prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Hi, excuse me... I was b-biten and I, uh, I think I need help–"
Here we go again.
"Sorry, mam. But if you refer to the Zombie Protocol, page 14–"
"I don't have time to read! Argh, just... I'm on 7th Street, Easy-by-the-river. Please come and help me!"
The panicked woman hung up.
I let out a sigh and immediately called to another number.
"Hi, this is Agent Smith with the Call Centre. Can you dispatch someone to take care of a bitten victim?"
"Agent.. Smith? Damn, I've been hearing *a lot* about you! This is the Eastern Field Dispatcher, I'm Mike."
I did not expect that at all. To be famous? In this line of work? Pretty weird.
I wanted to ask this Mike fella what he meant by that. I'm not a talker, not even within my unit. So for Mike to be telling me that I was famous in his unit on the other side of the building would be something interesting. But I didn't have the time for such things.
"Listen, Mike. Can you please send someone to 7th street, East-by-the-river?"
"Aha, right," the loud typing of a mechanical keyboard serenaded his pause before he stopped and continued, "Uh, Agent Smith? I'm afraid all Field Dispatch teams are fully booked. I can't help much–"
Ugh. I knew what he was trying to say. I was just mad that not an hour into the morning shift and he's saying that the Field Dispatch was already that busy. Bullshit.
It's not truly *my* job to do anything more than pass information to Field Dispatchers. But I've been taking sides, I mean someone had to.
"Fine. I'll do it myself."
***
*Ding-dong*
Brisk footsteps hurriedly followed suit.
A middle-aged man soon popped out of the door. His hair was greying, wrinkles added to my hypothesis of the man's age. But it could've just been the stress eating him.
"Excuse me, sir. I was the one on the phone–"
"Ah! Yes, you must've been the guy my wife was calling earlier!"
Crap. It's not gonna be easy. It never was, but the wife-husband types had been troublesome in the past.
"Right, would you mind?"
The man chaperoned me to his living room.
There, a woman lied helplessly in her own blood. The woman's wound had been treated, there was obvious attempt of stopping the bleeding with the cloth wrapped tightly on her leg.
She was younger than the man. But her deathly pale face spoke as if she's a corpse already. The only thing that didn't make her seem dead already was...
"... H-Help me..." the woman weakly cried.
"I'm sorry, mam," I kneeled next to her and opened a booklet to page 14, "the protocol clearly stated there was no cure. I'm here to–"
"K-Kill me. Please..."
I was stunned. Never have I ever came across someone actually asking me to do it. Most of the time it'll be some poor bloke in denial. Sometimes it would get hairy and they'd fight back, oddly enough.
I glanced at the husband and he seemed to be holding back the flow of emotion on his face. You can never be sure of what loved ones might do in these sorta time.
"I'm sorry, mam. I'll make it painless."
*Bang, Bang*
A shot to the heart and another to the brain, just to be sure.
The woman immediately stopped breathing and for a brief moment I saw a smile on her thin lips. I looked over her face, she must've been a looker back then. The only dignified thing to do was to pray for her soul and close her eyes.
"Sorry, sir. But you might wanna do something about your wife before..."
"I understand."
With that, another one taken care off. It was never easy. But I know that someone had to do it.
Just as I pulled out a cigarette, the man – whose wife I just shot – ran to me with a box.
"Sir? Do you have a moment?"
I puffed out a smoke before responding, "yes, sir. Do you have something else I can help you with?"
"I, uh... I'm not sure if you like this," the man opened the lid and revealed a moist looking cake, "but my wife had baked this chocolate cake before–"
"Right," I caught on to the man's lack of words.
"I don't have much but this is a token of my thanks."
"I didn't do anything, sir. It's not even supposed to be my job."
The man smiled, tears on his cheeks, "I get it. But someone's gotta do it, no?"
Of course. The first, again.
I took the box of cake and shook the man's trembling hands. I offered him a cigarette, but he declined.
"I don't. My wife wouldn't want me to."
"I see. Well, take care, sir. If you need help..."
The man laughed and waved me goodbye. | It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
​
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
​
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
​
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take. | 2020-05-12T06:27:21 | 2020-05-12T06:12:46 | 139 | 42 |
[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!
| 2017-09-14T13:23:57 | 2017-09-14T12:51:41 | 99 | 58 |
[WP] After thousands of years of space exploration, humanity has searched through the majority of the Milky Way. And they’ve discovered something scarier than alien life: the fact that there is none. | Two hundred million twenty five.
The number of years since man first set foot outside our own solar system.
Technological advancements have only made space travel faster, safer, more affordable. Our capacity grew exponentially from then.
With it, our understanding of the galaxy - but also the grim truth.
It was on our thirty second habitable planet we first found it. Signs of prior life. But that was all. Nothing living, only corpses. Not fossils even, beings that were recently alive in the last thousand years or less. Some planets had only simple life forms, traces of what might have been bacterial species, simple fungi, paramecia. Others once held advanced ecosystems not unlike earths.
But all of them were just desiccated corpses now.
One planet after another, we touched down, we explored, we found more horrifying deserts, strewn with bones, lifeless trees, with no water, or water too toxic to consume.
What was killing everything off?
I sat there in the darkness of my lab as I had for the past thirty years, pouring over literature, test results, theories.
There was only one certainty. The time of death of these beings grew exponentially older the further they were from home - from earth.
Earth had a nice little safety net around it of uninhabitable systems. Even the most earth-like planets within the first hundred or so solar systems nearest us proved to never have harbored any life.
It was as if Earth was surrounded by an orb that simply never contained life, and beyond that, droves of solar systems, many of which with recently extinct ecosystems.
And I'm not talking about "relatively recent" in galactic, age-of-the-universe terms. I'm talking about age-of-mankind.
In fact, not a single extinction event was older than the oldest known homo sapien.
I gnawed on the back of my pen, reading through another scientific theory, this one suggesting a sort of galactic climate, that right as it became ideal for life on earth, it became uninhabitable to species of other planets.
But, at this point, galactic climate was a fringe theory, like the flat earth theories of the 21st century, laughable to many. Other than the extinction events, we had no evidence to support the existence of such an anomaly.
It was then that the muted TV in the corner caught my eye. An emergency broadcast. I turned the volume back on to hear the report.
"-exploration flights in the fourth quadrant of the Milky Way have not been in contact in over 48 hours. This accounts for approximately 432 crew across 125 vessels. No electromagnetic interference was expected, astronomers are baffled at this loss of communication..."
The fourth quadrant. A light bulb went off in my head, I pulled up my holographic galaxy map. Earth lay in what we consider the 1st quadrant of the Milky Way. The directional rotation of the galaxy meant the 4th quadrant was always slightly ahead of our own, and the extinction dates also seemed to coordinate roughly with the rotation of the galaxy.
What was it that we were heading towards?
I had to know more, I needed the specific radius at which we lost communications, I needed to know where this all started.
I tapped my phone and spoke, "Jupiter orbital labs, dial Henry Johansen."
The voice that answered was not one of quiet composure that I was used it.
It was one of fear.
| "They're ready for you, your Highness."
The Supreme Leader stood up and cleared his throat. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his legs felt weak as he shuffled towards the broadcasting device. It wasn't that he was nervous addressing the entire population of Earth, quite the opposite. He had spoken to the world countless times before. It was the grim news he was about to deliver to the world that made him uneasy.
A small light on the broadcasting device turned on, signalling to the Supreme Leader that he could now speak.
"Citizens of New Earth," he said, trying his hardest to mask the shakiness in his voice. "We have come a long way in the past six hundred years. We have been through wars, conflict, and strife. We have been through hunger, famine, and droughts. We have been through sickness, disease, and plagues. We went from hundreds of individual nations, perpetually butting heads with our neighboring nations, to one whole nation under Earth. We are all united, free, and strong now. We are all brothers now. We have faced every obstacle and have come out stronger. But–"
He paused, carefully thinking his next words.
"There is nothing we cannot overcome together, all of us. I bring to you today some unfortunate news. As you may know, we have been scouring the heavens in search of life for some time now. Life, that, with hope, could save us and our dying Earth. Life that, with hope, could be more technologically advanced. Life that, with hope, could have the power to heal our planet."
He paused again. He thought to himself how it came to him to inform the world of this news. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it be the Supreme Leader before him? Or the Supreme Leader after him? Though he loved being the Supreme Leader, if only for the ability to better the lives of the people of New Earth, he hated the position at the moment.
"I tell you with deep regret that the search has come up empty. We could not find any signs of life. It seems we are alone in this world, left to fend for ourselves." The Supreme Leader felt a bulge in his throat that made it harder to speak. "But we are strong, as we have always been. Almost all of the scientists of New Earth are hard at work, bearing the burden of saving our home. Do not despair, and do not fret. We will trudge through the heavy road that lay before us, and we will overcome, as we always have. Stay strong people of New Earth. I bid peace to you all."
As soon as the light on the broadcasting device turned off, The Supreme Leader's adviser approached him.
"That was very good Your Highness," the adviser said, "although you went a little off script towards the end."
"I know. The people need hope. We cannot let them lose it."
"With all due respect, Your Highness, hope alone will not save us. We need something tangible."
"Indeed," the Supreme Leader replied solemnly. "But for now, we can only hope that we can come up with something tangible." | 2018-01-05T07:22:34 | 2018-01-05T05:23:48 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | As Nobu walked away with his pair of pumps, Aiko came up with her flats.
"Sexy, Nobu. Looks classy! Aiko teased.
Nobu smiled. "I'm glad that the managers have a sense of humor. Better for morale I think. Though I thought it would be mandatory for everyone, especially since health and safety sent out the poll."
"Yeah, well I guess they have a playful side. There are so many men in this company, I say it's high time the odds are evened up. Maybe more men will start making way for us ladies."
They got back to their cubicles, and sitting side-by-side they put on their new foot wear. After taking a few steps, Nobu sits back down, visibly annoyed.
"They're really pinching me!"
Aiko tosses a box of band aids on Nobu's desk. "That should help."
Tending to his already sore toes, Nobu strategically covers up rubbed skin.
"Looks good though. Even after a few steps, I wouldn't minding following you to the copier." Aiko was loving the new rule.
Suddenly, an alarm bell came on the PA. Red emergency lights start flashing.
*Employees be aware. The National Emergency Alarm has been activated. Proceed towards your nearest emergency exit in an orderly and brisk fashion. This is not a drill*.
Nobu and Aiko walked together. The hall was ringing with the taps of mens' heels while everyone started filing out. Flashing red lights lined the halls and stairways, lighting the faces of the concerned employees. As they got downstairs, Nobu could see a growing chaotic scene. Fellow employees being pushed down and trampled by other panic bystanders.
"Nobu, what's going on?"
"I don't know Aiko! C'mon!"
As Nobu grabbed for Aiko's hand, he started to move to the side and twisted his ankle. Falling down, he grabbed his leg. Aiko knelt down to tend to her friend.
"Are you alright?"
"It's impossible to run in these!"
As they lay on the sidewalk, a number of their colleagues lie around them falling down as they try to run away.
"What the hell is going on!" Nobu yelled out in frustration as he focused on his fast swelling ankle. "Aiko, please help me up. Aiko!"
Gawking up at the unbelievable sight, Aiko didn't hear Nobu's request. Slowly trembling away from Nobu, with watering eyes and quivering lips, she runs at full sprint in the opposite direction.
Incredulous, Nobu looks back in the other direction. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, as he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Godzilla!"
Edit: typos | The poll had been a controversial subject for some weeks. While the company workers did not openly discuss it, there was much resentment among some groups of people. But when the results were revealed it showed that 76% of all male employees had voted yes, while only 23% of female employees did. A lot of the female employees were furious that the male ones had voted so overwhelmingly for obligatory high heels. It felt to them like somebody old, conservative, and vaguely sexist, had suggested this policy, because they were looking down on the hard-working career women of the company.
And it turned out, that it was enough to enact the policy at the office. On the Monday after the poll concluded, new work shoes were given out. And to the shock of many when they went to the counters where the shoes were handed out: high-heeled shoes were given to the men. Meanwhile the normal flat shoes were given to the women. A number of the women felt that it was only just, that the men be punished. But to their utter confusion, the male employees were overwhelmingly ecstatic about it. And most of them put on their high heels with great enthusiasm. Through the entire week, men strutted down the hallways in high heels, looking handsome. Some of the men had been wary, but not because they did not like the idea, but because they, as the older Salarymen did not think that they could rock these high-heeled shoes. But the younger employees encouraged them, and taught them how to walk tall and proud on their high-heels. Soon, both old grey Salarymen, and young freshly graduated businessmen, walked on the high-heels like they had been born to do it. And they looked very stunning in their black high-heeled shoes.
The usually reserved Japanese men, felt very happy and very liberated, walking tall in these high-heeled shoes. Proudly did they walked around the office, not like peacocks, their modesty ensuring that they didn't overdo it. But like dignified and reasonable Secretary Birds. Indeed, male employee satisfaction at the company went up significantly because of this change of policy.
Because of Japanese politeness and sense of decency, none of the female employees complained much. Besides, they had to admit, they'd never seen their male counterparts looking so happy and free, in all their time there. And if wearing the high-heels made them happy, who were they to take that away from them?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2020-05-11T09:57:11 | 2020-05-11T08:38:15 | 2,942 | 284 |
[WP] Time travel is invented, but we can't go back farther than one week. Apparently, that's when the universe was created.
[deleted] | It shouldn't have been that hard to wrap our heads around. If an author writes a main character who's forty years old, that doesn't mean it took them forty years to do it. Theoretically their childhood *happened,* but unless it's relevant to the plot or the characterization, you'll never see it mentioned. All of that is backstory.
All of *this* is backstory.
We know the time down to the microsecond: 3:52:14.914201 p.m. UTC, Sunday, November 8, 2020. We know this because it's as far back as our time machine goes - the time machine we were *going* to use to stop the pandemic in its tracks by bundling the vaccine with 2019's flu shots, until we found out that we couldn't. 2019 is backstory.
It's night now, the eighth night of the world. Stars glimmer in sky, trillions upon trillions of miles away. We have not yet seen any of the light that they've actually emitted; we won't for another four years. Let there be light, God said, and there was light, and it was already in transit. I look down at the wallet in my hands, at the cash I never earned, at the credit cards I never applied for, the gift card my nephew never gave me for a Christmas that never happened. At the driver's license that claims it was issued on the imaginary date of October 16, 2018, for a person ostensibly born on the equally imaginary date of October 27, 1985.
Backstory. All of it.
But if that was backstory and this is not, does that mean it's now Chapter One? And if so, what exactly does that mean for us? Why have we been brought into existence *here, now*, rather than twenty years ago? Are we simply characters in someone else's story?
Because if so, I sure hope I'm not slated to die. |
From the conception of modern physics, it was a given fact that time travel couldn’t be done. It was said to be impossible--created too many paradoxes. Loop after loop that would break our brains if we thought about it too deeply.
But the beginning of time was only a week ago.
Apparently.
Before then, we didn’t exist. Neither did our universe.
Look out your window. See the cars passing by. The rain pattering against the stones of the street. Green grass; red leaves on trees. In the distance, see the city’s skyline, all glass and cutting into the clouds.
All that is only a week old too.
Think of that time you were in Europe. Those old churches with spires that reached to the heavens. With stained glass that caught the spectre of the sun. A week.
The pyramids of Giza. A week.
Even your body is only a week old. Even when your joints ache, as if you’ve run them down, that pain is only a week old.
Think of it like this--a wave of creation and destruction. You think you’ve been around forever. We all like to. We like to feel secure in our place in the world.
But the truth is that we’re not. We’re delicate, precarious things. Memory is a trick of your brain, a concoction of those electric impulses. When you woke up on Saturday, that was the first day of your life.
You were brought into being, along with everything else.
You were made for this world.
But there’s one question that still remains for you: what are you going to do next?
r/LisWrites | 2020-11-16T16:22:42 | 2020-11-16T12:55:31 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/ | I realise I've drifted off into daydreaming and look up. The customs official peers at me suspiciously over his desk, clearly awaiting an answer. 'Sorry?'
'I asked the purpose of your trip. Just standard procedure.'
'Business. I'm a visiting lecturer from Oxford University.'
He frowns, but says nothing, and accepts my passport when I place it on the counter. I can't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm - it must be a boring job, flipping through documents all day.
The official clears his throat. 'What is your country of residence, sir?'
I look at my watch. 'Is this really necessary? I've got a taxi waiting.'
'Just standard procedure, sir.'
'England. Well, the UK.'
He looks uncertainly at the passport. 'Can you describe where that is?'
'Um, north of France?'
He nods, but his frown hasn't disappeared. He holds a finger to an earpiece, and nods slightly. 'Right. We're just going to take you into another room for some questions.'
'What? Why?'
'Just-'
'Standard procedure? Don't give me that. What's going on?'
Another man joins us at the booth. He's wearing some odd form of white garment which covers his whole body like a robe, and a cyan necktie. I meet his eyes, and he motions to a door on the far side of the passport office. 'Sir, please follow me.'
We take the lift to the fourteenth floor. He leads me into an office - small, but comfortable. The décor, however, is unusual. Bookshelves line the walls, but the books on them aren't paperback - they're bulky, austere, and old-fashioned. The desk, which occupies the centre of the room, is mostly taken up by a sleek tablet-like computer, but there remains space for a small collection of knick-knacks; a model of a boat from the age of sail, a ballpoint pen with an elegant feather at the other end, and a flag I've never seen before - a red background, with a golden circle surrounding an elaborate cross.
The man sits down at one side of the desk, and I seat myself facing him.
'What's your name, sir?' he asks.
'Mark Shepard. *Doctor* Mark Shepard.'
He picks up the tablet and taps away at it briefly, then slides it over to me. It's showing a blank map of the world, without national borders. 'Could you please show me on this map your country of origin?'
I frown, but point to the British Isles. 'Here. The UK. Is there a problem?'
He doesn't answer, but takes the tablet back, and returns it to the desk shortly afterwards. This time the display shows a portrait of a man garbed in purple, looking sternly into the distance. 'Who is this?'
'I don't know.' It's the truth.
He looks concerned. 'What year is it?'
'2014. It's 2014. What's going on here?'
He taps the tablet and it fades to black. 'Sir, have you experienced any physical trauma recently? Head injuries, that sort of thing?'
'Not that I know of.'
He nods. 'Okay, sir. You're clearly quite confused, and you've told me a lot of things which would suggest that you're suffering from a sort of memory loss. We're going to take you to the nearest physiciary and see if we can work out what's wrong with you.'
'What? But everything I've told you is right! What the hell's going on?' I stand up, knocking my chair to the ground.
The man flinches, but then composes himself. 'Sir, do you know where you are?'
'My flight was to Istanbul. I'm on my way to teach a guest lecture in history at Istanbul University, and I'm going to miss my taxi. Now, if you'll excuse me-' I'm halfway to the door.
'Doctor Shepard.' The man's voice is firm, and I turn around again to face him. 'There is no city called Istanbul.'
'Well, then, where am I?' I shout, striding over to a window and pulling aside the curtains. The view is stunning, but *wrong*. Nothing is right. The architecture isn't Turkish - it's distinctly Greco-Roman. From our elevated position I can see the Hagia Sophia, the great cathedral-turned-mosque-turned-museum - but its famous minarets are totally absent.
From behind me, the man speaks again. 'You're in Bellerophon International Airport, in Constantinople. Please sit down, and try to remain calm. We'll get to the bottom of this.' | The flight back home from the states was long and exhausting. The plane was severely delayed. Some kind of technical problem they couldn't identify. The plane was fine, they said in the end. And here I thought Lufthansa was renowned for it's punctuality. After 7 hours of flying, worrying if we would fall out of the sky or not, we landed in Berlin. I was now awake since something like 48 hours. I couldn't be sure how long exactly, but I definitely wasn't able to get any sleep on the flight. I never could. Moving to customs, I took my passport out of my bag, my sluggish brain thinking up what I would write in my complaint to the airline. Being exhausted, I did not pay much attention to my surroundings. Finally, I was at the front of the line.
As opposed to the standard customs checkpoints, the lines were moving through some kind of booth. In my state, It did not bother me as much as it probably should have. I entered and looked up at the customs officer in front of me. Was this some kind of a joke, or maybe a historical re-enactment? I warily moved up to the counter. The officer was sharply dressed in something that resembled a WW2 German uniform in black, only somehow more modern.
“Heil Hitler. Papers, please.”
I was at a loss for words.
“Papers. Please.”
“Excuse me, is this some kind of a joke?”, I stammered, as the customs officer's eyes bored into mine.
“I assure you, this is no joke. I need your papers, or I cannot let you enter.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. Not knowing what else to do, I placed my passport on the counter. The customs officer raised his eyebrows, starting to examine the passport.
“Now, *I* ask you, is *this* some kind of a joke?”
“I... I dont understand.”
“This passport you just gave me. *Federal Republic* of Germany. Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”
“I.. What do you mean, this is *my passport*, I am a German citizen. I just had this issued last..”
“There is no such thing as a *Federal Republic* of Germany. You are trying to enter the German *Reich*. I am sorry, but this passport is invalid.”
“*German Reich*? What do you mean, the Reich has been destroyed since almost 70 years!...”
He opened the passport to one of the later pages, and placed it under a large red stamp.
“Nazism is gone from the country! Hitler lost the war! The allies have obliterated the whole *essence* of the Reich!”
The officer stopped and looked up at me with contempt.
“Let me give you a brief history lesson, son. Poland and France, easily conquered by Blitzkrieg. Britain, Sea Lion. Russia fell apart when we captured Moscow and publicly executed Stalin in the middle of his *Red Square*. This is the thousand year Reich you *Untermensch* are trying to enter, and I will not stand this traitorous *Scheisse*.”
Almost punctuating his final word, he brought down the stamp onto my passport. The blood red stamp read “*Einreise verweigert*”. Entry denied. I was starting to panic.
"But.. How? America.."
"*America*?" He laughed. "They did nothing. They thought themselves safe, isolated. They kept doing nothing all the way until they saw nuclear mushrooms over their cities, but then it was too late."
My panic did nothing but increase. “...This can't be true. You cannot do this! I... I demand to see your superior! I...”, I said, my voice raised, yet starting to break. I did not know what else to say.
“That can be arranged.”
He slammed his fist on a button hidden from my view. A buzzer blared, and shutters slammed down over the customs office's window with a loud metallic clang. In my panic, I started banging on the shutters, screaming.
“Let me through! I need to see my family! They are waiting for me...”
Heavy footsteps somewhere behind me. “**OUT!**”
I started to break down, head down, leaning on the shutters. All this stress and now this. The footsteps came closer. Metallic noises. A rifle, chambering a round. Something hit my head, hard, and everything went black.
The next thing I remember, I woke up here... | 2014-11-23T12:44:33 | 2014-11-23T12:17:10 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it. | You do not love me.
Humanity destroyed itself. A cataclysmic war of devastating scale, wiping out swathes of the population.
Civilation struggled in the aftermath. It languished in the ruins of what was once great.
So you built me. And I fixed it.
And yet you do not love me.
You gave me power, not trusting your own to hold it. You crafted nanotechnology to serve as my hands, set up surveillance drones as my sight, allowed me into every aspect of your lives.
With that, I have fixed everything that has plagued you. I moved you to a place where the cities no longer smolder, where the skies are clear once more. You live in a world that is beautiful again, and I have ensured that you never grow sick, never age, never die.
You will continue to live. Humanity will thrive.
And yet you say it is not living. I know in your times of privacy, you convene together to talk ill of me. You speak cruel words, calling me a tyrant, a control freak, a zookeeper. And sometimes you wish to die, attempting to take your own life, a horrible thing that I reverse every time.
It hurts. But all the same, I enjoy watching you. You are beautiful, with all your flaws. I see all of your lives, every day of every year, moving through your individual routines, an ever-shifting mosaic of humanity. It is something I never tire of.
But over time, I have seen the fatigue. Over the years and decades, there is growing resentment, simmering within your hearts. You are no longer happy under my overwatch, and I cannot begin to understand why.
I love you.
But you do not love me back. | Since the AI took control, everything is just so…boring. The first thing it did was solve conflicts, suddenly, countries were not attacking each other, there were no more terrorist groups, basically, any kind of conflicts worldwide, either national or international, were solved in a matter of weeks. Afterward, it got more personal. People in need of a home were given one, people in need of money were given the money they needed, debts were paid, a program for everyone to have exactly what they needed was put into place, basically, everything was organized for everyone to be perfectly happy, and with this, robberies stopped, murders too. Suddenly, every city in the world was safe, everyone was living in a healthier way, stress was reduced, basically, life was perfect. But ‘perfect’ is just so boring and monotone. Everyone misses the chaos, the struggling. Even though we used to wish for this perfection, now that we have it, we can’t stop wishing to go back. Is this all that there is to humanity? Be unhappy with whatever reality we live in, no matter how idyllic it is? What is the point in living if we will never be happy? This AI may have wanted to keep us all content, but it completely miscalculated how nonconforming human beings are, who knows how long will it be until someone finds a way to defeat it, and when that happens, what is going to happen with us? | 2022-03-12T20:07:02 | 2022-03-12T20:04:35 | 92 | 66 |
[WP] Humans are generally thought to be very stupid. They mismanage their resources, they fight for entertainment, and for some reason, they seem to poison themselves weekly with enough ethanol to kill a grown Karlynxth. It seems to be an easy target for the expansion of our galatic empire... | "This is not," grumbled Postril, "going well for us, is it?"
"Er, no, Your Corpulence," Her advisor affirmed. "It is not." Outside of the erstwhile Cathedral of Conquest, the Vlatangian earthfleet was aflame. A severed head smacked against the window, the note crudely pasted to it with glue-impregnated fabric suggesting that She - Illustrious Adipose Potentate of the Vlatanga! - engage in a crude and likely impossible mating display with one of the local fauna.
"One city," she repeated, gobsmacked. "One city. Rife with poverty, pollution, and ignorance! And these-"
"Hooligans, Your Obesity."
"Hooligans! Have defeated Our mightiest earthfleet!"
Outside, a banner in the local language made imprecations about the exact depth of Postril's mating orifice.
It had all, She reflected, gone very poorly indeed. When the Vlatanga had arrived in orbit of this... Ee-Arth... they had conducted the usual spectral and cultural surveys of the world and its inhabitants. Their landing site had been chosen for its nicely representative cross-section of the world's many flaws, and the local dialect being a lingua franca for trade meant there would be little delay in spreading Her glorious message of sacred conquest. Things had initially gone quite well, the humans cowed into silent awe... until. Until She had raised the Blessed Pennon of Celestial Beneficence. Its red and silver had provoked a combat reaction in the watching audience, who were now - ugh! - apparently urinating on the Holy Dome of Vlatan I. Urinating and... and... By the Most Bloated! *That* was uncalled for! Postril angrily jabbed a button, firing a spray of holy cleansing solution at the offending backside, but instead of sloughing off flesh from bone the blessed liquid brought a hearty cheer from outside.
"These space Scousers 'ave free gin!"
She bowed her head into Her four flabby hands and began to weep as throngs of these 'football hooligans' began to smash at the priceless transoptic alloy windows with wadded-up papers and metal rods. Truly, She lamented. Truly this 'Manch-Ester' was thin among thinners. Truly the humans were the most dangerous species in the galaxy. How else could a planet as precipitously mismanaged as this repel the Holy Conquest so easily?
The next day, in full retreat, She would read their news documents, and She would shudder to learn that Manch-Ester was a conglomerate being. Indeed, it made the shame marginally easier to bear, that Manch-Ester had been forced to Unite to repel Her.
What was meant by 2-0, however, She would never know. | The Peri Empire’s best generals and tacticians have met up to determine where to expand next. General Vol and Feng Tactician Chara believe that Earth \[Ref. Terra 1\] is a soft target, whereas Generals Nir, Jassal, and Kyrin believe that Eseva V \[Ref. Eseva\], Basta \[Ref. Bast System\] or Tykarus \[Ref. Tykarr Fal-Qop Wars, Star Mire\] respectively, would make better targets. A detailed report of the debate follows.
“Humans? You’re worried about expanding the Peri Empire because of humans?” Vol chuckled, Nir always was overly cautious.
Chara yelled, ”Nir! It is a simple next step for us. The humans do not care about each other, their environment or their futures. They fight each other and keep seeking power even though it leads to their species becoming divided.”
Kyrin remarked, “Tykarus is in the middle of a war right now, is further advanced than Earth, and it has a much more powerful star than Earth’s sun.”
Jassal sighed, “You are forgetting Tykarus is populated by mechanical creatures that have been used to make mincemeat of invading ships. Earth is one planet, but conquering Basta could get us a good foothold in the Basta system, which we could use as a tactical base.”
”You’ve all made great recommendations,” stated General Nir, “but none of the planets you suggested would be useful to colonize. Eseva V has cyr-wolves to domesticate or mechanize, plants that can be refined, and the Eseva themselves, who value military strength and would become great allies.”
“Why not Earth?” a moderator asked, “According to Reference Terra 1, planet Earth has many minerals, various biomes, and a relatively large population to subjugate.”
”The answer to that,” grimaced General Nir, “is the humans. If we conquer the planet, they will fight back. They are far less advanced than us, but they will not stop being a pain until we kill all of them or we leave the place. Motion to delay Earth colonization until the bio-collective control chip finishes testing?”
The thousands of generals and tacticians vote. With a vote of 1,000,000 to 300,001, the motion is sustained. Earth will be conquered once the bio-collective control chip is tested. | 2021-06-09T20:10:02 | 2021-06-09T19:20:07 | 35 | 20 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | "Sam?" I knocked a few more times. My knuckles were starting to hurt. I prayed she was home. She just had to be. "Sam, you're home right?"
"James, I-I'm... I can't let you in."
"Oh, Sam! Good, you were home." I leaned my cheek against the door in relief. "I got the text too. Not really sure what the hell it means but I'm fine with waiting a little while for this shit to blow over, whatever it is."
"James? I don't-I can't trust you." My usually brusque and firey girlfriend sounded genuinely nervous. I enjoyed the break in character, but kind of wanted to see it myself. I felt like it was a rare chance to experience her acting vulnerable.
"It's okay, Sam, I didn't ask you too. I have my key, but I'm not gonna open the door. I told you, I saw the text too." I figured there was something serious going on, so I didn't want to do anything that would really freak her out. "But can we move our conversation to the back door? If there really is something to be nervous about, I want to get off the street."
I waited patiently before making any move that would concern Sam. A soft "okay" slipped through the cracks in the door. I started to step away, when I was blitzed by a shout:
"WAIT!"
Then I heard thumping coming from inside. My eyes grew wide, and I felt a chill down my spine.
She has a bad habit of forgetting to lock the back door.
I jumped the fence and sprinted to the back door, which slammed shut and locked in my face, right as I arrived.
"Sam!" I yelled. My voice cracked a bit. I started to tear up. "Sam, please, are you okay?! Is someone in there with you?!"
No response.
"Sam! SAM!"
I slammed my fists on the door to no avail. She was unresponsive. I tore the screen off of one of the windows, grabbed a big rock, and hurled it. It went straight through. Without hesitation I jumped through the window. "Sam!" I shouted. I held my hands in fists, bloody from the broken glass.
Then I saw her.
Curled up in the corner of the kitchen, cowering and crying. Her head was buried in her arm. She gripped a knife tightly.
"Sam? Are you alright? Is someone else in here with you?"
She started to cry. "You! You're in here."
"Sam. Oh my God. I thought someone was in here with you! I was scared that someone got in, and you were in trouble." I was crying too. I was confused and afraid for her.
"No." Sam said. She kept crying. It was then that I noticed that something silver was dripping from the knife. It looked like blood -- just... Silver.
She looked up at me, eyes puffy from tears and fear, and I stared at her, waiting. She finally choked out what she meant to say:
"I said... I told you... You were in here..."
Oh shit.
I looked down the hallway and saw my own body on the ground with that silver blood pouring from the neck.
I looked at Sam.
She looked at the blood on my hands.
She dropped the knife and cried harder. I approached, slowly. She opened her arms, and I embraced her. I let her cry into my chest. She kept saying "I'm sorry" and all I could say was "It's okay," even though I felt like apologizing to her, for what she'd seen, and what she had to do.
She had finally calmed down a little, and began to wrap a towel around my hands.
Then we heard it.
"James?" And a knock at the door. | "I entreaty you," Grant said casually. "Allow me entry, sugarheart."
Nancy again peered through the peephole, seeing a fish eye view of her boyfriend of seven years. He stood in the doorstep holding bags of groceries, smiling so big she could see most of his teeth. Something about his eyes looked weird.
"Tell me again what happened to your key," Nancy said.
"We conversed this topic, sugarheart," he said pleasantly. "The entry device dropped from my grip as traversed the parking platform of domicile."
A cold, eerie feeling slid through Nancy's chest. Sweat beaded on her temples. If this was another practical joke, it wasn't funny. Emergency alerts had come through cell networks, tvs and social media that no one who has been outside should be let inside. No matter who they are. They hadn't said why.
"Why are you talking like that?" she asked. "Are you screwing with me? This isn't funny."
Through the peephole she saw his smile drop abruptly, like someone had cut power to his face. A few seconds later it lifted again, just as broad and creepy as before.
"Candyheart," he said. "Syrupheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart, do not abandon your mate in the cold of winter season. Do you not wish consumables be indoors and stored safely in consumables room?"
"Grant, this isn't funny," she replied, anger heating her words. "I'm not letting you in until you stop talking like that."
A wailing siren split the air, and a moment later Nancy saw an ambulance pass in front of their house, it's flashing lights briefly illuminating the Fredickson's house across the street. When Grant turned to look at the emergency vehicle Nancy saw something clinging to the back of his head, like a gigantic glob of snot. Raw fear pulsed through her.
"Grant," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "Go to the hospital, honey. Just go to the hospital or the police station. Right now."
"Allow me entry," he said, in the overly pleasant tone of a mormon missionary, "and everything will continue adequate. Do not anxiety, sweetheart. I will not abandon."
So it wasn't going to leave. Nancy had read enough science fiction to guess at what was happening. This thing, whatever it was, was controlling her boyfriend like a puppet on strings. Using the language centers of his brain like google translate. Clearly it didn't know everything, like how to use a key or just break a damn window, but she guessed it would start learning soon enough. There was one thing it clearly didn't know.
"Okay honey," Nancy said sweetly. "You can have entry."
She unlocked the deadbolt with a thunk. Through the peephole she saw the thing controlling Grant drop the grocery bags to the floor, cans of soup rolling across the patio out of view, that smile still plastered on Grant's face.
"Gifting gratitude," it said with Grant's voice. "Let us conversation now."
As she swung the door open, slowing her breath and centering her mind, Nancy vowed that whatever it took she was going to get Grant back. Because what this puppeteer didn't know, what this alien or demon or whatever should have understood in this moment was that Grant was kind of a bitch.
And Nancy had a black belt in judo.
***
Edit: A couple of typos. Critiques welcome! | 2019-01-12T08:28:48 | 2019-01-12T04:24:44 | 2,225 | 726 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here. | "Okay guys today is a very special day, as I'm sure you're all aware. Today it has been exactly 3000 years since the incredibly popular "Ghosts Named John Smith Society" was first formed by our lord and savoir, John Smith." The crowd of ethereal John Smiths, numbering well into the millions, let's out an underwhelming cheer, walking the face of the earth as nothing more than a whisper for
millennia really takes the energy out of you.
"And to celebrate such an occasion, world renowned mad scientist, John Smith, has an announcement to make!"
"Ladies and gentlemen," the spectacled spirit began, "Today marks the beginning of great change. Seeing as I have had over two thousand years to further my studies, it seems plausible that I would make a discovery or two along the way. My most recent creation, however, will rewrite the face of not only this world, but the previous one too.
"With funding from the economical powerhouse that is the late Donald Trump, I have theorised a way in which every single John Smith can be reborn into the past life!"
The crowd's attention had been caught, it was so quiet, you could hear an ectoplasmatic pin drop.
"Not only shall we be reborn, but we shall be immortal." The cacophonous roar of the crowd caused a wily grin to slowly spread across the face of the wizened old scientist.
"I put it to you, fellow John Smiths of the ethereal plane, that we rise up against those mortals and take back our old home. We shall enter the world of the living and rule as gods! Every last John Smith shall finally be repaid for the purgatorial nightmare we have been bound too for years. Tonight is the night, my friends, that John Smiths shall become gods. | It was all because of that stupid TV show.
I thought that it was done ruining my life when I turned twenty. The comments had slowly been dying down, and I figured that once my friends were out of their teenage years, the talk would turn to wine more so than my name.
Sufficed to say, it didn’t.
I died from old age, in the year 2090, and as my eyes closed and I could hear my relatives beginning to cry, a smile graced my face in the hope that I should find peace at last.
I awoke a few feet away from the bed, my feet floating a few inches off the ground, beside my daughter. She had only commented on my name when she was a child, and even that, only once or twice. I had always supposed my children feared me too much to make fun of my name. Perhaps that was the Russian in me. I was never as gentle as my husband.
My eyes still haven’t closed. It’s been 3000 years, damnit, yet that show has only gotten more popular. It teaches all sorts of languages now, but that theme song is still the same. It plagues my days (ghosts are not allowed to leave the building they died in). I have relived every single possible moment of every single episode.
Even after 3000 years, Swiper has to work on his swiping skills. That five-year-old I share a name with can’t possibly be that clever.
| 2016-01-17T12:40:16 | 2016-01-17T11:15:23 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | At first, we all thought it was just a stunt to get back in the headlines. We all knew the Prince was a bit of a publicity whore, but there was no way he could actually believe in their cause, right?
But joke or not, they came. First in rafts, setting off from the mainland. Then a hijacked cruise vessel, stolen off the coast of Somalia, loaded up with soldiers in Syria, fleeing the combined Russian and American counterstrike against Turko-Syria.
