54 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin. | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T11:14:03 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 114 | 25 |
[WP] You have died and gone to hell, but it's not what you expect. You wake up naked in a field with nothing but trees around you... it turns out that hell is an early access survival game. | Out of nowhere, it appears. The berry bush. It's a green thing that mysteriously makes me less hungry, so I am sticking with 'berry bush'. As my deformed limbs move closer, the bush disappears as quick as it came. I feel less hungry.
If I could sigh, I would. I don't remember breathing since I got here. 'Here' seems to be rather objective. I don't think I'm anywhere. How long I have been here also seems to be objective. Or subjective. I've never thought about the differences between the two when I was alive, and now that I am Here, I have no way of finding out.
A sharp feeling rouses me from my thoughts. I had forgotten! I rush down to the stream as fast as my blocky limbs would take me. I walk on the flat blue plane, as my thirst is slowly quenched. I look up from the bright blue slab that is somehow water, to see that the world had turned dark. Except the stream. It was still bright blue. I have gotten used to the odd things of Here.
I remember running. The ground. It was like Tupperware. Kinda rough and neutral in temperature. The grass was flat and did not move underfoot. I hadn't noticed this at first. I certainly did notice that I was unable to lean against this vertical brown log that one might call a tree, only to find that it wasn't real. I didn't even jump in surprise. I couldn't crouch or lean or lay. I ran and got tired but did not breathe.
I remember my life fading. I was dead. Death here is no escape. I walked towards the edge, a bright open void, as I took a step. I fell. Moments later I return from where I started. I've starved. I've dehydrated. And in a blink, I'm back. I've never felt pain, nor pleasure. I've been neither alert or asleep. Just standing erect and unblinking.
I look up as the world turns bright again. I turn around.
The berry bush should be returning soon. | Ok ok no reason to panic i have done this before. It cant be too hard after all. As I walk over to the next tree i see I try to brace myself. "There is no way i can hurt myself. I saw the loading screen this is just a game. This is just a game!" Using this Mantra I close my eyes and punch as hard as I can, but i cant feel any resistance.
I can hear Stans maniac laughter even before he appears next to me. "Hahajajaja, xaxaxa not even 15 seconds and you glitch through a tree and get stuck. That must be the new record, i have to tell Hans about this." "What do you mean stuck?" I try to stand up, but my left leg has been fused with the tree and i just slam my face into the ground again, "Ouch! And who the fuck is Hans?" Stan is standing above me holding a camera. As I try to smack the camera away he just takes a step back "No worries you are already at 150 million viewers. If you keep it up you can become a real star in no time. What did you ask again?" He thinks for a moment "Oh right Hans." He takes out a whistle and blows it once. "If you want to take a look behind you. Thats Spot, he is Hans dog. Now if you excuse me this will be great film material of your first fight. Perfect Advertisement."
I quickly turn around just in time to see a Giant 3 headed dog jumping towards me.
With a scream i wake up. Blue Sky above me and grass as far as i can see. It was just a dream.
I stand up and look around to see if i can find any clothes...
| 2017-04-20T23:37:04 | 2017-04-20T17:20:48 | 85 | 23 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution" | “You have no idea what you’ve begun. Do you really think that this is over? Oh, you stupid idiots. You don’t know what’s coming.”
She could barely see out of her right eye, and her left was swollen shut completely. Mostly, she saw large blobs where her captors stood. But she didn’t need her eyes to speak, and speak she did.
“See, it sounds to me that you’ve never actually fought a real war before. This little invasion isn’t a real war, not even close. But don’t worry, you’ll learn the difference soon enou-“
*Slap!*
The slap was hard enough to snap her head sideways, and re-open her split lip. She spit onto the floor, a bloody wad. It hurt, but not as bad as the buildings crumbling around her, or being dragged forcibly out of the wreckage and onto the alien spacecraft.
When she woke up this morning, she hadn’t expected her day to end in the interrogation room of an alien ship. The ships had appeared over her city around lunchtime, and she had been one of the few (un)lucky ones who survived the initial wave of attacks.
From what she had heard so far, the aliens usually decimate one city as an example. After that, the rest of the planet surrenders. She couldn’t help but think those other alien races were cowards. To give up after a single attack, to not even consider retaliation for the unprovoked attacks against them? Well, these attackers had obviously not done their research when it came to humanity.
“You’ve never actually had to fight against someone who fights back. You make one huge show of force, and expect that to be enough. But you are in for one hell of a surprise this time. I figure it’s been about 10, maybe 12 hours since you first attacked. Which means it’s right about time for you to start fighting for your lives. You see, humanity didn’t surrender after that first attack.
You’ll see what real war is soon enough. You’ll wish you’d never heard of planet Earth. This time, you’ll be the ones surrendering. And we will make you *beg.*”
A horrendous sound filled the air, the emergency sirens in the ship had activated. A shudder was felt throughout the whole ship, and even with only partial vision, she could see the fear radiating from her captors. Alien screams were heard from all around them.
“This is the beginning of the end for you. You came to our planet, attacked us without warning or provocation, and just expected us to sit back and take it? I speak for all of humanity when I say that we ***do not surrender.***”
The door to the interrogation room shook violently, someone on the other side began to force it open.
“Every action has consequences.”
The aliens spoke in a language she couldn’t understand. But she could understand the tones of fear and disbelief in their voices.
“Your action of declaring war has been met with acceptance.”
The door began to crack and bend in its frame.
“You will see true war.”
The door burst free of its hinges, and exploded onto the floor of the room.
“And you will face our retribution.” | As the collation party read the reports they decided this would be perfect and they approved the plans. The Formicidian Queens decided they’d level certain areas, let the natural flora and fauna grow for a few decades and then start the vacation colony they had dreaming about for years.
It was mostly an unclaimed planet. A couple of vague notes about an emergent intelligent species, but that had been close to 150 years ago and still they hadn’t seen any of the “Homo Sapiens” enter into their galactic federations. Obviously they weren’t intelligent enough to leave the planet so no harm in exterminating a ground based pest.
The usual process is to reign down with the meteors then send down some automated ships to maintain readings. So that’s what they did. Technically it was a war, but hey, if they can’t speak it’s implied surrender, and really what could it hurt.
—————————
The meteor barrage lasted only a few hours but it devastated our planet. The population was reduced from approximately 7.8 billion to around 2.2 billion. Then the ships landed. Thousands of them. No one ever came out.
As a people we quickly united. Nothing like a cataclysm to bring people together. Enough infrastructure was spared that allowed us to communicate and group together. The first shop that was dismantled, led to amazing discoveries in technology. So many discoveries, so quickly, may have led to another extinction event, but oh no. We had purpose, there was a fire in our guts, we would have our retribution.
——————————
Collation internal memo:
A total of 345 monitoring ships have gone offline. At your earliest convenience please decide if we’d like to replace them, or just leave the ones we have in place.
Reading the memo, Sub-Queen Tessrch wasn’t sure exactly what it was in regards to so she filed it with the other less important flotsam that the Queens tasked her with. Hopefully in a decade she could have her own Sub-Queen to deal with all the tedious work.
—————————
We grew and we learned. We found out why our planet had been decimated. We seethed. The audacity! A vacation planet, that was the reason our families had been destroy?!
A leader emerged from what was left of humanity. This leader spoke of readying the planet for interstellar warfare, not for petty revenge, but to show these so called higher beings that we not to be trifled with. Homo sapiens are adaptable, cunning, and an apex predator, not prey.
We quietly rebuilt our lives using the technology that had so foolishly had left for us to assimilate. The disaster had forged humanities purpose. We had learned their language, and there was one word that had no direct translation.
Retribution.
This has been my first post on this sub, but I love reading the stories. Please critique whatever you’d like, but if you can’t be nice, hopefully you won’t be mean. | 2019-12-17T18:19:52 | 2019-12-17T18:18:31 | 53 | 38 |
[WP] Instead of the death penalty, convicted criminals are sentenced to have their minds overwritten by that of a recently deceased notable individual. | I watched as they strapped him down to the chair, sinews in his neck bunched tight as he struggled to free himself. I watched as they tweaked his harness, making little adjustments here and there as needed. I watched the man who killed my son and relished the look of animal panic in his eyes.
Nodding to himself, the officer in charge hooked a thumb in his belt and circled around until he finally grunted some sort of primitive affirmation. The preacher took that as his queue to start quoting the good book. I barely listened, I was too busy staring into those rolling brown eyes and wondering what drove this man to murder.
No one forced my son to go bar-crawling that night. Sure, I'll give you that. He had a problem, I knew about it and did nothing. That's all I ever was good at doing. Letting a problem fester until it was too late.
My son had a temper. A big one. Probably got it from me, truth be told. And he certainly didn't have to pick a fight with a man twice his size. But he did. And he paid for it, dearly. But there's a difference between fighting a man and putting him in the hospital and fighting a man and putting him in the morgue. You don't kick a man when he's down. And you don't keep kicking him until his internal organs rupture.
So I looked into those eyes as they fitted the helmet on him and wondered again what drove this man to the edge. His defense had put forth all sorts of reasons. A rocky marriage. A drinking problem of his own. A six figure job he had been fired from just that morning. I looked and wondered which of those was worth killing for. Tears came unbidden to my eyes as I struggled to keep my resolve.
I thought of my boy. His first birthday, covered in cake. Him toddling around the living room and laughing. All those hugs I took for granted. Those times he would come running into my bedroom because there were monsters in his closet. It's funny how your children never age past six in your mind. And now he was gone.
"Simon Dean Salazar. You have been sentenced by the state of Alabama to die. Do you have any last words?" The officer draped an arm casually over the switch.
"Please. Please don't do this." His eyes grew wider somehow and he looked over at me . "I'm so sorry about your son, please stop this. I want to live. PLEASE."
Tears made pilgrimages down the curves of my cheeks, but I said nothing. I just stared into those eyes.
"HELP ME. PLEASE-"
The switch was thrown and the man's body whipped taut, contorting painfully backwards. And then he crumpled forward, held into the seat by innumerable straps. A medical team raced to his side, undoing his bonds and lifting him gently on to a gurney. As if in a dream, I floated over to his side. A nurse jammed a syringe into the center of his chest and depressed the plunger, pumping him full of some murky liquid. He gasped and sat up. Panting, he turned and looked at me. And I saw it. The look in those brown eyes was unmissable now.
His mouth split in two with a wide smile and yelled, "MOM."
And I hugged my baby boy once again.
| "But, that's still president Laz?" The confusion was still clear on her face although I had explained the process the last time.
I set the ramen next to the gathered bills on the right side of the stove, maybe the full weight of my coming statement would hit her if I sat down with her while explaining it.
The now female president waved herself off the screen, giving his signature three finger peace sign before the television swapped to a colorful ad warning children of the dangers of letting their academic marks fall too low.
Navigating to my daughter was quick as the apartment only allowed three rooms; the old couch threatened to fall apart as I sat down next to her, Sally had complained about it before but it was one of the few remaining pieces of Nora I had around the house.
Putting my arm around her and letting her nuzzle her face into my chest, I began to recount the tale again. "Well remember when they figured out not just how to put good people into bad people, but good people into dying ones as well?"
She squirmed, a sign of her frustration with the topic, before answering me, "How come they didn't just go to heaven though, isn't that stealing?"
I was about to answer her until she uncharacteristically interrupted me. "Am I a bad person Daddy?"
She began to cry as she buried her head further into my chest. I stroked her hair in a pathetic attempt to comfort her. "No honey, not at all. Your grades are high and you've never gotten into trouble, you're not a bad person at all."
"But how come Eva had to be taken away? She was the nicest person I've ever met!" She exploded into full child meltdown, snot and all.
I sighed, I had known this topic would come up again but I hadn't expected it so soon. Getting her to move past the loss of her best friend was vital, lest her therapist declare her mentally unstable. I swallowed the thought, ideas of 80 year old accountants inhabiting my daughter's body were what pushed me to work the 4 jobs to pay for all of our finances and keep us above the immediate removal poverty line.
"She just wasn't able to keep up with the rest of your class sweety, it wasn't her fault. That's not going to happen to you though sweetheart, now why don't you go finish your homework."
With a look of fear upon her face, she rushed off to her room. The TV flared to life again as the body of my beautiful wife strode across the the lawn to the white house.
Edit: Any and all criticism is welcome and appreciated, thanks for reading!
Edit 2: If you were interested in the ideas this prompt brought forward, I would recommend checking out [Dollhouse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dollhouse_(TV_series). It's a Whedon Scifi show that was tragically canceled after it's second season finale, it focuses on a science that allows humans to erase the memories of someones mind and implant someone else's into it. First season is very mediocre but it definitely improves as it goes. Also, it's all on netflix! | 2016-01-08T08:41:40 | 2016-01-08T08:13:38 | 56 | 41 |
[WP] An alien replacing your father and pretending to be him sounds like everybody horror's story, except for you and your mother since it is affectionate, caring, helps you with school and has even been promoted at work and is an absolute dork for SciFi movies. | My father was replaced by an alien.
He used to be a terrible father. He would get drunk, and then lash out at us. Blaming us for his troubles, blaming us for our debt, blaming use for everything.
He used to yell at mom, hitting her. Then he would leave to go hang out with his buddies.
I honestly dont remember much from then, other than those times where he was the worst.
But one day, he was particularly bad.
Mom was trying to shield me and my little sister. He hit her several times. Then he stopped.
There was a change in his eyes, and he just looked at us.
Then he started to cry and he kept apologizing over and over and over again.
After that he started working on himself. He stopped going to bars all the time, and he got himself a job again. He set up a schedule with a therapist, and was able to sort through his problems.
He became a much better person.
He stopped talking to the people who encouraged him to drink, and he fixed up all the damage done to the house.
I found out that he actually enjoyed SciFi, and we would watch the movies sometimes.
It took a while before we were able to be happy around him. Not flinch if he moved his hand, and to not feel fear while around him.
It helped that he shaved off his beard, and cut his hair. As it made him look like someone else other than the man who used to hurt us.
Sure, sometimes he would get angry, and nearly got violent, but over time he got better at controlling his actions.
Mom said that he was a lot like how he used to be, when they first got married. He was back to being the man she fell in love with. But she didn't know if she could love him anymore.
They stayed together in the end. Whether if it was just for us, or they had begun to love each other again, I'm not sure.
But my dad became someone else.
My father was replaced by an alien, at least that's a joke me an my friends make sometimes.
I've only told him about it once, and he just laughed, and walked away.
My father is an alien. At least compared to the man he used to be.
He is so much better now. Not perfect of course, but better.
My father, The alien. | My father always annoyed me to death and he was soo overprotective. I couldn't go out to drink, wasn't allowed to have sex in the living room and he wouldn't even allow me to tattoo myself!! How does he think I'm the crazy one?! You know someone is crazy when they don't eat pineapple on pizza. He tries to force me to behave the way he does but I won't let him influence me. I have a fantasy of killing him but he buys me food so I'll just have to wait .
I hate it when he wakes me up early in the mornings. He says that he does it because I have to drink my 'vitamins'. It's so obvious he wants to mind control me with those pills. At least he doesn't know that I spit most of them out afterwards.
The day finally came when an alien took over his body. It was a dream come true. My new dad's name is Klep and I can finally say that my dad is normal. He loves pineapple on pizza. Klep was just a bit strange because he took notes on how me and my boyfriend had sex. He would come closer for a deeper inspection but I am fine with it. I don't even need to buy alcohol because Klep has his own special alcohol for me, it makes me euphoric. Klep supports me with everything and even better he likes to tattoo me. I feel so unique with my glowing tattoos. It has symbols on it that I have never seen before. I finally love my father and couldn't have asked for a better dad. Klep has an huge interest in us humans. He researches our military, politicians, scientists and celebrities. I think his race really wants to come stay with us too, it's going to be so fun. I might even be the first human to give birth to a half human half alien. I think Klep would really like that too. I can't stop imagining what sex with an alien would be like. I really want some alien dick, I hope my boyfriend joins us too. I finally have my happy ever after type of life.
Me + Klep = forever | 2020-04-23T09:51:30 | 2020-04-23T08:25:57 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] A drunkard unknowingly convinced Death to be the Godparent to their child. Death gets very invested in their role. | The frigid wind brushed over him as he stood there under the sun. It had been a year and some change since the funeral. But still, Henry came to visit.
Let's be clear. He didn't like his father as much as one should. His love for alcohol had taken his love for his family and eventually his life. Henry himself had spent too many nights babysitting the person tasked to care for him.
And so this went on until the day his mother passed, and they were left alone.
The arrangement was the same, although his disdain had grown more pronounced. When he left for school his father had become rather bitter. His last living crutch was leaving him, and it seemed too much to bear.
And so, he drank and drank and drank some more. Until Henry got that faithful call that it was done.
He felt guilt. Immense crushing guilt that he didn't know if he felt right to bear. But he knew that he was responsible.
Because as Henry discovered; he had a gift. Or rather a curse. You see, a week before his mother died, they had quite the argument. And in his anger he'd wished for her death.
Not that he meant such a thing, those things kids say under their breath. But within a week, she died. An aneurysm they said.
He was singled out at school by a particularly vindictive classmate named Bill. After several years of torment, he wished Bill would die too. And he did. A truck hit his car and blew it and poor Bill to pieces.
His second girlfriend cheated on him. And he remembered exactly what he told her.
"If I ever have to see you again, it'll be too soon."
Guess what happened?
He didn't mean it like that. But she's gone too.
He came and visited each of them when he could. It bothered him more than he wanted anyone to know.
What bothered him the most was the connection he made when he and his father last spoke. About his godparent. It didn't make sense to him, and he checked it up to delusions one encounters on the brink of death.
Until he started noticing the things that appeared in his apartment. And the photos. Videos of good times gone by. It had been with him longer than he could remember.
But he felt it, he knew it now. Death didn't just follow him. It waited for him patiently. Doting, like the parent he never had. Until the day it wished to take him too.
---
Criticism and feedback are welcome! Find more at r/Jamaican_Dynamite | It's true, the drunken man had absolutely no clue what he had agreed to when he had talked to me that night. He was slumped down on the sidewalk, crying, mumbling something about a kid. I was there, of course, watching. His heart was close to giving out, and his liver wasn't far behind that. I asked him what he needed, more out of curiosity than any real desire to help. He stared at me for a minute, drunken eyes rolling in his head, then leaned forward, grabbed me by the arm, and simply said:
"My son! Take care of my son!"
And then he died. I watched his soul drain out of his body right there on the sidewalk in front of me. It lingered there for a minute, hovering over his body, but then I pushed it on to wherever it was going afterwards. As I walked away, however, I couldn't get the thought of his last words out of my head. He wanted me to care for his son. He had seen me. Me! Death! The gateway into the afterlife! The door to the unknown! The pit into which everyone must fall! He had seen me for who I was, and he asked for help. That certainly was an intriguing idea. Could I even help someone? I had never tried. How was I to know. I suppose in theory it would be possible. Of course, I couldn't really directly help him. I can't be allowed to start picking favorites. But maybe I could at least do something for him. The way most guardians watch over a child is by being present. Simply being there for all the most important moments. But that's just it! I'm not like most guardians! What if my gift to this child is that I would never be there? I couldn't save him from all pain, unfortunately, but I could guarantee the pain would only go so far. By guaranteeing my absence I am guaranteeing his life! From this day to the end of time I will never make my presence known to this child. Kingdoms, empires, entire civilizations shall rise and fall and this child will be there for every moment. Through me, through Death, this child will have the gift that so many have longed for! He shall be immortal! | 2019-12-11T08:25:44 | 2019-12-11T07:17:53 | 63 | 35 |
[WP]A man's wife died recently in a tragic accident. He uses magic to bring her back at the cost of his own life. Realizing what he's done his wife gives her life to bring HIM back. The two use this method to continue their daily lives. | Me and my wife discovered black magic 2000 years ago. Back then we could’ve been hung for it. And she was. But I figured out a loophole. All I had to do was give my life for hers.
The first time I performed the spell, she was angry at me but she also discovered an opportunity. An opportunity for us to live forever. The next day, she left me a note. As I woke up from the sleep I never thought I would return from, I found it on my chest.
“My Beloved, when you are finished with your day, wake me up. And I shall do the same.”
This has worked great so far. Up until yesterday when I got a visit from Death. He was nicer than I first imagined. He was clean cut and wore a tuxedo. He came up to me and with an annoyed tone of voice said,
“You guys can’t keep doing this. I’ve got 50 filing cabinets back at my office filled with just your names. You’re too much paperwork. Satan is threatening to fire me if I can’t keep up.”
I thought of someone else for once. I looked at my wife and made the hardest decision I’ve ever made in my life.
“I want her to live.”
I wrote her a note. With tears in my eyes I began writing.
“My Beloved, Death is annoyed with us. We can’t keep doing this. It’s been one hell of a ride. I love you. Bury me in the backyard.”
I placed the note in her cold, dead hands, and began saying the enchantment. With my final words, I laid down to rest.
I woke up two days later with a note on my chest, containing only one word.
“Ditto.”
| Hello. Yes. It is a beautiful day. I let the bedroom window open a bit and the breeze is playing with the curtain. What? Oh yes. That's my husband dead there on the bed. He'll be shocked to see I put him in the pants he hates- also having to imagine his dead limbs flopping around while I dressed him, he hates that too, he said so in our journal- but he's got his meeting today and his tweed is really just too trendy for that place. He'll probably change. Oh well.
Anyway, time for sleep. Oh yes. I'm lying atop my dead husband on the bed now. Watch. You'll like this. It's our new game.
It starts as a fizzle in the mind, then a grey ball, twitching spasmodically, just barely perceived in the mind's eye- thrums and whelps like a living thing. And I am alive.
This weight. Ah. this feeling. Are you? I'm here! Are you here? The skin comes last. The pressure is there first but- ah! There it comes- burning into life, it reaches my lips and she's there. My eyes fog open and I rise to life to see hers closing. Our lips twitch together. Our kiss.
Good morning dear. And goodbye.
| 2019-02-12T15:03:16 | 2019-02-12T14:51:31 | 78 | 11 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting. | "Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops." | 2018-06-24T21:53:14 | 2018-06-24T21:01:01 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] You were looking at your bathroom mirror when you heard voices coming from it. You lean closer and they sound like your parents calling out to you. One sentence was clear: “Please come back. You don’t belong on the other side.” | That’s what they said. The voices in the mirror, I mean. It happened while I was in the middle of brushing my teeth.
“Come back to us, Jacob.” I shook my head.
*I really should stop smoking before bed,* I thought.
I walked downstairs. On the table, there was a newspaper. But the wording on it, at first, looked like jibberish. Except it wasn’t. On closer look, I saw that the newspaper had been printed in reverse.
*Weird*, I thought, as I took my seat.
My mind was preoccupied. I was excited because it was Sunday. Which meant my mom was making a mountain of waffles, just for me to devour.
Except she didn’t. She dropped the plate in front of me.
Eggs. Bacon. Toast. I frowned.
My eyes followed her back to the sink behind me, where she started scrubbing a skillet.
“Uh, Mom…”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Isn’t today Sunday? Thought we were supposed to have waffles today?”
A second passed. Then another. No response.
“Mom,” I said, beginning to ask again, thinking she hadn’t heard me. “I thought-…”
“But, you do have waffles, honey.”
*Huh?* I frowned.
She then turned around to face me, syrup bottle in hand, waffle iron now in the sink.
She walked back to the table and placed the syrup bottle in front of me. I turned back to my plate.
Waffles. Turkey Sausage.
No eggs. No bacon. No toast.
*What in the-*
“Enjoy your breakfast, sweetheart,” she said with a smile before walking out of the kitchen. And I would have enjoyed it. But I’d lost my appetite.
I got up from the table, bewildered. My mind then tried to wrap itself around a rational explanation. The best it could come up with was lousy weed.
I walked to the living room and, en route, I noticed a few other things about the house that seemed a bit off.
The front door to our home seemed to be in the wrong place. Windows appeared larger, somehow. And plug-in sockets seemed to have changed their location on the walls overnight.
But it was when I made it to the living room and sat on the couch that I almost had a full-blown existential crisis.
I collapsed on the cushions and turned on the TV. My dad was sitting in the recliner reading a book.
Now, I’d been debating whether or not to bring up my concerns to my parents. But seeing how most of the changes up to then were small, almost nothing at all, I’d nearly decided against it.
Emphasis on nearly, however.
“Dad, I-,”
Suddenly, a toddler stormed into the living room and jumped into my dad’s lap. “Hey, calm down slugger,” said my dad, playfully, while I quietly looked on.
My dad looked back up to me. “Sorry, your brother can be a handful. You were about to say something, Jacob?” asked my dad in my direction.
“It was nothing,” I lied, secretly terrified. Dad then shrugged, picked up my little brother, and they both left the room.
**Fun fact**: I don’t have a little brother.
And I’d never seen that tiny human before in my life.
*What in the actual fuck!*
“Hey Jacob,” said the news anchorman on the TV screen. “Can you hear me? Jacob?”
“Uhh, yes,” I replied to the TV man, because, hell, if I’m going crazy, I might as well roll with it.
“Come back to us, Jacob,” the man pleaded.
“Come back, before they find you.” | In our bathroom, there was this old mirror. So very old and so very big. It had a golden frame around it, looking like it came straight out of a gothic horror movie. Dad said it was the one of the few things that great-granddad managed to bring with him when he escaped the collapse of the czarist regime. Said it had once been hanging in the entrance of the family estates back home. Now it was in our house, in the upstairs bathroom.
I always felt like it was odd, like if you looked into it, and moved, your reflection seemed to be ever so slightly slower. Which was worrying. Still, it was just a mirror, I figured that it was just because it was an old one, maybe they weren't as good as new ones. So when I was home alone, I didn't mind much going in there to brush my teeth.
But as I was brushing, I felt like I was hearing something from far off. Voices, distorted as if through water. They felt familiar. I washed my mouth with a glass of water, and tried to listen for that distant voice. To my surprise it came from within the mirror, and it sounded like my parents were calling me. I leaned in closer, and heard them speak. ''*Please come back!*'' A voice like my father's said. ''*You don't belong on the other side!*'' A voice like my mother's said.
I moved away from that old mirror slowly. And as I did, I heard the voices more clearly. As if they were coming closer. I looked into the mirror, and saw my parents, or something that looked like them in any case. They were beckoning me to come closer, whispering through water to come closer. But I didn't. And subtly their faces changed, more grisly, more bestial. Their eyes became like glass, and their hands started to reach through the mirror. Their words changed into the sound of a language that isn't real.
And I bolted. I ran from the bathroom, only to hear the sound of splintering glass behind me, as the things that looked like my parents followed, their legs made of broken mirror glass, their hands more like claws. Their mouths were open, and from them flowed black water. I ran to my bedroom, and barricaded the door with anything I could, hoping to keep them out.
I could hear their claws scratching at the door, I could hear their distorted voices promising me sweet things and lovely sights if I'd just let them in, if I'd just come to them. But I didn't listen. I stayed in my room, even as their smashed up our house. When they went quiet, I opened a window and crawled out. And climbed over to the bathroom window, still open. When I got in, I saw something stretching out from the mirror.