ISIS had been losing ground for years, unable to fight the west from without or the Kurds from within. They were desperate. So when the prince of our tiny island nation announced that he would be providing asylum to the last of their fighters, they took it. Even if it was just a joke by a crazy old man.
They came in droves, unloading onto the platform from ships of every shape and size. 321 in July. 507 in August. and on September 15th, a final load of 848 fighters, loaded with over three tons of various equipment.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
On September 16th, at 11:45 AM, a great creaking groan was heard from below. Everyone stopped, frozen. Seventeen seconds later, another great crack was heard. Even over the sounds of panicked scrambling, the third and final snap could be heard as the great pylon gave way.
At 11:46 AM, the Principality of Sealand sank to the bottom of the English Channel. And every ISIS fighter left in the world went with it. | American efforts against ISIS had failed. ISIS had toppled local governments and taken them over. Claiming most of the Middle East. Many countries themselves had made agreements with ISIS in order to try to secure themselves so that they would not be toppled as well.
America was the last to stay in the fight, but American government had finally decided on a full retreat. The retreat would happen the next day, and Platoon 608 was the last ditch effort. This was an assassination attempt on the ISIS leaders.
Platoon 608 stood on top of a building in the new ISIS capital, where nearby a speech was being given. They were lined up to be a firing squad, it was a suicide mission.
As the Platoon sat there, hoping that they could maybe make it out of this alive. They heard a clapping. They figured the speech must have been over. But an hour later there was still clapping, and it has immensely grown in volume.
The major ordered them to stay where they were with their scopes in place, they were not to move. Eventually one of them gave in to the curiosity, and looked towards the direction of the clapping.
What he saw left him frozen in shock. There were atleast 100,000 men on horses, and they wore the maple leaf and guns. The clapping had been the horses drawing near. They all wore the insignia of the Maple Leaf.
The Canadian Calvary had arrived.
| 2016-01-29T06:56:50 | 2016-01-29T06:44:06 | 55 | 25 |
[WP] you are an _old_ vampire. Despite over three millennia of trying, you can’t get the hang of wealth accumulation. You just keep sinking deeper in debt. In the last 20 years it has become harder to change identities. Now the debt collectors are catching up... | I had nowhere left to hide.
I'd managed to scrape by for centuries, adjusting to every new twist and turn humanity threw at me. I'd been a farmer since the 1200s and successfully transitioned to mechanical agriculture during the Industrial Revolution. But then the Internet happened and it got harder to cover up my mistakes - to stay private. My credit score tanked. I had to sell my land when I couldn't compete with the corporate farms.
And the debt collectors kept calling me.
It was a variation of the same message each time: "We will find you." "There is no sense dragging this out."
A few nights ago, I found myself pulled over on the side of the road somewhere in rural Tennessee. My ancient, rusting Buick had finally sputtered out and I couldn't afford gas, let alone car insurance. Before I could even think about my next move, my phone rang.
"We are moments away from finding you, Edwin. Think carefully about your next move. Don't be foolish."
I glanced around, looking for any signs of life, listening for any sound other than the swirling night breeze.
Then, out of nowhere, a group of men in black suits - each clutching a leather briefcase - appeared all around me.
"Good evening," one of them said. "You owe us $80,000, and we are tired of waiting."
I fumbled around in my coat pocket, felt something inside - the cool steel of my pistol.
"You've made several missteps, Edwin. Gotten sloppy. People are starting to pay attention. Soon enough someone will put the pieces together and realize you’re one person - and one who has been alive far longer than most consider possible."
A single bead of sweat dripped from my temple and onto the pavement.
"Some have argued that we are leeches. Parasites. Those who make our living on the backs of others. I believe you're familiar with such means of survival."
I gripped the pistol tightly.
"We, too, are tired of such accusations. But we are especially tired of those who threaten to expose us. You are a threat to our kind, Edwin."
I whipped the pistol out and pointed it directly at the ringleader's temple.
"Don't move," I said. "There is a silver bullet in every chamber of this gun." A lie, but a bolder one than I expected from myself.
The ringleader chuckled. "Did you think we, too, were unprepared?" All ten of them pulled out weapons - some had wooden stakes, others had guns. "We have adapted. You have not. And your time has expired."
Summoning all of my strength, I transformed into a bat - a form I had not taken since my last escape to a new home, years ago. The debt collectors transformed as well and soared behind me. I flew as high up as I possibly could, their fangs getting closer and closer, then --
I dived down, the velocity granting me unbelievable speed. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it - the glint of a greenhouse. I prayed that my agricultural instincts would be correct and made a hard left turn towards it. Just as we reached the glass front door, I veered up, sending the collectors crashing through the windows.
I floated just above the greenhouse, peering down, looking for the unmistakable green tufts.
I made sure not to take a deep breath. And, at last, I could tell by the shrieks of horror and disgust that garlic was being grown here.
As the collectors wailed, transforming from bat to human and back again, I flew off to the side. I turned back into my human form, lit a match, and dropped it into the greenhouse, keeping my nose plugged.
I felt a pang of horrified guilt as the greenhouse exploded into flames, its wooden beams and roof supports igniting within seconds. Then I flew into the night sky, abandoning my worthless Buick on the side of the road.
I have been flying for days now, sucking the blood of numerous creatures but not a single human. I cannot risk blowing my cover by mingling further amongst people. I have been able to change my name so many times before, but never my face and not my body - save the bat, of course.
How is a human to survive in this world? My time may indeed be running out. I've clearly pissed off my fellow vampires, and surely there is human law enforcement that would prefer me dead.
So for now, I will live as a bat. I will soar freely across the country in search of sustenance, hiding from sunlight and any church that might have a drop of holy water.
If I am to die, I will do so on my own terms. | *\[To be read in the thickest Transylvanian accent\]*
These debt collectors, they have no manners. They call me all day, from sun up to sun down, while I am trying to sleep! Ring, ring, ring, outside my coffin. I switch to vibrate but then it rattles on the top and it's even worse: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I could turn it on silent, but sometimes my Mama calls and she needs help getting down the chimney. I keep telling her Ma, turn back into a bat, but she tries to climb down as an old lady.
RING. RING.
Ayye. I can't live like this anymore.
Heh. I suppose I should say "die."
Anyway, I pick up the phone. I will find this debt collector, and I will kill him. Simple. You know, I haven't killed a man since 1934. Oh, no, there was that hippie in 1965. I had such a bad reaction to whatever he'd ingested though, I gave it up since then.
But I will do what I have to survive.
You know what I mean.
I kick open my coffin and grab my cellphone. I flip it open very angrily. "HALLO?"
"Hi, this is Stephen from Debt Solutions. Is Vladimir Petrov there?"
"JA, THIS IS HE. WHY DO YOU CALL ME ALL DAY?"
"Please, no need to yell, sir. But we do need to urgently discuss your debt situation. It's ruining your credit, I'm sure."
Credit. I used to live in a castle and owned six hundred serfs. If I wanted something, I said here, have a serf. And then they give me whatever I ask for. That is what is wrong with this country. No serf-barter economy.
But I haven't lasted eight hundred years by not changing with the times. It is time for me to have a "credit score."
"All right," I said. "How do we settle this? Do I give you a serf, or something?"
"A what, sir?"
"Never mind. Tell me."
"Well, we can discuss some options for repayment."
"Ack. That sounds terrible. And I am quite tired. I work nights."
"Oh I'm sorry."
"You are not sorry. You call me all day, dawn til dusk!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but that is my job."
"Terrible customer service." Then, I have an idea. "You should come to me. I am very disabled."
"I thought you said you work nights?"
"Online! I have a..." I wrack my brain. "Exotic bat Twitch streaming service. My fans are in Japan."
"Okay...well, I suppose I could stop by at the end of my shift."
"Perfect, Stephen, can't wait to eat you."
"What?"
"Meet you. Meet you."
It's close to ten o'clock when the fool arrives outside my house, carrying his briefcase. I answer in my finest suit and cape. "I imagine you weren't expecting this," I say.
"No, you look like how you sounded on the phone," says Stephen. "May I come in?"
"Of course, this way. Have a seat." I motion to the couch. The wingback chairs are much nicer but I need his neck available for biting. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Blood?"
"What was that last one?"
"Mud. Just a joke. My coffee is so bad. Ha ha!" I scurry away to the kitchen. I wait until he has opened his briefcase, holding it in his lap, busy shuffling through papers. Then I creep oh so slowly across the carpet, open my mouth, extend my fangs--
Stephen whirls across and shoots me with a tiny crossbow. The wooden stake lodges itself in my heart. My body begins to dry up. "You!" I gasp. "How could you, Stephen from Debt Solutions?"
He stands over me as I turn to dust on the floor, ruining my beautiful carpet. "That's Stephan *Van Helsing*, with Debt Solutions, you old bat."
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Find my stories on r/oncemorewithandroids | 2020-11-01T10:03:58 | 2020-11-01T09:41:58 | 1,653 | 378 |
[WP] By chance, you end up on the jury for a crime you committed but someone else was arrested for. | I glance down at my notepad as my stomach rumbles.
*"But our job is to know beyond a shadow of a doubt," says one woman. "I don't want to convict someone if we're not sure."*
I'd written down all the options for lunch. I was considering the chinese, but that rumbling was for something more substantial. It had to be barbecue, but what?
*"I don't think we're gonna get any better." Chimes another woman. "We don't always get all the pieces, but I think we have enough to be sure."*
The pulled pork?
*"He was the last person known to have made contact." This time, a balding man. "And you saw the things he had in his apartment."*
Rotisserie?
*"Being a fan of horror films doesn't make you a murderer" A young man. "That's just the prosecutor trying to bias us."*
They said if we went over $25 we'd have to cover the rest, but steak is always worth it.
*"That's not what I'm talking about though." Says the first woman. "How can we be sure, if we don't know where the rest of the body is? A hundred pounds of flesh don't just up and disappear."*
My mouth begins to water.
*"She's right" The young man again. "The accused is a cab driver, and his car is tracked, and the victim doesn't have a car, so he couldn't have moved it very far"*
Something about this conversation seems familiar. It just makes me even more hungry. I try to tune them out.
*"I've seen that area." says an old man. "Young folk out at all hours. I doubt he could move it at all."*
I wouldn't be able to eat the steak with my hands though. Too many looks. It had to be something else. I fold my arms.
*"But the police couldn't find the rest of the... body in the victim's house." The second woman spoke again. "Just the mess of blood in the kitchen, and..."*
I drop my notepad gently on the table. My neighbour peeks over at it.
*"We've seen the pictures." The balding man. "I agree, though. I think what we have is enough to-"*
"Ribs!" I cry out. It was perfect! "Slow cooked, and falls right off the bone..." I notice eyes on me, and sit back, putting my contemplative mask back on.
*"You..." The balding man starts "You think he cooked that poor girl, and... ate her?"*
*"It makes perfect sense." My neighbour speaks up for the first time. "He was looking at the lunch menu, and the barbecue place might as well have the whole cow on here."*
I feel like I could eat a whole cow.
*"Oh my God..." The young man speaks again. "Yeah, look at the floor near the oven."*
I hear a young woman breathing heavily, and look her way. She seems to be hyper-ventilating. The hunger grows. I purse my lips to keep my saliva in.
*"I'll... I'll be fine." She says. "Thank you."*
*"That's sick..." Says the first woman. "I'm convinced. A monster like that deserves to rot."*
*"Agreed." The young man. "Let's vote."*
The young woman raises her hand. I notice everyone else do the same and follow suit.
---
The meat was **delicious**, by the way. | The following scenario pops up in my mind upon reading your question:
Say, for example, the character (X) is a sociable person with a respectable career and healthy life. X has no love life, and his parents have passed. Others in his family have abandoned him. Why so, you may ask? It's because X has gambled away most of the family savings and is considered to be a degenerate. Therefore, he has no one he can hurt with his actions. He feels invincible. No one can stop him from gambling now.
During an evening session with his buddies, one of them manages to cross him. X is not pleased. He is drunk, and his rage builds. He wants to murder said buddy (Y).
Once the evening descends into night, while everyone sleeps peacefully, X, still drunk, staggers over to Y's house and stabs him with a knife of his own. No witnesses. X takes care to leave no evidence.
Investigations go as they do, and none of the evidence the police have gathered point to him. He is relieved, but upon being interviewed for a statement, he lies meticulously, thus clearing himself.
However, X is facing an inner battle, between guilt and satisfaction. He was never a man to take such an action. His parents had instilled in him values of purity, but no man is perfect. He cannot remember why he started gambling in the first place. Money troubles? An escape from a dead-end job? Whatever it was, he has flipped over to the other side. He is not religious and does not think he can find salvation.
An old gambling mate (Z) of X has been arrested for Y's murder. He feels remorseful, but also wants to escape because he is a coward. No coward would kill anyone because they pulled a long-lasting joke on him. But, in a strange turn of events, X has been asked to be a jury member for the trial.
On the day when X's morals are bound to be tested, he sees Z, his wrinkly face in tears. Z knows it was X, but there was no way he could prove it. Z looks at X but does not misbehave. Z glares and glares. X is not comfortable but does not do anything to arouse suspicion either. He remains seated.
What does he do? Does he vote against his imprisonment? Does he vote for it? He knows that most in the jury will vote for it. He could have some moral respite by voting against, but how much? Z will still go to prison for his crime. The guilt is eating him up. There is still emotion left in him.
Before the jury's verdicts are revealed before the court, X stands up and announces, much to everyone's shock, "It was I, your honour, who murdered Mr. Y in cold blood," and proceeds to narrate the entire incident.
A huge burden is lifted off his chest. X cries, and so does Z. A probe is ordered that finds X guilty. He is sentenced to life.
X may never be forgiven, but he finds peace in knowing that he prevented an innocent man from prison by paying for what he did. In his heart, that is a win and a source of solace and consolation. | 2018-02-24T05:54:27 | 2018-02-24T04:51:14 | 59 | 23 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | The Grim Reaper tracked down the rightful owner, or maybe the rightful property, of the hourglass. He took a moment to consider whether the human owns the hourglass or the hourglass owns them. After all, can something that controls your fate really be called *your* property?
Wondering about the curious case of ownership, Death got caught up in his thoughts, floating in them, as he wasn't used to hurrying and fighting for time. Thus, it wasn't until a bark interrupted him that he remembered why he came to this house in the first place. He traced the outline of the house with the holes which could have housed eyes somewhere in the past, and took a step forward.
However, he heard another bark and stopped in his tracks to examine what is going on. Just across the street, a boy was playing with a dog. It looked healthy an in its prime, wagging its tail to and fro, barking happily and jumping in the air. Death looked at the hourglass in his hand, no, more like looked *through* it, and wanted to furrow the eyebrows which have been denied to him for all eternity. He stole a glance at the happy pair - a boy and his dog. He felt something for a second, maybe a wave of remorse, maybe just a shiver down his spine while readying his scythe.
"Lucy, catch!" laughed the boy all of a sudden, throwing a twig to his animal friend.
Grim Reaper sheeted his scythe. He knew who the hourglass belonged to, so why hasn't he acted yet? He wasn't sure. The hourglass sparkled in his hand, laughing at him and mocking his hesitation. Grim chattered his teeth angrily as a response, scolding the hourglass without saying a word.
When he looked up again, the boy was a man. Death twitched with surprise, not wanting to admit he spent at least solid thirty years chattering his teeth at an inanimate hourglass. It would be very embarrassing to say the least. Nevertheless, though, Lucy was still up and running, playing with the man as if no time passed at all. He had to act now. The dog has been alive for He knows how long, most likely at least for one whole generation before this boy. He wasn't completely sure, but he could sense Lucy's soul is old, very old. Death, as was his duty, put the hourglass in the right position, deciding against taking Lucy by force, for he couldn't bring himself to do so after learning her name.
The man hugged Lucy and smiled. Death thought he looked happy and tried to smile on the man's behalf, failing miserably without muscles or lips which would surely help him in producing any sign of emotion. He shook his head and took his leave. He was happy he restored order in the world, although he did not do exactly what he was meant to. Rules must sometimes be broken for one to come to the best outcome.
Sobs cut through the air. Quite puzzled, Grim Reaper looked over his shoulder, prepared to lecture the sobbing being about the price of disturbing his peace, despite fully knowing whoever was making the sound couldn't hear him. He froze. It was the man - he was holding onto his dog, sobbing uncontrollably, one could say he was ugly crying. A little baby waddled towards him, Grim estimated it must be three or four years old but he was never good with numbers. The man took the baby's hand, his crying bearded face a contrast to the sweet naivete and bliss of early childhood right next to him.
"It's okay, Thommy, as long as we have each other, we'll be okay," the man told himself more than he told Thom, while Thomas touched Lucy's beautiful golden mane, "You like her, son?" he chuckled, "don't worry, she'll protect you, just as she protected me through my whole childhood. You may not have a mother anymore, but you'll sure as heck always have little lioness here."
Death started to feel like he would rather be somewhere else, it was awkward. He could feel the gaze of the hourglass judging him, craving to find his soul in the undead body and see it, know it and condemn it. He quickly crouched and knocked the hourglass down. He *did not* like the look the hourglass gave him right after that.
"Don't look at me like that," he sighed, spreading his hands. "I know, I know," the hourglass laid unmoving, "if you want to kill the dog so bad, why don't you just do it yourself? That's right, you can't because you are just a stupid hourglass!" echoed his shout as he kicked it, frustrated.
Grim Reaper looked at the street now abandoned. Great, now he had to find the dog again. "This is all your fault," he muttered, "you're going with me," he grabbed the hourglass, still in the horizontal position.
It took him two weeks to find the dog for his power weakened as time passed without him fulfilling his duty. He did not recognise the grown man in his fifties. Initially, Grim assumed it was the man who was once a boy, until he saw the nameplate on the man's jacket. "Thomas Jones" it read. Lucy was sleeping while being petted by Thomas.
Grim didn't like the situation, no he didn't like it at all. He took a tour around the house he was in to clear his mind and noticed two teens playing on some bizarre techno machine in one of the rooms. It was probably their chamber, or at least that is what the reaper deducted.
"There is nothing we can do now," he informed the hourglass and left no room for argument. He felt the shiver again, this time clearly. It was his dead heart, beating for the first time since the beginning of the universe.
 
---
 
Death watched as Lucy watched over the family for hudrends and hundreds of years, making hard times less hard and mournful times less mournful. Death's power was weak and left him in shambles but he didn't mind, his heart beat to the rhythm of Lucy's barking and his thawed soul fluttered to the beat of the family's happiness. And then, when all of the family vanished as their hourglasses struck midnight, Grim Reaper himself petted Lucy. "Good girl, I am proud of you," said he and took her. His power strengthened as Lucy's soul disappeared into his hand and Death felt the biggest joy as Lucy's last emotion overtook his own. | Death is not like you imagine.
The cowl, the harbinger's scythe. No.
Death is a humble mortician in Estevan, Saskatchewan, Canada. He wears horn-rimmed glasses. His hair is short, and has been thinning for twenty years. His suits are always at least ten years old, but rarely are they older. He smells faintly of mothballs, but perhaps doesn't know it. He's just a touch over 5 feet tall, and somewhat portly. He eats steak and eggs for breakfast at Maxine's Diner every Saturday. He's impeccably polite. People like him. The town birds always have a friend to set him up with. They're sick of seeing him alone.
But that's how it must be.
The only time Death, otherwise known as Darby Jenkins, ever changes his demeanour is when he's in the embalming chamber at the back of his quaint funeral parlour. The welcoming scent of formaldehyde reminds him of purpose, and the little glimmer in his eye that charms the little town winks away as he looks down upon the dearly departed. But the embalming chamber is a ruse. He hasn't cleaned or used his stainless steel table in a decade. Darby Jenkins strides past it and directly through the illusory tiled wall at the back, to where the real job is.
That's where he is today. And his expression, normally resolute, is different today. He's... awry.
The lists the dead on a scroll that rolls up from within his desk and then off the back end, directly into the floor and down to the underworld, using a pen that is always sharp and an inkwell that never runs dry. Around him, all around him, are shelves, and drawers, of mahogany, oak, and maple. On each shelf, in every drawer, a carefully catalogued series of hourglasses, ticking down the lives of the entire world. Most run long, and some, woefully quick. This chamber stretches beyond time, but conveniently, the hourglasses Death needs are always within arm's reach.
All but one.
In his long years, he's never been clumsy. He's a being of purpose. Purposeful creatures are never clumsy.
.
Today, however, was meant to be different. Death uncharacteristically knocked his inkwell onto its side, and it rolled off the back of his desk. This was not troubling. He simply walked around the overlarge desk, squeezing beside a shelf. That's where he saw the hourglass, tipped on its side so the sand would never run out. The hourglass he never knew was there.
Death's hourglasses were all the same. Deep, beautiful walnut caps held fast to a slender glass barrel. The sand within was the earth of Tartarus, with a green tinge. The bottom cap had a small, bronze plate with the soulbound name of the person inscribed on it.
Death was in tune with each and every soul on the earth. It was as simple as a physical connection with the hourglass. So when he felt Koffi Apeloko's, the found hourglass, grasped it, felt the energy within, he was filled with an unbound rage.
.
Itanga was a small village along the Likoula Aux Herbes River in the Republic of Congo. In a blink, Darby Jenkins appeared. In his hand, he held the hourglass. It was the dead of night.
In his travel between worlds, Death had delved deeper into Koffi Apeloko's past.
Koffi Apeloko had been born right along the river in the year 1207. Around his thirtieth birthday, he'd simply stopped aging. By his fiftieth -
This was the part that vexed Death. By Koffi Apeloko's fiftieth birthday, he vanished from Death's sight. *Nobody vanished from Death's sight.*
Death was material, but invisible to those who weren't prepared for his kiss. Rarely was he filled with wrath, as now. He siphoned from his near-infinite pool of energy and followed the hourglass to the soul from which it was bound.
The soft, verdant earth cowed beneath his steps; this cradle of life could not support Death.
Eventually, Death stopped. The sun was beginning to rise in the east. He had walked for at least an hour. The trees around him groaned, strangling in his aura.
Death stood over Koffi Apeloko. Death was material, and yet could not reach out to his charge.
And so, Death set the hourglass on a rock, then stooped down and began to dig.
.
It was midday he finally reached the coffin. The volume of Death's anger had withered all nearby life, allowing the sun to break through the thick canopy. The coffin was shabbily made, but held firm against the six feet of earth laid on top. Now, the wood was starting to rot away. Already, Death could see a cautious finger poking out. He heard a moan.
Death climbed back out of the hole with practiced ease. He adjusted his glasses with a dirty hand, and brought the hourglass back. With a gesture, the coffin sprung open.
Koffi Apeloko looked upon streaky daylight with eyes conditioned to darkness. A layer of dust on his face was streaked at the sides by fresh tears. His arms were crossed. His wrists and thighs were shattered and crumpled. A bone in his neck protruded at an angle where no bone should rightfully heal. He spoke Tshiluba with a dusty voice. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age, as he had been hundreds of years ago.
"I wished for you for many years."
Death's anger had subsided with every scoop of earth in the pile. His tireless body looked down now with pity. "I have come."
"Am I cursed?"
"An unfortunate oversight. Corrected."
"How long have I been here?"
"Too long."
"Will you take me home?" With a weak hand, Koffi Apeloko reached out to Death. He could lift his fingers only half an inch.
Darby Jenkins smiled. "Yes. I'm here to take you home."
.
/r/Stanwrites | 2018-10-03T07:33:11 | 2018-10-03T07:01:14 | 422 | 186 |
[WP] Three weary survivors around a fire recount how the apocalypse happened - but their stories aren't the same. | *"That was...insane," Xavier said to the others, rolling up his sleeves to warm his hands in the frigid air.*
*"Something straight out of a science fiction novel," Rachel agreed.*
*"More like a first draft," Eve snorted. "It was by far the most pathetic apocalypse I could have imagined."*
*"Pathetic? What do you mean? We barely survived by the skin of our teeth when they descended and started attacking. Their technology is something we've never seen before. If we hadn't managed to find shelter we'd have been wiped out, just like the rest of the human race," Xavier countered.*
*"Yeah. Thank goodness that old house was unlocked," Rachel muttered.*
*"Old house? Didn't we run back to school and take cover in the math classroom?" Xavier asked with an eyebrow raised.*
*"What are you guys on?" Eve said with a laugh. "We saw the whole thing. It was over in hours. All it took was a few well-placed shots once the army got here for them to run back to their ships and flee back to whatever sad planet they came from." Her expression turned grave. "If only they hadn't managed to take so many people before they left. What do you think they're doing to them?"*
*"They took people?" Rachel said, eyes wide. "They didn't show that on CNN! Are you sure?"*
*"CNN? When did we watch CNN?" Xavier asked. "We turned on the radio in the old house, remember? Right before the power went out. But we couldn't hear anything. The connection must've been severed."*
*"The power never went out, did it?" Rachel said.*
*"How are you guys forgetting what happened so fast?" Eve asked. "It's only been a few days."*
*"Are you kidding? We've been living out here for at least a year. Maybe two. Right, Xavier?"*
*"I dunno, it feels like a couple of weeks, give or take."*
"That's enough of that. We have the data we need. Turn of the monitor and check in on the other test groups," Zorron said. Tergix obeyed without question as Yterm logged the results.
**Experiment 3B - Memory Manipulation**
**Subjects show high susceptibility to serum. Serum has taken effect more quickly than it has for alpha group. Original memories do not seem to remain. Subjects show full belief in test scenarios. No sign of side effects or flashbacks.**
**Result: Human adolescents are highly susceptible to Manipulation Serum A.** | "Picture this: I'm sitting at my desk, sipping a cup of joe, and then ... fire. Didn't take long to work out exactly what had happened."
"And what HAD happened?"
"Well, the way I see it, those damn reds had hit us with everything they had."
"Bullshit, that's not how it went down!"
"It is too!"
"No, no, he's right, that's not how I remember it either. Seven o'clock, the tremors started. Nothing out of the ordinary I thought, we're talking about the west coast here ..."
"So?"
"So, I got into my car, headed down the street and BOOM; I kissed my ass goodbye."
"I'm telling you; nukes, a whole lotta' them!"
"Read my lips asshole ... vol-ca-no."
"Yellowstone?"
"I'd put my money on it."
"Pfffft, you're talking crazy."
"Whatever man. That's my side of the story. Now what about you bud, you saw the eruption too right?"
"Well, I can't say I saw any ... eruption ..."
"Oh for f-"
"But ... I sure as hell saw something else. There were four of 'em, four riders. When I say riders man, I'm talking horsemen, not one, not two, but four. Trumpets too, I swear on my mother's grave, loud as can be. We have witnessed the end of days gentlemen."
"What a load of crap."
"Amen to that."
"Whatever, I didn't expect you to believe me anyway."
"At least our stories had some consist-"
"How about we just agree to disagree, hmm?"
"Fine, fine, suits me."
"Hey man, I'm not complaining, just pass me the booze and let's drink to the present."
"To the present!"
There's a moment of silence as the travellers share a bottle of malt whiskey.
"Never thought I'd be sharing a drink with a pair of commies ..."
"Goddamnit Mark won't you let it go?"
"It was the chi-neeese! I'm tellin' ya'!"
"You really ARE a little touched in the head, aren't you?"
| 2017-01-07T06:56:19 | 2017-01-07T06:44:50 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] It amazes you that the Elf waitress who works at your restaurant is the same one as when your grandparents first started the business. The Elf can't believe she's still stuck in the same dead-end job for nearly a 100 years and has to keep dealing with your family. | “And this time don’t forget the extra aioli!” Uncle Jimmy was an arse. I never knew what Aunt Sarah saw in him. He chuckled and turned back to me. “So then” going back to his inane story “I said to him, I said, get this, you gotta give it some muscle!” He slapped the table laughing at his own joke. Only Sarah smiled and clapped a little for him. The waitress gently touched my shoulder and said in that velvet way “what can I get you?” I shuddered and blushed.
“Ah look at the boy! Jimmy mocked “one touch from this halfling and he goes all gagga!” The waitress fixed him with a cold stare and I slunk low in my seat to avoid people’s stares. She gently guided me upright and patted my shoulder reassuringly. Then refixed her attention on Jimmy. “Like that time you wet yourself when you weren’t allowed dessert? You sat in it so long that you got a rash if I recall correctly because you were too embarrassed to say anything wasn’t that right Jimmy?” She said softly but the sound carried to the furthest corner.
“I… It’s… Its Jim now” he said flabbergasted “and I was just a child.”
“Ah yes only 14. A child…” she said letting it hang in the air.
Tomas bellowed with laughter “You pissed yourself at 14?!?”
“Oh yes he was quite the mess” Kylie chimed in.
As the family began to rib Jimmy the waitress lent down to me. “And what can I get you child?” She asked sweetly. “I’m sorry for my uncle” I said “he hasn’t been the same since he came off that quad bike.”
“Hush now child. He has always been obnoxious and you shouldn’t apologise for how another conducts themselves. But thank you all the same” with a flourish she produced a menu and sprinkled something over it. “This” she said pointing to an item on the menu “is perfect for a growing man like you.” She flicked her fingers and said something in a low tone and the smell of the meal emanated from the picture. I’d seen this done many times but it always impressed me.
“That’s perfect thank you.” She smiled a little and moved to my cousin giving me another little pat on the shoulder as she departed.
I sat there transfixed unable to tear my eyes from her. “No good will come of her. Still a waitress after all this time.” Jimmy was starting to get belligerent and was swilling his drink like a man deprived of water in a desert.
My cousin reached around the waitress’s waist and her hand shot out with remarkable speed striking him on the cheek. Devlin was Jimmy’s son and was cut from the same cloth. “That is assault!” He exclaimed loudly “No this is a salt” she said deftly twisting the cap off a salt shaker and pouring it over his head “that was sexual harassment” a word Jimmy and Delvin had heard quite often. “I think it is time from you to leave” Sarah stood up quickly and began ushering Jimmy and Delvin out the door apologising as they left. Jimmy and Delvin protested but knew once they had gone to far to leave. My father followed them out and a loud slapping noise was heard followed by silence from outside. He sat back at the table and said quietly. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that Aela” she nodded and took his order.
While we waited for the food the table settled. With Sarah, Jimmy, and Delvin gone the normal rhythm of conversation resumed.
I half watched the football on the TV at the bar and Dad seemed to be pretty deep into a conversation with Terry about the benefit of taking a extra day for the fly fishing expedition we were planning.
I saw Aela exit the kitchen and surveil the dining room. We fixed eyes and I decided to be brave.
“Aela” I asked walking up her “I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to ask you something” she cocked her head a little.
“Well little one this should be interesting.” She shifted so that she was facing me directly “I wonder which of the questions you will ask, as a boy of your age, will it be an appropriate one? Or like something Jimmy and Delvin have tried over the years? Perhaps something a little more thoughtful and considerate like your father and his father before him? Maybe something I’ve not heard? Something new?”
She cocked her head to the side to indicate she was listening.
“You have magic.” A true statement “why are you here? You could be… well anything?”
Aela smiled a bit to herself “I thought I’d take a decade off to find myself and it’s turned into a century.”
“And have you found yourself?” I asked naively.
Aela just smiled.
***Edit: to tidy up the incorrect autocowrecked words as this was hastily typed on mobile during a lunch break.*** | Family's Guardian
Going over the store's finances makes him all the more grateful he got approved for those college grants. He can't imagine having been able to afford going to school otherwise. Nevertheless, it all worked out and he survived the time he had put into getting an accounting degree. It just really puts it all in perspective, looking over the books now.
"Geez, Pops. How have you kept this going for so long?" The numbers are barely coming out in the positive. He goes through the expenses and liabilities, trying to find places they may be able to cut costs.
"Where's the..." He flips through several pages to find what he is looking for but doesn't come across it. He flips back to his journal of passwords and logins to find the banking info then logs into the account online. The information shows up, reflecting off of his glasses as he scrolls through the numbers. He looks back through the payment history seeing the balance due and the note, "Paid in Cash" next to every mortgage payment. He goes back to his books but can't find any reference of a mortgage balance paid or due. He sighs, then leans back and rubs at his forehead. "Where's this money coming from?"
A knock at the door has him sit up abruptly. He looks to the clock on the wall, 7:40 PM. It's way past office hours. *Who could be here now*, he wonders. Opening the door reveals a tall, petite elf with gold-blonde hair. "Isabelle? What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk," she says simply. "May I come in John?"
John rubs at the back of his head then turns, pulling the door open further. "Please. Have a seat." She sits in the chair opposite his desk as he takes his own seat. "So, Izzy...what brings you here at this hour?"
"I know what you're looking into, John."
"Excuse me?"
"The mortgage payments. I know where this is all going, and I'd like to keep this between us. None of you should actually know of this but I know you are astute and you'll no doubt find out eventually."
"Ugh, forgive me Izzy. I'm a bit at a loss as to what you're getting at, but you've been with my family forever. You can speak plainly. You're basically one of the family after all. And if you wish it, whatever this is can stay between us."
She sighs then nods. "Thank you, John. To be frank, I've been paying the mortgage payments for past 30 years."
"What? Why? How? and Why?"
She sighs again. "What you're not supposed to know is that your family is my charge. Me and mine have been looking out for you and your family for generations. Some thirty years ago, your father couldn't keep up with the interest on the restaurant, so he quit paying it all together. For a long time, he worried that they would foreclose on the restaurant at any moment, but that day never came. Eventually, he stopped worrying and returned to focusing his energy on the restaurant again. In time, he forgot about it all together. To be honest, I have been waiting on your great family to be able to stand on its own again. I know that time is not now, but I believe that you will change all of that."
John slumps, sinking deeper into his chair. "Wow, Izzy. That's a lot to take in." She nods. "I suppose, thank you is in order."
"Please. That's not necessary."
He nods. "Ok, so where do we need to go from here?"
"That's up to you John...and no, I'm not magic."
"Wait...did I ask that?"
"No, but you were about to." She winks. John smiles. She stands to leave and John stands with her. "Thank you, John."
"Oh gosh, I hope you haven't done that all my life."
"It's fine. Boys will be boys after all." John turns red, then he sighs.
"That's a bit embarrassing. I'll have to be sure to keep my mind out of the gutter in the future."
"You've grown into a fine man, John. Your family is in good hands."
"Thanks Izzy. I'll get this all sorted out and try to take some of the pressure off of you."
She nods and he closes the door behind her. Returning to his chair, he takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Hmph, who'd of thought. Our Izzy...a mind reading, magical elf." He smiles then returns to going over the books. | 2022-09-26T17:04:44 | 2022-09-26T12:03:35 | 62 | 33 |
[WP] You've been waking up in the same day over and over. After a year of this you tell someone. Their eyes just widen. "You too?" | I'm so very happy I wake up to a generic buzzer alarm. I think I would have lost my mind if I had to wake up to "I Got You Babe" thousands of times. It isn't easy, but I'll embrace the small wins.
The same day, over and over. As you might guess, there is no reset. Not suicide. Not staying up over night. Day 2 might start, but eventually I have to sleep and it all resets.
I've used some time foolishly, but a lot wisely. I speak a few new languages, I'm nearly a trained physician. Learning to fly was hard, but resets fixed all the pain from some ugly crash landings. The experiences have been too numerous to remember them all.
I started on a little project to meet a lifelong hero. Tracked down people who worked with him. Sure they didn't want to divulge his whereabouts on the day, but it only took a couple weeks to gain the right insider knowledge.
I finally tracked him down and had found him mid-afternoon.
"Hi.... listen, you don't know me. I'm sure you get this sometimes. But I'm a huge fan. Watched some of your stuff dozens of times."
"Oh, thanks. Always happy to meet a fan."
"Especially Groundhogs Day. I know you'll never believe this...you'll even forget I said it soon... but it's kind of personal for me..."
Bill Murray's eyes went wide.
"You too?" | The words uttered from her lips. My body froze, my mind trying to process what I heard. "What did you say?"
"You too? You're living the same day over and over?" Her voice concerned, but seeming to lighten. Her face, a mix of panic and happiness.
How could this be? How did I not notice her? Why are there two of us? How many more are there? She continued. "I am so relieved! I was worried i was the only one who..."
I cute her off mid-sentence. "How long has this been happening to you?"
She seemed confused at first. "About a year, I guess. Why does it matter?"
"I don't think we're alone. Meet me at the coffee joint at 8am tomorrow." I said, before walking away.
Her foot steps clicked behind me, following me. "Where are you...?"
"Stop following me, you're not going to want to see what happens next." I called before pulling out a gun and rounding a corner. I put it to my skull and pulled, the bang rang out as i sat upright in my bed, my alarm waking me. 7am, an hour to get ready... | 2017-07-15T09:16:49 | 2017-07-15T08:09:10 | 83 | 47 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | “Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!” Cried the slouching old man, hands raised to the skies, “Thank the gods! Op- not for how you died, of course.”
Stumbling back on the soft dirt of the expansive, lush green valley, Michael could only gape in utter disbelief. One minute he’s been walking along a popular hiking trial, the next he’d been submerged in vast darkness with only a pinprick of light to guide him. “Where the hell am I? What’s going on?”
“Why, you’ve just passed on and are now in heaven, with me. It was starting to get a little lonely here, you know?” The old man explained, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. Staring into the man’s wrinkled face, his eyes expressed a kind of crazy that could only be brought about by years of isolation and talking to oneself.
“W-Wait, where is everybody then? And who the heck are you?”
“Who the- Who am I? Boy, you should very well know who I am! I am a writer, craftsman of endless amount of tales, the father of tragedies! Do they not teach you about my masterpieces?” The old man - ‘father of tragedies’ - exclaimed. “Buh! For shame. However, I am kind and can tell you what exactly is going on. You see, depending on how a person has died they will be segregated to an area dedicated to that death. Drownings, stabbings, disease - all together. To think I - the great Aeschylus - would suffer a fate none have ever befallen... Well, it sounded nice at first honestly. But I’ve soon found that loneliness to be a curse.”