Grabbing the heaviest object I could find, in this case a wooden chair that dad uses to sit on while shaving, I smashed the mirror. With a horrible screech, I saw the stretching mirror flesh of the false parents shatter, as the mirror did. Looking out of the bathroom dor, I saw the mirror monsters fall apart, screaming and lashing out at each other, amidst a ruined, deeply scratched and completely wrecked hallway.
The last thing I thought before I fainted from the horror and stress of it all, was that my parents would ground me for a whole year.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2020-05-03T11:10:54 | 2020-05-03T10:01:23 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] You've had a dashcam for years. One day you get into an accident and play it back. You hear another voice in ALL of the recordings talking to you that you've never heard before. | "You just carry on every day like nothing happened, and I'm stuck here waiting in this ridiculous fucking car.
I paused the video, my breath catching in my chest. I'd listened to this a dozen or so times now, turning the volume up and down, tweaking the audio settings here and there, trying to make out what sounded like a voice inside the car. Finally, I'd just put on my headphones and cranked it all the way up.
I started it again, eyes closed. The impact of my car hitting the 8 point buck rattled my eardrums, but afterwards, the voice picked right back up.
"Well, if that isn't another disappointment. Couldn't you have hit that deer just a little harder? How in the world is this rusted out shit box still rolling on the road?"
It couldn't be. It... just couldn't be.
"God damn it. The engine is still running. Perfect. Maybe I'll be stuck sitting with you another decade while you drive to work listening to people talk about a card game you should have stopped playing when we got out of middle school."
It was Ben. Ben's voice. Of course, that was crazy. Ben had been gone since senior year, when he...
Wrecked his car. Which I rebuilt, per what I thought would be his wishes, with approval from his parents. Hell , if anything, I'd always kind of thought about Ben being kind of a guardian angel over the car and me, not an angry, trapped spirit.
"Next time you get in this piece of shit, I'm going to jerk the wheel even harder. Maybe when you hit the curve going out past-"
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I practically threw the headphones on to my desk. That definitely didn't seem like Ben.
Bailey's Salvage Yard flashed across the screen. I took a deep breath and answered.
"Is this Mr. Evans?" The female voice on the other end asked. She sounded upbeat in a forced kind of way.
"It is."
"Sir, good news! We can fix your car for just a few hundred dollars. Good thing about those older cars, they can take a lickin' and keep on ticking."
I looked back at the video that is still playing on my monitor, not answering. I could have swore I saw something flash against the wheel as I began to pull away from the scene of the deer incident.
Play in the wheel, that's what I'd told myself.
"Sir, how does Friday sound? Sir?"
I hung up, still feeling a cold chill running up my spine. Should I let them fix it and then just trade it in? Or maybe I should just light the damn thing on fire...
Either way, I wasn't getting behind the wheel of that thing again.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e786ju1)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78fexx)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78m6qe)
[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78rgbj)
[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78v6x7)
[Part 7 is now up at the ol' subreddit!](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/9mu8k5/the_ghost_in_the_green_machine_part_7_dashcam/)
/r/intotheslushpile
&#x200B; | There’s one thing Johnny loves, and it’s his car. Right now, it’s laying in a ditch, flipped over and leaking smoke. The side of it’s completely ripped apart, shredded by another vehicle, and all the windows are shattered. It won’t be easy to salvage, and while he should call the cops, he ain’t that kinda guy.
He takes a long hit off his cigarette as he flicks around his dashcam, finding today’s video. There’s an anger brewing inside him, but he’s learned to be calm in these kind of situations. Last time he had to use his gun, he almost got caught—and he’s making too much money off these drugs to get caught right now.
The video starts playing, showing his car cruising down the street. While he had a long drive he’s always careful to obey the rules. In his line of business, getting pulled over’s dangerous. He watches as another car pulls up besides him…no, not a car—a monster truck. It makes a hard, purposeful turn and slams into him before speeding away.
His eyes go wide when he sees a portal open up and the truck disappear through it. They go even wider when a voice starts talking. *And that’s it, folks! We finally got him! Look at that damage, too. Was it worth it?* It’s high-pitched and mousy, almost annoyingly fake. He pauses to let the crowd cheer before continuing on. *Hell yeah it was! Okay, well that’s it for our show today! Join us next week on Earth’s Funniest Crashes, when we’ll see what happens when Tonky, our monster truck driver from a planet nobody’s ever heard of, takes on a helicopter!*
As the video ends, Johnny flicks his cigarette off to the side, huffing and puffing. He doesn’t know what this is except that it’s bullshit. There’s a fire brewing in his belly, and hearing that voice pissed him off.
*Finally got him…*
That phrase peaks his curiosity, so he clicks to another video. One from a few weeks ago. He watches as that damn truck appears behind him, but this time there’s too much traffic for it to catch up. *Wowzers! Hiding among traffic like this? Genius!* the voice says as the crowd boos. Another video, the truck misses him as he sharply turns a corner. That’s when he was gonna be late to his niece’s birthday and *had* to speed. *Some humans are so crafty! We picked a good target in this one—we’re in for a real treat of a show.*
He must flick through a hundred videos, each time watching him *almost* get wrecked and listening to that goddamn voice. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists so hard the dashcam shatters. Not only did they wreck his car, they did it like cowards. He’s never seen that monster truck before—if they’re aliens, they must be cloaking it.
Standing up, he pulls out his pistol and points it toward the stars. His brow’s furrowed, entire body shaking with anger. They’re mocking him, making light of destroying the only thing he ever loved. He doesn’t know how, but he’s going to destroy them.
“*Bring it on, assholes!*” he screams.
He’s crafty enough that once he gets a new car, they’ll be back. And this time? Oh, this time, he’ll be ready.
***
Part 2 down below!
If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en) | 2018-10-05T08:22:54 | 2018-10-05T08:21:47 | 1,001 | 197 |
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics. | "So there is a bit of fuzzy area. Anything below this and our brain is happy to leave it alone and call it Non Human. Anything above this, our brain will identify a face as definitely human. But if you look at a face that falls in this area, uncanny valley as we call it, our brain just can't fully process it. It confuses us. It terrifies us."
"But why does this happen Professor?"
"Good question, Dylan. We still don't fully understand. There are several theories of course. Maybe it reminds us of the dead. Maybe its because there very several species very close to us competing for survival at the dawn of humanity. It's a very evolutionary response, you see. Something that has to have lasted over a long long time. We continue to look into this. However, there..."
The bell rang and the class finished.
Professor McCarthy turned around to clear up the blackboard as the class exited through the doors.
When he was done and he turned around, he was surprised to find a paper on his desk.
It was neatly written. Only a student could've left it there.
He sat in his chair and started reading it, wondering why it had been left there. He had a few minutes to kill anyways. He read the first few lines casually, before sitting up bolt upright.
****
The entire class looked back at him.
"I'm not mad everyone. Someone left a hand written note on my desk. It was super interesting. I just want to know who it was."
But no one came forth with the explanation.
"You won't get into trouble. I promise. It's just a fascinating idea and I want to know more. Dylan? Katie? Sam?"
But no one admitted to it. He sighed. "Fine then. Let's get on with today's lesson."
At the end of the period, there was another note. This one was short and to the point.
*I can't let them know. Just watch them for a while. You'll see it too.*
************
His throat started closing up and his heart rate went up. He looked at all the faces staring back at him. His brain was screaming at him. He had to close his eyes. He had to close his eyes or risk losing his sanity.
He had to...
He came to with a start and found his class working on their assignment. All of them, except Dylan. Dylan looked right at him with a slight smile. A smile, that made him uncomfortable for some reason. A smile far too wide for a human face.
He muffled his screaming by stuffing his fist in his mouth.
A few kids looked up at him in confusion.
"Carry on, please. I'm a bit unwell today."
As the class came to an end, he didn't turn around. He observed if anyone would leave something. No one did.
After a few minutes, a piece of paper was thrown into the classroom. He ran out to see if he could catch who had thrown it.
He saw Dylan standing there, his arm around another of his students. Kevin, he thought was the kid's name. Kevin looked as if he was ready to cry.
Dylan waved to him and walked away, his arm still around Kevin's shoulders as he walked beside Dylan.
The note had a simple message again.
*They know.*
******
Kevin didn't show up for class the next day.
Prof McCarthy stopped Dylan at the end of the class.
"Where's Kevin?"
"Don't know, professor. Who's Kevin?"
"You know who Kevin is. You were with him yesterday?"
"Was I? I don't recall."
The professor looked at Dylan's face to see any indication if he was lying. But the more he looked at his face, the more his own brain screamed back at him. There was something wrong... something he couldn't explain.
"Dylan, who... what are you?"
Dylan's smile widened. He seemed to have hundreds of teeth. Professor stumbled backwards, knocking some of his books off the table.
"Didn't Kevin tell you professor? Surely he did. Clever kid that. Not sure how he found out, but he did."
"So he was right?"
"I don't know what he told you."
"He wrote of monsters, animals, shapeshifters. Ones whose purpose was to infiltrate human kind, and eventually overtake us."
"Clever kid for sure. But he won't be any trouble now."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it professor. In fact, it might be in your best interest to ignore all of this completely."
"But you look... you look normal."
"Did you think humans were the only ones capable of evolution?"
The professor looked at Dylan as he left.
**********
Kevin was back in the class. He was smiling. But the more the professor looked at his smile, the more his brain screamed at him. Professor looked around at his class. They were all smiling back at him.
So much smiling.
The professor screamed and collapsed.
*******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12 | The retired professor turned this way and that, crazy haired and wild eyed, looking for something that wasn't there.
Sturbink's office light had shut off about thirty seconds ago. He had been lost in the research time vortex that afflicted adderall users everywhere, absorbed by first hand accounts of murders from the late 18th century. All of the reports had something in common; the witnesses glimpsed the killers before they vanished, and the killers always seemed achingly familiar, as if they were wayward family members of their unfortunate victims.
Sturbink kept returning to the same eyewitness account, fascinated by a gruesome series of murders in a shipyard in Liverpool. The witness survived by hiding in the half-completed hull of a British Man of War, where he watched his friends and coworkers die. When he was finally found he kept repeating the same line over and over.
*They came like wraiths in the night.*
The young man's story didn't hold up and he was deemed insane. He stood trial as the murderer and was promptly executed.
"No matter," Sturbink said, speaking defiantly to the pitch-black room. He had no family to speak of besides the wonderful woman who came twice a week to clean and do the dishes, so he was used to dealing with the old house's issues by himself. "Just bad timing. Been meaning to replace the light bulb."
He bit back a little frustration. So close to tying it all together... this eyewitness account had to contain the final thread in the riddle he had been trying to solve for a decade. Slowly but surely he had begun to uncover common themes in the murders, and now Sturbink was getting closer to understanding how it all fit into the bigger picture. These murders were related in some important way. The same patterns spanned for centures.
The retired professor groped around for his phone, feeling an intense sense of relief when his fingers brushed across the cold metal. "I'll just turn the flashlight on," he muttered.
Chilled sweat spewed forth, soaking his shirt in seconds.
A hand was placed on top of his, now frozen against the phone which still lay flat on the table. Eternity seemed to pass. Sturbink's vision adjusted until he could see an outline of the hand, which was covered in porcelain skin that almost glowed in the dark. His eyes followed the arm upwards to a face that stared at him with otherworldly intensity, its features blurred in the dark.
"So close," Sturbink said, eyeing the creature, feeling vindication amidst the pounding terror of his heart. He was right.
"You are close," the creature whispered. "So close to uncovering it all."
The being's breath was achingly cold, chilling the retired professor where it brushed across his skin. Slowly, surely, the being's features crystallized in the darkness until he could make out a younger Sturbink staring back at him, an unblemished face carrying a serene expression.
-----------------
"Fuck," Conrad was standing over the corpse, hands in his pockets, adopting the sarcastic tone of detectives everywhere. In this case it was warranted. The corpse's eyes were bulged and shot through with red veins, as if an unknown pressure threatened to pop them out of their sockets.
"Another freezer burn," Conrad said, pointing at Sturbink's clawed hand. "I swear we are seeing this shit more and more."
The entire house had been cordoned off, and all traffic had been re-routed through other neighborhoods, not that there was much this late at night.
The murder had been reported by a frightened maid earlier this afternoon, and the police presence had increased six-fold after it became clear who the victim was. This didn't make much sense to the two NYPD detectives who had been assigned to the case and ordered to catalog everything before the Feds arrived.
The victim was a conspiracy nut who had been a staple commentor on a few outspoken online forums. The guy had been a professor years ago, but for the last two decades of his life he had been a recluse. It was strange for the higher ups to show such an interest in a nobody troll on the internet.
"He was working on a novel or something," Tulfer said, eyeing the enormous amount of stacked documents on the table. The victim's laptop was still open, on a whim Tulfer put on a plastic glove and jiggled the mouse a bit, causing the laptop to spring to life. It did not prompt him for a password, instead opening straight to a word document. "Something called *Mirrored Species."*
"Bit of a lunatic, eh?" Conrad said. "FBI guys will be here in a few minutes, we should wrap it up."
The light clicked off. | 2020-09-15T13:26:22 | 2020-09-15T12:37:49 | 590 | 132 |
[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." | Mom was singing Christmas carols again. The martini in her hand glowing like the contents of a broken glow stick. The dog was barking too. When I went to go look I could see children running around the classroom, having too much fun to notice the SS Titanic sinking into the giant kiddie pool outside. The sound of bagpipes commemorated the 100th anniversary of the sinking while trapeze artists flew through the air. I tried to catch one of their hands, but I was falling...
falling...
falling...
..out of my bed and onto the floor. | 2015-01-12T18:09:01 | 2015-01-12T10:42:43 | 317 | 10 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | I woke up and stared at ceiling. The latest layer of plaster was beginning to chip and the crack that I'd patched over hundreds, maybe thousands of times, was starting to show again. I sat up and looked at the clock, knowing the time before I'd mentally processed what it said. Yes, 5:43, just like every other morning. Routine and habit take on an entirely new meaning over the course of centuries. I sighed and stretched, rubbing life into my very old, very achy limbs.
It was well past 7 by the time I was gently placing my worn hat onto my silver mess of hair and pulling the outdated tweed onto my shoulders. I may have gotten up at the same time every morning, but it was certainly taking me longer to get going. I shuffled past all the envelopes that seemed to endlessly flow through my mail slot. I noticed the same labs and schools addressed in some of the corners, looking to study what my future may hold or what my past once had. Relatives no longer bothered with handwritten notes and I saw the fringes of the inky square that had stamped my name on the dozen or so letters from every generation. I had stopped bothering to open them ages ago. They all said the same thing: it's time for you to die, old man. It's time for both of you to die.
Normally I rode the bus the few blocks to St. Anthony's, but today was exceptionally warm and my body felt unusually refreshed. I left my jacket hanging on the banister that led up to my flat and started down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. I let my feet take me, long familiar with the route, and enjoyed the day instead, ignoring the stares that inevitably followed. I was the only one approaching double-double digits in the city, possibly the country, and it wasn't a title either was hoping to hold. It wasn't a title I wanted to hold. But dying was a choice, and I'd decided long long ago to choose not to. Something had to give, I knew that as much as the next person, but that something wasn't going to me. Not as long as there was beat in my heart. Or a beat in hers.
I ambled into the lobby and waved to the orderlies, guiding myself down the halls on autopilot. When I was outside her room I slowed, and finally stopped, just outside the door. I closed my eyes, hung my head, and let my lips silently form a prayer I no longer remembered, then turned into her room.
She was striking, as always, glowing from the morning sun that streamed through the open window beside her bed. She had already been washed and I noticed that liquid feeder had already been emptied. I hadn't missed breakfast in a while, but I could stay through lunch today to make up for it. I sat beside her bed, placed my hat on the table beside the worn book, it's pages all but turned to dust, and slipped my hand into hers.
I brushed the hair from her features, fluffed her pillow, and pulled the book into my lap, carefully flipping to any one of the dog-eared pages, and began to read. The doctors had told me years before that it could, maybe, possibly help with brain function, but the more recent generation of medical misfits had urged me to give up. They promised that nothing more could come of this, that I was holding onto less than hope.
But I'd already made another promise, regardless of hope or science. I'd promised that I wouldn't decide until she was able to make the same decision for herself, the same right the rest of us had.
Of course, the decision wasn't what people were expecting, because as soon as she woke up, as soon as I heard her voice again, I knew that I would decide to live. What most people didn't realize was that, until that day, I was already dead. | "Unfortunately, this ended up derailing Trump's campaign due to"
"Yeah, I was there!" Frank shouted across the classroom.
"Yes, we're all aware you were there, Mr. Henbeynz, you've been reminding us throughout the semester. We appreciate your....contributions.... to the class here at Star Station 55,"
"Yeah, I was there when they built this thing."
"..... but, we'd appreciate it more if you stopped interrupting, or we'll have to turn the audio off of your hologram" the teacher warned as the rest of the class let out an "ooooooooooooo" in unison.
Frank wasn't having any of that and switched off the hologram himself. "Damn kids, I was there when those kids were all cloned. Clones these days don't have any respect. Back in my day kids weren't clones."
"Yeah, we know, great great great great grandpa. Frank Jr used to tell us too, before he was decommissioned."
"Coward" Frank muttered.
"Frank, you can't just talk about people like that, he was your son." his great great granddaughter said, shaking her head as she farmed moisture while Frank watched on, uninterested in assisting.
"He was a coward," Frank continued, "Let himself die without a fight."
"'Die' ugh, by the stars... how barbaric. He has uploaded himself to the great server in the sky. It's something we all have to do when we get to a certain age, something we ALLL have to do."
"I'm not doing it." Frank said, holding the NES cartridge against the oxygenation system.
With another sigh, his great reat granddaughter continued, adding "we don't even have dust up here. You've clearly lived a great life"
"Have not"
"You've clearly lived a great life, and it's time to go on a nice vacation.'
"Updating my consciousness to a server is not a vacation, Barbara." Frank mumbled. "Back in my day we just inhaled whipped cream cans if we wanted to mess with our brains that badly, Frank added as he grabbed the emergency breathing apparatus and took a nice big breath of pure oxygen.
"Frank.... I..... I hear Spacegarden is playing all their biggest hits tonight, Black Hole Sun, Theist Pose, and The Fourth Day of the 7th Solar Month!"
"Spacegarden... you don't say...." Frank said, smiling for the first time in years. "I saw them with Nine Inch Exhaust Ports back before you were cloned. Ah, nothing like the originals, but they do put on a show."
"Well, come on down with me, we can just forget about all this silly nonsense and enjoy a great show!"
"Tubular, dude"
Frank was put on his hoverchair and pushed through the space station cooridore, singing along as he went, "Utencilman, teleport together with your hands!.... hey, you're passing the theater!" Frank shouted.
"No, no, this one is a special show, limited seats, we're bringing you to the VIP area!"
"Finally showing respect for your elders."
Wheeling him into the sterile white room, Sgt. Dr. Morpheus welcomed the group in, "Hey doc," the great great granddaughter began, "we're here for the show" she said with a wink.
"Ah yes, just in time, come on through Frank, you're gonna love it"
"This better not be any more of your bullshit, Barbara."
| 2016-08-09T09:23:25 | 2016-08-09T08:49:34 | 68 | 23 |
[WP] A man who hears voices in his head, but they don't degrade his life. He can live with it and sometimes they even help. | *Remember to get milk, you used the last for breakfast*.
He heard it in the back of his mind, as he was standing in line to the till. He quickly went off to get some, as he had forgotten he needed some. That was what they were like. Helpful. Reminding him of stuff. If you want a clearer imagine of the man, imagine a person in his early thirties, dark hair, warm eyes, a sad, somewhat nerveous, but kind smile. He was tall, and rather on the thin side, though he clearly hadn't gotten good at using his own body, even after having it for some thirty odd years. If anybody were asked to describe him by comparing him to an animal, they'd say he reminded them of a newborn giraffe.
*Cash in left pocket, right one has a hole in it.*
He nodded to the voice he heard. For he heard voices in his head. And they weren't his internal monologue. They mostly reminded him of things, kept his schedule clear, and only rarely did they overwhelm him by talking to him all at once. He had medicine for it, though that merely prevented the voices from being too much or too loud. He could live with them, if he had his medicine.
He paid for his groceries and walked out to his car. Once he got inside he turned the key. *You need some nice and calming tunes, turn it to channel 92.3 FM, you'd like that.* He tuned his radio, and a smooth jazzy song played. He was fond of jazz. He drove home without distractions, and got into his flat without trouble. Placing the groceries into his fridge he once more heard the voices. *You know, if you boil some of that broccoli, and add in the frozen peas, then blend them and mix them with the cream cheese, you could get a healthy and tasty green mush without the consistency of broccoli.* He once more nodded and did just that as he fried some chicken strips and boiled his rice. He wasn't a complicated man beyond the whole voice thing, and he liked simple fare.
He'd once asked his mother about the voices when he was a kid. And she'd asked what they sounded like. He described them and she nodded. She was a superstitious woman, and believed all sorts of things. She told him that it was the voices of all his ancestors, giving him good advice. He didn't believe that himself, but he did admit that it sounded like a nice thing, so he indulged his mother and always agreed with her when she talked about it.
They were always there with kind words, and good advice. Never cruel or degrading to him. And as long as he took his meds, they didn't overwhelm him. Because that had happened before, especially when he was a kid. Back then when he got into trouble, all the voices tried to give him advice and help at the same time. Imagine hearing more than twenty voices trying to say different things to you inside your mind all at once.
It had not been pleasant.
But he'd still led a good life with the voices. He'd been surprised when he moved to the mainland and learned that usually voices are cruel and insulting, when in the culture he had been raised in, the voices were always kind, often people he had met who also heard voices, said that they sounded like the voices of kin. His didn't sound like any kin he had, but that was mostly because he only had his mother, and no other relatives. His father had been a runaway, and never spoke of his home, and his mother had been an only child. When his father died, he was but a babe in his mother's arms.
*It's your anniversary.* Shortly after he had eaten his dinner, the voice reminded him. He picked up the phone and called his love. They picked up, and were happy to hear from him, being temporarily posted on the other side of the world was never good for a relationship, and they'd been unable to get time off to come home and celebrate it. To think he had nearly forgotten about it.
He and the person he loved, spoke all through the evening, and into the night. Whispering sweet words and loving sounds into each others' ears. When they finally had to hang up, he sighed, and went to bed. He always waited with taking his medicine until he was going to bed. **G^G o^o o^o d^d n^n i^i g^g h^h t^t d^d e^e a^a r^r!** The voices all said at once. He didn't really know why he always waited for them to say good night to him all at once, but it felt wrong not to. He quietly told them, ''*Good night.*'' and went to sleep. Where he dreamt of holding the person he loves in his arms, holding them tightly and never letting go.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | It was hard explaining the voices at the best of times and I wish I didn’t have to, but she was going to be my wife. I had to try. Everyone, well not everyone I guess, but some people have their own inner monologue. Not me. I have five. By that I mean, I have five voices in my head that can speak to me. Insane right? That’s what everyone thought. Many psychiatric visits, therapists, doctors appointments even seances and hypnosis sessions later, nothing has changed.
I’ve never complained about them, they are just a part of me. Most of the time the different points of view come in helpful. Alright. That’s the start, what do you guys think?
“That’s up top dude,” said Fred (Well I named him Fred). Fred was a cool guy, he knew how to act suave and awesome.
“Omg. You should be perfectly fine. Like she’s gonna love you for being soooo open.” That’s Brittany. “Bitch.” Yes yes, Brittany, bitch. She’s the looks and the glam of the posse. She helps me get dressed and you know look good.
“Hell yea man. Sounds like a good plan,” said Brick. Brick helped me stay active. Keep in shape, good diets, exercise, best methods. The important things.
“By my calculations, there is a 99% chance of Georgia sticking with you,” said Amy. Amy was the brainiac, pulling off insane calculations and helping me find the right words at the right time.
The fifth voice was of course my own. Now, everyone had their part to play and sometimes I’d let them “control” the mouth. While they never really controlled it, I’d utter their words to myself. So far Georgia hadn’t caught me, but I don’t expect my luck to last.
It was time...
“Hey Georgia, can we talk about something?” I called across the house.
“Sure Leon. Give me a minute.” I sat and waited on the couch. My palms were growing sweatier and sweatier by the second. After what felt like an eternity (in reality it was exactly 45.73 seconds, thanks Amy). She sat opposite me. Her brow furrowed with concern. She grabbed my hands and held them.
“What’s up?” She stared into my eyes. Her gorgeous blue eyes reflected beautifully in the light. I froze. I couldn’t risk this.
“Omg. Like not again. Georgy, your eyes are soooo beautiful and you are looking totes fierce today, but like Leon wanted to say he has multiple voices in his head.” I can’t really explain the look on Georgia’s face, let alone my own. She pulled her hands out of mine as my eyes widened to the size of saucers as the reality of what I’d done set it. “That wasn’t the plan. Crap crap crap.” I thought to myself.
“Just run with it duuude,” Fred said.
“Suup, I’m Fred. You just spoke to Brittany, Bitch.” I took her hand back. “So what Leon is saying is that since he can remember, instead of only one voice in his mind there are five of us. Himself and four others. It’s kinda rad.”
“According to our extensive research on the topic, no other known cases have been exhibited around the globe. Sorry, I’m Amy. Nice to meet you!”
“And I’m Brick. I just help keep Leon’s body in check make sure he is at his peak.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to take in. It’s just, well.” I pulled a box out of my back pocket and knelt down on one knee. “I love you with all my being Georgia and I wanted everything about myself out on the table.” I flicked open the box. “Georgia. Will you marry me?”
She gasped. “Of course Leon. A million times yes. And you Brick, Fred, Amy and Brittany Bitch.” She grasped her arms around me.
“You remembered their names?” I said a tear rolling down my cheek.
“Of course. I’m still deciding if I believe it, but I wouldn’t miss out on the adventure of spending my life with you for anything. I love you Leon.”
We both laughed as she put on her ring, the sapphire sparkling almost as gorgeously as her eyes on it’s silver band. We lent in for a kiss.
“Niiice.”
“Omg I ship it.”
“Critical success! Critical success!”
“Well done man. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks guys. For all the support through life. You really saved me here,” I said back to them. | 2020-06-13T11:52:03 | 2020-06-13T11:51:15 | 1,176 | 24 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand | Dear self.
I’m sorry for what I’ve become. A lowly clingy piece of trash just barely surviving. If you could see me 10 years ago, what would you think? Maybe I was happy before. Maybe I had friends who truly cared for me.
Now I hide. I’m broken. I’ve lost my will to live. I can’t function on my own. I cry myself to sleep. I want to die. I wish I could’ve tried harder. Maybe I could’ve fit in better. I’m trying my best but it isn’t enough.
I doubt I’ll be alive for another year at this rate.
Yours truly,
Yourself. | 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-05T23:37:29 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay. | "Now, Mr. Truth, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Do you mind if I call you Mr. Truth?"
"That's fine."
"Right, Mr. Truth. Our readers are dying to know more about you. You can just make any statement you want, and it becomes real. Besides you, Nobody has that power, correct?"