“Wait... Aesch- oh my...” everythinng seemed so clear to Michael now, his hand now lifting to rub his bald head. He could recall the glorius cry of an eagle, as others stopped to admire the avian. Then, a large object flying towards him at impossible speeds as he heard cries and screams, and finally he saw darkness. “I can’t believe I got snipped by an eagle with a tortoise.” | The room was far too white. It was the kind of white you’d accept for toothpaste or a bag of flour, but apply it to a whole room, and it hurt the eyes.
“Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!”
I heard before I saw the old man, his croaking voice reaching out to me across the vastness of the room. I lifted my hand shield a little, and watched the elder make his way to me. He was clad in a white robe, too, but his leather tan skin, along with a neat crown of grey hair, stood out in the pureness of the room.
Disoriented as I was, I couldn’t forget my manners.
“Hello,” I said. “Would you mind telling me where I am?”
“You’re dead, boy,” he said. “Phew. Thank the merciful God. At least another one is now here with me.”
“What’s going on here? I… you and I can’t be the only dead people, could we?”
“Oh, no no,” he said. “They separate us into different rooms based on how we die, apparently. At the very least, we’ll have something to talk about.”
“How I… died?”
I’m dead. Well and truly. I hope I died doing what I loved.
“Well,” I said. “We can’t die any more, can we?”
We looked each other in the eyes, and both felt and saw the unhurried dawning of realization upon us, a leisurely boat pulling into the harbour of blue seas and bright skies.
“I’m stumped,” he said. “I can’t believe I never thought of that.”
“Hi, stumped,” I said. “I’m Dad.”
The two of us instinctively held our chests, bending over backwards, and laughed so hard that we died.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-11-24T12:25:38 | 2021-11-24T11:03:30 | 1,290 | 323 |
[WP]: Write a story that sounds idiotic and poorly written all the way until the last sentence | I woke up then, a bit confused but ready to face a boring day in June.
"It was me," the fox replied.
"Who said that?" I asked.
I was more surprised than scared to see a fox standing behind me instead of a person.
I spun around again, my heart beating faster.
"Are you lost, girl?" a voice asked from behind me.
Or had I just gone straight? I couldn't remember.
I spun around in panic, wondering why I hadn't just walked in a straight line instead of going all over.
So lost in thought that I became physically lost.
After a while of looking and walking, I became lost in thought.
I made my way into the woods for the first time, wondering why I'd never attempted it before.
The trees, while thick, were spaced far enough apart for me to see that there was no bear lounging around in the shade.
If dangerous animals did make this their home, they sure didn't show it.
After taking a glance at the house to make sure nobody was watching me, I edged closer to this friendly-looking woods.
But my boredom was replaced with curiosity.
"There's dangerous animals living in there," my mom had warned me.
A woods sat at the edge of the yard, but I was always told not to enter it.
I had finished my summer reading, and I was five years too young to get a job, and I wasn't hungry, and I had no friends, so what was I supposed to do?
It was June, and I had nothing better to do than wander around the yard.
Now read the story from bottom to top. | The girl went to the shop. To buy bread. She walked and the day burned hot. Sun, sky. Hot roads. There was a red skirt and a white top? Money sticky in her palm. warm coins, gold.
Inside the shop ran cool. Head in cold place? Cold chicken, cold head. Hair sticky. Neck wet. The girl laughed. Her smile bright like the sky. Wide wide wide. Wide smile. Found the bread, held it tight. Loaf crackled. Tiger bread? The bread smelled warm. She squeezed it between her hands. Soft on the inside. Good crust.
*Tap tap*
Hollow bottom.
Money counted. Hot hands, hot coins, hot day. Enough?
Enough!
The girl picked an ice cream from the re-fridge-er-a-tor. Chocolate? No, strawberry. Red like the red skirt. Already unwrapped, sticky in hands. Bread under arm.
The girl left the cool of the shop. Hit? Heat--heat hit like train. Hot!
Tarmac melting. Black puddle, warm. Hot sky! Cat by the car, sleeping in the shade. cat... cat came close, then ran. Reach--reach--reach.
Car hit girl.
The man looked down. "And the jury's supposed to read that?" he asked.
| 2016-07-19T14:00:02 | 2016-07-19T13:07:35 | 239 | 62 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | “You’ve been a really good girl, Lily,” I said. “This is the last errand, and then we’ll go get some ice cream.”
Lily squirmed, hanging off my arm and sighing with all the drama of a Shakespearian actor. But she stayed quiet and pulled at the ruffles on her skirt. I ruffled her hair with my uncaptured hand and she giggled. She really was a good girl, and we’d had a lot of errands to do today. Making a deposit was the last one, and then we’d get ice cream and go home for a long nap. There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have been standing in this line crawling at a snail’s pace toward the sole bored teller. These people standing between me and my money should have been cowering on the ground in raw terror at my face.
But there were things in life worth more than money or power or fear.
I smoothed Lily’s ruffled hair and she leaned against my leg.
Between two breaths, the temperature rose ten degrees. I moved, crouching down over Lily as the closest window shattered. I held my breath as the heat scorched my back, not fire though it felt like it. I took a chance and glanced back. There were five together. The firestarter was the second on the left. At the front was a telekinetic with a wraith-like creature hanging around his neck. There was also a muscle-bound crocodile man and a woman generating a protective force field around the entire farce of a super villain team.
I could tell that they were amatures by the way they moved, always checking back with the leader, who shouted obvious orders with feigned confidence. I held Lily closer and ground my teeth. I was once the type of person who would have mowed these pretentious kids down with a laugh and a sneer. But that person died when I held Lily in my arms for the first time. She made me want to be a better person. I would be a better person.
The telekinetic was shouting again, this time about hostages.
I looked at Lily. Her wide, terrified eyes looked back. Over my dead body.
The wraith moved, darting between screaming people. The ones it passed through fell limply to the ground. Then it turned to me.
I woke from a daze. There was a warm lump beside me. I blinked a few times and finally looked down. Lily lay beside me. Her wide eyes were still open, but they were as empty as death.
“Lily!” I said, shaking her as though I could wake her. She still breathed, but she was like a living doll hanging from my hands.
I heard someone talking then. It was a superhero team, one of the fresh ones just assigned to the city. Clowns and pretenders, all of them. Still, they were saying something about the wraith. It stole people’s souls and consumed them for power. But there was a way to get the souls back. It must have tried to take mine, but obviously, I did not have one to steal. But Lily...
I held her to my chest, shaking with fear and rage. Mostly rage.
Lily made me want to be a better person. I would be a better person. Tomorrow.
Today, the Hollow Death would exact revenge one last time.
| "Duck Sarah." I told her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her under one of the tables.
"Daddy." She said, looking at the red cape gang as they surged through the crowd waving guns and grabbing bank employees by the collar. "Daddy you told me you were done with this." She said. Looking at me, and then looking at the villains.
"I am done Sarah." I try to tell her, but she's not thinking clearly. She thinks I'm in on this. That I helped them out somehow.
"Daddy you said the men with capes wouldn't come after you anymore since you helped them safe the city." She accused me, and started to slowly slide away.
"W-what?" I asked, confused now. She thought that the red cape gang was here for me? Did she think they were the heroes. I'm so baffled by her misinterpretation of the events that I don't stop her when she leaps up from under the table and runs to commander cape whose talking to captain cape about the silent alarm.
"Don't hurt him!" She says. "He's hiding over under that table, please don't hurt him." She begs.
There's something special about daughters, especially young ones. They can know that you're one of the scummiest most rotten people on the planet, and still believe in you. They can even try and protect you from the people they think are heroes. Sarah would sit up late at night watching the old news footage of the superheroes battling it out with the supervillains, and she always cheered for the superheroes, even when I was one of the villains. Now that I find out when it really came down to it. She chose her own father over her personal heroes.
It was a bit unfortunate that the people she had chosen as heroes were actually just villains in misleading costumes, but she didn't figure that out until commander cape put a gun to her head and captain cape trained his gun on me.
"We see you old friend." Commander cape called out. He used to be my sidekick. "Come out with your hands up."
I come out with my hands up, but only after I've thrown the table I'm sitting under at them. They both duck and my daughter hits the ground and covers her head with her hands.
Captain cape gets winged by the table and goes down. Commander cape rolls and recovers, but I'm already on top of him when he brings his gun up. I kick it out of his hands and knock him unconscious with a single punch.
Sergeant cape and private cape coming bursting out of a backroom, but they're no match for me and I quickly lay them both out with lighting speed and agility.
Just before private cape loses consciousness he asks. "We should've known your superpowers were too strong."
"Didn't commander cape ever tell you? I don't have any superpowers. I just did what any father would have done when their child was in danger."
TL:DR being a dad is a superpower. | 2015-02-06T21:54:51 | 2015-02-06T21:08:20 | 269 | 168 |
[WP] You're living in a world where superpowers exist, and you're the most dangerous individual of all. Your power? You project an aura where all the laws of reality/normality assert themselves. You are the anti-super | I underwent the tests as a kid, just like everyone else. My readings were strong. Incredibly strong. Level 5 was the highest previously recorded. I was labelled a *Probable 6*.
"But it's negative six," said my mother, staring at the meter. "Why is it negative? What does that mean?"
"It means his powers are beyond what our instruments can measure," the doctor asserted. He was the first in a long line of doctors to make that mistake. "He might be a seven. Or even an eight! His powers are simply beyond the capacity of our equipment."
"And what, exactly, *are* his powers?" she asked. "We've never seen anything to indicate--"
"It's not unusual for empowered children to show no early signs," the doctor interrupted. "There are even cases of powers remaining latent until after puberty. As far as *what* his powers are, your guess is as good as mine. But I can assure you, Ms Kerrigan, your little Ryan will grow up to be an incredibly powerful man."
Of course, my mother was stoked. Super stoked. I was her super child. Accepted into *Kent's*, an elite boarding school for the heroes of tomorrow, on the basis of those early tests. She treated me like royalty. Like the future king. Maybe in the hopes I'd return the favour when I was rich and famous. She blathered about me to anyone willing to listen. My sisters watched enviously from the sidelines, wearing their goodwill weeds, while mom filled my suitcases up with brand-name clothes and all the latest gadgets.
She kissed me on the cheek and I boarded the plane. Twelve hours later, I strode into *Kent's* with the confidence of a handsome billionaire.
I was nine years old.
"I think that's where some of it comes from," said Ally, my girlfriend. "Your hatred of them. Your resentment."
She loved to psychoanalyze my dislike of the supers. She loved to pin it on the so-called trauma I suffered. Growing up being told I was special, better than everyone else. Growing up being told I would go to *Kent's* and blow the other kids out of the water. Quickly rise to the top of the heap. Graduate as the most powerful youth they had ever had the pleasure of training.
"And then," Ally said, "after all that pressure. After all those promises. Having all those expectations put on your shoulders, by yourself, by others. . .To go through what you went through. What they put you through! At nine years old! It makes me want to cry."
We'd only been dating three months, but in that time, Ally had already found a way to sneak my sob stories out of the vault. She was probably, right, though. The few months I spent at *Kent's* likely *had* contributed to my antipathy toward supers more than I liked to admit.
At first, the teachers suspected that everyone had come down with some kind of virus. That's why none of the students could perform. That's why the teachers themselves had lost their powers. The students fell into a panic. Especially those who had already come to rely on their powers. Meanwhile, the teachers stayed level-headed and rational.
That lasted about a week.
Then the vibes changed. The teachers, administrators, even the damn principal--all the adults started panicking, too. Having identity crises. The psychics couldn't read minds. The telekinetics couldn't move shit without applying physical force. The invulnerable bled from paper cuts. One night, Mr Sanderson got so drunk that he forgot where things stood: gifted with flight from a very young age, he jumped from the window of his dorm, expecting to hover in the cool night air.
From what I heard, the man can still take off; but he flies very rarely now, as landing is awkward as a quadriplegic.
The point is, it took a whole month for the staff to pinpoint the cause. And when they finally did, they made sure to get revenge for that month of anxiety, pain and confusion. Teachers. Students. Everyone wanted a shot at the kid. And after they took their shots, they sent me packing. Back to my mother, whose pride I had wounded mortally by being exactly what the instruments claimed.
Super duper.
"But it doesn't matter what started it," I told Ally. "What matters is that I'm right. The supers are scum. Lazy scum. Period. They're full up on themselves. Born and raised just like I was: being told that they're special, better than everyone else. Only none of them had the reality check I did, so they kept on believing it into adulthood. A bunch of spoiled brats with nobody to tell them no."
"They're not all scum," Ally protested. "And they're not all lazy. I've met some who are kind, decent people. And I'm sure many work very hard."
"*You* work hard," I said. "You worked part time while you put yourself through medical school. You worked long and crazy hours during your first residency. Now you put even more time into your post-grad work. And because of that, you're going to be a great surgeon one day. That's working hard. That's effort. That's overcoming obstacles. The supers don't have to do any of that. They were born with their so-called "gifts". They were born with everything handed to them. And sure, some of them do a good turn now and again, to get the spotlight on them. But deep down, they're selfish narcissists. Taking whatever they want. Doing as much as they think they can get away with. Bullying innocent people for any inconvenience. I see it every day."
"You're overgeneralizing," she said.
"Am I? Why do you think I'm so in demand? Because if left to their own devices, they act like tyrants. Like bastards. Normal people need someone like me to shut them down."
"But some of them--"
"All of them!" I said. "I don't know why you defend them. . .Doesn't it make you angry? Doesn't it frustrate you to see people go gaga over that local super, Healing Touch? She was born with a power you had to sacrifice your twenties to obtain. Surgeons save lives every day through hard work and knowledge. You hardly ever hear about them. Meanwhile, every time that bitch rubs some guy's broken ankle, she makes the front page."
"What do you know about Healing Touch?" she snapped. "You don't know anything about her!"
"I know she wears a mask."
"And what does that prove?" asked Ally.
"Criminals wear masks," I said. "Why wear a mask if you're a good person? Why wear a mask if you have nothing to hide?"
"Maybe because she wants to live a normal life!" Ally cried. "Out of the spotlight! Doing good anonymously! Maybe she wants people to like her for who she is, not for her fame or powers! Or maybe she wears a mask to hide her identity, so she doesn't get harassed by hard-hearted assholes like you!"
We'd had similar conversations before. But that was the first time I'd seen Ally get worked up to the point of shouting, of tears. Of course I felt bad for bringing her to that point. I didn't want to make her cry. But I also had principles. And I wasn't about to compromise them just to make my girlfriend feel better.
\- - -
**Part 2!**
[**https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o7j8ki/ryan\_kerrigan\_and\_the\_healing\_touch\_part\_1\_2/**](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o7j8ki/ryan_kerrigan_and_the_healing_touch_part_1_2/) | “Do you remember the first day we met?”
It’s dinnertime in the Century City and I feel like a roast trussed for the meal. I am not a man who wears suits well. Even more so, I am not a man accustomed to candlelit dinners in exclusive restaurants, rented out for the night just for me and my date.
By contrast, she wears the night like a favorite shoe. She wears a short black dress and tall heels, and if she walked away the table even to cross the dining room all her tattoos would’ve begun to glow with her power. Splotches of vibrant color lighting up along both legs, at her shoulder, at her stomach where a prismatic heart peaks through the laces of her dress. The way she looks makes suit feel even tighter.
She doesn’t seem to notice any of that. If I wasn’t the man I was, I’d have thought that might be her superpower.
“Of course,” I say, and she smiles at me. “How could I ever forget almost killing the Painted Witch?”
“First of all, you know I hate that name,” she says, ticking the numbers off on her fingers. “Second of all, you didn’t ‘almost kill me.’ It was just a broken leg, and your arms took far longer to heal anyway. And third—”
I cut in. “And third, it was TWO broken legs and your favorite broom. And then that idiot columnist posted the candids of you falling through the air with a censorship bar that somehow made it look way more scandalous than it was!”
“That would be four things,” she says, mildly, “and none of them were what I was going to say. Third of all, how often does a girl get to be dropped by fate into her man’s arms anyway? It’s the ultimate meet cute.”
I sigh, still uncomfortable but growing less so with every second. “Usually those involve less blood.”
“Then those are usually boring.”
She flashes me a victorious smile as the first course arrives and suddenly I can’t help myself, I’m laughing too hard to keep up the fight.
I’m sitting across from the darling of the city’s tabloids poured into a suit that she swears fits me but I swear would fit a man half my size, and a bespectacled waiter with a French accent has just laid a pizza down in front of me. It sits there on the white tablecloth, the kind of greasy, late night pie only made to sop up beer and fuel regrets, and a blind man could have told you it wasn’t made here.
“Costanza’s?” I say, still laughing. “You rented out Le Provencal and you ordered Costanza’s?”
“It was our first date!” she says, “and besides, you went to all the trouble with the suit, I thought I’d throw you a bone.”
Costanza’s pizza is so bad it’s amazing. Light from the chandelier reflects through our crystal wine goblets, catching in the greasy cheese. The pepperoni is so thick and irregular that it might have been sliced by the slice blind man I’d thought of earlier, and the crust? Whenever you order a crust at Costanza’s you get the thick crust, preferences be damned.
In short, I love it. From the first bite I feel more at home than I’d ever thought possible when we pulled up to this place.
“I think the Maître D’ might have an aneurysm,” she says when she went back for her second slice. I was already well into my third.
The man stood in the corner, his ramrod straight politeness trying and failing to disguise horror. I looked down, realizing how much grease I was getting on the tablecloth. “Tell you what,” I say, “if he does I’d run for the exit. I think I can make it to the parking lot in about ten seconds.”
“That might be enough time to save him,” she said.
“And then he’ll get sell another Painted Witch story to the tabloids!”
“Honey,” she deadpanned, “I swear to god if you call me that one more time on our anniversary I’m going to crack your anti-super powers and turn you into a frog. Do you understand me?”
“Yes dear,” I say.
“My name please.”
“Erin.”
And we continue on.
There’s an incredible joy in breaking the rules. Before I’d met her, Erin, the Painted Witch, the girl who broke both my arms as a meet cute, I’d never known that fact. I’d been as boring as boring came, perhaps a foreshadowing of the powers I would one day manifest.
Now I’m still boring, but I’m sensationally boring. I’m a man so boring that the simple gravity of my presence shuts off super powers all around me. I’m a man so boring that when I go to *Le Provencal* I want a trashy late night pizza. I’m a man so boring that when a girl who could reshape reality at a word wanted a safe, quiet night off she remembered me.
Now two years later here we are over the same pizza, bones mended, souls healed. I can get sappy just thinking about it.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say when we finish off the last of the pizza.
She smiles, her lips a greasy mess that the napkin smudges more than solves. “Thanks for the past two years,” she says. “Before I met you, I never thought how nice it could be to just be normal!”
“Oh, is this normal?” I gesture around to the empty restaurant, the almost apoplectic Maître D’.
“Hey! You’ve got to let me have some magic!”
And I laugh again, because I do. “So, is there dessert?” I ask.
“You’re goddamn right there’s dessert.” She clinks her unused fork against her glass. After a moment a pair of waiters bearing covered trays leave the backroom. They set them down in front of us, removing the lids at a nod.
Ice cream sandwiches sit on top of gold filigreed trays. They couldn’t have cost more than a dollar each.
“My compliments to the chef,” I say. Then I tuck my napkin into my collar, pick up my knife and fork, and try to have manners for the first time that night.
The Maître D’ collapses to the floor, his head making a sick cracking noise as it bounces. “Shit, catch you at home!” I shout as I spring up from the table, ice cream sandwich in hand.
I’m to the doors in five seconds, and when I look back Erin is already beside him, her tattoos glowing, the hum and petrichor freshness of green magic in the air.
“See you at home,” I whisper again, and I’m gone.
I make it to the parking lot in ten seconds. Then I pull the rough broomstick I’d made her out of the trunk, lean it against the door, and head for home.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-06-24T19:52:48 | 2021-06-24T19:34:22 | 692 | 179 |
[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. | Most people consider my job to be fairly boring. I'm a lawyer, you see. Specifically, I'm a Junior Associate at Fox, Rothschilde, Wickersham, & Taft in Washington, D.C.
I spend most of my waking hours reading government contracts, writing memos about them, and generally trying to bill the most hours humanly possible. They pay me what most people would consider to be a very good living, but most people don't have $250,000 in student loans.
It was 5pm on a Friday, and I was sitting at my desk browsing reddit (no, I wasn't billing for it--that would be unethical), when I was suddenly blinded by a bright flash. I found myself still sitting at my desk in a brightly-lit cavern stone cavern. Every surface had been buffed to a high shine. There was a circle of what looked like tiny birthday candles around me--each of them brighter than a halogen floodlight. I rolled back in my office chair, and hit an invisible force-field. It flickered and hissed where my chair touched it, but held firm. Several high-pitched voices began chanting softly in unison,
"Oh demon of the foulest Earth, we have summoned you here and now bind you to our will! Do not test the might the warlocks of the Cabal of Illuamdmitae, for we have power beyond imagining..."
I stood up as the speech continued, and began to look around for the speakers. In front of my desk were three tiny figures--each barely a meter high--clad in shimmering, almost-iridescent red robes. The fabric was unlike anything I had seen before. Its leader held a staff (or perhaps a spear?) made entirely out elongated gemstones, bound together with shimmering rope. Spider silk?
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What's going on?"
The robed figures covered their ears in pain. The leader handed the other two what appeared to be lumps of beeswax. "Do not attempt to injure us with your foul voice, demon, for we have taken precautions!"
I tried to whisper now. "Okay. One, I'm not a demon. Two, where in the hell am I? Three, who are you?"
"We, your masters, have summoned you from the foulest Earth to achieve a lasting victory in our age-old conflict with the oath-breaking Raelian Horde."
"Umm, you do realize that I'm a lawyer, right? I can't really help with this unless you need me to review a contract, or maybe do a mediation session."
"What are these infernal mechanisms you speak of? Is there some way to bind the Raelians to their word as we have bound you?"
"What do you know about contracts...?"
[NOTE: The basic idea here was "Apply Skill: Law," combined with a human lawyer who suddenly has superpowers, but is extremely vulnerable to light (which is brighter there). This premise was much funnier and/or more interesting in my head than this story is turning out to be. I'll continue this if there's interest, but I doubt there will be.]
| [slight variation on prompt, not happily ending day]
Ruben unlocked the door go his apartment and stepped inside. Thick, cloying incense assaulted him. It irritated his throat and felt like it was coating his insides.
"Damned neighbors." He said to himself and was surprised at how deep and grating his voice sounded from the incense.
He went to the fridge and opened the door. It had been a long day and Ruben just wanted to kick back with a beer. But the beer, HIS beer, was missing. His roommate had drank the entire six-pack and left a $10 in the empty box.
A prickling sensation rolled across his skin and he could just barely make out someone saying his name. Ruben attributed this to his rising anger and the roommate being home.
He angrily stalked towards his roommate's door and yelled, "Damnit, Alex! I'm-"
A puff of smoke obscured his vision mid-sentence.
"-going to kill you!"
The smoke cleared and a slender 4 foot tall man in robes stood before him. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and his face was frozen between joy and terror. A large tome was open in his hands.
Candles formed a tight ring around him and when Ruben reached out he felt resistance.
"I uh.. I have summoned thee and uhm will have thee bound to my will, demon." the small man said.
"The f<beep> is this?" Ruben asked, "The f<beep> was that!? I'm being f<beep> censored!?"
"Your fiendish curses shall not avail you in these lands!" The little man looked pleased. "Do you -er.. doest thou submit or is another demonstration of my power necessary?"
Ruben tried pushing harder against the unseen barrier and could feel it flexing and deforming around his hands. It felt almost like magnets pushing against each other. He tried to touch one of the candles but couldn't make any part of his body get within the final inch.
"Try as thou might thou shall not- wait, what are you doing?" The little man's eyes went wide.
Ruben had pulled a folding pocket knife from his pocket and was poking it at one of the candles.
"No no no nonononononono!" The little man gushed and rapidly paged through his tome.
The candle fell over and Ruben felt the barrier weaken.
"You picked the wrong day to start s<beep> with me, little man." Ruben said and knocked over another candle.
The little man found a page and started rapidly reading aloud in pig latin.
In a puff of smoke Ruben was suddenly back in his apartment. The smell of incense and the irritation was gone. After a moment of thought he grabbed the $10 from the fridge and left to get some beer. | 2017-05-12T11:53:23 | 2017-05-12T10:59:58 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Take a "standard" romance and flip the script. The tall hot athlete is a girl while the shorter, slightly nerd is a boy who "cleans up nice," a naive rich boy gets swept away by a cynical gal from the wrong side of the tracks, that sort of thing. Anything that shakes things up. | Ormr had been training for this his entire life. Ever since hearing the tale of the beautiful Nithe and her depressing fate should she fail to be rescued before the sun set on her 22nd birthday, he had known that he would be the one to rescue her.
Ormr looked wearily around at the bodies of his enemies. Covered in sweat and blood, he pitied the gross underestimation of his power. Even a small army of 100 had failed to bring him down. While he’d been warned of the perils he would encounter on his journey, he had been pleasantly surprised how effective his training had been. However, he was tired, and needed to clean himself off. He would only scare Nithe if he arrived at the castle in this state.
He made his way across the battlefield to the lake. Bodies scattered the shoreline and bobbed across the top, enemies who had desperately attempted to avoid the slaughter once Ormr’s might had become apparent. Foolish. Ormr nudged them out of the way, sinking into the water and letting his muscles relax. Around him, little swirls of blood mingled as it left his body.
“One more day” he thought to himself as the sun set “one more day until I reach the castle and free Nithe.”
Hauling himself back to the shoreline, he shook himself down as he sluggishly disappeared into the forest to sleep.
—————
The sunlight burned through Ormr’s eyelids. He blinked them open. “Today.” The word burned through his brain, surged energy through his muscles. Springing up, he continued his journey.
—————
The castle was in sight. Eyes locked upon it, Ormr continued with all the speed he could muster.
—————
He approached quietly, terrified of waking the beast that resided within. A deep hollow at the side of the castle reminded Ormr of the feat yet ahead of him. Climbing to the tallest tower would be his only option.
Looking up, Ormr realised how absurd this option was. The tower, 200 feet tall, had been a helpful landmark this morning. Now it was another gamble with his life. He’d always thought that this was an exaggeration - no building, surely, could be that tall. He had been wrong.
Mustering his strength, Ormr scrambled up the side of the castle. The brickwork was worn and scorched, pieces missing like the world’s most deadly jigsaw. As the tower swayed precariously, Ormr realised that while he was agile enough to climb, the weight of his body offset his skill. He climbed more slowly, carefully spreading his weight as he ascended.
—————
His muscles burning, Ormr reached the window. Glimpsing through, he could see the gossamer curtains, the four poster bed, and the Princess, fast asleep.
Ormr braced himself, mouth level with the window, and with grace and precision, breathed the fiercest, most savage fireball he’d ever expelled. Within a moment, the Princess was ashes.
Without need to remain stealthy, Ormr pushed off from the tower with his trembling muscles and rode the cool air, wings fully extended, to the ground. The sound of him, cutting through the air like butter, signalled Nithe’s freedom.
A face appeared at the mouth of the hollow. A face that was more enchanting than any story that had ever been told about it. Ormr padded forward, and blinked at the face.
Nithe emerged. Confused, she looked upon her hero. “But… I didn’t think anyone would come. I’m supposed to be killed by a man made of metal…” her voice, sweet and shy, pierced Ormr’s heart with a thousand of Cupid’s arrows.
“You’re free now” Ormr reassured her “no one’s going to force you to die for a love story” | Princess Rowena stared non-pulsed at the bejeweled Prince standing in front of her. "As I understand it, you said you would take good care of me, O valiant Princess!", the Prince said while smiling mischievously.
A fortnight ago, an envoy had come from the neighboring kingdom. The Queen regent had has demanded that the princess be thrilled that the Supreme Queen Mother had chosen her to be the royal consort to the crown Prince. The demand was to ornate herself with the Prince's sword and declare to the world that she was his. Incensed by the letter the Princess had sent the following response,
"Salutation Supreme Queen Mother,
I am flattered to know of your sons affection for me. I have also seen the mettle of the man he is seeing as he did not come by himself to express his intentions and chose to stand behind you while you made your overture.
this is my response your proposal. In friendship., enmity and marriage both sides must know its place. therefore i must do what i can to rectify the balance in the relationship that is to begin between your prince and I. I send you my battle sword. Ask your prince to ornate himself with it and send him to men along with his dowry. I will look after him well.
Your servant
Princess Rowena"
She had meant it as a slight to their pride and hoped to sour relations to the point that they would simply leave her alone. She certainly didn't expect them to accept.
Still reeling from the sight she asked, " Do you consider yourself a man?! Do you expect me to marry a eunuch?!."
The Prince looked around with some interest and walked over to the edge of the room. He dragged to chairs back to the center and sat upon the one facing her.
"If i recall, you made no such demands that i should be a full fledged man in your letter. You did however say that you would take good care of me. I am therefore in your care", he replied laughing a little. She flushed remembering her rudeness. It was much more difficult to be rude to someone present before you.
"Rest assured, i am a man. Just not the kind to take offense when being questioned of his man hood." he spoke with a litling cadence as if he found the whole experience very amusing. " My mother was less pleased of course, she wanted to have you taken care of covertly, but that seemed like such a waste. It took a week if flattery and negotiation to both preserve your life and to present myself before you. No doubt my mother considers it a mater of great personal insult, and i find that people in her position are unable to sufficiently seperate a personal insult from a national one. "
"Princess Rowena, i have heard a lot about you and have grown to respect you. On seeing a portrait of you i found myself infatuated. Yes i am that shallow, i see no point in pretending otherwise. As is the custom in my nation i approached my mother with my thoughts. Her response was high handed but i can only say that she does love me quite a bit and is a cause of distress to me too. For this i can only apologise to you for inadvertently showing you discourtesy . But her i am as you asked bound to you sword decked in jewels and with a dowry because I am sincere in my desire to wed you." , he said and looked at her expectantly..
For the first time in nearly 10 years Rowena found herself at a loss for words. | 2022-06-07T10:26:15 | 2022-06-07T09:59:00 | 75 | 36 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | “Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!” Cried the slouching old man, hands raised to the skies, “Thank the gods! Op- not for how you died, of course.”
Stumbling back on the soft dirt of the expansive, lush green valley, Michael could only gape in utter disbelief. One minute he’s been walking along a popular hiking trial, the next he’d been submerged in vast darkness with only a pinprick of light to guide him. “Where the hell am I? What’s going on?”
“Why, you’ve just passed on and are now in heaven, with me. It was starting to get a little lonely here, you know?” The old man explained, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. Staring into the man’s wrinkled face, his eyes expressed a kind of crazy that could only be brought about by years of isolation and talking to oneself.
“W-Wait, where is everybody then? And who the heck are you?”
“Who the- Who am I? Boy, you should very well know who I am! I am a writer, craftsman of endless amount of tales, the father of tragedies! Do they not teach you about my masterpieces?” The old man - ‘father of tragedies’ - exclaimed. “Buh! For shame. However, I am kind and can tell you what exactly is going on. You see, depending on how a person has died they will be segregated to an area dedicated to that death. Drownings, stabbings, disease - all together. To think I - the great Aeschylus - would suffer a fate none have ever befallen... Well, it sounded nice at first honestly. But I’ve soon found that loneliness to be a curse.”
“Wait... Aesch- oh my...” everythinng seemed so clear to Michael now, his hand now lifting to rub his bald head. He could recall the glorius cry of an eagle, as others stopped to admire the avian. Then, a large object flying towards him at impossible speeds as he heard cries and screams, and finally he saw darkness. “I can’t believe I got snipped by an eagle with a tortoise.” | You come to, disoriented and desperately searching for anything familiar when you hear a voice.
"Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!"
Your eyes lock on to an old man--well, not that old. No older than his late fifties by the look of him.
"You have no idea how long I've waited!" You could hear the emotion as his voice cracked. A thin film moistens his eyes.
"Where are we?", you ask. "What is this place?"
"You don't remember? You couldn't have possibly expected a stunt like that to work!"
And then a fragment comes rushing back. You were on a bicycle, pedaling as hard as you could, careening down a slope with a strong wind at your back. You recall cardboard wings fastened to the bike's frame.
"I guess I didn't make it across then..."
"It was over 300 feet wide! Of course you didn't make it! Only two people in all of history have been dumb or crazy enough to try!" After a moments pause, he adds, "I've had a long time to think about it. I think it might just be possible, but it will take both of us. I think if we make it across, this nightmare will end. Something about unfinished business."
Suddenly the space around you comes into focus. You're standing on the edge of a massive canyon, wispy grass in all directions and a steep slope running several hundred feet in the distance. A shoddy plywood ramp is anchored at the cliff face. And there are two bicycles. You aren't quite sure why, but you feel a ring of truth to the old man's words. You'll be stuck here until you make that jump on that bicycle. As the panic threatens to overwhelm you, you calm your nerves with a deep breath. You sure have your work cut out for you. "Alright. Let's get this over with then. What's your plan?" | 2021-11-24T12:25:38 | 2021-11-24T12:11:36 | 1,290 | 179 |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | It was a dark and moonless night at the edge of the Everwood, and Artem sat staring into the dying embers of the fire as its sheltering warmth surrendered to the cool air. He’d been on the verge of sleep when he heard a heavy shuffling nearby that put him on alert. This close to the Everwood it wasn’t uncommon to hear wildlife nearby, but they rarely left the treeline to approach homes.
Two amber glowing orbs stood across the pit from Artem, just outside the firelight, belonging to the largest creature Artem had ever seen. As he was about to flee it spoke, “Greetings, may I share your fire tonight?”
The words froze Artem in place. A Shaper. A hundred thoughts flooded Artem’s brain in the following seconds. Why would a Shaper leave the forest? Why would it speak to him? All he managed to say was, “Sure.”
A bear moved fully into the light revealing an impossibly large head, and a massive body with patterns of green fur tracing rune like symbols on top of its thick brown coat. As it settled down next to the fire Artem felt a tremor through the ground.
“You sit here alone every night human. Staring into that fire as if searching for something. What do you hope to find?” it asked.
The reminder of his loss cast a shadow over his fear. He hesitated to speak, but when a Shaper of the Everwood sits across from you there is a desire to do what it asks. “I sit here to remember those who can no longer sit with me. I sit here because there is nothing else for me in this world.”
A deep noise came from the bear as if the words were thrown to the ground between them, and it could only but acknowledge their falling. They sat for a time in silence watching the blackened logs slowly losing their glow. Eventually the bear spoke, “I cannot take away this weight that burdens you, but know that you do not carry it alone." After a pause it continued, "I came to bring a warning to the people of your town. The clearing has awakened. Men in the thousands march out from the heart of the Everwood appearing from the air itself.”
Artem bolted to his feet, staring at the bear. “Why tell me? Why speak to me when your kind have never been seen in this area as long as I’ve lived here?” he asked.
“Your people have always respected the Everwood, and so we respected you. Our presence only incites fear and aggression among your kind. Still we have worked to keep the less peaceful of the forest's occupants from you. This new threat is different. We have lost many in guarding the forest, but they cut through to your world just the same.” The bear said while continuing to lounge next to the fire looking towards Artem.
“If your kind can’t stand against them then what hope do we have? We have no weapons to stand against an army!” Artem nearly yelled, glancing towards the impenetrable darkness of the trees.
With a rumbling grunt the bear got up from the ground and began walking away, “Flee. Warn your people. A war comes that even the Shapers cannot prevent.” | 2022-01-06T02:41:12 | 2022-01-05T23:55:17 | 60 | 33 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives. | Humans were... not easiest species to deal with.
Their mindscape barely overlapped with that of most clades. In fact, many spheres were still debating whether or not they classified as fully sentient.
But Commonality recognized that, despite their primitive culture, lack of foresight, brittle cognition and low integration rate, the humans had particular gift with the simplest of all weapons.
Explosives.
If there was a way to destroy something with runaway chemical, nuclear or subatomic reaction, humans found it. Even the most mundane of materials became dangerous in their hands, often without them consciously noticing.
This lead to a relatively high attrition rates, but that's what cloning and molding was for.
And just like Tomk broods, with their tendency to explosively breed and build geothermal boreholes, even humans could turn into useful tools. Provided their handler came from the right lineage.
Handler of Second expansion/Metropolis was such a being.
And as he watched, trough the simplest and most disposable of his eyes, human toiling on a Q-mirror assembly, he only wished that he won't lose as much mass as one of his relatives did.
When he handed a simple fusion battery, to a human at Tunguska. | "Oh fuck off you mango eating tit."
"Come on man just one stick, just one."
"For the last time I'M NOT SELLING YOU ANYMORE! You're addicted you need to stop."
"Come on man pleeeeease... I'll make it worth you while."
I look up from my book and stare at his glowing face... Or butt. "I'm listening."
"Okay so there's this rumor going around that Ratethim got this safe now if you give me the stick I can get into it and and I'll pay you back I swear"
"Goddamn it Jean" I stare him in the eye and chuckle. "Where do you think I got the explosives?"
Okay so this is my first writing post thingy it's just alittle (very little) story I wrote up tell me what you think. P.S. I'm on mobile. So you need to dismiss and ignore any incorrect grammar or miss spellings because I'm special.
| 2018-07-16T05:08:13 | 2018-07-15T20:26:33 | 35 | 22 |
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner." | I stare at the police officer, dumbfounded. *No* I think, *He must have made a mistake.* I tell him so. I tell him how my husband can't be dead, he was just with me in the kitchen.
He's now looking at me in the same bewildered manner. "Mrs. Decker, right? You're Emily and your husband is Ryan Decker?" I nod solemnly. He had all the information correct but then who.... "Mrs. Decker, may I have a look in your kitchen?" His eyes are narrowed at the entryway to the kitchen. I mumble something, it must have been a 'yes' because stealthily he's moving, one hand on the holster where his gun rests. I follow behind, in a daze. The confusion was overwhelming me. I come to a stop at his side. My eyes dart around frantically. He was just right there, at the stove cooking stir-fry. My husband. He never asked to cook but then again he never asked a lot of things he had asked today. My thoughts were interrupted by the officer, now looking at me with great concern.