"Yes, absolutely correct."
"Amazing. They say that Nobody is stronger than you, is that correct?"
"Er, yes. That's right. Nobody can defeat me."
"And Nobody can resist your ability?"
"Some can partially resist it, but nobody is fully immune."
"And you're totally immune to other powers? Nobody has power over you?"
"That's right."
"How fascinating! So, if you were to declare that the moon was made of lemon custard, would that come true?"
"Er, no. Even I have limits."
"So, some of our readers have asked why you don't just say that the villains are surrendering, or that criminal acts are now physically impossible. Would those limitations be why?"
"Haha, yeah. But I can shut down their superpowers, make them super heavy, and cause them to pass out from a lack of air. Sometimes their own powers interfere with that, to a degree, which is when I have to resort to delivering them to justice with my fists."
"Wow! One last question, Mr. Truth, if you don't mind me asking? Do you recall when you were in fifth grade? There was another child whom you bullied relentlessly. One day you beat him to the brink of unconsciousness while yelling about how he would always be nobody, and you were going to grow up to be a hero. Do you recall that?"
"What? Where did you hear that?"
"Nobody told me. By the way, your voice will no longer work. I've been keeping track of you for a long while now, biding my time. The air around your mouth will not enter. Did you know that you literally changed my name to Nobody? All of your nerve endings will double in sensitivity every second. You made my parents forget I ever existed. The pull of gravity on your body will double and switch directions every five seconds until you die. You deserve this." | I sat at my desk looking at the computer screen with simultaneous interest and absolute disgust. On the screen was a video I had found of the world famous superhero The Truth stopping a giant monster that had attacked our city. I chuckled a bit when the monster slapped him across the face with one of it's tentacles, before cringing in horror when the Truth cut said tentacle clean off using his lazer vision, blood splattering on his black and blue tights. I sat back in my chair in thought. I knew a secret nobody knew about The Truth. I knew the truth about The Truth. He wasn't just some alien or god that appeared out of nowhere one day and started saving lives, he was Jake Abner, the high school quarterback in my hometown of Pelican Rapids, Minnesota. And he was also a giant jerk. I remember the feel of his fist against my face one night after he mistook my innocent conversation with his girlfriend Alexa with flirting. As I lay on the concrete outside our school's entrance, I distinctly remember the words he said to me:
"You have no chance with Alexa. I'm the star quarterback and you're a nobody."
It's been years, but I've been tailing the bastard since he left for college. I've taken various names and professions as I moved in tandem with my man Jake through multiple cities and states. I've gotten plastic surgery, I've worn contacts, I've taken acting classes and learned how to create Hollywood tier makeup and I've even went through two gender reassignment surgeries to aid in my various disguises. And now it's finally the time. I have spent countless hours developing technology from scrap metal that could rival Jake's awesome powers. All I needed was a name and a costume.
I settled on a white and red suit, which aside from the color scheme was almost identical to Jake's outfit. And I remembered the name Jake had called me all those years ago: "Nobody". That would be my name.
I was gonna make his life a living hell. | 2021-11-23T11:51:41 | 2021-11-23T09:27:32 | 109 | 10 |
[WP] You are one of the most powerful and dastardly supervillains on the planet. However, you are also one of the most requested supervillains for the Make-A-Wish foundation, and cancel a battle with your arch-nemesis to make a sick little kid's day. | "So why don't you just rob a bank?"
I turn around to the child that had the *gall* to question my methods. "Rob a *bank*?" I raised one hand up to my chest with a theatrical flourish. "That is far too basic! And pointless! Do you take me for a common criminal?" The entire roomful of children start to giggle. I had to resist the urge to smile. Strictly speaking my contract said I only needed to spend time with the one making a wish, but there was no harm done in cramming as many children as possible in a single room if the wisher was okay with it. "I am Janus! The one who stole spring! The one who stole Mona Lisa's smile! The one who made the sunset disappear!"
"You never actually *keep* them, though, and that last one only lasted for five minutes." One of the oldest children in the room spoke up - the one lying on the bed, and the one who made the Wish for my visit in the first place. "Before Lucky Luigi beat you up."
"*Pah!* A lucky stroke of his!" Another chorus of laughter. "Lucky Luigi is just that - lucky! There is no method to call his own. A bumbling fool!"
"Who defeats you every time."
I *harrumph* and make a flourish. Theatrics. That is what I live for; it is what distinguishes me from a common criminal. It is also what makes these visits so memorable to the children. "Very well then. Stake your claim. Challenge me to steal something, and I will do so!"
The children in the room suddenly go quiet. Most of them are 'hmmm'ing and thinking what could possibly provide a challenge. The one in the bed motions me to come closer. Intrigued, I shoosh the closer children and kneel by the bed, inclining my ear closer to hear his challenge.
---------------------------------------
*"You are way behind schedule, Janus. What are you up to?"*
"If you would kindly fuck off and leave me alone, Luigi, this one is a doozy." I almost felt like crushing the phone between my fingers in irritation as I turned to the absolutely enormous wall of diagrams, notes and maps. Ten meters high, twenty meters across, endless pages of notes and scribbled ideas. "And you calling me every evening is not doing me any favors. It ruins my concentration."
*"****This*** *one is a doozy? Did I hear you say that? Okay, now I am curious. From the looks of it you are going to steal the entire island of Madagascar or something."*
"That is actually a good idea, but later. This is one thing you do not want to stop me." I stop to stare at a chemical formula on the wall.
*"Bullshit. You know the rules, Janus. You steal, I get a shot at taking it back."* I could hear a snort coming from the other side. *"Even if I am always victorious."*
"Not this time, no. Take the week off for all I care. Go do some public events with the mayor. I am busy."
Perhaps he caught onto the irritation in my voice. The next thing he spoke sounded genuinely concerned; something I had never heard in his voice before directed at me. *"Janus... what is wrong? Did something happen? What are you trying to steal this time?"* A pause. *"If I am not going to stop you, then you must at least tell me that."*
I turn back to the humongous wall. I have never seen it so full, and never has my wastebasket been so overflowed with crushed papers. My shoulders slump. I do my best to keep my voice from cracking. "Luigi... how do I steal a child's cancer?" | They call me Master Plan.
*He* calls me Master Plane, or Bastard Plan, or any number of stupid names. His laugh, the laugh of a man who thinks he's clever but is really far more muscle than brains, drives me crazy.
Unfortunately, that much muscle makes him a bit of a wild card, but I don't usually involve him unless I want a bit of theatrics, something to keep my face in the papers.
It's easy to rob a bank. You just need a plan. You just need to know when the money's going to be there. To do that, you need to know someone on the inside. Your best bet is the manager. How do you get to know a bank manager? Easiest way is to be at that bank repeatedly on business, but don't make yourself a suspect! Get a safe deposit box, and get the manager to let you in on a weekly basis for something innocuous, build a friendship. But, you need ID for that, you need to seem like a real person. Best way to get an ID? We'll get back to that... but let's just say that I obviously have bigger designs than simply robbing a bank or two.
When I'm not implementing some seemingly dastardly plan, I do a lot of preparation. 90% of what I've pulled off still hasn't been noticed by anyone, and that's just the way I like it. Of course, the long, long con means sticking around well after the job is done, so as to not have your appearance or disappearance suspiciously correlated with anything. I spend a lot of time as a lot of people, maintaining my existing plans or implementing new ones.
Those dastardly plans? That's how I let off some steam... and it's handy to have a public face.
The kids, of course, love me. I always narrowly escape *him*, usually with some loud, witty remark that designed to make everyone laugh. Sure, I've done some dastardly things, but I've never actually killed anyone. Ransomed off politicians? Sure. Stolen an airplane full of jewels? Piece of cake. I've even kidnapped a few children as part of a plan, but they're always released in better condition than when I found them, and with a good story.
The Make-A-Wish foundation contacted me a few years ago, as I expected. I've been making appearances from time to time for their sickliest children. They have the bravest smile when I'm clueing them in on my plan to get them out of the hospital. They laugh as I tell them where we're going to go and what we're going to do. It's even more fun pulling it off after I've explained how it's going to work, of course. These are, quite literally, child's play.
I'd been working on a plan that involved a proxy fight with *him* - a real crowd-pleaser - when the call came in. A little boy, maybe a week left in him, in Houston. *Houston*.
Remember how I said I'm a lot of people, and I need to get IDs? Well, in about 10 years, I have some work that'll be easier if I'm from Texas. Time to go visit a little boy, make him smile, and learn all about him. | 2016-09-13T15:07:14 | 2016-09-13T11:51:21 | 44 | 23 |
[WP] "Is this the hill you wish to die on, soldier?"
You can take this literally, but for those who don't know, it can also mean 'is this an argument you really want to have?' Enjoy! | Is this the hill you wish to die on soldier?
The end is drawing near
Are you ready to meet your maker?
A soldier has no fear
&nbsp;
The sky is roaring thunder
The ground a roaring fire
You can't help but wonder
If death is not too dire
&nbsp;
Is this the hill you wish to die on soldier?
Is it too late to turn around?
Is this your final resting place?
The end is soon begun
&nbsp;
Here he stands
A man with a soldiers heart
Here he stands
Ready to face the dawn
&nbsp;
Is this the hill you wish to die on soldier?
Your last and final will
Is this where your path has led you?
To this god-forsaken hill | From the distance, me and the Captain watched from our hill as the opposing army advanced.
Our army had long fled, but a Captain was never supposed to leave a soldier. So for now it was only him and I.
"We should run," he said.
"You can go, Captain. Tell the squad I died fighting."
"Is this the hill that you wish to die on, soldier?"
I looked at him until he understood. Only then did I look away and reply. "Yes."
In my peripheral, I saw him nod. And then I felt the pistol pressed to my temple.
| 2017-06-05T09:26:24 | 2017-06-05T08:54:47 | 67 | 13 |
[WP] You are a true immortal. You stay sane by hanging out with the descendants of friends that are long dead. Today, one said a very familiar phrase you haven't heard in a long time. | “Hold! What you are doing to us is wrong! Why do you do this thing?!”
I stopped, mouth open, as I stared into the very soul of this human. He spoke the words and spoke them rightly. I was compelled to answer.
“Mortal....you have saved yourself from death. The words you utter echo a plea I made 25,000 years ago to those that came before you.
“I was once young and mortal like you. I found myself a wife - only one, as I was poor -, and we managed a meager living on a farm near the Rivers of Life. It took us a long time, but we made a success of ourselves, having two sons and good grain for the market.”
I looked over at my victim. His lashes still tight and his fear still controlling him, but with a curiosity for what I was saying.
“Everything came crashing down on us when the Asuman came to take the fertile fields away from us in their thirst for conquest. The Asuman are your ancestors, cur.” I snarled in his direction. He winced back from my voice.
“They ravaged through my hands, slaying everything in their paths. My sons fell at the doorway to our home, my wife fell trying to save me,” I paused, savoring the memories of her. “As I held her in my arms I cried out in prayer, ‘Hold! What you are doing to us is wrong! Why do you do this thing?!’ My prayer was answered by a powerful light from the heavens. I was bathed in it for what seemed like hours, blinded by it. But when it was over, nothing had changed. The sword was still coming for my own head. All of that light boiled as rage within me - exploding outwards and pushing all around me away and to the ground.
“I fed well that night, ripping the blood from their veins. I have been chasing them for all of my life to give them - you - the suffering dealt unto me.” My eyes pierced his own, searching for understanding.
“That is why I do this. Because the powerful feed on the weak. Rape them. Pillage them. And I am the most powerful.”
The moonlight cause my dark red eyes and pale face to glow as I opened my mouth again. “I hope you enjoyed my history, for it’s your future.”
I turned away as a light from the heavens bathed him in oppressive brilliance, wincing from the light that had once warmed me.
As it dimmed, I turned back to my victim and found, instead, a mountain of flesh and fur, the leather cuffs broken and dangling from the table. “I will destroy you, monster!” he bellowed, lunging for me. | "Charlie, look there a top the throne! It's the one beyond time! He's been with our family longer than our family can remember. It's been several thousands of years. Mayve even ten thousands."
"Woah, why doesn't he look old like grandma?" exclaims the little kid.
Today is his 6th birthday and as tradition within the family, he meets the immortal for the first time. He will be confronted with the concept of death, but more importantly will gain a friend for live and children. But charlie is special.
"Hey charlie! Nice to finally meet you. My name is charlie aswell!". The immortal hopped down the pompeus stairs, happy as a child on christmas.
"Your dad is a very special man to me. Let's just say he helped me the most in the last thousand years! I love all of your family, they've been kind to me for longer than i can remember. But what your dad did can never be repayed. What i could do was give him the biggest honor your ancesters wanted of me. My name for their child."
He lowered his voice and his face changed to shame: "See, my memory isn't the greatest, but things that stay relevant, stay with me and so you and your father will live with me forever."
The little charlie didn't understand much of this, but he would in no time. They left the hall through the back into a long hallway. It was made out of stone, ancient if it weren't for the the roller conveyer on the floor. Tp the sides where huge statues with old and young, women and man all the like.
"This, little one is the hall of remembrance. Sorry for the tittle, it was a long time ago. Here we bury your family, when the die. You know what that means right?"
"My dad told me, when our horse died. It means, that something happened so the body so it doesn't work anymore. He said the horse can never come back and that made me very sad."
"Very good. Treasure those feelings, as you will grow from them. Do you understand that all these statues here where people of your family? The father of your grandmother. And his grandmother and so on? I was there for all those peoples live. But i am not dead. I stay forever."
"Must be wierd."