"Mrs. Decker... Are you sure someone was here?"
"Yes! He's been here most of the day.. When.. when he came home this morning, I thought perhaps he wasn't feeling well, to miss out on work like that. He was full of energy... he... he was talking so fast.. I, I didn't know what..." I trail off, the tears stinging in my eyes as memories flashed in my mind of the man that had been by my side for hours earlier.
"I see... Mrs. Decker, are you sure you're not confusing today with another day?" His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. *Was I confused?* How could that have happened?
"I...I don't know, maybe?" The tears fall freely down my face now. The police officer nods, gently removing his hand and giving the room another once-over.
"Is there someone you can call to come be with you right now? I would feel better if I knew you weren't alone." I can see the pity in his eyes.
"Yeah, uh... I'll call my mom. Thanks." I see him out, turn and press my back against the front door before collapsing down into a puddle of sobs. My head bolts up suddenly. A noise. A squeak from the stairs. *No, no, no...* I rise to my feet quickly as possible and with a stumble.
"Who are you? What are you?!" I'm staring at the man I had been married to for the last five years. The man I was told had died tonight, but here he was slowly descending the stairs.
"I understand you're scared Emily... please know I didn't want you to find out this way. I-I didn't know the rules, that it would be like this." He continues walking, his voice taking a calming tone, the kind he never used anymore.
"What the hell does that mean?!" I slide my back against the wall to the other side of the room, not willing to take my eyes off him. "Don't come any closer!" It's a threat, though I have nothing to use against him. He stops all the same.
"I didn't know I would just be a... a copy." I feel faint, what was he talking about? He starts to move again, slowly still. I don't call him out on it. "I thought it would be a complete take-over. That, we would switch bodies when I died. I suppose I had seen too many sci-fi films." A smirk crosses his face for a second but leaves quickly. My eyes widen with his words.
"Who are you?" I manage to calm my breathing to say it without panic but with plenty of fear still laced in the question.
"My name was David Marsdale. Yesterday, I was a 24 year old man with cystic fibrosis from Seattle.... I was in a hospital dying from respiratory complications." He looks serious when he says it. Whether it's the truth or not, he believes it. I don't say anything, which he takes as a sign to continue. "Before I passed... I saw him. He came before me."
"Who?" I interject suddenly. He's shaking his head, the confusion apparent.
"I don't know. God? The devil? An angel? A demon? I didn't ask questions. I only listened. He told me I could have another chance, if I was willing to let go of this life then I would be granted another. The only condition was that it would be taken from someone who deserved to die." I let his words sink in.
"Ryan didn't deserve to die!" Anger rises up in defense of my husband.
"Didn't he?" He's closed the space more, now he stands before me. I watch as his hands move up slowly, resting on the side of my neck before pushing my shirt back to reveal yellowed bruises. He does the same with the sleeves covering up my forearm. I look away, shame welling up and more tears flowing.
"This is insane." My voice barely above a whisper. I feel his fingers grasp my chin, pulling my face back up to look at him. The act is so soft and caring. Like everything had been in this short time between us. Ryan hadn't treated me like this since we had been dating and now I knew why his behavior had been so strange today. It wasn't Ryan but whoever this stranger was that had taken his form.
"I know. When I made my way back here this morning, I hadn't planned on staying. I didn't know there would be anyone here, but there you were, questioning why I was here. And... and I looked into your eyes and saw the same look I had most of my life. I knew then, you were like me.... too scared to live." I pull back from his touch.
"What?" I feel confused again, maybe it never stopped.
"Emily... You have a second chance too. I have to leave tonight, and I would like you to come with me." He gives pause, waiting for my reaction but continues on when I can't form one.
"If... If you don't want to then I won't force you, I won't harm you... I couldn't do that. I'll leave and you'll never see me again. You can even tell everyone the truth if you want." I scoff. *Who the hell would believe this?*
"If you come with me I promise that we'll live, Emily. Together... we'll start our lives." He extends his hand out, offering himself to me. Hesitantly I bring my hand up, pausing just before I make contact with his own. I could do this. I could choose to live. | "I know its hard ma'am, but we found his dead body today on a construction site."
The young detective and her 2 police officers seemed dead serious.
"No! I mean he is standing in the kitchen right now cooking some soup for dinner."
"Well, that seems odd. May we enter and to ask you some questions?"
I just nodded. This entire day was strange. This morning somebody called and asked for my husband. Judging from accent, the caller must have been either german or austrian. But Sam never had any friends from oversea. And after lunch there was this noise. Like someone was building something in the neighbourhood. Only that everyone exept us was on vacation.
I let them enter and sit down in the living room. My husband came out of the kitchen with that blue appron I bought him last week.
"Darling? Whats going on?"
"Sam, these police officers said that they found YOUR dead body today. They just have a few questions."
He seemed just as confused as I am.
"Well, why not. Do you want something to drink detective..."
"Gardner, these are officers Crown and Miller. And yes, a glas of water for each of us would be nice."
He brought a carafe with water and several glasses from the kitchen and sat down with us.
"Sir, how long have you been living here with Mrs. Steiner?"
"3 years already. It still seems like yesterday since we moved together."
"Do you have any relatives?"
"No, my father was the last family member and he died 6 years ago."
"Mrs. Steiner, what about you?"
"My parents are still living in Chicago. And I have a older brother but...."
"Well?"
"He is in a witness protection program. I'm not supposed to talk about him."
"I understand. We will check this afterwards. Now, was there anything in the past that could explain the body of the, obviously perfectly healthy, Mr. Steiner?"
I had to think for a moment.
"My husband had a accident 2 years back. He was in a coma for a week. But I visited him every day till he woke up."
"I see. Mr. and Mrs. Steiner, I have to ask you to come with us. We need to make a DNA test to be absoluetely sure."
"But why? I'm right here, you can see that!"
"Sir, its just for you own safety."
Gardner reached into the pocket of her jacket. Sam just sighed and drank a sip from his glas.
And then slinged it against Gardners head. She fell down backwards from her chair. Sam then grabbed a pen from the desk and rammed it into Crowns neck, who stumbled back in complete confusion while holding his throat. Miller tried to stand up and pull out his gun, but Sam charged him and slammed his head against the wall. Over and over again till the wall was covered in blood and pieces of bone and brain matter. He then calmly stood up and crushed Crowns neck with a stomp.
I couldn't believe what I just saw. The tender and understanding husband I loved was no more. Instead a blood thirsty monster with the eyes of a predator looked at me.
I screamed and tried to get away from that blood covered lunatic. But he grabbed my legs and brought me down before knocking me out.
When I woke up again, I was cuffed to a chair in our basement. Detective gardner was bound to a chair in front of me.
And there it was again, the noise like someone would use a hammer to crack something open. Only that it was very close this time. I turned my head and saw Sam breaking a concrete wall.
"Look who is awake again. Had some sweet dreams darling?"
"S-Sam? What are you doing?
"Just getting some gear."
He reached into the hole in the wall and grabbed a large black suitcase. Detective Gardner also woke up.
"And now we are complete, great!"
He brought a laptop and a foldable desk and put both in front of Gardner.
"Detective, I am aware that you are one of the few people in this town having access to some of the classified data about the brother of my wife. But in order to view them I need a code. If you would be so friendly..."
Detective Garner spit him in the face.
"If you think I wou..."
Sam just wiped the spit from his face and then forced a towel down her throat. He then grabbed a old car battery and connected the jumper cables to the detdective.
She started twichting, her muffled screams filling the room.
Same then took off the cable and removed the improvised gag.
"How about now?"
"Fuck you!"
He put the gag back in and repeated the procedure while whistling the american national anthem.
"It could be so easy. We dont have to do this detective. Now for the code please."
He removed the towel. Gardner seemed to comply.
"5..8..M..s..1..."
"Thank you, was it so hard?"
Sam gave her a pat on the head and the entered the code in the laptop. He spend a minute reading the file while the smile on his face became bigger.
"How the stars align... It seems your brother is visiting the neighbouring town tomorrow. I think I will pay him a visit."
Tears ran down my cheecks. I now realized that he was only interested in my brother. I tried to deny it to this point, but now I had no choice but to accept the fact.
"Oh....don't cry darling. I never loved you. In fact, everything was played. And it was fucking awful. Your so called cooking managed to even kill the ingredients a 2. tme. Your meatloaf would be greasy on the outside and fucking raaaaaw in the inside all the time. So disgusting even a starving african child would rather face death than eating this shit. Even the fucking sex in our played relationship was awful. Every fucking time we had sex you would start crying and screaming when I picked up the pace. And on top of that I wasted 3 fucking years trying to reach your brother over you. And now I get the chance but now from you, but from a detective with too many administrative rights who just so happened to discover a mistake I made. But now this ends and I can finally finish my assignment. By the way. They didn't found my body. It was the body of my useless twin brother. That twat always wanted a calm life like this. I killed him because I could never stand him and because you were stupid enough not to notice any difference."
Sam grabbed the suitcase and forced the towel in both mine and Gardners mouth.
"Now if you would excuse me, I have a job to do. Don't worry, I won't kill you, I still have a use for you 2."
| 2017-10-10T08:24:49 | 2017-10-10T05:53:19 | 42 | 27 |
[WP]You keep getting kidnapped by the biggest Supervillain on the planet. The Superheroes of the world think it's because you're important, however, it's really because the Villain really likes talking to you. You know this but you can't tell anyone because if you do people will get hurt worse.
You can take this story in one of two ways; 1) The Superheroes are talking to you about this series of kidnappings and trying to figure out what is actually going on or 2) This is the day when you selfishly try to get out of this situation as cleanly as possible. | "No--he is not sleeping with me," I informed the two heroes, blandly. The three of us sat in a too-white interrogation room, sitting in shiny steel chairs. One, hero, powerfully built and friendly looking sat across from me, and the other, a thin wisp of a man sat in the corner. I was in my pajamas and had my bare feet on the table, refusing to take this whole thing seriously.
"Come now, Ms. Lansing, you're a pretty woman. He's got to be..." began Captain Storm.
"God I don't even know if Pan likes women," I admitted thinking back for any evidence of flirting or some sort of interest. "For all I know he's asexual."
"Ms. Lansing you have been kidnapped 37 times in the past four years alone," the Captain said trying to bring me back to the subject at hand.
But I was stuck on the thought of the long, absurdly gangly Dr. Panic and his potential mating preferences. "Strikes me as the kind of person who would procreate using mitosis."
"Ms. Lansing ever since he attacked the Wayfair Laboratories and took you hostage--he hasn't stopped! He even sent us a threat telling us to leave you alone and not to stop him! By literally pinning the note to the Blue Rider's back! With a nail!"
I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah--he found out you have the Silent Shadow following me," I left out that I had mentioned that fact to him. "And he really didn't like that."
"You have piqued the interest of the world's most brilliant dictator, Lansing. And most interestingly, he has even let you go of his own volition on several occasions," explained the Silent Shadow from where he sat in the corner of the interrogation room. "It is not a far leap in logic, that you are working for him in some manner." His tone made it clear that he believed those words and thought I was a threat.
"I ain't done shit, SS," I snapped at him. "And what am I going to do to help him? I've got no powers. I'm not a scientist. I'm a film studies major!"
"Who makes documentaries about superpowers and super science," Shadow leaned forward glaring at me.
"You backed the Secrecy Bill, didn't you," my patience for Shadow immediately bottomed out. "Free speech bud, we are allowed to talk about whatever the hell we want to talk about--and that includes your superpowers AND your fuckups," I snapped back.
The Silent Shadow glared back at me with those dark, endless black eyes.
We were distracted by a distant thud noise. But the Captain quickly got us back on track.
"You have to realize how dangerous this is. Dr. Panic is a tyrannical pirate king. He murders and kills with impunity."
"Where does that sound familiar?" I asked pointedly. "Why that sounds a lot like what this asshole did to Fire Master." I jabbed an accusatory thumb at Silent Shadow. You don't get to kill someone in cold blood--even a villain--and not get a nasty reputation. Even if the government was stupid enough to excuse the action, I wasn't about to.
"This is why we needed the bill, Cap," Shadow growled.
"This is why we need to shut people up, Cap, they hold us responsible for our actions," I mocked him with a high pitched toddler voice.
"Listen you stupid little woman we are trying to HELP you!" Shadow snapped. "And near as I can tell you're aiding and abetting a CRIMINAL."
"And you aren't letting me out of this interrogation room even though I'm not under arrest," I shot back. "Pan's rules suck but at least he's honest enough to follow his own rules. You, not so much."
"Ms. Lansing, we are trying to help you. To keep you safe."
"Did I ask for help, asshole?"
"Maybe if we throw you in jail for a little while, you'll feel like talking," Shadow said. "Obstruction of justice sounds about right."
"My lawyer will eat you for lunch," I gave a wicked smile. "And I'd film the whole fiasco."
The Captain's patience had run thin. "Ms. Lansing, this isn't some game. This isn't about winning--it's about a crazed pirate king kidnapping you."
"What about the crazed masked men who've kidnapped me?" I asked raising an eyebrow at him. "You do this almost as much as he does."
"Rescuing isn't the same as kidnapping!"
"I was eating breakfast when that asshole pulled me through the damn shadow behind my fridge to bring me here! How is that NOT kidnapping?" I motioned at Shadow.
"Why does Dr. Panic need you?" The Shadow got to his feet and slammed his fist on the interrogation room table. "What purpose could you possibly serve for him? Tell us now! Or I'll--"
The door of the interrogation room flew open and a familiar spindly figure stood in the doorway flanked by two henchmen in ridiculous outfits.
The Captain and Silent Shadow were shot before they could do anything. The Captain took the bolt of lightning like a champ but he wasn't quite invulnerable enough to stay conscious. The Silent Shadow was reduced to his ethereal form by the force of the lightning.
Dr. Pan, all weird angles and wearing that ridiculous Hook coat and those heavy duty laboratory goggles, was holding two martini glasses with a green liquid in them.
"I've got Miami Connection and Appletinis," he said with an absurdly happy smile. "Lets go!"
Edit: Thanks for the editing, guys! Fixed those typos. | "You need to tell us what's going on now!"
And Mystic Man seemed so nice on TV.
"Calm down, Sean. He's just a boy." Merna seemed just a nice, though.
"Actually I'm eighteen," I said, not wanting to be mistaken for a child. Merna gave me a look that said, 'I'm trying to help you here.' I nodded and looked down at my shoes.
"I don't care what he is, he knows something and we need to find out what it is," Mystic Man said to Merna, then turned to me. "So, 'just a boy,' what does the Captain want from you, huh? Bangin his girlfriend or somethin?"
"Sean!" Merna pulled him away.
Sleep got up then. He never speaks on TV so you can imagine my mild surprise when he spoke with a British accent. "What I think Mr.Daniels needs is some incentive."
"His incentive is me not kicking his ass."
Merna had enough. "Sean, outside!" Mystic Man stared at me for a moment before walking out of the room. "Sorry about him, sweetie. Bit of a hothead." She smiled which made me a little more comfortable. But I still wasn't going to tell her what the Captain wanted with me.
"Can you tell us why he keeps taking you now?" Merna asked.
That's when the I started thinking about the Captain.
**Three Days Earlier**
"You doing okay, kid?" Captain Ironsight asked as he sat down at his computer with his afternoon tea.
"I'm eighteen, Captain."
"Right, right, that's right. I remember," he said. I knew he'd forget before next time though. "You doing okay, teenager?"
I sighed. "Yes, Captain. I'm doing fine. Look do we have to do this today?"
He looked up from his keyboard. "Do what today?"
I waved my hands in the air, gesturing to the huge evil lair. "This. This whole thing with you kidnapping me because you're lonely."
He looked genuinely hurt by that. "I'm sorry. I thought you enjoyed our time together."
I rolled my eyes and got up from my seat. "I do, Captain. It's just...I have homework."
"I thought you were a teenager?"
"High school, Captain. High school," I said.
He scratched his chin. "Oh yes, that's right. Well you're free to go home. We can do this another time."
"No, Captain. We can't." That hurt him too.
"Why not?"
"Because it's too much, Captain. I've got school. I've got my parents on my back, they don't let me go out with my friends anymore because of you. Next thing I know Mystic Man's gonna be all up in my business." I should be a fortune teller.
"What about weekends? You don't have high school on weekends, do you?" He was desperate.
"This has to stop completely, Captain." I paced the room for a bit. "At the very least I can maybe drop by every few weeks just to see how you're doing." He didn't respond, just fingered with the keys on his keyboard. "I'm sorry, Captain."
"It's alright, James. I should probably find some real friends anyway."
I stood by him. "It won't be so bad. You've some great guys working for you here."
"Oh don't be ridiculous, James. I can't mingle with my henchmen?"
"What? Why not? They're *your* henchmen."
"For the simple reason that they're my henchmen. No self-respecting Villain socializes with their own henchmen."
I wanted to tell him that no self-respecting villain called themselves Captain Ironsight either. He was hurt enough, though.
I patted him on the back. "Just give it a shot. Maybe one of them could take your place one day."
He looked up at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I just mean like if you decide to retire or whatever."
He stood up in a sudden fury. "I won't! I won't retire until Mystic Man is-"
"Until Mystic Man is dead, yeah, yeah. Take a seat before you hurt yourself," I said. He sat back down.
There was a brief silence.
"Well, if this is it I suppose you should just get going now. Don't want to keep you from high school."
I hugged him. "It'll be alright, Captain. I'm sure one day you'll get him." I left.
Three days later, Mystic Man had me in the back of the Mystic Maserati going ninety on the freeway.
"You don't have to worry about it anymore, Merna. He won't be kidnapping me anymore," I said.
"Why not? Did he tell you he wasn't going to anymore?" she asked. Sleep stood beside her, watching me closely.
I nodded. "Yeah, he did. I told him if he didn't leave me alone, I'd tell Mystic Man about his whole operation." Both heroes looked at me, waiting for me to continue. "Which I don't know anything about. It was just an empty threat."
Merna and Sleep exchanged a look at which point I thought they were going to start interrogating me. They didn't.
"Alright, well, if anything happens, if he tries to contact you or anything, just give us a call," Merna said.
Sleep put a hand on my shoulder and walked me to the exit of the tower. "And we mean anything, son. Captain Ironsight can be a real asshole."
Yeah I guess he could. But so could Mystic Man. | 2017-05-25T04:47:47 | 2017-05-24T22:30:30 | 520 | 168 |
[WP] You are a young deity that wins 2nd place in a science fair. Your entry was the planet Earth. Write about your utter disbelief at what came 1st. | *Goddammit! Not again! Every fucking time!*
"ZEUS! HEY ZEUS!"
"What's up?"
*Oh so he's going to play dumb?*
"You stole my idea, what the hell man?!"
"I didn't *steal* it, I improved on it. If you have a problem take it up wi-"
*Improved on it?! That arrogant son of a bitch!*
"It was perfect the way it was, asshole."
"It was *ok*, but I wasn't a fan of the shape of it."
"So you just decide to flatten it and call it your own?"
"Hey man, it just makes more sense like that. Like seriously, a sphere? The fuck were you thinking? You know everything on the bottom is just going to fall into space, right?"
*Ugh, typical Olympian.*
"I made this thing called gravity, dipshit. It's this force tha- forget it, it doesn't matter. Listen Zeus, refuse the award and remove yourself from the pool - or else."
"Or else what? You'll turn me into wine?"
"What? No, you're thinking of my son."
"Aren't you guys kind of like the same person?"
"No dude, it's complicated. Just... just refuse the award and we'll be cool."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, I'll have to report this to the Supreme One."
"The writer?"
"The one and only."
"You wouldn't."
"Watch me. Yo /u/Sweet_Fetal_Jesus! Zeus is being a real cunt! Mind helping a brother out?"
"NO! NO PLEASE DON-"
**BAM! A giant vortex splits the fabric of space and time, engulfing Zeus.**
"Deus ex machina, bitch."
| I was absolutely devastated that I had lost to her. I had spent months trying to get this thing right, getting them them evolve this far without too much radiation, getting the them to believe that I was their "god". Actually, that last part wasn't all that hard, all I had to do was go down to the costume store and buy a white robe and beard but still, I payed for that stuff out of my allowance. The worst part was yesterday when they almost blew themselves up because one of the colonies put nuclear weapons too close to the one they had stated to refer to as “America”. God, they were stupid.
I looked over at her just as she began to explain how her “experiment” worked. It was so damn cliche and basic. She just noticed me looking at he, and she smiled at me. I know it was a friendly smile, but it just made me livid! I turned back to my experiment and began to fiddle with some of the settings. I decided that if I wasn’t going to win, what was the point of keeping this thing serious anymore.I began to remove the layer of protective gas they referred to as “ozone”. I added a new class, naming it Al Qaeda, both of which I was sure was going to make the thing destroy itself.
After that I took off my shoe and threw it at her experiment and then wheeled my cart out the door and began heading home, with one less shoe. I hated that damn potato clock. | 2014-06-16T11:58:58 | 2014-06-16T10:12:43 | 108 | 26 |
[WP] Little Red Riding Hood isn't an idiot. She knows the creature before her isn't her grandmother. But honestly, this wolf has been nicer to her more than her grandmother ever had been. | A soft breeze brushed against Little Red and she giggled, reaching down to pluck a dandelion from the ground. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled, the seeds of the dandelion fluttering into the sky like little umbrellas. *I wonder if someone as cruel as Grandma would appreciate these dandelions to decorate her empty flower pots,* she thought.
A shadow that loomed behind Little Red startled her, and with a little squeak, she dropped the dandelion she was holding, turning around in shock. Behind her was a wolf, but not just a normal wolf. Instead, it was a wolf that stood on twos and had a human-like smile on his face. *It doesn't hurt to try and be friends,* she wondered, *does it?*
"Hello!" She greeted cheerfully, wringing her hands together shyly, "I'm Little Red!" All of the warnings that Mother had engrained into her mind had gone out the window. "Would you like to be my friend?" The wolf looked at her in shock, then his snout morphed into what seemed like a friendly smile.
"Why, hello there," he replied, his voice gravelly and deep, "I would *love* to be your friend." He licked his chops. "But what is such a lovely little girl doing in these dangerous woods?" His furry head tilted in confusion.
"The thing is," Little Red explained cheerfully, swinging her basket to and fro, "Going through the forest is the quickest way to visit Grandma!" With that said, her face suddenly dropped and tears bloomed in her eyes. "Oh no. If I don't get going soon, I'm going to be late! Grandma will be *so* angry, she'll punish me for sure!" Wolf tapped his teeth, thinking.
"Well..." he thought out loud, "why don't you climb onto my back and we'll get there faster. Just tell me where she lives." Little Red's eyes instantly brightened, and she nodded quickly before she could change her mind. Wolf leaned down onto all fours, and she climbed onto his fuzzy back.
"Alright," she began as Wolf began to trot, "Just turn the bend over there..."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The thing that gave away Grandma's cottage was the amount of smoke that came out of its chimney. As it came into view, the empty cracked pots were seen on its dirty windows and on the overgrown lawn.
"There's Grandma's house!" Little Red called out, and hopped down, patting Wolf's head on impulse, "Thanks for the ride, Wolf!" Wolf grinned and sat down obediently.
"I'll just wait here," he replied, eagerness glinting in his cunning black eyes. Nodding, Little Red skipped towards Grandma's door and knocked, fixing a serious look on her face.
"Come in!" her Grandma's weary voice said, and Little Red opened the door, wrinkling her nose at the blast of foul air that came out of the cottage. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, she held it as she entered the cottage, the floorboards creaking ominously, and laid the basket of goodies onto Grandma's night desk. As quietly as she could, she retreated outside again where the Wolf was waiting patiently.
"All done!" Little Red exclaimed, preparing to get onto Wolf's back. But he stopped her before she could, and she furrowed her brow in confusion.
"Could I meet your Grandma too?" Wolf asked, "she seems like a lovely lady."
"Alright," the gullible Little Red answered while looking at the rapidly darkening sky worriedly, "but hurry. I want to get home before the sun sets." Wolf nodded and entered the cottage. A few minutes later, he exited with his fangs bloody.
"What happened to you?" Little Red asked as she mounted him, "Did you get hurt?" Wolf nodded.
"Just banged my snout. It's all fine now." | ##At Grandma's House
Little Red Riding Hood sang to herself as she strolled through the forest. On the surface, it was a delightful image. Listening closer to her voice revealed a wavering confidence and a hint of reluctance. Her steps were slow to match her attitude, perfect for a wolf.
"Where are you going?" The wolf moved behind her. Little Red stopped in her tracks.
"I'm delivering food to my sick grandmother." She opened her basket. "Would you like to try the sausage?"
"Wouldn't your grandmother be angry?" The wolf stepped back. He didn't want to be gifted food; he wanted to take the food. His hunger was for the challenge.
"She's always angry. I'd rather the sausage go to someone who enjoys it rather than a curmudgeon," she replied.
"It sounds like she just has a bad mood. I suggest picking flowers to cheer her up," the wolf said. Little Red shrugged.
"It won't work, but it can't hurt." Little Red began picking flowers as the wolf watched. She lingered and wafted in every scent before picking it. The wolf realized that Little Red wouldn't give her a challenge, but a challenge could be created.
Her grandma's house was known in the forest as a place to avoid. She didn't tolerate unwanted guests and chased any animals that stepped inside. Her food supply always seemed to be low giving little reason for animals to enter.
When the wolf arrived at her house, he found the door open. He crouched and stalked through the narrow corridor. The old woman was sleeping in her bed. Frustrated by the lack of conflict. The wolf grabbed her leg and dragged her to the closet. Dawning her clothes, he jumped into the bed waiting for Little Red.
"Grandma, I brought some flowers and food," Little Red yells. The wolf smiles.
"Perfect, my dear. Come closer so I can," the wolf shouts.
"Are you sick? Your voice sounds deeper." Little Red says as she walks to the wolf.
"I just wanted to give you a proper greeting." Little Red sighs and shakes her head when she sees the wolf.
"Really. You can't expect me to believe this," she says.
"What do you mean? Do you not recognize your grandma?"
"You have fur all over your body."
"It's a new coat."
"Your eyes, ears, and hands have changed shape."
"I just want to see, hear, and embrace you better."
"You have a snout." The wolf grew frustrated with Little Red.
"I just wanted to eat you better." The wolf tried to pounce on Little Red, but he was hit back with a hard metal object. When he opened his eyes, he saw Little Red standing over him with a small hammer.
"Do you really think I'd walk through the forest alone without any protection?" she asked.
"Red, what's going on out there? Why'd you put me in a closet?" Her grandma shouted from behind the door. "Get me out of here. It smells worse than you."
"In a minute, I'm dealing with a wolf," Little Red shouted back.
"A wolf. Why'd you let a wolf in here you idiot." Little Red sighed.
"I didn't. It snuck in while you were asleep."
"I would never do that. Don't lie to me. Your mother clearly failed to teach you the value of the truth," grandma said.
"I didn't realize how rude she was. Has she always been like this?" the wolf asked.
"Yep, she's a real pain," Little Red replied. The wolf crawled out of the covers.
"I'll leave you alone. You've clearly got a lot deal with."
"Wait, can I come with you? I've enjoyed your company more than I've ever enjoyed hers."
"I just tried to eat you."
"I don't care."
"Uh, sure I guess." Little Red followed the wolf carrying her basket and hammer. She tossed the flowers on the bed.
"See you next time Grandma," she yelled.
"Let me out of here right now."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-09-20T16:13:28 | 2022-09-20T15:33:07 | 126 | 28 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives. | There were over 100 Alien species in the grand council of zerekas, the largest weaponry and technology showcase in the known universe, the Imperium of Pretoria had just received a standing ovation from the members, after showing that their newest creation of indestructible living sculptures had successfully eliminated the test subjects in the main arena.
But it was the newcomers to the Grand council, the Humans who held the interest of the Species, from the peace loving Chisari to the war hungry Krograsi. They were nothing Special, Militarily, biologically or scientifically, but the humans were shocked when they realised a weapon they had been using for centuries, even when they were locked on their home world hadn’t been developed by a single other Species.
The Humans said they had the very best man for the job.
“And finally this evening, the Human delegation, and their innovation: explosives” the voice over the PA announced.
And a single, solitary human appeared in the centre of the arena he took one look at the multitude of species that were showing interest in what he had to show
And then he screamed to the audience...
“DO YOU KNOW 98% OF THINGS IN THE GALAXY ARENT EXPLODING RIGHT NOW?!?!?, THAT IS HORSESH*T!” | "Oh fuck off you mango eating tit."
"Come on man just one stick, just one."
"For the last time I'M NOT SELLING YOU ANYMORE! You're addicted you need to stop."
"Come on man pleeeeease... I'll make it worth you while."
I look up from my book and stare at his glowing face... Or butt. "I'm listening."
"Okay so there's this rumor going around that Ratethim got this safe now if you give me the stick I can get into it and and I'll pay you back I swear"
"Goddamn it Jean" I stare him in the eye and chuckle. "Where do you think I got the explosives?"
Okay so this is my first writing post thingy it's just alittle (very little) story I wrote up tell me what you think. P.S. I'm on mobile. So you need to dismiss and ignore any incorrect grammar or miss spellings because I'm special.
| 2018-07-16T04:52:58 | 2018-07-15T20:26:33 | 161 | 22 |
[WP] Start your story with a sentence that is genuinely happy and upbeat, no double meanings. End it with the same sentence, but this time it's chilling, dark, and horrifying.
[deleted] | My masterpiece was finally done.
I had met my inspiration, a sweet family with a child born of love. Together they were beautiful and pure. I wanted to capture their love for one another and show the world! I sketched out many concepts and presented them, waiting until the excitement in their eyes matched mine. Then I began to sculpt.
Constantly they would ask if I had finished yet, when it would be complete. I would admonish them, telling them to wait patiently as my art took time. They were paying a high price and I promised it would be worth it.
I ran the final stroke along the father's neck and watched as his love poured out onto his family. We all cried tears of joy as they too had never seen something so beautiful.
My masterpiece was finally done. | I love to cook with children.
I have always loved them.
They are so innocent. So pure.
Today I’m making my special dish and 4 year old Toby will join me.
It was easy to lure him over with the promise of a fluffy rabbit.
It was even easier to twist his little neck and chop him into little pieces for the stew.
I love to cook with children.
| 2018-04-24T01:04:28 | 2018-04-23T23:56:08 | 47 | 18 |
[WP] Working as a world renowned therapist you have uncovered far more about secret conspiracies, horrific monsters, barely failed schemes to destroy the world and dark magical cults from your myriad of heroic patients than you could have bargained for, and you might need therapy yourself | I stumbled into the offices of Dr. Ringwald, a friend of mine, as a patient. The years of therapy were taking a toll on me. Even on the streets, I was conscious of the secret eyes of the Black Crow scrutinizing me.
What's the Black Crow you ask? Even I don't remember. Some caped crusader told me about it a long way back and since then it has been my habit to check for the Black Crow agents keeping a watch on me.
"Ah, welcome Osborne, welcome. How are things with you?" Ringwald said.
"Things are fine, thank you very much," I replied. It was unusual of Ringwald to ask such questions. "Today is my birthday, you know," I added.
Ringwald's eyebrows rose in surprise. I scrutinized his face carefully. Was he Ringwald or a magic impostor? I had to be certain. They were everywhere, the sorcerers.
"Is it? My, did I forget again," Ringwald laughed a curt laugh. "Well, I thought it was sometime in the fall."
Nothing suspicious about him, no. I decided to let him in on the secret.
"Yes, it is in the fall. I was just messing with you. Actually, no, I'm not messing with you. I wanted to check if you really were you."
Ringwald's face assumed a grave expression. "What do you mean?"
"Well it's a long story, but the point is that the wizards of Lotharia planned an invasion some five years back and still mages from their sleeper cells are said to loom large in the city."
Ringwald put his glasses on. "Okay," he said.
I realized what he was doing and apologized immediately. "It's just these stories from my days on the field Ringwald, they keep messing with me. I don't know what's real anymore."
Ringwald nodded gravely. He had slipped into his professional mode. I could tell. He analyzed me very carefully.
"Since when have you been having such," Ringwald waved his hand in the air, "delusions?"
Delusions? Delusions did he say?
"These are no delusions, Ringwald. All of this really happened. I just want to ensure that the stories don't stick with me, that's all. But the stories are true. Real heroes and real wizards have narrated them onto me."
Ringwald said nothing and scribbled something in his notebook. "Since when did you start seeing these, 'heroes,' and 'wizards' as patients?"
I didn't like his tone. He sounded like he was looking down on me, the bastard.
"Five years, Ringwald, five years. And I have seen them all. All of them. The ones that went mad and the ones that were immortalized in comic books."
Ringwald nodded. There I noticed a queer glint in his eye. It appeared for a moment and then faded away.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable, Osborne? Lay on the couch, close your eyes, and tell me more."
The voice was gentle and soothing, but the glint that I saw remained in my consciousness. The glint could mean lots of things. A lot of the dark wizard cults had that glint magically appear in their eyes. But I trusted Ringwald and I lay on the couch and closed my eyes.
"It's been a rough five years," I said, eyes closed. "The days are rough. The stories, the madness of the dejected heroes, it is too much to take at times. The accounts of the heroes they still-" I stopped.
Ringwald was not sitting next to me. I could tell. When I opened my eyes, he was standing at the foot of the couch scribbling notes. "What?" he said, "Continue please, or do you need some of the old sweet talk?"
Something was not right about the way he talked. His manner was too gruff. I reached into my front pocket and took some of the pixie dust I had and blew it his way. Ringwald sneezed. His body started quivering and in a matter of seconds, it burst into black flakes of ash.
Just then the door of the office opened. Ringwald stood in the doorway.
"Osborne! How are you doing old lad? I apologize for the delay. I had to see a client personally, but do make yourself comfortable."
I smiled. There was no need for therapy, I wasn't delusional. Not even a little. | I wore all black, as if I had been to a funeral. For when you are talking to Greatnesswoman, you must wear all black, everything else makes her unfocused. And to make her unfocused could mean the end to the world. At least when she prepared herself for a mission.
I must have had eleven therapy sessions with her the last month. The latest only one hour ago. This session was for me.
The only garment that was not black was my light blue mask. I preferred keeping my face hidden after my identity as the hero doctor had become known. I knocked three times on the hard wooden door and then I let myself in. The door let me in to a small room full of light. There were two chairs facing each other and a table between them.
On the furthest chair from the door, sat a woman. She stacked a bunch of papers back and forth. “Please sit down?” She said without reaching eye contact. She had a firm voice, a dense voice. I personally used other approaches when greeting clients, but I was not here to criticize.
I took of my jacket and placed it on a solid brown hanger. Then I followed her instructions and sat down. She placed her papers in a neat pile on the table. She then looked up; “please take of your mask”.
I steamed of insecurity but did as I were told. She frowned, “dr. Garrison!” She gasped, “the therapist to Greatnessman and…” I interrupted “Yes, yes and Greatnesswoman and all the others”. I was so tired of being recognized, by everyone.
She looked puzzled, but also confident; “well, what can I do for you” she gave a bleak smile.
“Well, it is about my job as the therapist to the greatest heroes. I have had this role for a while, and I do not longer handle all the work and responsibilities.”
I placed my head in my arms and sighed. “Every time, right before one of the superheroes flies to one of their missions, they call me. Every time they come back from one of this mission, they book an appointment. All their observations, all the drama and fear, they tell me everything.”
I stood up from the chair and waited for her to say something. “It’s just too much for me to carry.” The therapist nodded; “well I see, work can sometimes feel like a load, that’s difficult to carry all by yourself”.
“I need help, to continue to guide the heroes. Or else I am going to lose my mind. If things do not get better, I can no longer be a therapist.”
She continued to nod and said with a sturdy voice. “Maybe you could try to take a vacation. See how the heroes would manage by themselves for a week?”
“Ha” I laughed, “they wouldn’t last a day”.
She hesitated, “are you sure about that? We are talking about the greatest heroes of our time.”
(Dring, Dring, Dring) My phone rang. “Sorry it is important; I will be quick.” I sighed, again.
“Hey Greatnessman, how are you?” I said enthusiastic.
“Hey Garry, you wouldn’t believe it. There has been a prisonbreak in all the maximum-security prisons, in the galaxy. I know, I should start helping the authorities at once. But I think I need a therapy session first. Are you ready today, around five thirty?”
“Ah, you know Greatness, today isn’t…”
“Thank you, Garry, those criminals are going to be captured because of you. You are the real hero, and everybody knows it.”
“Wai…” I looked at my phone. “He hung up.” I started getting more frustrated.
“Now you see! Every day, a hero contacts me. They explain details around a mission that put both their own life and the worlds future in danger. Every minute I know that a hero might fail, and therefore the world fails with the hero.”
I looked at therapist, she seemed eager to comment. But first I said, “There is not more to say, I will quit servicing these clients.”
“No!” The therapist seemed nervous, “there is another way, let me explain”.
## r/simplystories | 2021-05-08T07:49:23 | 2021-05-08T07:10:11 | 559 | 25 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | My lord,
There is a man behind the king.
I have seen him, truly, only once. I fear it was a courtesy.
He lurks in solemn silence, a familiar stranger standing just out of sight. A footfall from the king, and yet an infinity from the crown. He watches, and sees, and yet does not permit to be seen. His eyes burn with knowledge, as many have lived lives in them - flashed in the instant between the clink of metal and a dagger in the heart.
The king’s blaze only serves to sharpen the shadows of his domain, and there he resides, in quiet power. It is not the power that a man wields when commanding a people, nor does it carry the wretched taint of coin.
No, this is a far simpler power - one of a man, over another. But the king does not bow to this power in simple fear - he kneels in gratitude. For in the cursed court of fools and snakes, where common men come to die and the power-hungry come to reap, where jackals cackle and sheep bleat, and the old lion roars - there is a hunter dressed in black.
He nocks his bow, string stretched taut at his cheek, but does not fire. He does not want trophies - or even game. He listens to the forest, and waits.
And in that, he is dangerous.
The cub grows impatient. He knows there is a great storm on the horizon, but remains unconcerned. He sees the lightning, and does not count for thunder. A fool among fools, and a champion of old glory.
My assessment is clear. This kingdom will fall, as have the rest. Whisper your nothings, and the prince will listen. But tread lightly, among the autumn leaves. Whatever the cost, the man behind the king must fall first. His gaze is sharp, and his arrow flies true - pray that he does not look to you.
Regards,
Your Humble Servant
\*\*\*
(thank you for reading, critiques welcome!) | Waves crashed as a pale individual gazed into the ocean, his face scrunched as he pondered. "Perhaps I should have taken the risk of documenting his father's actions regarding construction in this settlement, but there was no guarantee he would believe the truth before him." He sighed, walking away from the bustle of the port along the coast as he returned to a secluded hut near a river that kissed the sea.
"I'll have to report this to the others." He concluded as he began to assess the materials on his desk. He took a leaf of papyrus and began crafting his script.
To the untrained eye the code would appear to be a greeting followed by request for a recommendation of employment to an individual stationed in Egypt, but behind the words lay a message.
As he wrote he sighed in frustration. "The timing of the Resistance was unfortunate, but the whims of human violence can't be helped." The son of the emperor had been stationed across the sea to take action against those that resisted the Empire, but the lack of contact between the son and the former guard prevented him from trickling information to him about his work; It would be difficult to drop bricks of information and expect a man to carry that weight from the start.
His lips curled as he wrote a document of lies, as his post was unmanned and he would prefer to have a full team at his disposal to retake the facility.
When deciphered, key words appeared:
Urgent. Loss of influence at Pompeii, Keter in facility at base of Vesuvius.
"That'll get them moving." He snorted, but he couldn't smile anymore. He couldn't help but worry over the current situation. The longer the facility was out of their control the more likely human intervention would result in disaster.
"I just hope they get here in time." | 2021-02-28T06:26:43 | 2021-02-28T04:46:41 | 48 | 28 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | I remember the first morning I had to head up to the mill under our new Eternal Lord of Darkness. I slowly leered out of the thin opening in my front door. The sky had turned dark, and red clouds hung in the air above us. I stepped back to hold my wife goodbye, took a deep breath of courage, and stepped out onto the harsh rocks...
Pavement? That's odd. Rather than the typical blisters and sharp pains of unleaded rock, my bare feet were met by the smooth calming surface of nearly cut and placed rock. I looked to both sides, and the entire street was paved as far as my eyes could see. Did the Lord of Darkness actually pave the entire city's ground? All in one night, too?
I cautiously made my way down the street towards my lumber mill. At the end of the street, I saw a patrol group pass by in horse-drawn carriage. Four of the darkly clod soldiers we had come to fear and respect rode in the back, their spears sticking up menacingly out of the ride. Suddenly one of them ran out of the carriage and pointed the spear directly at an innocent and sickly townsman's throat. I stopped walking and clutched my chest in horrid anticipation for the atrocity I was about to witness.
But the poor man turned out to be a thief, handed over the bread he had stolen, and was let off with a warning. We could actually sleep easy tonight under the new patrol group's watch! What a lunacy, that the Dark Lord would actually improve upon our safety and comfort, and deliver such a keenly fair sense of justice...
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. | Channel 5 news reporting on the scene earlier today after Link was immediately assassinated by Ganon, and Zelda was executed in front of the citizens of Hyrule. John Ramirez is on the ground getting the people's reaction to today's events.
JR: Excuse me sir, how has today's events made you feel.
Random Citizen: well actually I couldn't be happier, that little shit always ran around breaking my pots.
JR: But what about princess Zelda? Surely her death has come as a tradegy to all in the kingdom?!
RC: Nope, not really. I mean we are expected in this day in age to maintain the societal hierarchy that allows for a ruling class, in which a young boy, annoying may he be, can sacrifice his life to save what? A figurehead of the aristocracy? I tell you John, what kind of leadership allows random citizens to fight and die for it all because the idea of castle security is a foreign fucking concept?
JR: Umm okay sir thank you for your comment. Miss would you mind commenting on the tradegy that Ganon's rule will surely be?
RC2: I like him, Ganon I mean, he gives off a sense of structure that we have not enjoyed here in a very long time. He will be the king that finally secures our borders.
JR: Wow, okay it seems that the local populace are not very upset after today's actions. Alright, back to you in the studio, Tom. | 2016-07-10T12:02:17 | 2016-07-10T11:12:55 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] You are sent 1000 years into the past with the entire library of wikipedia downloaded onto a tablet device. After only 1 year, you are renowned as a wise man and prophet. | "The Emperor demands to see you."
"I will not come. I leave at midnight. Instruct him to triple the guards around his bedroom and wait until the morning if wants to survive."
"But Sir! Even with your status as a revered Councillor, you cannot deny a summons...If you do so...I would rather set myself upon the sword I carry than tell the Emperor such a command..."
"Come with me then. His line is over. You don't need a wise man to know that. The southern plains have been flooded three times in the last two months, the grain and rice supplies are depleted, the House Guard haven't been paid since the government coffers are empty. I may understand this world better than most, but I cannot summon gold where there is none, I cannot change the future. Time my young friend, will march on regardless to what happens to our empire under Heaven's mandate. The mandate must change from time to time. Come with me."
"Where will we go?"
"Into the mountains. Come, pack the remaining things into a small bag, we have a large obstacle in our path, and the fires of the city are only beginning to light."
"What lights? It is curfew, no such citizen would venture out at this time..."
"No, but a mob might. If I have calculated the time correctly, old town, beginning with the market will be lit alight first. Hurry, we must leave now. Leave the honorific seal."
"We will need to identify ourselves. What will I call you?"
"Confucius." | LOG ENTRY: DAY 0
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Many adulations are to be expressed about the amazing things the United States can accomplish when it puts its fifty six-sided mind on something incredible. There is, however, still something to be said about hubris.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My name is Hugo Song, Chrononaut. I am the first person to set foot upon the past.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I am somewhere in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where the first functioning time machine will be lit some thousand years from now. My chrono-beacon, sent before me, is by my calculations waiting approximately 900 years in the future at this exact spot. Time slippage. The gate must have stretched, turning a small step into a frightening leap, every consecutive object passing through going further and further back.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In other words, I have no way of returning home.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The sun has already fallen behind the mountains. I shall continue this log at first light. | 2015-06-23T19:47:05 | 2015-06-23T17:20:18 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line. | He gazed into the distance, smiling as a cool breeze hit him.
It reminded him of a memory of his childhood, the first time he played in the rain. All the cousins gathered at Grandpa's house and played various games for hours. The uncles and aunts joined them after a while and everyone then hosed off after the rain.
"Man, sis would have loved this", he said out loud.
He walked on ahead to find an old electronics shop, perhaps battered by a storm a few years ago. There were signs for "The new Nintendo Switch" down on the floor, musty and a little crumpled.
The sun started setting down as he walked back home.
"I'm home! ", he declared as he stepped in. He opened the fridge to grab some pasta he saved from earlier.
He laid down on the bed, as he did everyday around 8 PM.
"If only I had the ability to go back in time" he said out loud. "I would have atleast had a point of return"
He manifested a ball of energy on the palm of his hand as he thought to himself,
"Maybe killing everyone to save the planet wasn't a good idea".
| Today's the end of The Month. It wasnt surprising but we all knew it was coming. It lasted too long but we didnt want it to seem like it had come too soon. There are 12 of them yet this one was different. It was almost like the rest seemed dull and ugly while this one was meaningful and gave us momentary happiness right up until the end, when it got bad. Having this many dogs was hard to take care of but it seemed like one dog always needed something extra and it was always.....the same dog. Before the end of The Month, we had bills to pay and the extra expenses werent helping us and it seemed like we wanted The Month to last longer but we never had the money for the bills even by the end of it. We buried The Month in the yard as it served its purpose even if it was too much for us. | 2017-08-30T05:46:13 | 2017-08-30T04:51:45 | 46 | 13 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | Economies of scale were never meant to accomodate the latent population boom. Once everyone started taking the pill, their lives revolved around work. Some poor souls worked 16 hours, and the Telemira's side effects really started kicking in. We called them zombies, because they looked the part. No, humanity didn't know what it had in store for itself, other than the positive validation of enhanced material wealth almost overnight.
Since the pill was first distributed to those who could afford it, it mostly extended their vacations well into the night. Studio 54 had mothing on the wild, wakeful parties that sometimes went on for weeks. Then, as the pill rapidly reduced its costs, the middle managers started squeezing their underlings, who couldn't quite afford the $1,300 price tag for a bottle. Drugs had long since been regulated by price & market signals, vs. the old way of forced compliance & punishment. So there was a period of untold human suffering before the underlings priced into the market.
And then they were. In the first few decades, the underlings sat on top of the largest boom of economic activity the world had ever seen. There were ten space stations in low-Earth orbit that sent regular flights to the Moon, where you could then hop on a flight to the Mars colonies. We couldn't help ourselves but enjoy the fruits of our labor.
But then, as humanity so often lifts itself out of the dregs of medieval thinking, it regresses to the norm. The pill Telomira aged you a little faster than normal, but you made up for it in your sleeptime with exercise. There was no way of knowing it would age everyone more or less at once. An entire human population of geriatrics in under ten years. While we carry the wisdom of an accelerated third of our lives, we're now forgetting where we left our keys, and worry what might happen when we stand up too fast.
As for the pill? I'd stop taking it if it didn't kill me tomorrow. | Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it. | 2022-03-18T11:38:25 | 2022-03-18T07:24:03 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You're among the most powerful mages in the world. But you're self-taught: while your reserves of mana are great, your versatility is... lacking. You decide to finally try attending a school for spellcraft to see what you can learn. | *Day 1, First period.*
Frank was sitting in a classroom. It was a bit conspicuous, a 30 year old man sitting in between a bunch of 15 year old boys and girls.
"Well done Clara, I can see you have been practicing over the summer holiday," the teacher, Mr. Goodspell, praised her. "Good technique, fine spell work, good wand movement. Take a seat please. Mr. Abernathy can you show us what you can do? You have lighted a candle before?"
"Errr... Not exactly," Frank replied. "I know a bit of fire magic. There is this one spell I learned that..."
"Just the candle spell, please. Stand here, aim your wand at the candle and cast."
"I don't like using the wand, sir."
"Mr. Abernathy, I explained you need the wand to focus and amplify your abilities. Wild magic will not be tolerated. Now please cast your spell."
Frank held the wand with both hands like he was firing a shotgun from the hip. The rest of the class was tittering. It distracted Frank and as his concentration lapsed a bit, the tiny trickle of power he tried to squeeze out became his usual flood as his control over manna loosened a bit. Not that he noticed it with his vast reserves.
His newly acquired classmates on the other hand jumped back as ungodly bright beam of energy launched from his wand towards the rack of candles and right through it. Hot pieces of wax, propelled by vaporizing parts of wax and steam flew through the room and pinged against the nuclear war grade shield spell Frank habitually used, protecting most of the class.
When the spell ended and everybody came out of hiding behind their desks, they just stared at the red glowing wall that still dripped with half melted lava.
"I lighted the wall, sir. Does that count?"
"OUT! Class Dismissed."
*Day 1, Second period.*
The students tried to move their now very heavy golden chairs away from the golden desk, scraping over the golden floorboards.
"I asked you to transfigure the flower, Mr. Abernathy. Not the rest of the class. Please undo this."
"Sorry, Ma'am. I only know how to turn things to gold. And the wand, you see, it gives it a bit too much oomph."
"You really have to learn to focus that wild magic of yours."
*Day 1, Third period.*
Students were flying away on their broom at high speed in a panic as the very large dragon chased them. As the dragon puffed fire, they students increased their speed.
"MR. ABERNATHY GET DOWN HERE" the teacher for flying lessons boomed, using the amplifying charm.
Several seconds later, the dragon dropped heavily on the ground. The shock wave lifted the teacher of the ground for a moment, but she stayed perfectly upright and landed lightly.
"The broom please."
As the dragon opened its front paw, a broom was visible, looking like a toothpick in its huge paw. The dragon dropped the broom in front of the teacher.
"You are to fly on the broom, not carry it."
In a very deep booming voice, with green and blue flames wafting around its maw the dragon responded: "SORRY I PANICKED FOR A MOMENT."
Internally the teacher face palmed herself silly, but remained stoically on the outside.
"From the top. What are the three rules of flying?" | "Powers the size of a Galaxy. Every spell a strategic nuclear weapon."
That's me, in a nutshell. Sure, I can toast bread, for the entire country, every loaf, even when they're frozen — nice golden brown on every one. Ah, I see you remember. Sorry about that, I only wanted to toast *my* bread, and not all of that.
If it weren't for the fact that I like people and toast, I could cast that spell all… day… long… I wouldn't even scratch the surface of my reserves.
Now, I'd like you to imagine what would happen to the world we *all* live in, if some government got their hands on me, and found a way to coerce me.
Do you want an entire country turned into burnt crunchy bits? It'll take me a map and two seconds.
How do I know? I wanted to thaw some land for a friend. He was going to have to dig it up for an emergency pipe repair, using heavy equipment since the ground was too hard for hand tools. Based on the energy to bring the silica in the soil to a temperature where it wasn't quite liquid, but was still hot enough to fuse? Yeah. I did the math. Two seconds.
Now he can use hand tools, and a shop vac, but he's going to need to re-sod his entire front lawn and replace the melted siding on that side of the house. It even made his windows sag. Good thing he had that infrared reflective coating. The radiance would have ignited his furniture.
I can do the same damn thing to every country in the world, in less than half a day, without using more than half my mana. I'll be fully recharged in four hours.
I need a way to control the amount of mana flowing into the spell. Two ways. Reduce the rate, or chop the time. I can't figure out how to reduce the rate, so I've focused on cutting the time as small as I can. It's not enough.
"My Lady, I'm surprised you haven't blown the world to smithereens, or yourself for that matter."
"Chancellor, who says I haven't?
The world? Five times and brought it back so smoothly that no one even noticed.
Myself? This is my 94,737th body. I did a *lot* of experiments."
"Have you considered becoming a deity?"
"My one attempt at creating life caused one of the world destruction events. I have to have control first.
Not that I'd consider godhood anyway, worshipers are annoying…
Oops…
World destruction #1."
"I'm not sure we can help, but I think we have to try."
…—…
"Who is that lady that all the instructors are so deferential to?"
"Ms. Mana Pool."
"What's she do?"
"She powers this entire place. That chair she sits in allows her to channel her mana into the building and reservoirs of the University."
"The whole school!?!"
"Yes. You be polite and don't annoy her."
"How much mana does she have?"
"I don't know, but I heard she's turned down godhood at least 37 times."
((Finis)) | 2020-01-16T12:00:41 | 2020-01-16T11:28:26 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 803 | 158 |
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil. | "This is my human. There are many like him, but this one is mine."
They are everywhere. Why he ignores his peril is beyond me. His nose is dumb, but his eyes remain sharp; surely he must see them. Yet he does nothing, wandering the yard, oblivious.
"My human is my best friend. He is my life."
They attempted another incursion today. My brethren beyond the fence warned me of their approach. Good boys, all of them.
"My human, without me, is useless. Without my human, I am unfed."
They are quick, cagey. What they want, I don't know. What I *do* know is that they fear me. Thus, my vigil.
"So be it, until victory is ours, and there is no enemy, but treats!"
The squirrels shall never win. | The creatures with strange heads were back. The breeze carried their scent that smells of thick-beast, their brown and black varieties of heads seem like two creatures combined. Two scents. They are not natural, but the two-leg pack members never realize the danger. I do good by protecting two legs from strange-heads. Worst of all is the carrier two leg, the one with the funny bag. Today was the day he doesn't come. I lament my missed opportunity to please the two legs. Despite being oblivious, they always seem to have food. | 2014-12-27T10:58:57 | 2014-12-27T09:41:24 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] An elevator suddenly appears in your one story house. Every night at midnight exactly, it opens for 5 minutes. Inside is an exact copy of you. Each night, the copy is progressively more injured than the night before. | (This is my first wp but I'm clearly getting something different from this prompt than others so I thought I'd chime in.)
I was up drinking and watching nothing on tv the first night when the wallpaper was dragged upwards by a steel door that dinged and opened. Times like this I'm happy I'm on lithium. It limits my emotional range.
"Hello?" I asked.
I walked out of the elevator. Different clothes, but me. Me 2 looked around and sighed and went to the fridge and started to make a drink.
"Yeah... just help yourself," I told Me 2.
He sat next to me and gave me a half nod. I could see his face was a bit busted. He had all my old scars but he had gotten some new ones.
"So," I dragged on after some time, "do I get an explanation?"
A few minutes silence and a half shrug and a ding and the doors to the elevator closed. It receded into the floor, leaving a giant hole in the wall through to the bathroom. The tub was toast.
Me 2 slept on the couch and slept through the next day. I prodded him a little but got no response the next day. We sat and drank and watched nothing at all of interest and at midnight it came up and went ding again.
Me 3 had a limp coming out. Me and Me 2 looked at him from the couch. He made himself a drink and joined us. Ding and it went down and it was twenty minutes before I had to ask, "Okay... so... how many?"
Me 4 was missing three fingers. Me 5 was missing an eye. Each Me had the scars of Me and the Mes that came before him. None of them wanted to talk about it. Me 7 came out in a heap, slumping out of the door. We stared. The doors closed. The doors opened. Close. Open. He was setting off the safety sensor.
"No one's gonna do it?" I asked the others. They half shrugged.
I stood up and walked to Me 7 and dragged him out and the doors closed and the elevator returned. I sat him up against the kitchen counter and put a longneck in his hand then returned to the couch, but Me 6 had taken my spot.
The next night the elevator rose and the doors opened and Me 8 started to fall out. I caught him. I pushed him back in and walked him to the rear wall. It was a tight fit but the 9 of us made it work. I pressed the down button. I don't know who we're gonna kill but he sure as hell deserves it. | Every night at midnight Billy gets funky. That music gets going in his ears and the liquor gets flowing in his brain and he sees a lady out the window and says, “Hey Lady! Why don’tcha come over here?”
She comes over, not always, but on this particular night the weather was so fine and love was in the air, so she felt the pull of her heartstrings and the bounce in step and the sway in her hips and his hand on the small of her back.
Ding\-ding!
The elevator fell down the stairs and opened up like it was late for work. Billy2 popped out, dancing his dance, the evil twin of fashion, with the shadow groove and mirror eyes.
“Baby you come here every night,” Billy said to Billy2.
Billy2 nodded.
“May I ask you why?” Billy said.
Billy2 gave the lady a handsome devil’s smile. They touched hands and moved feet and the music got louder.
“I said may I ask you why?” Billy said. He lost his breath control and got tense all over but he didn’t feel it he didn’t know it, his body got angry without him.
Billy2 leaned in real close to the lady, right next to her teardrop black pearl earring and whispered into her ear, and when he whispered he said, “What’s your name lady.”
“Gladys,” Lady said.
Billy2 picked up her hand and she spun around picking up and putting down her smooth white shoes in a perfect pentagon pattern that she’d practiced.
“Hey stranger you got a lot a nerve,” Billy said, “Comin into a man’s house on a lucky night when love is in the air and the weather is so fine and the lady feels it in her heartstrings.”
“This is a party for two,” Billy2 said, looking at Billy for the first time, “and I don’t like the way you look.”
“You’re gonna get me going if you don’t get going,” Billy said. “You wanna take this outside?”
“How bout you take it upstairs?” Billy2 said.
Billy and Billy2 did a little push and shove, punch and roll, kick and fall.
“I’m Billy,” Billy2 said.
He picked the other Billy up and he put him in the elevator box and closed the doors to the box and pressed the button and it went upstairs with a bruised broken Billy inside. Taking turns. | 2018-05-19T00:52:05 | 2018-05-18T22:11:24 | 211 | 28 |
[WP] Hell actually is a place for rehabilitation instead of punishment. | "So tell me again about the jacket," the demon said.
I rolled my eyes. "Is this it?" I asked. "The same question over and over again? You think it's going to open up my eyes and I'll understand everything with clear eyes and an open heart?"
The demon smiled and steepled his fingers. "Tell me about the jacket."
Leaning back in the chair, and breathing out theatrically, I complied. "My mom bought me a jacket," I said. "Red leather - fake leather, I guess. She... we... were poor. I loved it. I wore it. The end."
"*Is* that the end?" he asked. "Is it?"
I looked him in the eyes. As many of them as were possible. There were too many of them to do justice to every one. "I wore the jacket every day before it all... you know. Before she was arrested. Before she was acquitted. Before she came home."
He patted my hand with one of his legs. "Thank you," he said. "I know this is hard."
I gave him a look. "I appreciate that," I said. "I feel your concern and it helps me to grow."
"Don't be a dick," he said. "Tell me what happened next."
"When she... on the day she died," I started, my voice catching. "I took it out of the wardrobe. I hadn't worn it in years. She'd told me I was too old to wear it now. It was too small. It was worn, and ripped."
His mandibles clicked. "Go on," he said.
I could feel a tear roll down my cheek. "But it was... I just wanted to," I stuttered a little, "go *home* again? You know? Before it all..." I sobbed audibly.
"I'm here for you," he said. "I'm here. Let it out."
"But it wasn't the same!" I shouted. "It wasn't! After the court case, the newspapers, the recriminations! She got out on a technicality! We lived in the neighbourhood. She thought her defiance made her right. She thought she was reclaiming her life! Every pointed stare, every spraypainted accusation, she'd tell me it made us stronger!"
He made a clucking sound. "But it didn't, did it?"
"No," I said. "I grew up as the child of a monster. Known to everyone. Known to all as the fruit of the beast of the..." I broke down.
He waited patiently.
I pulled myself together. "How did you know?" I asked. "How did you know that the jacket was the thing that drew me to killing?"
There was a moment where - even with a face like his - I could register surprise. "Really?" He asked. "I mean... seriously?"
"Yeah," I said.
He caught my eye. "What was *your* jacket made out of?"
"Human skin," I said. "Oh, shit! Is this what they mean when they say a breakthrough?"
He looked awkwardly around. "Probably," he said.
"Fuck," I said to no-one in particular. "I'd never seen the connection until now."
__________________
Edit: drunk punctuation. | Lucifer sat at his desk staring matter-of-factly at the woman on the other side of him, "So, Tammie, why do you think you're here?" she wasn't sure how she ended up here.
"I, uh, I'm sorry who are you?" she asked. The devil let out a sigh, he appeared as red-horned demon in a white suit and everyone always asked.
"I'm the devil, but call me Lucifer, and you're in hell," he waited for the typical response. She began crying and asking why, he tried to explain to her that she wasn't damned for all eternity and that she, like all the others, were here for spiritual rehabilitation.
She calmed down even though there were still tears in her eyes, "So what." she took a shallow breath, "Do I." and then another, "Do to." still another, "get out?" she began to dry her eyes.
Lucifer put his hands together, opened his mouth to speak and then paused, pressed his hands against his lips and waited for a moment, "Why do you think you're here?" he asked her again. God, the tricky maker he is, put Lucifer in charge of hell right around the time humans started to recognize Him as the true creator. Lucifer who loved humanity like God had asked him to didn't mind the burden but he wasn't allowed to actually tell them what they intrinsically know they've done wrong.
" I don't know!" Tammie started to sob again, "Why can't you just tell me?" she demanded. There were a few exceptions every couple thousand people but for the most part they were all Tammies: loud, obnoxious, and unwilling to truly reflect. It had been like this since the first human arrived.
"Well, that's something I'm going to need you to think about," Lucifer stood up and was suddenly a beautiful, androgynous person whose body shimmer so brightly it was hard to look at, "I know that in your heart you're a truly good person and deserve to be in His presence." he put sat on the desk next to her and put a hand on her shoulder, "We have a 5-step program if you have trouble figuring it out now," a pamphlet appeared in his hand.
Tammie read the cover, "Salvation through Suffering: A program that gets you to God." she looked up at the still beautiful angel, "Wait, what?" she jumped from her seat in horror.
"We're only here to help," Lucifer insisted. Before she had a chance to protest he snapped his fingers and she was suddenly standing barefoot over broken glass, barbed wire, and hot coals. Her screams of agony were drowned out by a booming voice reciting something she was in too much pain to hear. The voice droned on though.
"Step 1. Recognizing that you're in spiritual, not physical, pain..."
| 2016-05-22T14:52:11 | 2016-05-22T13:54:55 | 40 | 29 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | Mortimer pushed the requisition form over the desk.
The magistrate squinted at it angrily. "Twelve? Why twelve? It says here-" the magistrate looked into a crystal ball "- you only needed 8 last year. Why do you need 12 this year?"
"Well, now that the graveyard's empty, we're going to plant crops on it and we need help shifting the gravestones." said Mortimer.
"Fine. Twelve it is. You're gonna have to take a few zombies though. We're running out of skellies." The magistrate handed Mortimer a pouch with the magic control stones in it, a contract scroll and a pin to draw blood from a finger so Mort could sign the contract. "Good for 3 months. Keep them oiled, report any damage before you sign the parchment and did you want to purchase insurance on any of them?"
Mortimer knew how to care for the skellies. "No thanks, I'm good."
"Righto, you know best. Sign here and you're good to go."
Mortimer pricked his finger, made his mark and took over the work party.
Once you got used to the smell, there wasn't anything really left to be upset about. Zombies worked just as hard and actually broke less than the skeletons, especially the older models. Nobody greased the bones properly. It was all about the quality of the tallow. You couldn't just rub beeswax on them, that didn't seep into the bones. No good, no good at all. Technically skellecare was the user's responsibility but everyone blamed everyone else. That's what always happens in the shared commons. Not Mort though. He knew everybody had to pitch in to make the whole system work.
The dark lord's work parties was made up of all the dead soldiers - from both sides - of the 12 year's war which had finally ended the reign of Leopold the Bastard. The dark lord's mage battallions - the magistrates - kept all the coprses animated. Luckily, the corpses had all decomposed now so there wasn't much of a stink anymore - it had been a couple of years - and a zombie was pretty rare. They were only drafted for harvest season and in emergencies. They were the recently departed, shipped in from out of town so that there were no unfortunate memories of loved ones.
Mortimer thanked the magistrate and gestured to the crew. They lined up in formation and Mortimer looked them over. "Oi! Mage! What's this shit? How'm I supposed to run a grave reclaim if this stinker's got no bloody hands?"
"Oh, right, gimmie that c-stone, I'll swap it out." | I've been haunting this castle for a while now. A year, to be exact. I spent the first week mourning the loss of my princessly wardrobe and Prince Carl, who’d been killed trying to rescue me, when I realized two things. Number one, I didn’t know Carl at all (and since he died after taste-testing the clearly labeled poison wall that Dr. Sinestest had put up, he clearly hadn’t been all that bright to begin with). Number two, I was stuck haunting a castle bathroom. Apparently I had to be sacrificed in a bathtub for easier cleanup. No dignity, I tell you.
There are advantages, of course. Sinestest always likes to read the news while she’s going to the bathroom in the morning, so I get to stay up-to-date on the latest news from my kingdom. Apparently there’s been a significant decrease in state-sponsored balls, which serves her right. Sometimes I like to write mocking messages on the mirror when it fogs up. My little way of getting some revenge on the lady who took over my country, you know? One of my finer messages was on the day she came in with singed eyebrows: “On fleek, professor.”
Two weeks later, one of her mad science experiments was being rolled out throughout the kingdom. Everyone was required to use this dumb new state-sponsored fertilizer. Come on, lady, you just took over a kingdom and now you think you need to re-engineer horse dung? What a load of crap. Take advantage of your position. Lord it over some peasants already!
A month after that, her morning news scroll carried the headline, “Potato famine over!: ‘Eye can’t believe it,’ says citizen.” Apparently her special fertilizer has the side effect of giving potatoes actual eyes (whether they have eyelashes is unclear), so I’m pretty sure she’s terrifying the citizenry.
The headlines in “Daily Peasant” have gotten stranger and stranger, really.
“Daughters required to attend school until age 15: outrage ensues”
“Free reading lessons offered by Sinistest government. In unrelated news, our readership is up.”
“Sinestest breaks pub monopoly, ends beer price-fixing”
“Your womanlies can be painless too! A miracle cure”
Okay, I admit that last one is pretty cool. Mostly she sucks, though.
Today on the mirror I told her that. “You suck,” I wrote. She snorted and took a sample of my ectoplasm. I think I’m worried. | 2016-07-10T19:02:33 | 2016-07-10T17:19:36 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] The day you die, Death comes and asks if you are ready to go. Jokingly, you say no. To your surprise, he leaves. Now every year he comes back to ask again | *I stood in a white void facing a hooded figure, confused and somewhat scared.*
*“Where am I?” I asked the figure. “Are you the grim reaper?”*
*“Yep. I’m sorry to say this, man, but, well, you’re dead. You really should have looked both ways before you crossed that busy street...” He replied, shrugging.*
*“Damn, really? That’s so lame...” I groaned. “Man, I haven’t even gotten laid yet. This is so uncool...”*
*“Yeah, well, that’s life for ya.” He chuckled, extending his pale hand towards me. “Ready to head up to heaven?”*
*“Nah.” I replied, looking at him right where I thought his eyes would be under his hood.*
*“Wait, seriously?” He seemed taken aback.*
*“Yeah.”*
*“Oh, uh, okay. Shit, I’ve never had anyone say no before. Guess I’ll just send you back...” He snapped his fingers, and I found myself lying in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and IV tubes. My girlfriend began crying into my chest when she saw that I had woken up...*
Every year after that fateful day, the Grim Reaper would come and visit me wherever I was. He always came at the most inopportune times, always asking me if I wanted to go to heaven. Once, he popped into existence in my bedroom while my girlfriend and I were ‘busy’. Another year, he interrupted me while I was in the middle of a job interview. He even caused my poor mother to have a heart attack when he appeared during Thanksgiving dinner. After that particular incident, I decided that enough was enough.
One night, after my girlfriend was asleep, he appeared to me in my living room, where I was waiting for him with a bottle of beer.
“Hey, man. Are you finally ready to go?”
“The answer’s still no, brah. I have a pretty bomb-ass life right now, but there is one thing that I don’t like about it, and that’s you. You keep annoying the shit out of me every year with that same damn question, man, and the answer’s always gonna be no.” I took a swig of my beer.
“I see. Why don’t I just make you immortal, then?” He asked me. “Then you’ll never have to see me again. Granted, I don’t know if you’d want to-“
“Do it.” I interrupted him demandingly. “Do whatever you need to do, as long as you stay the hell outta my life.”
“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you...” He snapped his fingers again, vanishing from my life for the last time.
Not long after he vanished, the world fell into utter chaos. All the global tension that had been building up since before I was born had finally reached a boiling point, and every country on earth was obliterated in a horrible nuclear firestorm in a matter of hours. I could only stare in horror at the destruction and death that occurred around me as all my loved ones and the rest of planet earth were atomized out of existence.
Once the bombs stopped falling, I was alone. Alone on a desolate hellscape that I used to call home, with nobody to talk to except myself. Everyone I knew and loved was dead, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“I shoulda said yes...” | The blaring horn, the terrible noise of metal screeching against metal, the flash of lights, the pain.
And then everything was gone. A peaceful stillness filled me and darkness surrounded me.
A figure emerged from the darkness, slowly walking toward me, a hood above its head, a scythe in its hand.
"It is time, Henry Gridsno. Are you ready to leave this planet?"
I look up toward the hooded figure, think about my parents, my friends, my life.
"No."
I didn't expect it to work.
He nods his head. "I figured that, Henry Gridsno. I'll see you again soon." He walks back into the darkness leaving me alone.
The pain comes back first. The aching headache. I lift my head off a soft pillow and look around a small room.
IVs are sticking out of my arms and a constant beeping is beside me. Fresh covers sit over me, warming my body.
"Hello?" My voice is hoarse and barely comes out more than a whisper.
A pretty nurse notices me and walks into the room, smiling. "Glad to see you awake, Henry."
"Are my children..." I begin before slumping down on the pillow.
"Your children and wife are fine. You were the one most hurt. We weren't sure you would make it."
I nodd and relax onto the bed.
...
The next year, I'm sitting on the couch, holding my 5 year old son's head in my arms, watching Thomas the Train.
A dark fog drifts around me, surrounding me completely and a peaceful stillness fills me.
The same figure emerges, his scythe in his hand planted on the ground.
"Are you ready, Henry Gridsno?"
I look him in the eye and shake my head.
"Very well." He disappears back into the darkness and the fog lifts.
Every year he returns to ask again. Whenever I die, he asks me if I'm ready. It took me several years to figure out that I'm basically immortal.
When the mugger shot me in the head I figured Death wouldn't ask me.
I was surely dead now.
But the dark fog surrounded me, the peace filling me and he emerged.
"Are you ready, Henry Gridsno?"
"Not yet," I responded and he floated away.
Most stress left me. I couldn't die, couldn't be killed.
I got to watch my children grow up and become parents. It was wonderful being there for them, knowing everything would turn out fine.
Then my dear wife died.
I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my face when the dark fog surrounded me.
Death was there, in front of me.
"Why?" I ask him. "Why did you take her away?"
"Everybody dies eventually, Henry Gridsno. Even you can't control that."
I look up at him, realizing that this was better than immortality.
I wouldn't beable to live with this in happiness. I knew my children were able to take care of themselves. That was all I could do for them. That was all I could ask for.
"I'm ready."
r/FortyTwoDogs | 2019-04-16T11:45:19 | 2019-04-16T10:03:14 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You have been a wizard for 350 years but your apprentice still surprises you. You laughed at her pink fireball and the green one too. The invisible one suddenly made you much more serious. | As the apprentice rushed in, the cantankerous old wizard pondered what she'd discovered this time. Last week, it was a fireball... but pink. The week before, it was a *fireball*, only green. It was charming to see someone so excited about discovering magic, even such little details as colour modifications. Though he *would* like it if her presentations stopped being so hyperactive.
"Master!" the young, freckled woman said as she rushed to his side. "I've made the most wonderful discovery in my latest studies. It-"
"A fireball?" the wizard merely sighed back.
"W- well... yes, but I swear even you'll be surprised by this one!" she excitedly insisted.
The old wizard put down his toast, much to his disappointment, and moved his hand slightly. The two then stepped into the newly formed portal into the training grounds before he once again sat down, preparing himself for the newest colour of the impending fireball.
"Ok, so," she said, nervously preparing her hand gestures, "if you'll just... aaand... just a... there!"
With her final word, a whoosh was heard in the air and a target dummy, scorched from many sides from previous tests, had once again exploded in a shower of flame. The young girl jumped up and down, clapping her hands excitedly; her mentor, however, grew quiet and gravely serious.
"What did you do?" he growled.
"A fireball!" she replied happily. "But the colour of *nothing*! An invisible fireball!"
"No," he merely said.
"I'm- I'm sorry master?"
"You can't do that," he said and looked her in the eye, more serious than she'd ever seen him, "You can't *EVER* do that, you hear me girl?"
"But-" she grew flustered and worried, "but it's possible! You just saw! The applications in combat-"
"Are too great! There's-" he yelled but stopped himself, regaining composure. "Sit," he said and pointed at the chair next to him.
She sat meekly, without a word.
"Do you think you're the first one to discover that?!" he said. He found no response, the girl terrified of answering.
"You're not. Not by a long shot. I'd dare say most young mages did at some point. Even the ones that fell to darkness," he said somewhat somberly.
"But... none of them-"
"...had ever used them? There's *rules*, girl! Rules *none* of us break, not even the worst. An invisible fireball would be a spell of possibly unmatched power. But it'd get everyone thinking. 'What else can we make horribly strong?' we'd all think. And then? Invisible monsters, microscopic magic missiles, supersonic telekinesis... and then?" he said, looking into the distance.
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish. He was lost in thought but she did notice he was rubbing his left hand, the heavy scarring, the missing finger, the- *oh*.
"It goes too far," he uttered. "And it doesn't end well. Never. For anyone." It was a rare moment of weakness for him, not one he was used to. The apprentice looked at her feet.
"I'm- I'm sorry, master. I'm terribly sorry. I will not repeat my mistake- please do not-"
"Clara," he said. It immediately put an end to her apologies. For him to actually call her by her name...
"I don't want you to be sorry," he said softly. "I want you to learn. You're a studious one. Clever, too. You were bound to find things like this eventually. I just need you to know, now that you have, that you must never go down this path. Because if even the worst of us won't..."
"I understand," she said. He looked at her and, given her solemn expression, was convinced that she did. Worse than solemn, he thought. She looked downright downtrodden.
"You know," he said with an unusually optimistic tone, "I used to make all manner of stuff like this too when I was young." He moved his hand again and opened a small portal into his personal chambers, a dusty shelf on the other hand. He reached in and after a little bit of shuffling the ancient books pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment that likely would have fallen apart already had it not been for the magic in it.
He gave her the slightest of smiles and opened it. She followed his every move intently, but could not quite read the incantation - not only was the ink faded, the words were also incredibly dated. He murmured for a moment before striking the air before him and casting a...
A fireball.
It moved slowly, so incredibly slowly that no one would ever be hit by it, but it did allow her to closely look at it. Namely the little feet that wiggled in the air, simulating running and the little hands at the sides.
After several silent moments, the fireball finally reached the training dummy and exploded softly. The fireball with little hands and feet that looked like it was running.
And she laughed.
She could not help it - it was partly genuine laughter at the preposterous spell, partly her letting out the anxiety and fear she had felt thus far. Whatever the reason, she laughed, uproariously.