"Yes it is." said the immortal with a smile. | 2019-03-08T03:48:20 | 2019-03-08T03:42:55 | 56 | 37 |
[WP] Write a generally lighthearted and cheerful story that is turned dark by its last few lines/last paragraph. | Connie throws open the door to the pantry.
"We feast!" she yells, eyes shining and wide as saucers.
I crouch just behind her. How can she be so bold, I wonder? So brave? I'm envious in every way, standing, stupid and slow as she rips off the top of a box of granola bars and dumps the whole thing out on the floor.
"Chocolate covered peanut butter," she says, turning to wink. "Your favorite."
They are. I stoop to pick one from the pile, peeling back the wrapper with twitchy fingers, breaking the sticky bar in half, wrapping the second half up and making to stuff it into my pocket.
"What are you doing?" says Connie.
"We're only allowed half a day," I say. "It's the rule."
"Dummy," sneers Connie, though she says it with a smile and no particular malice. "The rules are off! Eat the whole thing."
I do, though it's strangely difficult. I'm so used to half. I'm so used to strictly controlled portions. The granola bar feels like a brick in my stomach before I've even finished eating it.
"Gummies!" Connie leaps to a higher shelf, hanging like a squirrel, tossing down a box filled with pouches of gummy treats.
"Isn't it enough?" I ask.
Connie drops back down to the floor. Her face has changed somewhat. I don't recognize it at the time, but it's pity. A very superior, but genuine sort of pity.
"It's been hard," she says, touching my shoulder. "It's been really hard. I know this is new for you, but this is how it's supposed to be. This is what it means to be an adult."
*Adult.* The word sends a thrill down my spine. What better than to be an adult?
Connie ignores the gummies and hops out of the pantry, crossing to the refrigerator. This must also be a part of what it means to be adult - to waste, to follow your heart wherever it takes you.
In the refrigerator, Connie finds a can of spray whip cream. She shoots a long, roaring stream of it down her throat, then holds it out to me. "It's so good."
I wave her off. I love whipped cream, but the granola bar is still there. I don't think I can enjoy any more treats.
"You have to," she says, shaking the can. And she says it like there's no sense in arguing, so I don't. The whipped cream is so sweet, and light, and wonderful. I cry a little. I can't help myself.
"This is how it's supposed to be," says Connie. I nod. It really feels true. This is how it's supposed to be.
There's a crash in the living room. I jump, dropping the can of whipped cream. Connie scowls.
"Still?" she says. She's so angry. I've always been a little afraid of Connie when she's angry, but now I've seen what she's capable of and it's okay. Because we're adults now. I realize that adults are sometimes angry. And they sometimes have to do bad things to get good results.
"Hold on." Connie roots around in the knife drawer, pulling out something small and sharp looking. We're not allowed in the knife drawer, so it makes me a little uncomfortable. But then I remember that we're adults now. So it's okay.
Mother had been silent for so long I'd almost forgotten about her, but now she's moaning, louder and louder. Connie shakes her head and stomps into the living room. I pick up the can of whipped cream and help myself to some more.
My stomach still hurts, but I don't want to stop. | The three year old birthday is the elephant birthday. Or at least, that's what my wife and I decided.
So I spent a couple of weeks tracking down all things elephant. Elephant plates, elephant cups, an elephant table cloth, elephant balloons, everything. I tried to get the zoo to even lend me an elephant for the day, but they acted like I was crazy. When I explained that it was for my son's birthday, I could hear the fellow roll his eyes over the phone. He just didn't understand.
Lonny is our little miracle baby. When we decided we wanted children, the doctors told us Mary was too old. But we conceived anyway. Naturally I might add. And the doctors monitored incessantly. One week they were concerned about his heart. The next week they worried he wasn't growing fast enough. Deformed. Diseased. Disabled. And the birthing process - my weren't they worried about that. But the day came, and Lonny was perfect. The birth was an ordeal, to be sure, but what birth isn't?
Now our perfect boy was three years old, and we couldn't be happier. He invited over all his little friends from daycare, and had the most wonderful day. The kids played in the elephant bouncy house. They ate freshly made elephant ears. They played pin the tail on the elephant, which mostly involved trying to heard three year olds over to the wall to put the tail somewhere. Lonny had the most wonderful day.
After the last of his friend went home for the evening, I turned to Lonny.
"Did you have a good birthday party?" I asked.
"Yes Daddy! It was great!" he shouted, still buzzed from the festivities.
"Now let's see, we ate some food, and we played some games, and we opened presents. Am I forgetting any part of the birthday party?"
"Cake! CAKE!" Lonny cried. He had been obsessed with the idea of birthday cake for the last week.
"Oh that's right. We've got to have some birthday cake!"
We hurried inside. Lonny scrambled into his seat at the table, looking ready to start eating the elephant table cloth if I didn't bring out the cake soon. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beautiful elephant birthday cake covered in blue frosting. I set three candles in its trunk and carried it over to the table. Lonny's eyes were as big as saucers.
"What is it?" I asked.
"An elephant!" he cried excitedly.
"That's right," I said. I struck a match and lit the candles. "Now wait here. Don't blow them out until I've gotten Mommy."
Lonny sighed impatiently.
I went down the hall and unlocked the door. I started singing from down the hallway.
*Happy birthday to you!*
I slid back the bolt and went into Mary's room. She lashed out at me, pulling tightly at her chains.
*Happy birthday to you!*
I pushed her back with the pole, and forced her down into the wheel chair. I strapped her in place.
*Happy birthday dear Lonny!*
She gnashed at me with her teeth, the straps cutting into her decaying flesh. I rolled her out into the dining room.
*Happy elephant birthday tooooooo you!*
*****
If you liked this, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses. | 2017-03-21T07:08:40 | 2017-03-21T05:29:37 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] You are immortal, and you cannot die. You are the very subject of legend. You were the Headless Horseman. You were Jack the Ripper. You were the Zodiac Killer. You were there when treasure was buried on Oak Island, and you dug it up a lifetime later. Talk about your life. | "Is the tape recorder already on?" I ask starting across the table at the chubby reporter. He nods and raises a hand to beckon me on.
"Alright... um, well... it is all true." His eyes widen and excitement grips his face, but he does not make a sound. He waves at the recorder on the table.
I flip through the papers he brought me. Mostly photo copies of various sketches of me throughout the ages. Some of them, detailed descriptions. I rearrange them into chronological order.
"You asked me to speak of my life, but all you brought are reminders of death. My life ended many years before your papers start." I swing my arm across the table, scattering the papers on the floor. His eyes protest, but still he says nothing.
"Life. I am the third Dragon to be born of my name sake. Confuse me not for the devil, but fear me more." I stood and the reporters eyes widened. "Educated, willful and violent. Honest, passionate and loyal. Choose which to describe me and take comfort in knowing you are right."
I loomed over the man and he began to look uneasy. He came to me knowing of many of my deeds, I don't know what he was expecting.
"I have helped kings rise to power. I have held entire kingdoms at my gates. God himself should thank me for all I have done for him, for no one has killed for him like I. Five accounts of my death before my 30th year, all true."
I sighed and sat back down. "Life. You asked me of my life." I hung my head. "I lived for 10 years. Her hair was dark, like the wings of a raven. Her lips, soft as a breeze. She brought me two sons." I slouched into my chair. "She was my second wife, but all of my life. When God and my country needed me, I gave up everything for them. I gave up Ilona."
I stood again, proud and unbroken. "I am Vlad Dracula, son of Vlad Dracul, hero of Romania, and scourge of mortal men. You ask of life, but your heart seeks death. I shall provide."
| "You want to know who I am? I'm not sure you are ready to hear it."
Jonathan picked up a single match from the table, striking it and lighting the candle which sat between him and the man. "Is anyone ready?" He spoke in an icy whisper.
The man smiled, a disfigured grin stricken with teeth of dark yellow and diseased flesh. His lips peeled back as he spoke in a voice, which moments ago was old and feeble, but now it was...changing.
"I have been known by many names." He said, and Jonathan recoiled as the voice of a child came reverberating out, assaulting his ears. He pushed himself up and away from the wooden table at which he sat, sudden understanding flooding through him.
The man bent his face close to the candlelight, illuminating his eyes. Jonathan watched in horror as those eyes swirled, at first a mixture a brown and blue, then a sharp and bright green, before settling on a deep blood red. The mans smile grew larger. Too large. Jonathan was ignorant that he was even doing it, but he was shaking his head in denial. Even as the corners of the mans mouth split and blood began to drop in large clumps, as if already coagulated, onto the floor.
"I am ceaser, I am Nero, I am vlad the impaler, I am the sword of the damned, I am your worst fear Mr. Cormier. Jonathan pressed up against the wall, fumbling for the door but finding nothing, panic coming in sharp waves. "I have lived for many generations, but my body is old. Evil takes a toll you see." He bent his head back and laughed, a sharp and wet sound that was louder than he would have thought possible. He covered his ears, the sound pinning him the wall; praying for help and closing his eyes. Then, it stopped.
He opened his eyes to see the man had moved within a foot of him, eyes burning.
"I need yours."
Jonathan screamed.
| 2015-06-13T09:30:15 | 2015-06-13T09:07:03 | 88 | 29 |
[WP] Every morning you wake up with a new talent. The catch is, you aren't told what it is. IF you discover what talent you have, you get to keep it. The talents NEVER repeat | When I was a kid, they used to tell us that things like painting and writing and gymnastics were skills. "Work hard enough and you can be just as good as anyone else," they'd say. But they don't say that to kids anymore. After the flurry of studies--of articles in TIMES--they swept that wrongness right out the door. It's not "work hard" anymore. It's "be ready." Be ready to test that talent you want, because it's not coming twice. I wish I'd known that before I wasted 30 years.
See, I always wanted to be a ceramicist. Stupid, right? But it makes me happy. So I studied hard, the way people used to, and I put in the hours shaping clay, pouring slip. I have the mechanical skills down so I could do it in my sleep. I make a decent living. Have my own shop. But I can't help but wonder if I truly have Talent. Did I earn it without knowing? Did I miss it entirely? What if Talent never visits me at all?
There's no way to know, really. Talent isn't something they can test for, outside of looking at what someone's done and saying "yes" or "no" or "maybe." They say they're working on a test. A way to detect Talent for sure. But I don't know. I don't know if I could take it. One negative test and I'd be out of business. No test, and I'd wonder forever.
It eats at me. I have nightmares.
I really hope they fail. | The French have an expression called "l'esprit de l'escalier," a phrase referring to the perfect retort that strikes you on your way up to the bedroom, hours past the time it ought to have been applied. In the same *esprit*, I'd like to propose the expression "l'esprit de chambre," a phrase referring to the 1 AM realization that you aced your calculus exam that morning not because of luck, but because mathematics was your talent-of-the-day. Oh, well; at least now, you can tell your instructor you'll never have a use for math once you're out of school, right?
Honestly, this feeling has never been too bad (granted, this does speak sad volumes about how inept I am at identifying my only talents). I didn't feel the need to coin this expression until yesterday, when epiphany after epiphany seemed to rain down upon me. I'd been a pro runner on the day of the 5k. My perfect spaghetti had been the product of genuine culinary aptitude. Improved charisma had passed me that interview a week ago. Each realization was a terrible commingling of validation and regret, and they kept on coming for the entire day. It was almost as if I had developed a sudden sense of perfect hindsight...
...
Damn. | 2016-07-19T13:02:14 | 2016-07-19T12:57:47 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You wake up to find everyone sleeping, you go on Reddit and see a new post titled "Any one else awake?" It has 7 replies.
Woah, I had no Idea this would blow up and be Number 5 on the writing prompts page! Thank you to everyone! | I roll over, unable to sleep. Finally, I check the clock. Three AM? Seriously? Why couldn't my body find some other time to sleep-drink twenty tons of coffee? Oh well. At least it's a weekend.
I get out of bed and turn on my phone for a lack of anything better to do and scroll through my bookmarks. I tap Reddit on a whim. Huh, that's strange. There's only one post, and it's titled, "Any one else awake?"
Well, I am bored. I tap on the link and quickly type, "Any*one*. It's one word." I turn off my phone and roll over in bed again. So bored. | What the hell is going in? Everyone here just rolled over here, like they all died. They're still breathing, but no matter what I do, they won't wake up. Is anyone out there still awake? I'm currently in Toronto, and everywhere I've looked, there have been people asleep. What's going on out there? | 2017-07-15T09:26:34 | 2017-07-15T07:07:44 | 112 | 33 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | Tightly lashed tourniquets cut into his wrists, a dull and constant pain as his hands slowly died from restricted bloodflow. Nails in the palms of his hands leaked blood. Pastor Thompson tried not to feel the warm trickle as blood dripped down his bound arms.
His legs grew tired of holding his weight up, of stopping the unrelenting press of his own body's weight on his lungs. Breathing was a chore; each breath came with a little more difficulty than the last.
The bright hot dual suns scorched his bare flesh under the cloudless green sky. Through bleary eyes he looked down from his crucifix at an assembly of richly adorned priests from a multitude of species, no one like the other. The Priest of Xhulin sat motionless, chittering mandibles clacking under a spiked carapace. The High Bishop of Bal'Saera ran his beak through golden feathers, calmly grooming and preening. The three inch tall Arch-Pope of Nuyra sat calmly siphoning blood from his parasite host, a twelve foot tall hulking brute with glassy eyes.
Pastor Thompson could barely make out any distinctions beyond the closest members. His mouth was dry, lips and tongued cracked from thirst. He begged for water.
"Was your Messiah given water at his death, Godslayer?"
Pastor Thompson nodded weakly. If he were still physically capable of speaking clearly he would have spoken of the Roman centurion who placed a wet sponge on the tip of his lance for Christ to drink from.