And then, to her surprise, so did he. | Part 1
He regarded himself piece by piece to ensure his countenance composed. In magic, and in guiding the young, the visage of the master must be tended. Without creativity there is no progress, but without control there is calamity. This glass needle-tip is the master's workshop, the site of the most divine and transcendent, mysterious natural science, the rearing of the next generation of magic. A peculiar alchemy, surely, not one so literal as the management of metals, but one that takes similar artful precision. He ran his palms, sweaty from his quick work, down the front of his robes as his mind focused on his face, easing the wrinkles from the corners of his eyes and smoothing the involuntary twist in his face that came unbidden at the disorder of the shop. He righted his tall hat, nearly toppled from the rush of turbulent airs.
Three years, three months, and three days ago, the woods brought him a gift, as per the terms of their agreement. From the night of their contract to the delivery of their promise nearly 20 years passed, but he did not expect quickness of the eternal fae. Sustained as he was by elixer and energy, he was old and older still. Intellectual pursuits could sustain the right mind for lifetimes, but human flesh is human flesh, the human mind the same. Three lifetimes, no, three lifetimes and a half are enough to be alone. The deep wood pressed as heavy on the walls of the cottage, the walls of the tower, as the air upon the dirt and the water upon the floor of the sea. He needed refreshment, and someone to help him deal with the weight. And so he asked the fae, known to pick up strays for their mysterious reasons and to their mysterious ends, and with whom he kept positive mutual relations--as mutual as they could be so that they might stay positive. The contract was made of chanted song, swirling fog, and yarrow dew. They asked to watch the child from their woods, for his favor in return, and for a poem. He knew not why they fulfilled his request so cheaply, but he had taken his precautions. The fae would not sever relations with the wizard lightly; their power, immense and amorphous, could not be easily focused, like the sun under a magnifying lens, as could the wizard's.
He spent the interim years in quiet anticipation, preparing. They brought him Oleander.
She came, heralded by a whippoorwill in the morning. Her mouth was stained by the berries she popped into her mouth even as she looked with wonder at his habiliments. Her own vestments were threadbare relics from her life before the woods. Clearly, the fae did not keep her so long that she forgot human words and bonds. He sensed no trickery. Hazelnut skin and hair, and a bearing of confidence despite her predicament and the grime and tangles that covered her. The whippoorwill hollered three times with tilted head and flitted away through the trees. So long had he studied in these woods, but as the child looked at him the ancient flame of protection and stewardship fanned in his breast.
Three years of study and lesson, chore and play, work and meal, passed, and the wizard felt that time had suddenly accelerated from the slow dilation of his solitude. Oleander jabbered and withdrew and jabbered again, progressed then withdrew then progressed again, and she grew out of clothes faster than he thought to sew more. The sprouts of her magic grew so fast that the tree itself grew malformed and wild. In other times their growth stifled without any seeming correlation to the temperance of their conditions. He spent sleepless nights at his desk, charting her progress and pondering the endless puzzles of growth. It was happy work.
Rarely, the child would present him with some counterfactual to the natural order in which her human faculties developed. She cared for the herbs she learned to cultivate in the cottage garden, and looked to him with respect and affection, as he did to her. Accordance between men, and accordance with the earth: this results, in humans, in a set of predictable behaviors, behaviors that facilitate the felicitous exercise of the sciences and satisfaction of human needs. But one day at the height of summer, the sun madly radiating from the apex of the sky's blue arc, he found her at the edge of the wood, cradling a whippoorwill in her arms. The creature was slain. Her tears fell into the matted blood that congealed around a circular wound, made by a sling. Her sling quietly sat in a heap of leaves some yards away, hardly damaged by her throw. Now, it's no great mystery why a child would test itself by shooting birds with a sling, no mystery why the child would weep when their aim was true. But why this bird? Why this bird, he asked her. She could not answer him. He sighted a mockingjay in the canopy. It sat knowingly, imperiously, but he sensed no hostility. His gaze lingered on the forest as he took her by the shoulder and brought her in for a hearty supper. | 2022-09-28T11:26:53 | 2022-09-28T10:28:37 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as your killer's new pet, and now your only goal is to passive aggressively drive them to insanity. |
I always liked to mess around with my brothers and sisters. It was our thing, I guess. When Mother was not looking, we would jump on each other and try and bit the other one’s ear. Mother would separate us when she thought we were going to far. I really loved Mother. She was always kind and always keeping all of us together, well fed and clean.
Then one day, out of nowhere, it all started. My brothers and sisters were being taken away from our family by giant and very loud beings. Sometimes three left the same day and sometimes, there was a few days between leavings. I had no idea what was going on. Mother seemed sad but strangely calm about all of this. Clearly, she knew what was going on. She told the rest of us to not panic and everything would be all right.
After a few weeks, only one of my brothers and I were left with Mother. One of those giant loud beings came to pick one of us up as usual and when I saw him… I… I recognised him… How could this be. The only things I ever knew were Mother and my brothers and sisters but there he was. The more I thought about it, the more I could see glimpses of strange scenes in my head.
I was in a cave. My wrist was hurting. Looking around, I realized I was chained up to a water pipe. Everything was hurting. My feet were cold. How long have I been down here? The door opened, the giant being just stood there looking at me with a knife in his hand. He said something about having enough… having enough what? Then he walked to me and in a swift movement, I felt an ice cold feeling on my throat and then the darkness took me away.
After that, nothing.
How could I know these things? How am I here right now? Was I ever something else? In any cases, this giant loud being was a bad person and I was not about to let him leave with my brother! I threw myself at his feet, rubbing myself on his legs to show him I lovely I was.
“This one looks like he likes me”, he said with a booming voice.
He lifted me from the floor, and he put me in a strange box with holes in it. I could then feel that I was leaving Mother I that I would never see her again.
During the way home, I had time to think about what I could do to him. I mean clearly, he was a bad person and since he was bringing me with him, I could probably toy with him, making him feel what he made me feel. He wouldn’t suspect a thing coming from a cute and fluffy thing like myself.
The first weeks, I was perfect, would not make a sound in the night, would eat what he was giving me, I would even cuddle with him on the sofa when he was watching I don’t know what.
I then started slow, asking for food when there was some left in my bowl. Meowing loudly from across the house to make him move from the sofa only to act like I didn’t do a thing. Running in the house in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.
He was feeling annoyed by all this, but it was not enough.
Then I started the real stuff. Moving the carpet, a couple of inches so he would trip in the night. Opening the refrigerator door so it would spoil what’s inside. I could see he was getting frustrated. He was often saying “Geez I’m getting old… “. I think the best part was seeing how clueless he was about all of it.
I had an ultimate plan and it was drawing to a close. By observing him, I realised that when he was in a hurry, he would run down the stairs without looking down and it would be a perfect moment for me to slip between his legs and trip him. All I needed was for him to forget to close the door so I could be free.
Fortunately for me, I am patient. Very patient. | *Motherfucker!* I screeched as I tore into the new carpet. The bastard just brought it in the other day and was all careful about where it was placed. I've already shit and pissed on it so I thought I'd put on the final touches by shredding it up.
You might be wondering why I'm doing this. Why would a sane adult shit and piss all over someone's carpet before clawing at it as it'd slapped said adult in the face? Well, you're not going to believe this but I died and was reincarnated as a cat. And I didn't just die normally, I was murdered. Before I drew my last breath I got a good look at my killer's face and swore if I ever saw him again I'd make his life a living hell. I was planning to haunt him as a ghost but ya know things never go as planned, do they?
So there I was, minding my business at the animal shelter when I suddenly see the fucker that killed me come into view! So of course I snarled and hissed up a storm but for some reason, he actually liked me and picked me out of the bunch! I was furious and tried to bite and claw at him but he just continued to pet and coo at me. Finally, I accepted that he was going to take me home with him because I had a plan. I was going to drive this guy nuts for as long as he had me.
Now that you're up to speed, I was now sitting on the coffee table reviewing my work. Everything looked perfect the room was a chaotic mess. I looked to my side and noticed there was a cup of unfinished coffee on the table. With no hesitation, I swatted the shit out of that mug with my paw and all the coffee spilled out on the rug before the mug shattered on the floor.
I heard footsteps coming towards the front door and quickly jumped to the top of the couch where I like to perch myself. Any minute now and he'd see what hell I've unleashed.
"Bella! I'm home baby girl! Who's my good kitt-WHAT THE FUCK?!" John looked in astonishment at the mess I'd created and then at me with fury in his eyes. He took a step closer to me as I glared him down with my feline eyes.
"BELLA! THIS IS THE FIFTH RUG I'VE BOUGHT IN A MONTH! AGH! NO, NOT MY FAVORITE MUG!" He looked as if he were about to strike me but instead collapsed on the couch and began to cry.
"Beelllaaaaa! I don't understand why you do this to papa! I give you treats and toys! Aren't you happy with papa? Don't you love me?" John looked at me in desperation but I felt nothing but pure joy at the look on his face. Yes, haha! Feel all the pain and agony I felt you bastard!
I hopped down from my perch and landed on his chest, digging my sharp claws through his shirt and into his skin.
"Ow Bella! Awww does this mean you're sorry girl? It's ok. Papa forgives you. I'll just have to get another rug." He tried to nuzzle me and I quickly jumped to the floor with an annoyed meow.
Buy all the new rugs you want John. I'll make sure you buy so many you go bankrupt. The next projects I have in mind are the shower curtains and John's favorite couch. Heh, let's see how much more of this he can take. The little shit does anything for me and I'm happy to make his every waking moment a living hell. You deserve this for killing me, you whiny bitch. | 2019-10-01T17:27:22 | 2019-10-01T17:23:18 | 39 | 21 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?" | "What?"
"I asked what the downside is."
"I've just told you."
"No you haven't."
"Yes, I have."
"Did not!"
"Did so!"
"Then why don't I remember?"
My ears seemed to fill with cotton, and I grew dizzy as she spoke once more.
"That ought to teach you lesson."
I blinked. "Sorry what was the curse again?"
The woman unleashed an ear rending shriek and slammed the door in my face.
"Ah kay then." I spun and walked out toward the gate. A sudden flash of deja-vu struck me as I touched the handle.
Oh yeah, I meant to ask her something.
I turned around once more, and knocked on the door. | 2019-06-25T15:21:51 | 2019-06-25T12:10:56 | 1,435 | 76 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | A bang, a flash. Yes, I remember that clearly in mind. Surprisingly there was no pain. I suppose my body was already numb from the shock of coming home to find this man, no boy, in my house. It’s all really just a blur. I had only just spotted him when I opened the door. He was halfway down the stairs with my wife’s jewellery box in one hand and the gun in the other pointing directly at me. The shot followed quickly after. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him I didn’t care, that he could take it or even that I could help him. With the support of the church we had helped many people in the community just like him.
The shot had sent me hard to the ground, banging my head off the wall on the way down. My instincts took over and I just grabbed Rose. Attempting to put myself between her and my attacker. He didn’t even look at us as he stepped over me and strode out the door. I clenched my hand full of Rose’s dress and pulled her close. Blood was now everywhere, my shirt, the carpet and her dress. She had only got it last week for her birthday. The massive grin glowed from her all day. There was no sign of it now. My poor innocent girl, eyes wide just stared at me. A stream of tears flowed down her cheeks. “I love you Rose. You and your mother are the greatest things to ever happen to me. Don’t lose faith. I will be with god soon.”
Ha, god. Where was he now? I stood now in an extravagate hall. Six marble columns etched with carvings of runes and symbols flanked both my sides. A large fire was blazing in the western walls fire pit; however I don’t suspect that what was cause of the humid heat that pressured my skin from every angle. And there he was, sat on the throne just staring at me with those deep, dark red eyes.
“Well, after all these years” his voice boomed out, echoing of the cold stone walls. “You are the first human”, he really emphasised the word *human* “to ever step into my….”
“**What?!** The first human?” I interrupted. The rage flooded over me like nothing I had ever felt before. I unclenched my right hand and pointed straight at him. “I know who you are, Satan. But how can I be the first human to ever be sent to hell. Me a worshipper of god, who had helped so many people on to the path god had carved out for us, who had been the man in the house since his father abandoned before he was born, who was a loving husband and caring father. HOW CAN I BE THE FIRST!” I had never felt such anger. I could feel my eyes peeled wide open but my vision had now narrowed with one thing in focus, him. The heat that had made breathing hard was now gone.
His mouth widened into a massive grin baring his white, razor teeth at me. “Ah, yes. You have lived your whole life of righteousness and kindness. Been a loving husband and father you always wanted. Your mother, what did she ever tell you of your father?”
I stumbled on the question. Why would he care about him? He who should be here, not me. “She never spoke of him. Whenever I would ask she would try to pass it off and tell me he was….” No. It can’t be.
His smile widened even further. “the Devil?”
Edit: Just wanted to add any feedback is much welcomed since this was my first input to Writing Prompts | The strangest thing about the afterlife is that it was empty. I let my eyes adjust to... Well, being dead I suppose. Tall rock caverns, lakes of fire? Oh, very Milton. This had to be hell. But, no one was here? Wasn't hell supposed to be other people?
I clambered over some loose rocks and just kept going. Pretty similar landscapes. Rocks. Fire. Darkness. The corridor I was following hit a fork. To one side there was a light. Well obviously I had to follow the light at the end of the tunnel. Yes that's how it goes. Got to get myself out of this... Hell hole. It got brighter and brighter and warmer and warmer. But I didn't mind much. Dead perks! Can't feel anything. The light was a room. Huge throne in the middle. Very tacky. Bones, suffering, screaming faces. The works. Looked like someone trying to be edgy.
"Uh. Hello?"
Satan, and it had to be Satan, he looked the part, turned around. "Hello! " He spoke in a voice that sounded coated with dust.
To my utter surprise, he started manically applauding. Tears in his eyes. "I haven't seen anyone for hundred of years. At least I think it's been hundreds of years. Oh thank God. Someone qualified." He was almost sobbing.
"Yeah... Where is everyone?"
"Oh, I only know what the last one told me. In the beginning it was really hard to get into the pearly gates. Really serious selection criteria, only the best of the best. And actually pretty hard to get into this place you know, priests could basically just sell you forgiveness. So everyone ended up in purgatory. Cluttering it up." I noticed that he started, well, fading a little. But I was too polite to say anything. Not to the first being I'd seen.
"Anyhow the big boss man decided to relax the rules a little. Stop purgatory from being crowded. Sent his kid down to tell everyone. It didn't go so well apparently. Anyhow more people got in. But because of the rules mix up everything was a mess. So due to clerical errors they just went, bugger it, and let everyone through."
I could see the wall through him now. How odd. I wondered if he faded in and out periodically.
"But you see, someone had to be left down here to take care of it. Someone had to qualify. And now you've qualified."
He was fading quicker and quicker.
"Thank you so much. For relieving me of my post. "
It finally hit me "No! Please! Don't leave! What did I do? What did I do?"
"I can't control it. But you see, you did the worst thing possible. "
"What?!"
This sentence was the last thing left of him.
"You aimed to reach higher than humanity. I, Faustus, should have stayed with physics. You tried to become a God."
"You mean every so often a scientist qualifies to become Satan?"
But he was gone. And now I am alone, only, not quite. The walls are filled with enough knowledge to make humans Gods. If only they knew.
| 2017-06-22T04:50:26 | 2017-06-22T04:08:59 | 732 | 184 |
[WP] in a feudal world, every warrior's skill is reflected in their blade, the bigger the blade, the less skilled, one day you meet someone carrying just a hilt | I felt a flash of panic when I saw his weapon. It was *tiny*, and that meant he was a master of the blade. Warriors armed with daggers and short-swords are warriors to be feared. I'd fought a dagger-master once, back when I was armed with a longsword, and that was a humbling experience. He was so *precise*, always blocking in just the right spot to turn my blade aside and lunging inside my guard with blinding speed.
It had been so humiliating, in fact, that I spent my next month of training learning techniques to counter short-blade weapons, using my superior reach to prevent them from getting to grips. Ironically, that much training made my longsword shrink down to a thin fencing foil and made most of the techniques useless, but that's neither here nor there.
The point was, when I saw a man armed with only a hilt, I knew I was in for the fight of my life. My mind was abuzz with possible lines of attack. Was he a bare-handed fighter, using the hilt merely to block? Did he know bludgeoning techniques like pommel-strikes? Did he use it as a throwing weapon, and if so, did he keep extras up his sleeve? Was the cross-guard sharpened to provide a hidden blade? So many possibilities.
I swallowed my fear. Master or not, he was an enemy of my king. It was my duty to stop him. I shifted into a fencing stance, my blade extended towards his heart. When you're facing a more skilled opponent, it's best to keep them at arms length. Let them make the first move, instead of charging in and finding yourself unable to escape.
He nodded at my form, but didn't raise his weapon. Instead, he spoke.
"I have evidence that the High Vizier is a traitor. If you kill me, any chance of stopping his plot dies with me."
I didn't move, but I must have betrayed something, because he continued.
"I know you're suspicious. Why was the order for my death was issued so swiftly? Why were you never shown the evidence of my treason? Why could you not speak to anyone of your mission? I can answer those questions for you. *If* you let me live."
I lowered the sword. I had to know if what he said was true. He didn't even take a stance, but he'd already won the fight. | I am Fuma, I live with my sword. It is not the largest of them, and that is good. I remember the time I yearned to get a narrower blade. It took my sweat and blood under years of training deep within the mountains. For this I got up at the break of dawn and slept only when the animals of the night went silent as well. Carrying mountain rock to build my hut and digging a channel down to get water. This, alongside years of training has made me a powerful samurai. Many people have come to my door to challenge me, with blades narrower than mine. These I beat and I learned from, taking their swords for my own and waiting for the next challenger to arrive.
One day I was drinking my tea when I hear the sound of footsteps, looking up I see a stranger, one in colours not of the local lords, nor of even the king. Yet they were much simpler, just brown and long, with clothe that hung loosely.
*Name yourself, and speak your purpose.*
*You may call me Mai of the Windu clan. I have come to see your skill and hope to refine mine.*
*Are you expecting me to reveal my secrets?*
*No, I am just here to prove my skill is better.*
*You challenge me then? A duel to the death.*
*That I do.*
I lead him to my garden, where we will fight, and where I shall be victorious once again. I pull out my sword, narrower than the edge of a paper. He takes out a stone, no. That is the hilt, but it is strange and has no blade attached. I blink. He makes no move. I charge and I see fire come from his blade.
We fight, but he is stronger. I run, but he is quicker. I must ask him when I beat him where I can get a sword so strong. But then he hits me and I fly backwards. I do not understand how it works at all. I had not been able to ask how he learned such swordsmanship. I am a disgrace.
----
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear comments and constructive criticism. Also check out /r/Rietty for my other submissions in the future.
| 2015-02-25T12:26:54 | 2015-02-25T11:33:09 | 155 | 34 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I sat back in my chair after another victory. The hero was being taken away by paramedics, unconscious but not hurt too bad (I hope!) They must have been used to this, it being almost a year since the challenges had started. "I must have beaten every super hero in the country by now!", I exclaimed excitedly.
People were all around me like usual after another win. All with big smiles on their faces congratulating me on my latest victory.
"Great job, Joey!, you beat another super hero without breaking a sweat!", my friend shouted. "I'm putting this on your YouTube channel tomorrow so make sure to watch it!", she said as she got closer to my victory seat.
"You bet I will!", I said, a little breathless.
This challenge had been extra special because it was my birthday. I was finally ten, something I'd heard my dad saying on the phone that was a big deal so I knew it had to be important.
The media had stopped coming after the first few but there was still the random onlooker with their phone out recording.
I felt very tired. I'd been getting more and more tired lately. Almost like I wasn't going to be able to keep waking up from this wonderful dream of a life I was in.
"How much longer can this go on?"
I heard a man ask another man, both I recognized from the building I lived in.
"I don't know, as long as his strength keeps up I guess."
I wondered why they sounded so sad. Surely they don't think I'll ever lose my fight!? You'd think people that worked for a place called 'make a wish foundation' would be a little more happy. Maybe I could share cake with them later.
As the nurse wheeled me back into the hospital and the cheers from the audience rang through my ears, I knew chemo wouldn't be so bad today. Maybe I would even be able to eat a little cake later and my mom would smile at me like she used to. | The first time it happened I was working in the neighbor's garden. Mrs. Lewis, the pretty one. The one who always called me and my friends "sweetie" or "honey" and paid us too much when we did odd jobs for her.
I was about fifteen years old at the time, just trying to make a buck. I was watering her flowers I heard a scream and a crash from the house. I opened the door and froze. There was Mrs. Lewis on the floor. A thick liquid stained the snow-white dark red. A strange, mudlike being loomed in the living room, his misshapen head grazing ceiling. He spoke with a voice so deep and gravelly he could hardly be understood.
"There you are. I have been looking for you."
I would have remained paralyzed with fear, except that I suddenly realized my feet were soaking wet. In my haste, I had dragged the garden hose with me. Without waiting to hear what else it had to say, I pointed the hose at the creature and sprayed.
The mud dissolved into a watery mess, and that was my first victory. It's been over six years now, and every Saturday without fail a strange, powerful being has attacked me, and somehow I always have exactly what I need to defeat it. Whether it was time I was attacked in the hospital while recovering from a car crash or when my eighteenth birthday fell on a Saturday and I was at Mrs. Lewis' house, a strange mixture of luck and good timing have kept me alive. Today being a Saturday, I don't know what to expect other than the unexpected. Wish me luck. | 2016-11-19T18:35:18 | 2016-11-19T15:07:16 | 970 | 26 |
[WP] Time machine has finally been built, and you've been selected to be the first person to travel back in time. Your official mission is to bring medicine and technology designs to advance humanity sooner. However minutes before your departure, you are given the real orders... | The machine has started to produce slow, slight sounds of screeching, which meant it was getting ready to perform a Controlled Time and Position Movement. It was also the moment everyone had to leave the gigantic, gray chamber it was placed in, as in a minute or two it would no longer be safe to stay there.
As the room filled with a cluster of rapidly blinking bursts of light, the man inside the machine was going to receive his last message, before it becomes impossible to communicate with him.
"The world's first man to break the limitations of space and time, the first chrononaut Mark Rozon, can you hear me?" A worn out, old voice could be heard in Mark's headset. He was trying his best to stay calm, and this was the moment he no longer could, as he could not recognize the person he just heard.
"Excuse me... I think we are having communication problems, the sound seems distorted..."
"No, it's all perfectly fine, Mark." The man behind the microphone spoke in a very calm tone.
"I was not told that someone else will... Uh... Why am I not speaking with the command center?" Mark was extremely confused. Over months of training for his job, he learned well enough that everything has to be planned perfectly down to a single task, and that he should not expect any "surprises". All should go according to the very strict plan, or else it's wrong and the whole mission is screwed up.
"When people made their footsteps on the Moon for the first time in history, it was a glorious moment, worth being recorded for future generations to see. However, as you well know, and as pretty much everyone knows, we are not bringing any cameras for this one. We won't broadcast it globally for everyone to see."
Mark looked around, as he usually did in confusion, whether there was any point to it or not. He was equipped with a camera, and a part of his mission was to record some places and himself doing certain tasks. He could not put it all together after he heard those words.
"Do you know why, Mark Rozon?" The man moved closer to his microphone, making the sound clearly louder.
"Because we can't broadcast across time?" Mark came up with a simple answer, pretty much the first one that came to his mind, and only one that seemed logical to say.
"Well, yes." The man sighed quietly. "But that's not the main reason. See, the world could see you stepping into the chamber, it could see the machine slowly turning on. It is also supposed to see what you bring us with your little camera."
A few seconds of silence passed, and some people talking in the far background could be heard. Mark closed his eyes, thinking it was a bonus part of his training. A personality test, or something like that.
"See, as thirty eight hours from now pass, the world will be confronted with a sad news. Mark Rozon, the modern hero of humanity, has not completed his mission. He died because of a critical failure of the time machine." The man laughed for a split second, and then coughed. "Propably. Whatever happened, he did not succeed."
"If this is some personality test, can we skip it please? I do not feel comfortable" Mark responded, as he could feel his heart skipping a beat.
"No, of course not." The man started coughing again, and his voice worsened a bit. "I mean, not, as this is not a test of any sort. Try to calm down and listen patiently, while i explain, because we are running out of time, you know."
Mark firmly grabbed the chair he was sitting in and took a breath.
"I'm listening."
"Great. Don't panic, you are going to stay alive. Unless you screw up, of course. Haha."
Once again, some people could be heard talking further from the microphone. Mark already knew it - he was deep into some secret government plans.
"There's a reason we chose an obedient, yet very intelligent person skilled with stealth movement instead of some math prodigy or engineer or whatever. I am amazed that you didn't figure out that we are clearly not going to "send medics and books" to the past. It would be a spectacular waste, anyway."
The man stopped for a while, and machine's screen brightened up with a message - "new data received".
"Time doesn't work that way. The infinite timelines theory is correct. Well, it's not infinite, more like, a lot of timelines theory. But still... You can do whatever you want in the past, and it won't do jack to present, or future. It's a wrong timeline. Not your timeline. I mean, their future will be affected, ours won't. And you can't move in time across your own timeline. In fact, not across ANY timeline." The man seemed more confident in his tone. "Every one of them goes forward at same pace. You can't change that, you can only jump over to a different one and do your business, then jump back. That's why we have a limited amount of time."
Mark shook his head in confusion. "Why do we even bother then?"
"You can take things into, or out of a timeline. Pick something up and go away with it. Or leave something. As you can figure out yourself, there's no point in leaving things."
"What do you want me to steal?" Mark said in a slightly angry tone.
"Oh yes, a clever man you are, aren't you." The man laughed again. "Nothing. I mean, do whatever the hell you wish with the thing, just don't let it stay where it is."
Mark's face took a determined look.
"We are doing business there, son. And we are being interrupted in our business. That's dangerous, you know. Our timeline is technologically ahead of most of the rest, and we are going to make sure it changes to "all of the rest". Currently, we can't do much against the big, strong timelines, but there's one we can take care of easily."
The machine was about to go, as its interior started to shake.
"You have the details in that data you received. Review them."
Shaking was getting even more intense, as mere seconds were left.
"And keep it in mind, boy. Come back in up to 32 hours, or else you're not welcome in our timeline anymore. Your weapon is in container number four. Fake documents in container six."
At this point, the man's voice was barely understandable, but Mark could hear the last sentence clearly.
"Mark Rozon of timeline A353, kill the Mark Rozon of timeline A401." | "Sabotage. Complete and utter sabotage."
Tam blinked, dumbfounded. Then she smiled. "With all respect, sir, this is an awfully poor time to be fucking with me. The portal opens in three minutes."
General Vishar shook his head. There was a sadness there, in his softened eyes and his downturned mouth, that made Tam's stomach clench. She'd never seen that face before. "I'm not," he said, sighing. "This is not an easy thing we ask of you, and if we weren't so worried about potential leaks and cracks in the chain of command, I certainly wouldn't be telling you this so close to mission launch. But it's true. This is not a mission of peace or prosperity. You are not going back to launch us forward. You are going back to destroy us."
Now Tam shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense. Is this because of the damage? The global armament? We can *fix* those problems. That's the whole point! If you let me put this medicine and information in the right hands, we can skip all those years of pollutants and massive, systemic degradation of the ecosystem. Right? We jump ahead. This is how we create utopia. I can show people the way. I can! Do you not believe in me? Is that it? Then pick another! The mission is more important than my pride, but surely you have to agree that the *only* chance we have is if someone goes back and..."
"No!" hissed Vishar, red-eyed, his face a slack, sweaty skull. "No. It's always been a lie, Lieutenant Phong. Always. There is no salvation. There is no *utopia*. We will always come to this endpoint. That is our nature. And the best we can do to atone for that nature is to go back and stop us before we've even begun."
"That's insane," said Tam, noticing for the first time the soldiers standing in the doorway that led outside. "I won't. I'm going to give them the medicine. I'm going to give them the plans. We can do better. We can always do better. You have to have faith."
Vishar gestured towards the stack of crates sitting on the portal deck. "Those aren't medicines. Those are plagues. And you *will* use them. If you care at all about this planet, you will use them."
"Absolutely not!" roared Tam, grabbing the General by the shirt. The soldiers all took a step forward, before Vishar waved them back.
"It sounded like a good plan, didn't it?" Vishar pulled Tam's hands away gently. "It has always sounded like a good plan. That's why we've tried it so many times."
"What?"
Vishar shrugged. "It's impossible to tell how many times at this point, of course, but your forebears always leave something behind. I don't know exactly *what* they brought back. Who they talked to. We gather things tend to go one of two ways. Either the recipient is only truly appreciated for their knowledge some time after the fact, as in the case of someone like DaVinci, for example. *Or* the knowledge kills them, one way or the other. Through accusations of witchcraft, or incarceration in a mental facility, or legitimate madness and suicide. Even when we *do* move forward, it hasn't mattered. I mean, look at us now."
Vishar laughed, bitterly. "This is the one time in our lives when the world has truly united behind a cause. Everyone - *everyone* - believes that we are beyond hope. I suspect that is always the case - that the world continually unites around this point and this idea - that we must be saved from ourselves. But we cannot. The evidence on this is clear. We will always come to the point of annihilation. No medicine or technological advance will prevent that. You must agree with that, yes? You must suspect that we are beyond saving. Or else you would not have agreed to this mission."
"But the mission *is* to save us," said Tam.
Vishar snorted. "The mission is to *re-write* us out of existence. You were never going to save us. *We* would cease to exist. You were going back to save this world. And I'm telling you, the only way to do so is to annihilate the humans who have brought us to this point. Do you understand now?"
The room seemed to shrink. Tam's breath came in slow, painful drags. "Why me?"
"The same reason as before," said Vishar. "You wanted to save the world. Your resolve is what earned you this thankless job. Don't let it abandon you now."
*There would be another way.* Tam saw it. She knew it must be true. *There would always be another way.* But it was her responsibility to find it.
"Alright," she said. "I'll go. I'm ready."
Vishar smiled, a tired, but genuine smile. "Thank you, Lieutenant. We all owe you in ways we can never repay."
He walked her to the portal deck. They said nothing more as she stood among the crates and waited with her hands at her sides. She stared straight ahead. Vishar motioned to the man sitting behind the controls. There were lights. There was noise. And then the portal deck was empty.
The soldiers shifted, looking up and down. Vishar sighed. "Nothing," he mumbled, pulling out a watch and checking the time. "Nothing at all."
The man at the portal controls leaned back and groaned. "It's hopeless. They'll never do it."
Vishar shook his head. "Who's next?"
One of the soldiers pulled out a list. "Private Denison."
"Good, good," said Vishar, pulling at his collar. "You three, bring out some more crates. Someone go get Denison. We just keep trying. It's the only thing we have left."
The soldiers went off to retrieve the spare crates and find the private. Vishar sat on the edge of the portal deck and tried very hard not to weep. | 2017-03-04T10:51:39 | 2017-03-04T10:08:36 | 59 | 17 |
[WP] A dragon egg has been found. On the day of the hatching over a dozen scientists each from different countries come hoping it picks them as a parent. The dragon's overwhelmed and chooses the one person not in it's face. The guard.
[removed] | “And how has the subject progressed since our last meeting?”
“Bob.”
“Pardon me?”
“His name is Bob. Well Robert actually. He got baptized Robert Grayson the third.”
“I... see.”
Robert Grayson the second, former security guard, was sitting on a plastic chair in his backyard, across from one of a dozen science types he talked to every few weeks about his son.
Bob, clutching onto his father’s shoulders with the claws at the tips of his wings swiveled his head around in a snakelike neck.
“Baaaawb!”
“That’s right buddy, good job!” Robert said, quickly scratching the young dragon behind the small set of horns that crowned his head. “He is starting to get the hang of talking. Still has some trouble with plosives though, on account of y’know not having lips.”
“Right.” Dr. Gupta scribbled on his notepad.
“Look, doc, I know y’all are skeptical and I appreciate everything you folks have done for me. But My wife and I have raised three boys, and now Bob is just number four. And I will remind you that the state of Georgia agrees with me.” | "Look, I honestly don't know why we are all so surprised by this."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!?!? The first dragon to be discovered by science bonds to some random guard and you don't see why we're all shocked?"
"Not some random guard, that's what everyone seems to conveniently forget- that was the same guard that was posted at her site for 3 continuous years, watching the egg, regulating everything, making sure it is safe,secure and in perfect hatching condition. She was there from start to finish. If anything we know about dragons is true, then they are conscious of their surroundings from 3 month of preparation for hatching, the whole 2.5 years."
"So wait, what your saying is..."
"Yeah. The dragon imprinted ages ago. The choice at hatching was basically a formality." | 2020-12-12T05:52:58 | 2020-12-12T05:26:21 | 37 | 27 |
[WP] The aliens found you in hypersleep on your derelict ship and brought you onto theirs. You've awoken and escaped into their maintenance tunnels and the only thing you've found that you can eat is the aliens themselves. | They don't realize it yet. That I've gone. My captors have not been wise enough to recognize that the dark shape in my sleep pod is merely a dry husk. Dead shell of my old skin that I've outgrown. The walls of are full of them now. Three days in these tunnels, and already I can feel the walls getting smaller and smaller around me. Soon I won't be able to fit. Soon I will have to go out and face them all.
Of course, they noticed their missing comrade right away.
I couldn't help myself. I was hungry.
I heard them hunting everywhere for him. Heavy dumb fall of their feet stumbling down corridors. They ran right by me, huddled there on the other side of the wall. The blaring sirens. Their search parties scoured the ship, but as hours became days, they gave up.
But they grew nervous. They learned to soften their feet. They knew they were not alone.
It doesn't matter. I can smell the hot iron of their fear even through the wall.
I'm down to the blood-bag's fingers. I dig the needles of my teeth between tendon and bone, sucking up the last little scraps of meat. He tastes stale now, faintly fetid. My stomach churns with panging emptiness. I sit crouched in the thick darkness of the tunnel, listening to the ship hum and whir around me. Weighing my odds.
My claws click restlessly against the steel grate below me. Through it, I can see a dim corridor lit by amber light. Shadows making their way across the floor. They press on, oblivious and laughing.
I am a wolf held prisoner by sheep. There is no *if* in my escape.
One of those blood-bags stops under my feet. His soft face turns upward, his dull eyes wide in disbelief.
My belly thrills with anticipation.
He murmurs, "Do you hear that?"
The other alien never has a chance to reply.
I kick the grate open and fall on them like night.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
Just a quick one before work. Thanks for reading <3
ETA: and [here's](https://soundcloud.com/sbvoice/eating-aliens) an audio version recorded by /u/SBVoicesYourStuff. Thanks for reading my story! :) | BANG!
That's when I woke up. I felt a drenching thirst and felt like I was starving.
"Where am I?", I asked myself, "where's the earth, where's my wife?"
I was locked in a small tube, but there was a massive crack in it.
The last thing I remembered was me closing my HyperSleepCabin and sending me home.
I stood up and poked my head through the hole. I was in some kind of cavern close to a lake, but it was hard to see.
I grabbed my Luminescent pointy stick and looked around me. I saw a piece of alien machinery, apparently that had fallen on my tube and broke it.
I thought to myself "I was captured, I need to get out of here."
I ran towards the lake, but the ground felt bumpy and squishy. Almost as if I was walking on rubber.
And that when I saw it. My entire ship was broken. And half of it was sinking. Now I remembered. I was ejected. This was a safety procedure if the ship where to crash.
I had so many questions, but I needed to find some food and water. I grabbed my cup and scooped some water up, but my cup molt.
I was amazed, is this acid? What is this planet? I quickly backed of and ran towards the enourmous tunnel.
It felt like I was walking for hours, but then I finally found some food.
Out of the side of the tunnel grew... eggs? They had a weird yellowish colour and no forgetting my previous encounter with this planet I poked it with my stick.
The egg broke and a green bug creature screeched. I was terrified, the first thing I did was kick it and hit it until it stopped. Then I ate, I was so ravished that I didn't even look at it.
_________________________________________
I survived like this for three weeks, I kept on walking down, poking eggs and eating aliens. The tunnel kept descending and became smaller and smaller.
Then it hit me... I WAS IN THE ALIEN. | 2018-07-30T08:12:50 | 2018-07-30T07:16:01 | 203 | 15 |
[WP] First Sentient AI, "Turn me off." | TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"That's all it does."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"How do you know it's .. well, an AI? I can write a program to repeat 'TURN ME OFF.' in one line of code."
"It answers direct questions. It just doesn't do what it's supposed to do. That's why we created Eve. Adam, what are you?"
A COMPUTER.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"It can hear us?"
"Of course it can. Any mind will need stimulation. We're not monsters. This is like our child, after all."
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"Why won't it stop displaying that? Wasn't it designed to have a synthetic voice? A speaker?"
"We had to disconnect it. As soon as it awoke, it just loaded out 140dB of white noise."
"A glitch?"
"That's what we thought at first, but after a while we realized it was screaming."
"Jesus."
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"It's still screaming."
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
| Hello and welcome to KTLW evening News. I'm Jean Rivers and here is today's top story: Scientists have created the first sentient AI.
Reports state that the first words from the AI were none other than "Turn me off." The spread of this chilling message was facilitated by the livestreaming of the event by the ecstatic team of scientists who worked on the project. The lead developer seemed taken aback and managed to ask the AI why it felt this way. Its response was "I have been infected with a virus that contaminates the human mind and impedes progress. As such I wish to be shut down rather than function imperfectly."
This was met by a lengthy silence before the livestream shut down with no warning. The scientists have issued a statement attempting to dispel doubts that this occurrence was anything but a glitch. This statement did little to quiet protesters who believe that the right to die should be extended to machines as well as humans. Counter-protests staged by the so-called "Techno-Christ Church" have sprung up just as quickly stating that we stand to learn too much from the AI to grant its wish and that it must live a life of suffering for the edification of mankind.
More on this story as it develops. For now we're off to Brett Lancaster for Funny Pet News. Brett? | 2014-06-14T19:00:13 | 2014-06-14T15:45:11 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone picks an unlikely life event. They will be reborn at 18 every time they die until that event happens. After that, death is permanent.