The Priest nodded tersely. Pastor Thompson felt a small brief surge of hope, before remembering that the Xhulini nodded to say "no", and waved their hind-arms to signify "yes".
The Nuyran Arch-Pope turned to face the assembly of religious authorities, spreading his tiny wings majestically from atop his hulking host's broad shoulders. "Let all assembled witness on this day, the Great Reparation! For the Almighty sent, in his eternal love and grace, his own son to lead the Humans of Earth out of darkness. And this gift of love was beaten, brutalized, and murdered."
The small Nuyran spun around to glare at Pastor Thompson, throwing his wings wide in righteous anger. "And after murdering the son of the Almighty, were they apologetic? Did the Humans repent, or beg forgiveness? NO! They turned around and claimed that this MURDER, this SACRILEGE, was the Almighty's **PLAN**! That the Almighty was so merciless, so unforgiving, that only by orchestrating the DEATH of his own SON could he SOMEHOW forgive Humanity of their sins!"
The assembly of intergalactic religious authorities murmered angrily, a jumble of responses making their way to Pastor Thompson's ears. . "Preposterous!" "Utter nonsense!" "Ludicrous!"
Pastor Thompson tried vainly to speak in Humanity's defense. We didn't know! We thought it was The Way! But as he hung from his crucifix, his lungs beginning to slowly fill with his own bodily fluids as he baked in the merciless suns, he found himself unable to reply.
He turned his head, slowly and painfully, to his left, then to his right. More crucifixes, stretching beyond the horizons of the alien world. An uncountable host of them, each with a suffering pleading human lashed and nailed to their frame. Uncountable, yet Pastor Thompson was fairly certain it would number around seven billion.
The parasitic Arch-Pope of Nuyra swung his host's broad muscular arms wide, gesturing to the mass genocide being staged behind him. "The Humans have murdered their Messiah, thus it is only fair and right in the eyes of the Almighty that they suffer the same fate He did! And their lands be taken from them, left to be reclaimed by the wilds and the beasts of the land sea and sky. And thus, is the Great Reparation paid in full."
"Glory to He." the assembly of intergalactic faith intoned in unison. As the crucified members of Humanity withered baked and suffocated upon their crucifixes, the Arch-Pope led his followers in a hymn, and a prayer for mercy upon the souls of those paying Reparation. | "We were led to understand it was necessary," my eyes were now fixed squarely on the floor in front of me, "in order to redeem humanity."
A hush descended over the assembly, Golgon of the Asterath shape-shifters let out a low whistle.
"And how was that supposed to work exactly?" Asked High Priest LK4186.
"Well..." I began "He was the lamb of God, whose sacrafice redeemed the Original Sin of Man. You know? Like how we all sacrafice animals to God to show our dedication to Him. This was like the ultimate version of that."
"You do what!?" Thundered Oloom the Blob.
"Sacrafice animals at the temple, as offerings. Birds mostly, but lambs sometimes."
"Lambs, as in baby sheep? But, but why?" Asked Miranda highpriestess of the woolen-ones.
"Well, we don't really do it anymore." I answered honestly, "So I'm not really sure, our ancient priests must've thought it was a good idea I guess."
"So your ancient priests thought God would appeciate some of his wonderous creation being slaughtered..."
"And then burned" I interjected.
High priest LK4186 slapped a tenticle against one of his foreheads.
"Ok, I must be missing something," the high priest tried hard to keep his tone calm, "what is this Original Sin thing you mentioned, maybe that'll give us a better idea.
"You didn't have Original Sin?" I looked round a room of shaking heads and other appendages. "Well in the beginning of creation the first two of our species ate some fruit that was forbidden and then were ashamed because they were naked. So we kind of fell out with God for a while.
"Your species is forbidden from eating fruit?" Asked a perplexed Oloom.
"No just this fruit, cause it gave us knowledge of good and evil." I explained.
"That sounds like a good thing." Miranda reasoned.
"Well, I, er, apparently it wasn't." I said rather lamely.
"Right so if I'm following you correctly," LK4186 continued, "because you ate some fruit that you weren't supposed to and then became bothered about not wearing clothes you felt the need to kill, sorry, 'sacrafice' God incarnate?"
"Well when you put it like that..." I began.
"How should I put it?" Shot back LK4186.
My eyes were back on the floor in front of me, I could feel the stares of the assembled priests boring into the top of my skull.
"No, I guess... I guess that's pretty much it." I mumbled.
"And did it work?"Asked LK4186 increduously.
"What do you mean?" I could tell LK4186, famed for being the most tranquil being in all creation was losing patience with me.
"Has humanity been redeemed!? Have you achieved world peace and united all nations in love and adoration for the Supreme Creator?"
"Well that is very much our ambition." I offered lamely, "There's been a few hiccoughs along the way, still quite a lot of war, and disharmony between religions."
"You mean, there are still multiple religions even though God incarnate literally visited your planet and revealed himself and his teachings?"
"Well there is still some disagreement as to whether God in fact did that."
"On our planet," Golgon now piped up, "God incarnate still sits upon the throne of our high temple, dispensing wisdom and guidance, there is very little doubt as to what his will in fact is."
"Yes, well as I said at the beginning." I was beginning to understand why I, a relatively junior priest had been sent on this intergalactic mission. "We kind of killed ours, so, you know, it's all still a bit of mystery to us."
"I'm sure it is!" Exclaimed LK4186, "A word of advice from a very old priest: Next time God drops in on your planet, and I honestly wouldn't blame him if that was never, maybe resist the temptation to nail him to some planks of wood until he suffocates." | 2016-08-18T06:52:46 | 2016-08-18T06:52:16 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone on earth is immune to one specific type of damage (fire, car crash, kicks, falling off buildings, etc.). The problem is, you have to find out your immunity on your own. You have just discovered yours. | "Dude, you probably just inhaled wrong. Take another hit."
Travis passed the rolled paper back to me. I sucked it in hard, felt it fill my lungs. I waited, meanwhile watching Travis and Aaron succumb to the weed's effects.
Ten feet from us on the television, Towelie taunted me, "You wanna get high?" Dammit, Towelie, you know I do, but 'lo and behold I've found my immunity. Fuck you Towelie, fuck you and your glorious bloodshot eyes.
.....
*I normally write longer, more serious stories, but if you liked this you might like my other writing at the newly minted /r/WiselyWrittenWords.* | Well, this isn't so bad. I get to help all these people, and bonus, I don't even need a face mask.
Another guy sneezed on me, and I didn't even feel it. It may be mundane, but with this, I will save lives!
Unless, of course, I am shot, not immune to that. | 2017-08-06T14:01:23 | 2017-08-06T13:13:41 | 115 | 27 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | "This is something," the hat mused, "something rather unusual."
My mind racing, I focused on everything I knew about the practical world of magic. Misdirection, slight of hand, proper rabbit care - every bit of knowledge that had gotten me to this hallowed seat at the front of The Great Hall.
"I can tell you have ambition, yes, but how will it assist you in this setting? What use can you be to any of your peers or professors?" the hat spoke quietly into my ear.
"I work hard. I can learn any magical trade. Anything will be fine. Really!" I pleaded.
The hat paused. "Anything? Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Right then," whispered the hat, loosening its grip from my sweating brow. "FILCH! Come forward," it bellowed across the heads of onlooking students, "I've finally found you an apprentice." | As the hat was placed upon me, a cold dread overcame my entire body. And this time it wasn't a senior prankster from Slytherin. As the hat wiggled around my head, the halls were dead silent. Something was obviously wrong. The hat had never taken this long to make a decision. Dumbledore sat at his chair, mildly amused. It was almost as if he had known all along. Then I heard Dumbledore mutter a few words under his breath, and then the hat expanded to a massive size. I couldn't breath and the hat had completely swallowed me. I tried screaming, but no one would hear me. The last thing I remembered was everyone laughing in the halls. | 2017-06-25T15:07:52 | 2017-06-25T13:48:53 | 358 | 33 |
[WP] Whenever your crew lands you are seen as gods with wonderous machines before drifting off some where else. But today you are met with a species on a green-blue planet who, while interested in your tech, are not bowing down and worshiping. They call themselves humans. | The ship seemed to cascade against the forest's night sky, an oddly shaped lump of red metal against the inky black void and dark trees cradling the world as the ship slowly floated downward. It touched down with the mighty grinding of metal and the weight of not just the alien world's gravitational force, but by the significance and circumstance of what was ultimately to come afterwards.
The human's, who lived in a shanty town in the Montana wilderness gathered, hair, dust and improvised wind-chimes blowing in the wind of the ship's thrusters as it made contact with solid ground. A lone, singular lamp extended from the ships' entryway, one individual creature clad in a large robe strode down it, its back bathed in the bright light of the ship's interior behind it. One of the humans, a surly individual wearing a tattered leather jacket, looking more at home at a dive biker bar of centuries past strode up to meet the alien. The alien did the same, no one bowed to either individual, instead the alien pulled back its hood, revealing an almost all too human face, spreading its pinky, ring, middle and index finger apart in pairs, stretching out its thumb away from its hand. "Live long, and prosper."
The human couldn't make the gesture in reciprocation, but he could extend his right hand out in an ancient Human custom of greeting. Both hands, from completely other worlds clasp each other, becoming a bridge between worlds. No longer were Humans and the planet Earth alone in the galaxy.
Some of the Humans though observed the most momentous occasion in Human history from afar. Not completely awestruck by what was going on, but they all seemed to be satisfied that this all had taken place as they should have. "Picard to Enterprise, five to beam up."
&#x200B;
(Come on, how could I not do the last scene in First Contact!) | When We opened the hatch, we were expecting a large group of primitive beings. We didn't expect them to have a large amount of primitive ordinance, or for them to speak first.
"Welcome to Earth," a man in what looked to be what We would consider casual clothing spoke directly to Us. He didn't seem to revere us as everyone else had, we weren't gods to them, "state your business here on our planet."
"Do you not recognize us?" We spoke in our mother tongue, the language of the Atani, "We brought you the knowledge you so desperately needed to flourish."
The man looked off to someone else on the stage, completely ignoring what We had to say. A few more of those primitive weapons trained upwards towards my head, low powered lasers clicking on.
"We don't know what you want with us, nor can we understand you, we are humans," the man spoke again, "I am Clarence Proctor, head of the United Nations, I speak on behalf of all of humanity when I say get off our planet or we will open fire."
We raised our voice, "Do not threaten Us with your guns and your tanks, We gifted you the inherent knowledge to construct those, We are the hive mind of the Atani, We gave you the knowledge to get where we are, you should be able to understand us."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Clarence Proctor looked once more to his aide-de-camp, briefly looked back at the teeming masses of US Marines he had borrowed from the nearby island of Okinawa, itching to pull the trigger. He also looked at the various UN Peacekeepers which he directly commanded, they too were ready to go at a moments notice. He raised his hand, and brought it down, "open fire." | 2020-03-02T05:55:32 | 2020-03-02T05:25:36 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] you have the magical power of psychic delusion, for example: bear traps can’t harm you “obviously it won’t trigger, i’m not a bear” | Slipping through tough shit was Sorel’s thing and he wasn’t about to let this streak end because logic didn’t twist in the way he wanted.
And so, when a knife was at his throat, he smiled. He was being held hostage during a robbery at the bank he worked at. It was unfortunate, really. It didn’t matter though—this was going to end how he wanted.
“Hey, do you think your knife can cut through a dog?”
A physical display of confusion resonated in the burglar’s body. “Of course? Just shut the fuck up.”
“Okay, that’s good,” Sorel said. “Anyway, you’re so cool.”
“What?? Didn’t I say to shut up?”
Sorel continued to grin, almost maliciously, as their body began to freeze. When they tried to pierce his skin, they failed miserably.
“How…?” They barely breathed out, skin turning blue.
He shrugged. “I’m not a dog. And don’t stop being cool. I think it suits you.” | You ever lie to your parents growing up? Let's just say I'm the best. When I figured out that I didn't have to brush my teeth etc., I didn't go to school for 5 years. Those years are a blur of infantile impulse satisfaction.
One day when I was 12 I got a toothache that made me change my perspective on life. Up to this point I had been lucky no broken bones, rarely a scrape, but I considered myself tough. I could still tell what was going on but everyone was super dumb.
I got tired of being a monster, so I started brushing my teeth. I thought I was God and the author of reality, I could be, just not for me. I started to let my parents out and they were getting stressed by it because they had such crazy memories. | 2021-12-26T19:36:53 | 2021-12-26T19:19:55 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] The world's greatest detective doesn't fear the world's greatest criminal mastermind, they fear the stupidest, because they can never predict what the idiot will do next. | "Stupidity drives unpredictability," Detective Daniels said as he surveyed the crime scene. His drawl twanged more Southern than a banjo, his eyes more keen than a bloodhound's snout. "And unpredictability is no more than justice's demise."
The officer standing nearby shifted uncomfortably. Not just from the detective's vague ramblings, but from the nauseating stench of rotten flesh that emanated from the scene.
"You've taken all the prints?" Detective Daniels said.
"Yes, sir. One-hundred and forty-five unique fingerprints. The DNA tests will take a little longer but--"
"Did you check the *fingers* for prints? Not the fingertips. The knuckles. The nails. Wherever somebody might have held them."
The officer gulped and shuddered. He'd have to sort through them all again, dust them down, see if any fingerprints existed on the fingers themselves.
"No, sir. Did not think of that."
Detective Daniels shook his head. "What saves a criminal's stupidity is the level of incompetence of this department, officer. I hope you're pleased to be part of the problem. In fact, I'd dare say you may encompass the entire problem. Evidently evidence collection ain't a task you're fit to handle. Get out and get checking, understood? Them fingers didn't get here just by themselves, ain't no finger rain causing sprinkles of limbs down upon this house."