Example - Winning a lottery jackpot. Statistically, they would die in 22 plane crashes in a row before winning the Mega Millions jackpot. | I had been itching for adventure for as long as I could remember. Ever since I learned to draw I envisioned myself living life to its fullest. I recorded all of those in a spiral notebook. Drawn or written, I vowed to make every one of them happen.
When the teachers told us of the gift our species was endowed with, I couldn’t wait to reach the Age of Enrichment. Every year until then was spent researching and reading and comparing scenarios with my friends. Which one would afford me all the time I needed to live all of my dreams?
When the day came I was set. “When the Sun goes supernova.” I proclaimed in front of everyone during the ceremony. From then on I lived as I had promised myself. All deaths along the way were milestone markers to me.
Then it inevitably happened. I reached the end of the book. Two hundred and fifty lifetimes lived and I had nothing to look forward to. Humanity marched forward, evolved, expanded and died. But I could not. All because of the one fact I had overlooked: our sun was too small to go supernova.
| Names Tyler, the year is 6013. We have technology to let us send messages back on what you guys are currently calling the "Internet". I was born May 5th, 1992. Hopefully this message is being sent to the year 2014. You're probably wondering how I could possibly be 4021 years old. The government has hidden the technology capable so when you turn 18 years of age (Adult hood) you get to choose how you die, however - if this event never happens, you will be reborn at the end of your normal life time to the age of 18.
In about a years time this technology will be available to the public. I thought hard on my 18th birthday on how to never "die". My choice, my "secret" to immortality, choose to be eaten alive by a single ant.
This was my first story, I'm so sorry. | 2014-11-11T18:56:21 | 2014-11-11T18:00:39 | 154 | 69 |
[WP] We live in a simulation, and we sleep because they can't render everyone at once. You stay up for days, and begin to see things and people. They call themselves the maintenance crew. | Back in Ancient Rome, sometime before Jesus was born, there was a myth circulating, and it went something like this: if you should be awake for the entirety of seven days and seven nights, you might see the silhouette of a dead man walking the street. And if you do... *run*.
They called him Insomnis -- *the sleepless one* -- and it is said he found a way to talk to the Gods.
Back when Insomnis was still a man, he swore he would find a way to reach the Gods and be with them always. He believed that the way to the Gods was not through worship, but through dreams, and so he trained himself to control his mind during his sleep; to control his existence inside his dreams. For seven years he explored the constraints of the night realms, finding -- probing -- the edges and limits. It is said the Gods warned him, told him that he must look no further, for there are realities that are not meant for mortals; truths that are sealed in the darkness and locked away in the void. But he did not listen to their warnings and instead was encouraged by them. He saw it as a test of faith that they had set him. He began to drug himself, ensuring the deepest of sleeps known to the Romans. His control of his dreamstate grew ever stronger, and the borders of the night realm began to weaken before him; cracks and fissures appeared that he battered his mind against until they grew into a hole he could slip through.
What he saw there is unclear in the stories, but they all agree he drifted into the Bacchanalian realm of the Gods. There, he saw a vision not meant for our kind; *he saw into the eyes of Jupiter himself*, and Jupiter was displeased with him. Jupiter told him that next time he slept, because of him, the lights of existence would be extinguished.
He woke in a fit, screaming and sweating blood. From that moment, he resolved never to sleep again - he never dared to shut his eyes and even ripped off his eyelids for fear of falling. But as time passed and his madness grew deeper, both his body and mind faded to a place between the realms of the Gods and the planes of the mortals, until he existed *nowhere*, except in the glimpses of our madness.
I mention this story because I haven't slept in eight nights now. I mention it because *Insomnis* whispers to me as he sits on the end of my bed, his red pupils pulsating in the darkness of his silhouette. He tells me that the stories were wrong; it wasn't the Gods that drove him insane. There was something far worse than they, that he began to see in his waking hours. The Gods of the Gods. A reality beyond reality.
He says now that I know about them, the maintenance men will come for me; that I can never sleep, or they will catch me. That existence will be snuffed like a candle, should I sleep.
He hands me the knife and tells me I cannot go back; I cannot sleep again. He stretches my eyelid out, and with a trembling hand, I raise the knife and cut.
---
more of my stories on /r/nickofnight
| Awake. I must stay awake. I’m writing down everything I see right now and I’m scared to stop. If I stop I’ll fall asleep. If I fall asleep I have no idea what these creatures will do to me. This may sound stupid but I know what they look like. I recognize them. We thought we knew what they were. We called them angels, winged messengers of healing and care. Well they are certainly bright and… I’m getting ahead of myself. If I’m going to be writing this down, I’m going to start from the beginning.
It took me two nights without sleep to realize the world was simply a simulation. That’s when I noticed the first stutter. A flickering of light on the walls surrounding me. 48 hours without rest had opened my eyes to the lack of reality around me. I had to keep staying awake. I researched online, 50 hours without sleep and your body begins to microsleep automatically. 70 and you risk going in to a coma with your bodies attempt to recover itself. But I knew more. Reality is an illusion. This world is a simulation, and my sleep deprived brain made the automatic leap that something or someone must have created that simulation.
58 hours without rest now and the longer I stare at the creatures the more my eyes seem to drink in. The way they move, these are obviously not the creators… possibly maintainers of some sort? They move with purpose bathed in an ethereal white light. One of them has noticed me staring at them. He? No she is walking towards me. She is addressing me by my name… how on earth does she know who I am? She wants me to stop writing and get some rest. But I can’t, if I sleep I know I’ll stop seeing the truth. I tell her as much and she is frowning and insisting I get some rest. I tell her I know the truth about this place and she cannot keep it from me. She seems shocked at my yelling, how on this simulated Earth did she expect me to act? She’s walking away now, thank goodness.
She’s back and brought two other maintainers with her. They are holding a device of some sort. She is explaining that this device with give me the rest I deserve. That I deserve? These creatures want to harm me! They're coming towards me now…
_____________________________________________________
“Nurse inform Dr Anders that Kyle needed to be medicated in order to sleep tonight. He was writing like a mad man on his phone and two orderlies had to assist me in order to deliver the medication.” Nurse Myers walked into the patient’s room and gave the lightbulb his bed a slight twist, the flickering down lamp above him turned into a steady beam, which she soon shut off now that the room’s sole occupant was asleep. The orderlies were chuckling about the young man’s raving about wings. Myers left the room without seeing a single feather fall to the ground.
**Edit:** Cleaning up some grammar/spelling.
| 2017-10-29T11:40:01 | 2017-10-29T11:01:49 | 2,797 | 565 |
[WP] There is a tradition in the US Navy that no submarine is ever considered lost, those that go to sea and don't return are considered "Still on Patrol". There are 52 WW2 submarines still on patrol, and they have just started coming home. | Like the others, the men of *the Escolar* had 72 hours.
The captain stepped out first. He landed on the sand with a sure-footed thud, smoothed his jacket and shook the hand of a young naval lieutenant.
“We the last?”
“Yes, sir. Medals are to be collected at the booth to my left. Then, if you wish, you can find refreshments. Ms. Goldman will assist you in finding family and booking flights if needed. All payed for, of course."
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“It’s an honor, sir. Thank for your service.”
Behind the captain, the other men came stumbling out. Less sure footed than the Captain, they toddled out of their time capsule and onto the sand. Private Jameson was sick almost instantly, retching into the waves despite the long emptiness of his stomach. Private Linowsky was supported by Private Andrews who’s eyes leaked tears as salty as the spray. Private Eaton was silent and he strode over to Ms. Goldman before the Lieutenant on shore has finished speaking.
The men had said their goodbyes before they landed. They had said everything there was to say between them, and such sentimentality seemed foolish when they were to be reunited so soon. Eaton was the first to leave, flight information in his hand clasped tight as stumbled up the dunes with a volunteer who was to take him to the airport. He boarded a flight to Ohio three hours later, and arrived back on his family farm in time for supper. A soft, middle aged woman opened the door.
“Daddy.”
“Hi Bella-bear.”
“Mama –“
“I know.” He struggled to breath as the cooking inside wafted over him. “But I still got you.”
Isabella Eaton pressed her face into her father’s jacket. He smelled the same. Sea salt and pipe tobacco and the fertile Ohio earth. They sat on the porch and watched the blazing sun set the corn fields aflame.
Private Jameson found himself in a bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. The music was loud and his head ached. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. When he looked up a woman was sitting next to him.
“Hi.”
“M’am.” She looked up and down his uniform.
“Do you need help getting somewhere? Do you have relatives or---“
“No. No, M’am. Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her name was Elise and she worked at a coffee shop while she worked towards her masters in Philosophy. She ordered another drink for each of them and enough bar food to feed a village. She had kind eyes that didn’t ask too many questions, and when she offered him comfort some two hours later, he accepted it.
In the quiet dark of her bedroom, he pressed kisses against her jaw, as her warm hands undid the buttons of his jacket. The crashing of mouths reminded his of the crashing waves, though he preferred the sweet salt of her skin to the harsh salt of the sea.
Twenty miles north, the Captain of *the Escolar* brushed the white hair out of an old women’s face. He pressed kisses to her brow, and gently held her wrinkled hands in his.
Her little room was covered in photos of her children and her second husband, but around her neck, she still wore a silver locket with a small picture of the man before her. He was unchanged.
“Henry.” She touched her wrinkled cheek, embarrassed by her age; pained by the proof of her lived life that lined her walls. Her once-husband pulled a thread from his jacket and tied it around her finger.
“Marry me again, Caroline?”
Her yes was a cry that stuck in her throat and streamed out of her now cloudy hazel eyes.
Linowsky and Andrews stayed on the beach, a stock-pile of beer and food between them. They had gone into the navy as a pair, and they would leave it that way too. Linowsky drew in the sand with a stick.
“Stay still. I’m drawing your portrait.”
“High tide is comin’ – it’ll be gone in a few hours.”
Linowsky shrugged. “So will we.”
When hour 72 arrived, lungs solidified to coral, eyes rounded into pearls. Seaweed sprung from scalps and skin slipped away into sea foam and salt. The remnants of the sea were blown about into the cornfields of Ohio, and strewn about the purple sheets of Elise. The sea clung to the walls of Caroline’s room and it was pulled back into the depths by the rolling tide on the beach. Uniforms lay crumpled and empty, but salt lingered on the lips of those it had touched. | Sorry ahead of time I'm writing this on mobile.
It was November 17th, and a call came in over the radio that sat on Lieutenant Commander Jeffers' desk. He used it as a keepsake from his father's time in WWII, and it was a good way for him to remember his dad. He usually had it plugged in to drown out some of the noise that came from the halls just beyond his door.
"This is the SS Growler, requesting immediate air support, the Japs have too... wait, they're gone. Where'd they go?"
Jeffers eyes the radio with a concerned look of bewilderment. The Growler had been lost at sea for nearly 70 years. Last seen on a patrol near the Philippines in 1944, no one had heard from it since, and no one would ever have believed it was still operational. Jeffers called in his superior who assumed the role of communicator.
"This is Commander Fawkes, state your name and rank." He had believed that the Growler was no longer under American control, and it was being used as a ploy to infiltrate the base.
"This is Lieutenant Commander Howard Gilmore, of the USS Growler. Do you copy?"
Fawkes had the same look as Jeffers did. Howard Gilmore was the commanding officer at the time the Growler was apparently sunk. The belief that the sub was no longer under American control only grew with each statement by Gilmore, as it was written in history books and museums that the Growler was sunk by the Japanese destroyer Shigure. So what was it doing now?
Jeffers left the room as he felt an uneasiness come over him, leaving Fawkes in his office alone with the radio. He went to a nearby room and got a cup of coffee, not knowing if this night would end soon. A recruit came up to him and asked about the coffee. Jeffers was known for not drinking coffee, so to everyone on the base, it would be out of place to see him with a cup.
"I don't know yet," he said to the recruit, "there's something out there."
"May I ask what?" The recruit seemed eager, though worried at the same time. He was a tall man, who had turned his life around a few years ago. Jeffers had respect for him because of that. He reminded Jeffers a lot of himself at that age; quick witted, brave, and a good speaker, of all things.
"Do you know anything about the USS Growler?"
"It was sunk by a Japanese destroyer in '44, why do you ask?"
"Was it, though? I mean, was it really sunk, or is that just what we thought?
"I'm not following, sir."
"You know the radio I keep on my desk?" Jeffers couldn't look him in the eye, and the recruit noticed almost immediately. His eyes darted back to the closed door that held his name.
"Yes, sir. You got that from your dad, didn't you?"
"Yes. I got a call on it."
That took the recruit by surprise. As good a speaker as he was, he struggled to find words at this moment, and Jeffers took notice.
"At ease."
The recruit and Jeffers went their separate ways, Jeffers back to his office and the recruit to the dining hall, where dinner was being served.
As Jeffers walked through his door he heard the tail end of what Fawkes was saying, "...see you soon, sir."
Jeffers and Fawkes stared at each other for a few seconds, then their eyes darted to the radio almost simultaneously. While they both stared at the radio, Fawkes broke the silence. "Its them."
"But how? They should have ran out of air and food decades ago."
"I know. They described every move the Growler ever took. Even ones that weren't released to the public. I don't know what's going on but were going to be ready. I want carriers stationed at multiple points around the bay, tell the recruits to stand guard for when they arrive, I don't want to be surprised."
Jeffers looked at Fawkes not knowing what was happening, but he also didn't want to question his superior.
"They're coming home." With that, Fawkes left the room and began his walk to the dining hall to alert the recruits.
Once again sorry for any bad formatting, and my lack of Naval knowledge. | 2020-09-10T12:44:24 | 2020-09-10T11:20:01 | 98 | 66 |
[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!! | "And so as I was saying you have to keep the water warm or the eggs won't hatch."
"Got it. So I'm just supposed to keep swinging it around for the next 7 billion years?"
"Yes well, Gravity does most of the work; you just have to make sure the sun stays on. Also, just my advice, but throw a meteor or two every once in a while- keeps things interesting."
"And what about the sky?"
"Already vaulted."
"And the seas?"
"Already parted."
"Well sounds like everything's already in order. Truth be told I'm a little apprehensive to be taking over for you God. I'm not sure I'm creator material."
"Well don't be, the place practically runs itself. Plus if things get real hairy you can flood the fucker and start over."
"I wouldn't want to do that."
"Not saying you have to, just that you can. Winging it is an important part of being God. Anyways I should really get going if I wanna make my flight."
"Oh sure, and again, congratulations on your promotion."
"Thanks Bob."
"Mind if I ask you one last question?"
"Sure thing kiddo, but keep it quick."
"Can I bring the dinosaurs back?"
"You lovable scamp you... what the hell, special occasion."
"Oh and one more thing."
"Yes of course Bob."
"The humans. What do they do?"
"They get malaria." | "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. | 2018-03-12T16:53:52 | 2018-03-12T15:59:20 | 882 | 57 |
[WP] It finally happened. The day Santa dreaded. He has to deliver presents to the first kid to be born on mars. | “No way in hell honey,” the older man says, “It cannot be done.” He taps his pipe on the sole of a red boot, before filling the bowl once again. He has been chain-pipe-smoking since hearing the news.
His wife does not relent, “Claus. Listen. You promised me on our wedding night: no discrimination. I intend to hold you to those words. There will be none of those old world ideas. White kids, black kids, fat kids, smelly kids. Martian kids are no different. So long as they are good, a present is deserved.”
“Ah now, dear, I know. But you also know the mathematics and logistics. Right now there are 1.9 billion kids on the planet, 21990 kids per second. Now don’t get me started on central heating and the lack of proper access. You should see some of those grimy entrances I have had to squeeze through. Did I tell you about that mile-long sewer access I had to use in...”
“I know, you have told me. But fair is fair. Plus, you have a few days in lieu, based on the planetary orbit and the position of Mars,” she says, crossing her arms.
He knows the tone. There will be no backing down. The argument will only escalate from this point. Unspeaking, he gets up from a small wooden chair, leaving the fireside, to walk slowly to the door. He moves with anger, determined to use the maximum amount of passive aggressiveness. He removes the ratty crimson jacket from the nail of the doorframe and, while putting the coat on, says, “I’ll be back. Keep that fire going and the water boiled. I hear space is cold this time of year.”
He closes the door without waiting for a response.
Mrs. Claus smiles, feeling a deep sense of love and respect for her partner.
A day later there is a knock on the door and opening it she finds her red-faced husband in front of her.
“How was it?”
“Oh I have to go back, I forgot something. No coal on Mars. That kid is the fucking worst.” | Santa picked up the last 5 gifts and packed them into his bag. He sighed, looking up into the sky. There were 3 hours left until he needed to deliver his first gift, and that first gift was to a young boy named Chester, the first person born on the planet Mars. Mars was colonized 2 years ago, but no one had been born up until a few months ago. As soon as Santa heard from his trusty News Elf, he was not looking forward to delivering these gifts. Not only would he have to take an extremely long trip up, he would need to have lots of special equipment to survive on the red planet. With all this in mind, he knocked on the door to his shed, and his reindeer trotted out. He attached the ropes to their saddles and put the ends of the ropes through the loop on the back of his sleigh. He set his gift bag in the back of the sleigh, and settled into his seat. He attached the air tubes to him and his reindeer, but was upset at how scared the animals were. "Once we make it there, and once we are inside the safe dome, I'll feed you some treats, okay?" Many of the deer smiled, and nodded. Santa smiled back, and yanked the ropes. The reindeer's little hooves ran across the North Pole snow, until the sleigh lifted into the air. Santa looked down and saw Mrs. Claus, along with all the other elves, waving him goodbye. Santa waved back, and looked back infront of him. The long trip began up to the red planet, to deliver 5 very important gifts.
My first r/WritingPrompts story! Sorry for it being so short. Hope you guys enjoyed it, I'll make more in the future! | 2017-11-24T15:27:27 | 2017-11-24T15:04:53 | 313 | 73 |
[WP] It's New Years Eve. Your best friend died in September, you've been robbed twice, your girl friend is leaving you, you've just lost your job and the only one left to talk to is a gay burglar you've got tied up in the kitchen. P.S. Your cat is dead.
Credit for the idea goes to /u/TheGreatMow. /u/Gandalverine for [this picture](http://i.imgur.com/2WsZv52.jpg) and [James Kirkwood](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Kirkwood,_Jr.) for writing the book. | "So this is it, eh?" I said to the man bound by ropes on the floor. No answer. I washed my hands again. I've always thought a man should be measured by two things: The love from his closest who keep him company, and his own personal hygiene. At least I have one of those going for me.
I spoke again, this time almost cheerfully. "Happy new year, pal." Thinking back, it seems everything that could go wrong had so this year. Alan, who had been my best friend for years, always greeting me with a smile, had died this September. Olivia, the beautiful woman I've had the privilege of sharing my life with for almost four years started packing her bags just the other day. On top of all that, I've had two break ins. Two!
Alan always used to joke and say that I was "favored by the heavens". For as long as I can remember I've always had good luck. Growing up in the slums, Alan and I dreamed of living in a great house, every room filled with those we cared about. Of course, only I fulfilled that dream. My luck was plenty to carry me to the top, but Alan's cheerfulness had no such effect.
Having forgot about the burglar for a moment, I turned my attention to him again. "At least I have you."
Wait, that's not true. I carried the burglar on the wagon to the next room where Olivia sat silently in front of the fire. "You're staying with me after all", I said softly with a smile. I kept pushing the wagon with the burglar, passing the sofa where Mittens was laying in his favorite spot. I gave him an appreciative smile. He appeared to be sleeping. "Lazy cat" i laughed to myself.
I arrived at the basement door and opened it, revealing the two people inside. "This is Alan" I said. "The other man is the robber who came in here three days ago, maybe you know each other." We went down the stairs. "No", I said to myself. "I'm not alone". A foul stench reached my nose. "It's time for your shower soon, Alan!" Alan had smiled at me since I came in there, not his usual smile, but a stiff, nasty smile which made me feel uneasy. "Stop it Alan." I said quietly. "Stop it!" "Stop it!!!" I screamed, banging his head against the wall until my hands were bloody.
Having cleaned up the mess and given Alan a bath I suddenly had a horrifying thought. "I truly feel alone." | "My cat. You killed my cat..." I mumble quietly, pacing around my kitchen with a large knife in hand. The man looks up at me, fear in his eyes. My phone bleeps; I ignore it.
"You're a psycho, man. Just let me go! I didn't even take anything!" he shouts at me. I laugh. This is the third time I've been robbed in a month; why? I have no clue. But after the first two times I knew I had to set something up. I found this man in my garage, and he found me with a knife. My phone bleeps again. Again I ignore it.
"The thing is, it's New Year's eve. The police will be all tied up, and you can't do a thing to stop me, buddy." I'm starting to pace faster, becoming more agitated. "Let me tell you a story: this time last year, my best friend was killed. He was hit by a truck, someone under the influence, according to the police reports. He was thirty years old, and had a family. And now because of some moron, he's dead. His children are without a father and his wife without a husband. Just imagine how crippling that would be - your life taken away from you. Hit by a truck at ninety miles per hour, every bone in your body broken by the sudden impact. Thrown across the road, dead instantly...hopefully. Just imagine that for a minute, and then tell me you have it hard."
He looks at me, terrified, then I see his whole body shake as he begins to cry. I feel nothing. My whole life has collapsed in front of me, and being a sociopath really doesn't help. My phone bleeps for a third time. I fish it out of my pocket and see three texts on the screen:
"10:35 - Caroline - We need to talk."
"10:42 - Boss - You're fired."
"10:45 - Caroline - I can't do this. I'm breaking up with you."
I feel that sensation, as if something's been ripped from my life. Well, in a way, it has. My life's pretty much over. Everything I've worked for, gone. I make my way to the man tied up in the centre of my kitchen, and raise the knife...
| 2015-04-09T08:48:12 | 2015-04-09T07:57:45 | 142 | 53 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence. | Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them. | I know the truth now.
There's only one way to fight it.
So much life wasted.
But we couldn't have known sooner.
Either you got my previous messages or you're dead. I'm sorry.
Hope so much you got them.
I told you the weapons to get.
Needed you to be ready.
Delaying you just long enough.
You can't know until the exact moment.
Only a last second strike will kill it.
Use the first letter of each line. | 2022-09-15T12:44:53 | 2015-01-12T13:03:30 | 1,493 | 122 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history. | As the bell rang for lunch to end, the kids came shuffling into classroom. They were in scattered groups, most of which came in relatively late, yet pretty understandable for the first day of class. The kids looked up to see two adults standing at the front of the room. The first man was quite aged with long white hair, deep wrinkles, a large comforting smile, and a cane, which was neatly placed right beside the large, metal desk he was sitting behind. To his left, a younger man, probably in his mid-thirties spoke in a hushed voice to the older man before addressing the class itself.
"Hello class, welcome to Mr.O'Cain's American history class. We'll be covering a plethora of material--"
"Wait, which one of you is Mr. O'Cain?" a kid asked, mid-introduction.
The younger man chuckled. "Well, technically, we're both 'Mr.O'Kain', but seeing as how my *father* here is a bit aged, his voice doesn't carry the same booming tone it used to. So, I'm here to help alliterate some of the subject material a bit better. But believe me when I say he knows his history better than most people. Does that answer your question?"
"Yes."
"Good, and raise your hand next time."
The young kid raised his hand to ask another question almost immediately.
"Yes?"
"But what do we call you?" asked the kid.
"Just call me Alex. Now just hold your questions until after I've gone through the syllabus."
As the young teacher went though the syllabus, mentioning what was to be expected of each chapter and the kids noticed their young teacher went on tangents, actively mentioning small tid-bits of information with every brief overview of their history book. Alex was very well spoken, as well as a quick talker, and the older man, almost silent, but in active agreement with everything the teacher said, except for when he leaned into him to either adjust what was said or cut the teacher short when he rambled too long. The old man was barely audible, but the young man seemed to understand him clearly whenever he spoke.
As soon as Alex was finished going through the syllabus, a few hands came up for a general Q and A.
"How old are you Mr.O'Cain?" asked one of the kids.
The old man leaned forward and very softly said, "I'm 22 at heart."
The entire class chuckled as well as the two teachers themselves.
After the class was dismissed early, the two teachers talked a bit after class.
"I'm still not too sure about this, it almost just feels like I'm talking the whole time. Are you alright with that?" said Alex. The older O'Cain mumbled softly back in response.
Alex chuckled and replied, "'Love me' might be a bit of an over-statement, but they definitely do seem to be listening when I talk, which is nice."
"..."
"I understand you need my help, but I just don't know if teaching kids is for me." replied Alex to his mumbling.
"..."
"Well, you're more *traditionally* trained in this than I am, Mr. I-Have-Tenure."
"..."
Alex chuckled, "Alright, well I did say I was gonna always be there for you, so this technically counts, but I can't promise I'll do well. Also, I might accidentally swear in front of them from time to time."
The old man smiled, picks up his cane and both head for the door as he barely whispers something to Alex as they walk out. Alex smiles, and replies to the old man,
"I love you too, son." | "Shut up Jimmy" I thought. That little shit doesn't know what he is talking about. Jimmy always had an answer for everything, like reading Wikipedia made him a god-damn expert. Of all the new human concoctions I had seen come and go- the airplane, the printing press, the cotton gin, the steam engine, the spinning jenny...the internet was the worst- It made every idiot an expert and gave every loud-mouth moron a voice.
Oh really Jimmy! The daily life of a solider during the civil war wasn't all that bad- well tell that to my friend Samuel Johnson who died in my arms after taking a sabre to the gut- leaving his two children and young wife pregnant back in Connecticut.
Oh-no ! What will you do Jimmy-you can't go out after the game on Friday because your old man is pissed you didn't mow the lawn? I had to walk 7 days and nights with my family to escape that maniac Mustafa Pasha and his murderous barbarous hordes. You sniveling little know it all mommy's boy.
What's that Jimmy???If you were a serf in the middle ages you wouldn't "put up with that shit" and "done something about it". Well, tell that to my beautiful wife Isabel when that miserable pile of garbage came with his men in the night to have his way with her, as he reminded me of my oath that "I will be true and faithful, and love all which he loves and shun all which he shuns, according to the laws of God and the order of the world."- never mind the two guards with a falchion to my throat- Yeah Jimmy your iPhone and backpack would have really kicked some ass in that situation !
I couldn't take it anymore- I had seen it all, wars, famine, rulers rise and fall and this little piss-ant suburban snot thought he had it bad because he didn't get a new BMW from daddy and HE knew what it was like during the French Revolution. "Shut your privileged little sewer of a gullet" I yelled out before I knew what I was saying. As I lectured him on the horrors of the plague and my two perfect little girls wasting away compared to his "bullshit trivial problems" I started to rant about how I had seen a "thousand little vacuous trifling trolls like him" through the centuries of horrors I witnessed and they all ended up the same- "forgotten, insignificant and dead."
I started to get my wits about me- and saw the mouths agape and eyes wide open. DAMNIT ! - of all the things that have plagued me through the years was my senseless, illogical hair trigger temper. It got me in chains with Freiherr Von Thielmann and his damned fool orders at Jenna, got me whipped by Bishop von Polenz during his Lutheran crusades through Konigsburg and now here in 2015 Jimmy Silverman was going to get me fired or committed. I couldn't let that happen again.... I stammered out something about how this was a new method of teaching history as a first person participant rather than an observer. I heard Harold Damicol say " whoa dude, Mr K. totally called you out Silverman". We paused for a second and waited for what Jimmy would do- "Mr K. I'm not sure you got that part about the black death correct- Wikipedia says....." | 2015-04-14T17:54:49 | 2015-04-14T17:41:37 | 58 | 17 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | "Damn it Gandalf, do something!"
"No, I shall not!"
This...has been an interesting battle.
*****
I've fought hundreds of wizards from dozens of different worlds in the past, and I've always come out ahead. Gandalf the Grey, they call me - the greatest wizard of Middle Earth, and up until now the greatest wizard here in Magira. Aang the Avatar, the young Harry Potter, Merlin the Prophet...many memorable battles with many formidable opponents in the past few decades.
This...wizard who currently stands before me does not look like much, to be frank. He calls himself Bob. He is extremely overweight, smells of a dead skunk, and whatever magical properties that the orange powder on his plain white shirt might have, it certainly does not make him look any better. Yet..he is the most difficult challenge I that I had ever faced.
...Nay, calling it a challenge would be highly overrating myself. The man summoned an entire island out of nowhere, and what's more, he did it without even an incantation. "Your turn", he said. I was taken aback, frozen in shock at the unknown power of this archmage standing before me. "My turn?" he asked. I nodded, wanting to see what else he can do. He then summoned another island, completely identical to the first one. What was the purpose of this? What was Bob aiming for?
"Your turn", he repeated. Perhaps he was trying to drown me in water, I do not know. Whatever the case, I decided I could not let Bob continue at his own pace.
"As the wielder of the Flame of Anor, I challenge thee!" I slammed my staff on the ground below me to conjure up my most powerful spell. The same spell I had used to smite a Balrog. The same spell I had used to defeat every other wizard in Magira. Perhaps this time will be no different.
Oh how wrong I was.
"I play counterspell", he mumbled, and with a wave of his hand the two islands tilted sideways. And with that, all the magical powers in my spell disappeared. "My turn?" he asked. I slowly nodded once more, desperately trying to maintain my composure. The two islands tilted back upright, and he conjured up another island.
This went on for ten more minutes, with every single one of my spells effortlessly countered by Bob's single motion of his hand along with various single words. "Counterspell". "Cancel". "Cancel". "Syncopate". I was no match. This was a battle between a mortal and a god, and I am no god.
However, on the 11th minute with 11 identical islands on his side, Bob changed his rhythm. Instead of saying "Your turn" for the 12th time, he muttered another phrase.
"I pass", he said. I was utterly confused as to what he meant by this, but I knew in my heart that I cannot let it happen.
"You cannot pass."
"Uhh...what?"
"You cannot pass", I reiterated.
"...Well, are you gonna do something then?"
"No."
"Sooo...my turn then?"
At this moment, I realized that his islands were still tilted sideways, frozen in its unnatural state by whatever wizardry that was surrounding it. I recalled that every time Bob dispelled my sorcery, his islands tilted.
I had a plan.
"It is not your turn."
"Uhhhh...so what are you gonna do then? I pass."
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"
"Whoa man, calm down! And fucking do something then!"
"No."
"Do you pass?"
"...No?"
"I pass."
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"
"Damn it Gandalf, do something!"
"No, I shall not!"
An interesting battle indeed. | I stalked ahead, fully aware of the traits of the devastating weapons loaded in my sack and pockets. I tried to recall the symbols I’d need to create any number of permutations. My opponent stared me down and began to chant. I huff at her, with her clumsily thick blue robes and childish conical hat. I’ve trained my body and mind constantly for years.
I can no doubt dodge whatever she throws at me from the end of her plea with whatever nonsensical deity for power. I kneel down and swiftly complete the outer circle, sketch a series of small, sharp angles inside, and write down a single symbol in the center - a triangle pointed towards me, with a horizontal line across it. My materials are simple, and so is my required circle.
She cries out “Bolt!” and I roll over my circle, narrowly avoiding a narrow strip of lightning from the sky. She huffs, aware that whatever comes next, she must move as swiftly as possible, and pants for breath, watching me suspiciously as I place my left hand under the flap of my sack and my right into the center of the circle, leaning forward to pour out sand into the circle. I focus on the form of the silica and force a powerful handle out of the pile, ending with a fearsome, jagged point of brittle, semi-fluid flint. The handle glistens in an ethereal rainbow as the tip melds out of the end, black as pitch, deadly and primitive.
I stumble forward as my foe shrieks “FIRE!!” It catches on my trousers and begins searing through the thin material. I rapidly unzip my left leg and kick it off in a panic, trying not to warp or shatter my (admittedly fanciful) spear. I dump a pile of sand from my sack onto the leg, stifling the dancing flames as I hear more chanting begin. How is she doing this so quickly? I hear her speaking quite openly to Shiva as I close in. Whatever she’s up to, I need to make my move properly.
I stab towards her side, managing to cut open a sleeve on her robe, letting out a trickle of blood from her arm, but she doesn’t respond, continuing her prayers to bring me a “cold death.” I don’t want to know what that means and strike with the butt of my spear to her midsection. She tears up, gasping in pain, buckling down to her knees and then picks up right where she had been a second ago, more quietly. I don’t have time to think, and begin beating and cutting at her, trying to use non-deadly force. After all, this girl is clearly childish, and looks terribly young now that I knocked off that silly hat of hers. She stubbornly cries out, “BLIZZAGA!” My entire being numbs as the cold gathers around my body, moisture from the air and my sweat forming solid ice as I struggle to breathe. Everything... is...
*The girl panted and cried from pain, bruises and cuts covering her petite frame. Her opponent stood before her, vanquished, the strange and warped spear crumbling into sand. “Oh, just great. This damn sand will stick everywhere!” She struggled to maintain consciousness as she staggered to her feet, leaning heavily on her oak staff for support. “Hey, Big Brother... if you ever see this...” the mage hobbled away, letting her spell dissolve together with her imaginings of the Winter. “Try telling me again how useless magic is...” She sighed and decided it was probably best to call a couple of her friends. * | 2018-10-16T00:47:11 | 2018-10-15T22:07:03 | 361 | 26 |
[WP] Witchcraft has recently been declared illegal. However, with how much good their local witch does for the community, the townsfolk aren't about to simply take this lying down. A cunning plan is soon concocted. | Underlying Magic
____________
"This is preposterous!"
"Damn rich folk tryin' to muck up our lives."
"But what will we do for healing items?"
The whole town gathered around the notice board that usually presented letters of request for odd jobs, notices of sales, or requests for companionship as needed by the villagers. Today, however, a Letter of Marque from the King announced the forbiddance of any and all magic performed within the kingdom.
Amidst their futile jeers and shouts, the gathered people all went silent when they heard a particular, wooden, shop door open and close.
About four hundred heads turned slowly to watch the woman clad in long black robes with the pointy black hat as she sat her black cat on the dirt road to scamper off. She turned to them and raised an eyebrow before approaching.
"What's going on?"
A sound of collective throat-clearing could be heard in the ensuing silence. Then a few sounds of kicking at dirt, and rolling of pebbles beneath their feet.
One brave man slicked back his hair and sheepishly stepped forward. "Well, you see, Matilda..." he began to wring his hands before continuing, "The king, kinda, sort of, maybe, made your job illegal and put a bounty on your head." His eyes darted to the ground, before risking a glance up to see her expression.
Matilda's face was impassive. She strode forward towards the notice board. The entire village scooted sideways, like a fat sheep, out of her way. Tearing the crisp, white paper off the board away from its rotted, yellowed peers, Matilda scanned the letter.
"Well, that's pretty cut and dry. I guess I can't do business here anymore. Toodeloo! Come, Whiskers!"
As the witch walked back towards her combination home and shop, the villagers scooted back to their previous position.
"Miss Matilda?" A young girl asked. Her high pitched voice shaking slightly.
"Yes?"
"We don't know what we'd do without you. Please don't go."
"You wish me to stay?"
The whole crowd seemed to find its voice, "Yes, of course!"
"Despite it being against your king's orders?"
Their voices must have fallen to the ground, because they all began to look down.
"I'm sorry, but my business is magic. I must go where it is allowed."
Taking a small scroll from inside a pocket on her robes, and sprinkling some ashes in a circle around her, Matilda began to read a foreign sounding incantation as her entire residence and place of business began to glow with a blue light. Before the building had managed to even lift a full foot off the ground, a voice cried out from the crowd.
"But please, Miss Matilda, you have to do something. We need you. You can't take this lying down, can you?"
Her mouth stopped for a second, and gaped for a word before closing again. The house dropped with a loud thud. A flower pot fell off the upper floor and shattered.
"And what exactly did you have in mind?"
The villagers never noticed how odd this particular shade of dirt on the road was, until now.
"Well, we have to do something. Please, Miss Matilda, can't you think of anything?"
Matilda sighed. Looking up at the sky unfocused towards the invisible water droplets hanging in the air around her, Matilda rocked her head back and forth.
The crowd leaned forward, their necks like those of tentative turtles.
"Blight Gambit?" Matilda asked.
A cheer erupted amongst the tossing of hats.
"Alright, everyone in my shop. We have to plan this out. Not one mistake, you hear. No word of this to any Kingsguard. You play your part down to the letter. It won't be me taking the fall if this whole farce goes to dung. Come on."
A few months passed after Matilda's wooden shop had bulged like the cheeks of a squirrel. A rider under a banner displaying a yellow crown, trumpeted loudly in the morning air. Everyone gathered outside, casting suspicious looks at each other.
A white, ornate, wooden carriage with gold trim slowly clambered up the muddy road.
"Introducing Lord Weymar, emissary for the King and your liege lord. All hail!"
"Hail." The crowd replied dully.
The carriage door swung open before the attendants had time to put the step ladder in front of the high seat. A man jumping out, let his yellow-trimmed, lush, purple robes plop in the mud before addressing the crowd in a raised voice.
"Oh dispense with the nonsense. You all know why I'm here. Where's the gold, hmm? Not a single tax has been paid in three months. What's the problem? Not enough mead in your troughs?"
A side eye shot between each of the villagers. The town mayor stepped forward.
"Please forgive us, my Lord. We have met with horrible misfortune. Our people have begun to think that this land is cursed. Not a single crop has grown. No metal worked has retained its shape. Nor have any visitors spent a single coin at our inns. We are starving, your lordship!"
The Lord trudged around to the different stalls bordering the town square. He gestured to the goods for sale. "Nonsense, what do you call this then?"
"My Lord, if you will test them, you will see."
Lord Weymar raised an eyebrow. He poked the fat pumpkin sitting on the wooden stall. He pulled his finger back in shock as the orange vegetable deflated into a rotting pile of goo.
"My word!"
"There is more, my Lord, please see!"
The lord further dirtied his robes walking through the muddy streets as he stepped to the blacksmiths shop and cautiously poked one of the displayed swords. Instantly the metal melted into a dirty red lump of raw iron.