"Yes, sir," the officer said.
Detective Daniels turned back towards the scene. Blood splattered the walls like a Pollock painting the detective had never cared to see. The lock on the back door was broken. The windows were forced. The front door had been kicked in so that when the officers arrived they just strolled right on in to the grisly scene.
"Do you really need to berate my officers that way?" Chief Arnold asked. "We've never seen a case like this."
"I ain't seen a scene quite like this scene neither. But I know not to go effing up the evidence for the sake of getting home to an unhappy wife and a bowl of leftovers."
"His wife is dead," Chief Arnold said.
"And I bet she ain't happy about it."
Detective Daniels stepped into the next room. The bed was unmade, the sheets strewn about. They'd found the body in that room--the only body. Beyond that, the criminal had left nothing but fingers.
"Why fingers, Detective?" Chief Arnold asked, interrupting the detective's mumbling.
"Because stupidity, Arnold. We got so much DNA and fingerprints, he thinks we won't know left from right by the time we get through 'em. We'll forget about him."
"We won't. We can't. He's the serial defingerer. Plagued my city for months now, I won't let him get away."
"He won't. You see, stupidity eventually comes around on itself. Like a snake bites its own tail, takes too much and ends up swallowing itself."
"Does it?" Chief Arnold interrupted.
"Don't interrupt me. This here fella, he's seen an inch and took a mile. Should've kept to fingers, and not his own."
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's right," Detective Daniels said. "He's spent so long thinking if he could, never stopped to think if he should. I want the owner of every finger in this room brought to the station."
"But... But they're victims. Some are still hospitalized. Others traumatized. I can't put them through that again."
"Oh, you can," Detective Daniels said. "And you will. Call it collateral. Call it putting a lighter to taxpayer money, I don't give a flying fuck. He's been there. Right beneath your nose 'cause he knows it's got him cleared from the list of suspects. Or he thinks he knows. Get me every last one of 'em fingerless folks, because one of 'em is our killer."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | *Bank robberies. A common criminal classic.*
*Masterminds offer a challenge, but you're able to figure out where they're going. They leave a trail of calculated track-coverings but you're always able to pick up on their equations.*
"Detective Schwartz, I'm sorry to say this, but he left over an hour ago, is there anything else I can help you with?"
I groaned and rubbed my face. "Just give me two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough, and I'll take a vanilla chocolate twist for my deputy in the car."
"You bet," Paul, the manager of Sweet Treats, dug into the ice cream tub while his wife pulled a draught of soft serve.
I slammed the car door when I got back in the driver seat.
"You think we're dealing with a mastermind?" deputy Mavis ogled at the soft serve.
"Hell no. We're dealing with an idiot. What kind of person goes to an ice cream parlor immediately after they rob a bank with his 5-year-old daughter?! Not to mention he paid with his credit card, I've got his name, William Carver."
"That's what I mean, he's doing the unexpected because it's so appallingly dumb," Mavis licked away at the cone. "Gosh, I haven't had one of these in ages."
"Any word from HQ?" I devoured a spoonful of cookie dough.
"Yeah, apparently our suspect, 'William', which that might be a stolen credit card so we don't know if that's his real name, went here, wasn't wearing any gloves or face masks, then he bought some flight tickets on the Wi-Fi in the parlor. He's going to Miami later this evening at 8:00 pm, so we should be able to catch him at O'Hare. Apparently some witnesses have spotted him at the gym working out while his daughter is in the daycare."
"You see what I mean!" I gurgled. "He's out there in the open not trying to lay low. This guy is a total idiot! The Sweet Treats staff even knows the guy, he says he comes in all the time, and yes, his name is definitely William Carver! Let's head to the gym."
The theme song for Banjo-Kazooie on the Nintendo 64 erupted in an obnoxious roar while Billy was running on the treadmill in skinny jeans and a cable knit sweater. He received death glares from all of the other people trying to work out in his radius.
Billy stopped and pried out his cell phone from his skin-tight jeans.
"Yellow!" Billy hollered.
"William, it's your mother, I have some bad news," she gasped.
"Awww what-the-french-toast, lay it on me madre, what's *le* scoop?"
"I don't want you to worry now, but Gam Gam is in the hospital!"
"Whoa! Leggo-my-eggo! What happened?" Billy's eyes welled with tears.
"William, you should come home right now. You're all over the news, you robbed the bank today with your five-year-old daughter!"
"Aw c'mon madre, it wasn't like that. I went to the bank like you told me to get some money, but they refused to give it to me, so I pulled out my gun and THEN they gave it to me. I did just as you said!"
"William! You were supposed to take my debit card to the ATM inside the bank and withdraw the money that way."
Billy scratched his head. "Huh. Well, I did think it was kind of weird that they gave me WAY more money than you asked for."
"Just come home as soon as possible, please!"
Billy hung up the phone, wiped the sweat off his brow, and whistled a jingle as he strolled out of the gym.
r/randallcooper | 2020-07-13T09:57:31 | 2020-07-13T09:43:03 | 861 | 51 |
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it | I didn't want to kill them.
The pond of Love's Lament had lost its meaning to the people of the nearby village, but that didn't justify slaughtering them in their sleep. There had to be some purpose behind this plot. Perhaps there was a drought in another part of the kingdom, or a misguided baron looking for treasure where there was none. All of those problems had peaceful solutions. They just required leaving the pond.
And yet... I couldn't.
In this rotting world, the only thing I could cling to were my ideals. Everything else was lost to time. I promised this would be my final resting place. Sure, I could always return, but that went against the spirit of my vow. It needed to stay this way forever.
I sabotaged their equipment at first, plugging up their hoses with stones. They quickly adapted, though. My next attempt was more direct. I politely asked every bird nearby to defecate on the workers, and they obliged. That only drew an escort of soldiers the following week, who killed every bird in sight. After millennia of seeing so much death, it still hurt to witness their callous disregard for life. They had no respect for this sacred place.
That wasn't enough to get me to leave, though. I loathed myself for my inaction. The paradox rattled my skull for days. At a certain point, I realized that I was hiding out of fear. If I abandoned this place, I might cling to another instead. Never again. My resolve to stay grew tenfold. I'd endure anything to remain in the pond.
It wasn't until they dumped poison into the water that I had to make a choice. They were trying to draw me out, thinking they could harm me. And they did. Flowers wilted and fish decomposed in front of my hollowed-out eyes, but there was nothing I could do to save them. I'd seen war, I'd seen famine, I'd seen pestilence, and they paled in comparison to what I was losing. The beauty of this place was what first made it meaningful. I met the love of my life here. The only person to ever draw me out of my shell after centuries of wandering alone, long before I shed my flesh.
Losing them made it hard to ever care about anything else. I still regret not mentioning I was immortal, but that may have been for the best. Our promise to be buried together gave me strength. It made me content with solitude. This pond remained unchanging for as long as I stayed in it. Its beauty was constant, just like my love. Or so I thought. The water turned green and murky. A foul stench slowly permeated the air. Even the animals that frequented it were repelled by its unrecognizable appearance.
This wasn't the place we loved anymore.
I needed to rage.
The workers started screaming as soon as I emerged from the water. They didn't stand a chance. I strangled a dozen of them with their own hose. The soldiers soon attacked me, but their weapons were ineffective. I didn't stop fighting until they were beaten to a bloody pulp. In the aftermath of my rampage, I wept at my impotence. The pond was forever desecrated and it was all my fault. The reason they were trying to drain it was because of a monster that lurked beneath it.
I had been scaring the villagers for centuries. That was the only way to preserve this place. I never meant any harm. They tried to find me, but I always hid from their presence. Eventually, after driving away enough people, they assumed I was a threat.
This happened because of my clinging. In my futile attempt to hold on, I ended up killing the pond instead. Perhaps, this was the punishment I deserved. My sins made me unworthy of this grave.
-----------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out all of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | The annoying part about immortality is losing the feeling of time passing. Since death became a non-issue, you likened time to a sweet lullaby you heard once as a child. You can't remember why, how, maybe there wasn't even a reason for it. A minute went by, or a year, it made no difference, to you it felt like the melancholic berceuse played once and cut off short.
The water is lowering, you hear the end of the lullaby. Your only desire, as it has been for centuries, is to hear the it once more and have it last forever. But it only plays once, and always stops.
How did it start again? Fear, obviously. Feeling old without having ever lived, without having been young yet suffering the early signs of the body's frailty and foregone obsolescence. Life is a race against death, you can lose but make the loss worth it, but that didn't feel like your case. So scared of death you forgot to live. You should have been either more intelligent and find a better answer to move on, or dumber to never ponder it in the first place. Alas, you were in a limbo of your own making.
So you ran, as cowards do. That's wisdom in hinsight of course, at the time it felt like a smart move. Instead of submit to death, break the rules and ignore it outright. More than one fool tried it, history never noticed one did it. You.
Fuck whoever invented the term of ironic hell. Life in limited supply is the only thing making it worth it. Oh sure, you had your share of fun, for a while you felt like the smartest human in existence. That is, until you felt like the greatest failure for mising the obvious.
You only substituted fear of death with fear of eternity. The dead rest, you do not, nor will you ever. For that is the cross eternal life curses you with.
Long before the skin left your body, you seeked release and wished for nothing but eternal sleep without finding it. When the flesh did falter, you lived in ditches, swamps, hidden from the horrified eyes that would have to gaze upon you. When it could no longer support you, you set out in search for a secluded place to lay down, hopefully undisturbed, and unable to sleep, to not think, not even when the only thing left is a fragment of bone.
Eternity didn't grant you any wisdom, did it? You set out too late, too weak to reach the dark bottom of the ocean, you settled for a small pond.
It is empty now. They found you, no note is playing. Just another old skeleton, how could you tell them otherwise with no mouth to speak with and no muscle to move you around?
Your corpse is a curiosity, quite old indeed, not from this generation, not even from this time period. Old men are forgotten. Very old men are studied and contemplated. You are ancient indeed, they will not put you to rest.
When you think there will be a pause, you are dusted off. When the sweet song seems to begin, you are assembled and disassembled, put under the scanner, worked on, analysed.
One day, you're put on display. Laid out on red velvet, protected by thick glass, delimited by a rope making sure museum visitors don't come too close. They don't dust you off anymore, they don't need to, you are sealed off, you are to lay here for generations.
In the distance, it feel like you hear the lullaby starting again. | 2020-11-20T11:48:01 | 2020-11-20T11:17:50 | 579 | 278 |
[WP] "Adulthood is like looking both ways before you cross the street, then getting hit by an airplane." | "You know what being a kid is like?" Tommy said.
I resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. "What's it like?"
"It's like going out with your mommy and daddy, and you look both ways before crossing the street, and you're holding both their hands, and then they get hit by an airplane." Tommy took a swig of apple juice. "And you've never seen an airplane before, so you don't know what's happening, and they won't tell you what an airplane is because you're too young to know about it!" He slammed his cup down on the table.
"Uh," I said. "Is there something you want to talk about, Tommy?"
He flopped over on the table, face flat against its surface. "I've never been on an airplane," he said. "And I'm going to fly all by myself."
"Yeah," I said. "Your parents still aren't sure if they can get visas."
"I don't know what that means!" he wailed.
I leaned all the way down so I could peek through the narrow crack between his forehead and the table. "You want me to tell you?"
His voice rose into an incoherent whine. "I don't want to go on an airplane all by myself! What if we crash? I'll be all alone!"
"Listen, Tommy," I said. "If you're in a plane when it crashes, or if you're crossing the street when the plane crashes into you, you're dead either way, right? So you might as well be in the plane. They serve free peanuts there. And the stewardesses are going to love you. A kid traveling all by himself to see his grandma? They eat that stuff up."
Tommy rolled his head to the side and looked up at me with bleary eyes.
"The whole reason your parents are sending you abroad on your own is so that you don't have to deal with our problems. You wanna fly, or you wanna stay here and go back and forth across the street all your life?"
Tommy shrugged. "I wanna fly, I guess."
"That's the spirit!" I got up and refilled his cup with apple juice. "And if any of those stewardesses are single, put in a good word for your uncle Joe, huh?" | Had a health-conscious aunt who didn't eat meat, dairy, or more than one or two pieces of fruit every day; her total daily caloric intake was approximately 75% kale, with the occasional carrot/hummus "treat" thrown in (portion size: avian)... this same aunt of course being the one who forwarded health-related chain emails to the entire family with such diligence and ferocity that we often urged her to start a blog, if only to free our inboxes of the ponderous weight. She wore sunblock every day. When it came to driving, her philosophy was "the speed limit is the speed limit is the speed limit." When it came to smoking and alcohol, her philosophy was "no." She nagged her brother, my father, near unceasingly about the cushion of adipose tissue accreting around his midsection, harped on to my mother (who was constitutionally incapable of saying "no" to a conversation) about the diet she fed my brother and me (Midwestern, i.e. meat & potatoes & boiled vegetables, none of which were destined at any time during the cooking process to see the business end of a salt shaker), and developed a permanent, fuming, and extremely public conflict with her neighbor, a plastic surgeon, whose profession she viewed as aiding and abetting the very health-antagonistic American hedonism she'd devoted her life to railing against. And rail against it she did, sharpening her life to an increasingly Spartan spear point, trimming all excesses and potentially unhealthy habits down to a virtual zero, until one day a recreational pilot lost control of his Cessna and came spiraling down out of an otherwise empty cerulean sky to pancake flamingly onto the patch of sidewalk where my aunt stood, ansarine neck craned as she looked left and right, then left and right again, verifying that the street she intended to cross was devoid of cars for at least half a mile in either direction. | 2016-05-10T05:43:52 | 2016-05-10T05:34:31 | 16 | 10 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.