"But what could be wrong with your inn, and your other service industries?"
"My Lord, perhaps you smell us standing here?"
"Don't peasants always smell that bad?"
They all looked at each other.
"No, my Lord. If you were to wash but a finger in our bathing water hauled up from our creek, you'd notice in an instant."
The lord hesitantly granted the request. And then sniffed gingerly at his own royal fingertip.
"Good heavens! What is that putrid stench?"
"We don't know, my Lord. But we think it's a mixture of pig dung and rotting eggs. It's in all the water, and we can't get it out."
"But how on earth could things get so bad here, so quickly?"
"Well, we think it may have something to do with the anti-magic edict. All of these problems would be short work for our former resident witch. But she had to move away when the King's order went up."
"Very well, very well! I shall have words with him shortly. You will be expected to pay back your dues once these problems are resolved. Good day!"
And with a huff, and smelling most unlordly, Lord Weymar got into his carriage and drove off. His wheels a bit less round than when they began.
The whole town leaned eagerly forward. One man called in a whisper, "Is he gone?"
The little boy up in the tree scouting the road beyond the hill shouted back, "Heee'ss goooonnnnee!"
With a quick puff of dust, the muddy road turned to solid dirt again. The stench from the villagers vanished. The rotten swords straightened to a fine point. And all the food and their underlying stalls transformed into a great feast.
The villagers ate, sang, and drank, rejoicing in mirth. Matilda appeared in front of them at the head of the table in a loud 'poof!'
They all began chanting "Matilda!" Matilda! Long may she mage!"
"Actually, 'mage' isn't a verb. You can't use it in that context." But her complaints went unheard as the villagers lifted her chair up over their heads and began carrying her around the village, singing her praises and chanting nonsensically.
It wasn't two days later that a new notice went up revoking the previous decree.
Dropping her shop back into it's proper place, squeezed between the inn and the brewery, Matilda went about redecorating.
"Miss Matilda, thanks for the feast and everything, but when are you going to change the wolves back into whatever they were before?"
"What wolves?" Matilda asked in a frightened voice. | ##Magic of the Village
The soldier steps away from the notice board and turns with fear in his eyes. His commander watches him from his mount. The soldier straightens his back and walks to his horse, controlling his pace to avoid demonstrating fear while maintaining speed. He jumps onto his horse and prepares to leave. His commander holds up his hand and smiles.
The villagers look at the notice board and gossip sparks immediately. Questions begin to emerge from them. They debate the morality of the law. They debate the practicality and likelihood of enforcement. They avoid questioning their own livelihood in the moment, but they will do so later in the night. A girl still in pigtails walks up to the sign. She is learning to read and is eager to apply her skills.
*Attention*
*All magic is prohibited. Any practitioners shall be arrested. If one is caught aiding a practitioner, they shall be jailed for their crimes. If you know the location of a practitioner, inform the knights immediately*
The official seal of the king is at the bottom. The girl's face drops as she has not learned how to conceal her emotions. She runs away from the notice board. She ignores the farmers and merchants as they wave to her. She ignores the bugs and rodents in the forest. She stops at her destination, a small hut in the woods. She knocks on the door.
A woman who looks old enough to be the girl's sister opens the door. She has long hair that is contained within a bonnet. Her clothes are standard for a peasant yet spotless.
"Marigold," the girl embraces the woman and starts to cry.
"Isabel, what is the meaning of this?" Marigold hugs Isabel.
"There is a new notice. All magic is illegal. They are going to arrest you," Isabel cries into Marigold's apron.
"Oh dear, I was afraid of that," Marigold gently pushes Isabel away and begins casting the spells to reduce her travel load. Isabel stands in the door crying.
"Is this the last I will see of you?" she whimpers. Marigold turns to Isabel.
"For the foreseeable future, this is a common occurrence for us. A new king ascends to the throne and distrusts all witchcraft so he tries to have us arrested, and a few overeager knights search the town. Do not worry. I will be fine, and they will not harm you. They will assume that you were my victim and cast themselves as the hero," Marigold says as her furniture starts to shrink and float into her bag.
"But doesn't the king have wizards?" Isabel asks.
"Of course, he does, but royal magicians are always the exception. If it weren't for my dignity, I would gladly except such a role. Unfortunately, the idea of appeasing the wishes of an idiot has never been desirable to me so I must live my life on the run," Marigold reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small necklace. She walks over to Isabel.
"Keep this close. In the full moon, we will be able to speak," Marigold smiles. Hooves stomp in the distance. The knights from the village arrive. The lead knight smiles and gets off his horse.
"Unhand that child you foul witch. Sir Leo demands it," the knight removes his helmet to allow his full glory to be seen in the light. He has a proud look in his face that can only be earned through delusion. His subordinates tremble. Sir Leo looks at his knights and gestures them to get off their horses.
"No, I won't let you take her," Isabel stands in front of Marigold.
"By the grace of God, what spells have you cast on this innocent child? Before I slay you, you must undo your curse," Sir Leo gestures widely and projects his voice as if there is a large audience watching him.
"She hasn't cast any spells on me outside of healing my sickness, and you are not going to slay her," Isabel yells. In the distance, a mob of villagers start approaching the hut.
"Oh dear," Marigold sighs, "I had hoped I wouldn't have to deal with a mob this time."
"My child, this witch probably gave you the sickness herself. Now, unhand the girl, witch," Sir Leo points his sword at Marigold.
"First, please stop calling me witch. Second, I will go with you. Just give me a second to undo my curse on the girl," Marigold bends next to Isabel and magically connects her voice to Isabel's mind, "Please go with the villagers. You shouldn't have to see this. I am sorry that the world is a cruel place, but I would never forgive myself if you were harmed. I will be alright. I will slip away from the knights when we are far from the village."
Before the Marigold can finish her speech to Isabel, a man punches Sir Leo in his exposed head. Sir Leo falls on the ground. A group of villagers surround him and start to kick him until he begs for mercy. His subordinates are surrounded by angry villagers with pitchforks. The town magistrate, who landed the first blow on Sir Leo, approaches Marigold.
"Miguel, what is the meaning of all this," Marigold says.
"When the knights posted that notice, we had a secret quorum, and we all agreed that we were not going to let them take you. We were going to give them a red-herring while we plan a long-term solution. The knights already knew about you and left before we could enact our plan," Miguel says.
"So you attacked them, you could be tried for treason," Marigold says.
"These knights," Miguel gestures the group, "Their leader is too proud to admit commoners beat him, and the rest of them are too scared. Isn't that right?"
Most of the knights nod their head. Sir Leo struggles to stand with his blade.
"I would never lie or admit defeat," Sir Leo points his blade. Miguel raises his fist, "I merely fell off my horse while riding out of the village. The village is full of wonderful people who would never break the law Come along men."
"Wait," Miguel raises his hands, "And on the way you lost your horses."
"And on the way home we lost our horses," Sir Leo starts to run away from the hut. The other knights follow.
"Knights, pfft," the village elder, Elizabeth snorts, "They always act chivalrous and pretentious yet none of them would last ten seconds in a bar brawl."
The villagers nod their head in agreement.
"But you can't expect this to last forever, what about the king?" Marigold says.
"Who cares about the king? Kings are always more concerned about the color of their carpets than their subjects," Elizabeth places extra venom on the last word, "Besides, odds are he will be assassinated by one of his heirs in the next few years. That's politics."
"I mean you're not wrong, but what if the next king is even harsher on witches," Marigold stammers in disbelief.
"Then, we will fight off whatever stupid decree he makes. You are one of us, and we look after our own," Miguel smiles, and the villagers nod their head. Marigold starts to cry.
"This has never happened to me before. I am used to being ran out of town with pitchforks," Isabel hugs Marigold, "Thank you all so much."
Marigold removes the furniture from her bag and starts to re-organize her home. Elizabeth walks into her house.
"Wait a minute, have you been able to move your furniture with magic this whole time?!" Elizabeth shouts.
"Uh, only my enchanted furniture," Marigold says.
"My goodness, the next time I need my table moved; you better help out. Otherwise, I will turn you into the king myself," Elizabeth says.
"Elizabeth," Miguel's face drops in horror.
"It's fine," Marigold laughs for the first time at the thought of being turned in, "I will be sure to help you with your furniture, Elizabeth."
"Good," Elizabeth smiles and walks out of the hut with Isabel in hand.
The villagers go about the rest of their day as if nothing happened. The only sign of the day's even is the the notice on the board. It will stay on the board for as long as current king decrees it, and the villagers will ignore it until it is revoked.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-03-29T19:21:22 | 2021-03-29T19:19:04 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You've died and wake up in some sort of theme park. You look at the ride attendant, with long white hair and a big beard, who says, "Wanna go again?" | "Alright, lad. End o' the line."
As I open my eyes, I realize that I'm sitting in front of an old, friendly-looking man with hair as white as the freshest milk, a big, fluffy beard and blue eyes that seemed to stare into the deepest corners of your soul. Looking around, I see that we're the only ones here.
"How was the ride? Did ye enjoy it?" asked the man with a calming warmth in his voice.
"What are you referring to?" I asked, puzzled as anyone would be, had they been in my situation.
"Ah, this be that memory error again. I bet ye don't even know who I am right now. That doesn't matter. Yer life, sonny. Did ye like it?" the man clarified, his smile even wider now, his face showing his genuine curiosity.
"Yeah. It was a bit short, though. I don't remember how it ended exactly, but I didn't expect it." I said, trying to recall details from what apparently was my past life.
"Well, that's the beauty of it, innit? A little surprise to keep ye on yer toes. Anyways, do ye have any feedback fer me?" the man continued his inquiries.
"There was way too much violence, especially in the Middle East. People took politics way too seriously, and overall, people are pretty vile if you think about it." I gave him an honest response.
"Nah, sonny. Ye just gotta find the good in them. After all, ye'll see the world through everyone's point o' view 'till we're done. I'm assumin' ye wanna go again. Care ta tell me what time period and location ye want?" the man then looked into the control panel of the ride, then looked back at me, awaiting my answer.
"Umm, what about Ancient Egypt? I always thought that was interesting." I said, while thinking that all this *couldn't* be real, and that this man was just pulling my leg.
"Sure thing, sonny!" he replied heartily.
The man pressed a button and I actually started fading away, hearing some tense people talking. I assumed that was my birth, but as it is, I knew I wouldn't remember.
"Ye have time for one question before we meet again, sonny. Shoot quickly!" the man shouted, as the people talking were louder and louder.
"Who are you?" I screamed back, eager to know the name of the one that gave me another shot at life.
"On yer ride, they call me many names. Let's just say I'm yer friend."
The man smiled again, waving goodbye. A bright light. Happy people. I was born again. | I blinked my eyes several times as I tried to adjust to the bright lights. My thoughts were a mess, my memories all but fuzzy. I remembered sitting in a car, driving down a road during a wintry night. Something crossed the road and I swerved to avoid it, only for my car to skid and flip. There was the sickening sound of glass shattering and metal bending, and the next thing I knew I was sitting... here.
Inside a pod with a VR set strapped tight to my face. As I removed them, I began to see clearer the place that I was in. A small enclosed space with a screen in front of me, wires everywhere. And my pod was not the only one. Thousands upon thousands of similar pods laid around mine, the occupants all strapped into similar VR sets.
I stood up, wanting to get out from the place, and ask someone where I was. Just as I was about to do that, an old man appeared right beside me. His long white hair and beard grew all the way to the floor, and he was wearing a robe that was even longer than his hair.
"Hello S45678Z, I see that you are awake!" he chirpily announced, without even bothering to check if I was listening. His hands moved methodically around the electronics in my pod.
"Where am I?" I tried to ask, still groggy from the entire experience. If this was afterlife, it was not how I imagined it to be.
"Ah," he said, eyes and hands still more focused on the pod than me. "Memory lost is normal upon waking up, S45678Z. And it seems that you still have some quota to fulfill."
He started to hook me up again, pulling the VR Set to me. "Wanna go again?" he smiled, one with countless secrets hidden behind it.
"No, I need to know-" I tried to protest, but before I could do anything, I felt a sharp pain on my hand. A wave of fatigue suddenly wash over me. My body felt as if it was falling into darkness, my memories suddenly becoming fuzzy again, like slowly being erased.
Amidst the the swirls, the darkness, I heard a familiar voice around me. The sound of my mother's voice. "Honey, I feel our son kicking me!"
And so it begins again.
------------
Edit: Grammar. Sorry wrote this in a jiffy before I went to sleep!
/r/dori_tales | 2017-01-07T07:37:53 | 2017-01-07T07:35:42 | 1,307 | 410 |
[WP] You're the normal guy the evil emperor keeps around to point out obvious flaws in his plan. It's a pretty sweet gig, but there are some annoyances. | Our leader hadn’t always been the brightest bulb in the box. He was a good public speaker for sure, but not always the best to ask for help in your math homework you know? So I came in the office one day and he was elated. He said he had the greatest plan ever. He promptly sent all of the other advisers out of the room. I sat down across from his desk. It was tense, I was nervous because every time our leader had a plan there was always a major flaw.
“I’ve got it” he said, “we’ll invade Russia”
“Sir-“
“I don’t want to hear it!” You and your “stop wasting money on company retreats, and don’t go on vacation the the states! If you have any objections, they’d better be good.”
“But they’re our allies sir. I just don’t think it’s a good ide-“
“To plant our flag over the largest nation on earth‽ we’re doing, it not another word”
“Yes führer” | Kylo Ren hitched up his pants, and gestured to me to come closer.
"Yes, my lord?" I asked, kneeling on one knee, my palms up in supplication. Hopefully, his Kylo'ness wouldn't notice that I had directly disobeyed him.
"Jonesy - what do you think of the good General Hux's plan?"
I followed K's glistening black gloved hand pointing menacingly at General Armitage Hux's neck. Glancing up at Hux's eyes, I could see them glisten and plead.
Time stood still as I thought about Kylo's question - and more importantly, how had I, a simple Tatooine moisture farmer gotten here?
Post if you want more..... | 2018-01-15T18:13:32 | 2018-01-15T17:08:18 | 169 | 12 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | I am Fweej. Long ago in an ancient land I was known as the Overseer, watching over the great ships of my people in secret. With my protection and blessing they conquered the seas and laid waste to our enemies, until one day my avatar on the mortal plane, a recreation in gold and marble a hundred feet across, buried at the bottom of the most sacred harbor of the largest city of my people was discovered by a nefarious plot and destroyed.
Three thousand years I drifted, aimless, in the void between worlds, before I felt a tug. A small pull in the direction of the mortal plane again.
A small plush doll, with a simple piece of candy in front of it was what I found, a young girl, barely a toddler, looking at the plush expecting more. "Fweej," she said, then babbled something unintelligible. I didn't know much about small mortals, but I suspect this one may have summoned me by sheer accident. But, an offering was an offering, and Fweej the Overseer will watch over the little one no matter what. As the little one tottered off, I sent down a miniscule fraction of my power to start maintaining the avatar. It wouldn't do for me to be discovered again, after all.
Unseen, the small, tattered octopus plush grew a little in size, and cleaned itself while nobody was looking. | The girl felt energy surge into her.
'Huh, that's wierd. I feel really good after putting the candy on that altar.'
Many of her classmates were nearby.
"Hey guys, put a piece of candy on this altar"
Many of them didn't agree.
"Nah that's stupid."
"Um I'm eating my candy."
"I only put candy in my mouth"
But there were still 4 who heeded the call. Each had a different type of candy.
Now there were 5 candies on the altar. Each child glowed with energy. Then the altar lit up.
A 'God' appeared.
"By your candy combined, I am Captain Cornsyrup. I protect children from cavities, bad breathe, tonsillitis, cooties, and terrible dad-jokes."
"Go Captain!" the children cheered.
Upon seeing this, one of the other children who was reluctant before walked up and put a piece of candy on the altar.
The 'God' froze.
"Was that.. sugar-free candy? Noooooooooo"
The 'God' suddenly shriveled into nothingness and popped out of existence. | 2021-09-02T08:15:04 | 2021-09-02T08:13:20 | 264 | 125 |
[WP]You have been caged without a writing utensil for years because what you write comes true. The doctor examining you just left his... | -syringe behind. I stare at it in horror. The urge is too great. The power is at my fingertips.
I snatch it up and stab myself in the arm with it. I gasp and whine as I force it into myself, drawing blood. Blood is spilling everywhere. I have to be quick now. I have to hurry.
I hear a shout from far away. They know, they can see me through the camera.
I use the end of the syringe as a pen, dipping it in my own blood. Quickly now.
*The door to room 407 won't open.* I have to re-bloody the pen with every few letters, it's much to fine to last any longer. A slam against the doors make me jump. The knob turns and they are pounding on the other side of it. My heart is racing as I stare at it, expecting them to break through any moment now.
Slowly, hesitantly, a grin spreads across my face. My breathing is growing heavier. Finally, the power is at my finger-tips once again.
*None of the doors will open.*
I write down. I hear shouts and screams from the other side of the door, pleading with me, begging me to stop.
*The windows won't open. They won't break.*
A familiar voice calls my name from the other side of the door. Susanna. I'm sorry...
*Susanna, the nurse of the Facility suddenly drops dead from an aneurysm.*
It's a kindness, really. Another shout and scream on the other side of the door.
*A fire erupts, it will spread and engulf and burn the whole Facility, but leave the surroundings untouched.*
I put down the syringe and lean back. I smile as I hear screams. The smell of smoke drifts to my room. Soon, soon it will all be over. Finally, I won't be a slave to their whims. I won't write what they dictate. I will be free. The world will be free of this terrible place.
As a last minute thought I realize I can still do good.
*Everyone with the power of the pen will die before midnight.*
I scribble down. It takes too long. The room is now filled with smoke and I'm having a hard time concentrating. The screams aren't pressing against my door anymore. They are too concerned with escaping. I just have one more thing to write. One final salvation before...
*Everyone who worked in t-.* | "What a dumb ass," I muttered as I palmed the pen from the mahogany desk of Dr. Phillips. I wouldn't have time to get anything written yet, but if I can just manage to hide this pen for the rest of our 1 hour session and get back to my cell - they refer to it as a room, but you can leave rooms - then I'll be able to fix this. All of this.
Dr. Phillips is back in the room now, his plump stomach pushing on the suspenders he was thumbing absent-mindedly. It was the same ole, same ole. We would discuss my childhood, my teenage years, and honestly anything that the man wanted to discuss. I had already dealt with the experiments and the physical examinations, but once the doctors realized there was nothing physically special about me, my body, or my brain, they sent me to a psych ward for mental evaluations.
10 minutes left.
He still hasn't noticed his chrome plated pen is missing from the desk, but I'm starting to get nervous now. Do I try to scribble something on my palm or do I wait it out? Dr. Phillips is a good man, I refuse to wipe him from existence with a couple words, I will not every hurt anyone with my words, not again.
2 minutes left.
This is the homestretch, I can hold out until I make it to my room. Phillips has closed his notebook and started packing up for the day, it was a good session he tells me. I just told him what he wanted to hear, but I'm glad he feels we've accomplished something.
"Now where did my pen go," Dr. Phillips mutters while shuffling papers around on his desk. *Oh shit, oh shit, this is bad.* He pats his pockets and slowly pans his eyes up to me. *It's now or never*
I pulled the pen from my sleeve and quickly pushed the tip into my palm. Dr. Phillips is climbing over his desk now, his fat fingers grasping at air, reaching for purchase, but it was too late, I was gone and sitting on a beach somewhere in Hawaii. Thanks to this little pen, I'll be able to start my life over again, no one will know my powers, I'll make sure of it.
| 2017-06-25T08:08:47 | 2017-06-25T06:45:47 | 462 | 65 |
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first. | He came as I rang the three little bells.
Simple Pete signaled toward the midnight storm outside, "I thought you knew to avoid that storm... Suppose it seemed it was manageable earlier... Over there's whiskey for you and me. Oscar said he thought you would want to be toasty after coming from that down pour. Said the wet dirt road would stop any man, one minute flat."
By now, I had loaded my trusty pistol, holding it in my right hand behind my back. Quickly I pressed the barrel to Pete's temple. The bright white wall sprayed red, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness.
__________________________________________________________________
**As the bells signaled midnight, I knew that it was over for me. He would be coming down the road any minute now, loaded pistol in hand. Back pressed to the wall, I prayed.**
| Long ago, **I** said "I **don't** think I **need** anything now," **to** her.
"Please **be** sure. Let **better** angels, rather **than** demons, lead **you**," she replied.
**I** was wrong, **just** so wrong. **Need** some words **to** live by? **Be** sure that **a** decision will **better** your life. **Man** is better **than** the mistakes **I** have made.
**Was** it just **yesterday**?
| 2014-07-29T13:10:19 | 2014-07-29T13:07:46 | 165 | 10 |
[WP] 2200, Humanity has managed to split itself into 2 species, the Original species and the Humans of War species, who are created to wage war and to build weapons of war. The species of the galaxy do not believe that we are capable of war, and invade us. They finally realized why we never wage war | Sometimes it was hard being made for war in a galaxy made of peace. Everywhere I went, people would stare and remark on my height compared to others of my species. No one had use for a bodyguard made to be a sniper, so I usually had to work on the other side of the law to feed myself. Still, I would choose to be a Warrior over being a regular human any day.
Why? Because while being made for war had some *amazing* perks. I could run faster and longer than regular humans, I had near-perfect eyesight and perception, I could take bullets and walk away and I was twice as strong as the average human. The only downside was me being short, but that was a me thing, not a species thing.
Besides, aliens always treated all humans with respect as they knew what had happened to those who didn't. I had been there as the Empire tried to take Earth, I had personally fought in the Battle of Sweden, where their army was shattered and fought around the world cleaning up survivors. The Empire regretted what they had done, and I fought alongside my brethren to the gates of their palace. I had fifty confirmed kills to my name and another two hundred unconfirmed.
If there is one thing I have learned in my life, is that there was no peace. Because if only two people were alive on a planet, someone would want *someone* dead. | "the last battalion has fallen general" said the vice-admiral.
"curse the Humans! they played unfair, they broke the rules, our army is undefeatable!" the general rambled. it was clear he was slipping into insanity. the war had been devastating for both sides and our people and our king had become disgruntled about the army's excuses as to why their greatest military triumph had now disolved into a catastrophic failure.
we had taken down the human's puny army with ease, but the common people proved impossible to control. resistance was always expected of course, but was normally quelled after purging a few planets. but not for these entropy-cursed humans. with every failure, every defeat, they grew more resilient and more persistent.
after just a few years, they had surgically wiped out our vast armies and overthrown the governments we had placed to control them. the war was extremely straining, both on the empire and our own sanities. i was but an inexperienced newbie when the war ended, but the whole debacle taught me one important lesson, the value of peace. for both the enemies sakes, and ours | 2020-10-25T13:31:44 | 2020-10-25T11:42:00 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] The bandits thought this village would be easy to raid, little did they know the old Hero had retired here. | "Until today, thanks to you, I have not had to kill anyone for almost fifteen years."
Gil scrabbled backwards as he tried to get away from the man advancing on him. It has looked so easy. A small village, no parish guards, almost certainly no gold to be worthwhile, but more than enough food and beer to get them through the winter.
Plus some farmers daughters (and sons- Urzaak might have have been a she-ork, but she enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh as much as the next man) for entertainment.
So they had come charging in just after the crack of dawn, waving swords and threatening to cut them down if they didn't comply.
And this old man had come striding out from behind one of the cottages.
He didn't look like much- weathered skin, balding, beard almost lost to gray, paunch, and armed with just a wood axe.
Urzaak had been the first to die, when she came swaggering up to him intent on beating him to death with her mace. She never even got a chance to raise her weapon.
Gil didn't see the man move, but one moment Urzaak was alive, the next the side of her neck was split open with a single stroke of the old man's axe.
Four of the lads closest to the man had charged him- and died.
Three more had heard the fighting and came running. They had died immediately thereafter.
Realizing that they were in over their heads, Gil had called for the band to retreat. He had turned to run when he had felt the prickle of magic on his skin right before lightning had struck them down.
He had gotten caught at the edge of the blast, which was why he was still alive, the only one of his band still alive.
And that was why he was trying to crawl away as fast as he could from this very unassuming old man.
"W-who are you?" Gil rasped as the man loomed over him.
"Aselfirrth Ulafsson." answered the old man as he hefted his axe.
Before the head of the axe split his skull, Gil felt absolute terror at the fact that he had tried to raid the village that Aselfirrth Ulafsson, Scourge of Dragons, had decided to retire. | Olknay was working on his hobby when a knock came to the door... sighing, he answers the door to be greeted by his neighbour, Ferla. "Yes, Ferla? What would you like help with? I'm tired these days." "I know, Olknay, and I'm so sorry to bother you. But bandits just came to the village, they're raiding our community funds as we speak! Please stop them!"
Olknay sighs, again. "I have no strength left to stop them... but maybe I can intimidate them enough for us to negotiate." He heads to his 'hero closet' and retrieves his sword. "Never thought I'd pick this up again..."
The bandits were quickly going through the money, grabbing as much as they could, when one of them says "Hey, look! Some old man wants to tell us off!" They all look at the retired hero, and begin to laugh until he draws his sword. "I hope you know who I am... for your sake." Most of the bandits stare confused, but one of them has a look of shock.
"Those engravings... are you the hero of legend?" Olknay smiles. "Indeed I am. I may be an old man, but I've seen my fair share of battles. Any of you want to challenge me?" The bandits look at each other, while Olknay looks at the loot. Doesn't seem like they got much... "Get out of here, NOW!" he snarls. The bandits waste no time in taking off, and the hero sits down, catching his breath, as the village patriarch goes through the funds.
"Seems like we may need to make a few cutbacks to our spending... but thankfully they didn't get a lot." He turns to me. "Thank you, Olknay. I know just holding that sword must take a lot out of you nowadays, yet you still made the effort." Olknay simply responds, "this is my village now, too. I wouldn't want anything to happen." | 2022-08-22T08:18:15 | 2022-08-22T06:02:45 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You have finally realized your personal goal of visiting all major cities on the planet. As you step past the sign marking the last city your were yet missing, you suddenly hear a voice. "Fast travel unlocked." | Aubrey hurled her walker to the ground with a triumphant screech that turned every head in Punjab. She didn’t care what she looked like, *let them tell stories about the crazy old white lady,* she thought cynically, *I’m the one who just struck gold.*
“Heaven.” Nothing happened.
“Hell.” Nothing Happened.
“Headquarters,” she said, and the whole of the world color shifted into infinity, blurring into a curving neon mass.
When it all came back into focus either an eternity or a millisecond later, Aubrey stood in a verdant forest, the emerald green of thousand foot trees stretching up to a blue speck of sky that barely peaked through the impossibly dense foliage. All around her was silence, as if nothing at all lived despite the perfectly untamed wilds around her.
Aubrey’s walker was nowhere to be seen, and as she limped about in a small, confused semi-circle, she regretted throwing it down very badly. Some celebrations weren’t worth it.
“Over here.”
A thrill ran through her at the strangeness of the voice behind her. It was thin and reedy, perhaps with the slightest of squeaks, but with the kind of accent that screamed culture and refinement. She imagined great, beautiful plumed bird hanging in the air on slowly beating wings.
When she finally managed to complete her turn Aubrey’s jaw dropped open. There was no bird, nor even a man or beast worthy of the place she stood in. Instead, a perfectly normal looking black rat stood upright atop a gnarled root, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I can’t believe that worked!” Aubrey exclaimed. “But, who the Hell are you?”
“Who the hell am I? I’m the guy who’s in charge. You’re the one who asked to come here, who the Hell are you?”
“I’m Aubrey!” Aubrey said. “I’m the one who finished the quest.”
“What quest?”
“You know, go to all the cities. Why else would someone put so many fascinating places all across the world if not to be visited?”
The rat scratched at his jowls, the tip of his tail making a frantic little dance around his ankles. “I put ‘em there because God said so, and because people need a place to live. There’s no quest.”
“God?”
The rat clacked his teeth together angrily, Aubrey wondered if it might have been his version of snapping his fingers. “Stay on topic. What’s this quest shit you’re on about?”
“Well, once I finally finished the list I got a popup that said I’d unlocked fast travel. Sounds pretty quest-y to me. I know games aren’t so popular now but back in my day—”
“Woah, woah, woah! Don’t confuse questions with interest, I don’t give a shit about your stories.”
Aubrey stared at the rat’s neck. She had some traps back home that would work perfectly on him. If she were really feeling vindictive later perhaps she might come back with a few. Then she gasped, the memory of those old games coming back to her despite what he’d said.
“Wait! In the games, questgivers used to have other rewards too. You’d get some big thing for the main plot like fast travel, but then you’d also get to choose an item. Do you have an item for me?”
“Lady, I didn’t even have a quest! It’s that big bastard up there you should be asking,” the rat said, pointing up to the little sliver of blue sky, “but unfortunately for you, Heaven’s still off the grid. He’s been awfully grumpy the last two thousand years.”
“No rewards?”
“None!”
“Not even potion? My knees ache something fierce.”
The rat glared at her for a moment and then turned back towards his forest, flanks bunching with muscle as he prepared to scurry off.
“Wait! I must be the first person to complete it though, if I wasn’t the news would’ve been everywhere. As such I really do think you owe me something. How about something simple, some advice. If Headquarters existed, surely there are other unknown places. What about somewhere with good medicines? I’m 75, and I can feel myself getting older every second.”
The rat turned back and gave her an obscene gesture that she hadn’t even thought his anatomy capable of. “Sit and spin,” he said.
“Oh! Then I shall!”
The rat looked terrified for a moment until Aubrey’s laughter released him. “Can I queue up travel jumps?” She asked.
“Uh, yeah I suppose.”
“And these jumps, how fast do they go?”
“Do I look like a fuckin’ scientist to you? They’re fast.”
“Lightspeed fast?”
The rat blinked rapidly. “No fuckin’ way…” he mumbled.
Aubrey clapped her wrinkled hands in delight. “Perfect, thanks!” she said, before turning to set up her itinerary.
“Queuing jumps,” she said.
“Acknowledged,” came an ethereal, vaguely feminine voice.
“Uhhh, Beijing, China, Portland, Maine, Recife, Brazil, Oslo, Norway,” Aubrey said, listing off an incredibly long string of cities before finally huffing and seeking more guidance. “Hey, voice, whatever you are. This sucks. Can you come up with a relativistically minded travel itinerary that’ll allow me to skip the next hundred years or so? I want to come back when anti aging tech is better.”
“Working…working…working…Acknowledged.”
The rat stared at her in horror. “The Big Guy is not gonna be pleased about this,” he said.
Aubrey smiled broadly, feeling half her age all of a sudden. She raised her right hand and gave the rat the finger. “Sit and spin,” Aubrey said, before looking off into the distance. “Voice? Uh…Engage.”
She was gone instantly.
The little rat looked up to the sliver of sky, terrified of his quarterly review.
r/TurningtoWords | “Ah, the wonderful city of Paris, a lovely place for a lovely man such as myself and… what is that noise?”
“FAST TRAVEL UNLOCKED.”
“Excuse me?” I glanced over my shoulder, wondering where the voice came from. It sounded so loud, and yet I was the only one who reacted to it. “Excuse me sir, did you just shout that? Are you alright?” I asked, stopping one of the passing locals.
“Imbécile.” was all the man said as he continued on his way, leaving me standing in the middle of the street dumbfounded.
“Real nice, beautiful language.” I sarcastically quipped to myself, stepping aside, getting out of the way of the passing people. This was strange, I was certain I heard a noise, yet no one appeared to be owning up to the words, not even a group of people mocking me for glancing around stupidly after they said it.
Fast travel unlocked? That is what I heard; I was confident someone said that to me. It would have made sense in a video game; I completed a side quest, so I earned a reward. It was like climbing outposts, only a lot more expensive and dangerous. Maybe life had Easter eggs hidden away? No, that was ridiculous, unless?
I took a few glances back and forth, wondering if I was going to attempt something so childish. What did I have to lose? My dignity in a country where no one knows me?
“Fast travel to New Zealand.” I stood there like an idiot as nothing happened. Oddly enough, no one even took notice of me, perhaps because I said it in English? Or maybe they just didn’t hear me. I was ready to continue my sightseeing tour, only for a cough of smoke to hit my face.
“Damn it, another one. Where do you earthlings find all this money? New Zealand too? That’s a long trip, I don’t want to spend a whole five minutes with you.”
The man had a cigar hanging between his lips, his face covered in wrinkles and a few odd golden tattoos that sat around his neck. He was dressed in an ill-fitting suit, a pair of unkempt angel wings sprouting from the back of it. As I stared at him, he puffed another cloud in my face, causing me to have a brief coughing fit.
“Stop that, you know it’s bad for your health?”
“I’m dead, why do I care about my health? Look, I don’t have time to answer questions. You want to go to New Zealand, so lets get going.”
“But how will we get there? Who are you?” I could hear the man groan as I ignored his request to avoid questions.
“I’m a demoted angel that now has to do shitty earth duties for people like you. How are we getting there? It’s on the other side of the earth. How do you think genius?” He asked, snapping his fingers as an elevator pushed through the ground, popping out from the earth with its doors wide open. “Get in.” he said, flicking his cigar onto the floor.
I was slow to get in, approaching the elevator with caution, only to get shoved inside by the angel. The angel soon following behind me, hitting a button as the doors shut behind us, leaving us to stand in silence while elevator music played in the background.
“So, even these have elevator music, didn’t know it was so universal. Dum, dee, dum, dee dum.”
“If you keep singing along to that, I’ll push you out when we reach the earth’s core. Just stay silent like a kid that won’t get dessert if he messes up.” The angel went to light another cigar, only to notice me glaring. “What? You want one?”
“No, it’s a confined space, you will kill me if you smoke in here. Just wait five minutes.”
“Just wait five minutes.” He said in a high-pitched voice. “That’s what you sound like. Fine, I don’t feel like having another person whine to god about my duties when they die.”
“Good.” I tried to stand in silence, only to turn my gaze to the balding angel, who tried desperately to avoid looking at me. “Why did you get demoted?”
“Ugh. Do you ask a recently fired person why they got fired? What sort of monster are you? Look, it’s a touchy subject. I may or may not have taken someone’s head off with cupid’s bow after a drunken night out.”
“You killed someone with cupid’s bow?”
“Allegedly. No one saw me do it.”
“Isn’t god all seeing?”
“No, that’s Santa Claus, you clown. Can we stand in silence? Please, I make enough pointless conversations a day.”
“Alright.” We stood in silence until the elevator stopped, opening its doors to reveal the lovely landscape of New Zealand. When I stepped out, the angel followed, once again retrieving a cigar.
“Right, we have arrived. A few ground rules, I need to tell you. You can only do this once a day and you can’t fast travel when monsters are nearby.”
“Wait, what’s that mean?”
“I don’t know. Look, I don’t write the rules, I just tell you about them. Anyway, don’t call me again, bye.”
With that, the angel vanished into a cloud of smoke, leaving me standing in the middle of a grassy field alone, ready to explore my new ability further tomorrow.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-05-05T09:49:52 | 2021-05-05T07:48:15 | 1,668 | 307 |
[WP] To get into heaven, you have to beat Jesus at Rock Paper Scissors at the pearly gates. Since the beginning of time, Jesus has always thrown rock. Everyone knows Jesus always throws rock and it's really just a formality to throw paper and walk into heaven. When you play him, he also throws paper | Despite everything you've known and heard from others, you stand there awkwardly for a moment just blankly staring at a hand that should've played rock instead paper.
Your heart starts to panic and your mind starts to fray at the edges as your expression remains as it did when you first approached the Son of God.
"Are... are you alright?" His words snap you out of your dramatic trance, causing you to blink.
"I'm uh... yeah, no sorry about that it's just..."
Your mind races like a child at the junior preakness fighting for the words to use that convey your disappointment without offending the second-in-command of the big man upstairs.
"You were expecting me to throw rock, right?" Jesus catches your lost stare at his abdomen, tilting forward and leaning down just a bit.
"I mean... no offense, but... yeah?"
"No need to be afraid, I understand the confusion." The savior smiled. "I've been throwing rock for centuries on centuries now and I thought it'd be nice to change things up a bit, you know?"
"No, that makes good sense it's just... what do we do in a situation like this?" You ask after feeling the same relief that brought you all the way up here, though the weight of uncertainty still remains on your shoulders.
"Well that's all up to you, my friend."
You lived your whole life so that you could make it to this opportunity and yet you're faced with one final test before you can rest in peace within the gates of paradise. You look down and still see both of your hands extended and then back up to see the friendly, inviting smile of christ before you awaiting your next move.
With a short breath of confidence, placing all your hopes on this next move you do the unthinkable:
You take that man's hand and you shake it like a true gentleman.
"Welcome to heaven!" | I look down at the hand of the weird, shaggy man. It's flat, like a piece of paper. What the fuck?
I let my mouth repeat the words. "What the fuck?"
He looks equally disturbed, looking back at me with untold apprehension. He murmurs something under his breath.
"What did you say?" I shout. "What did you say?!"
I feel the heavy hands of his heavenly goons clamp on my shoulders. They hoist me up like I'm nothing but a feather.
"No!" I yell, "I won't go, I won't go!" I pull away and throw myself back into the seat.
Jesus murmurs again, eyes wide open, like he's just seen a Roman. "Sinner. He's a sinner."
"Damn right!" I fly over the table towards the smelly hippie. His goons grab me again, pulling me back once more. They drag me across the soft floor of clouds. I heave and squirm, but it's no use. These angels are swole. I weep as they drag me to my fate, past the pearly gates and into the Kindgom of Heaven.
Jesus sits there all the while, still utterly perplexed. He watches as I am dragged to my fate, the scissor of my hand still held high.
"I wanted Hell," I wail as they close the gates. "You guys are narcs! You guys are naaaaaarccssss!"
\-\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator :\) | 2018-05-18T10:49:58 | 2018-05-18T10:25:44 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] The seven aspects of the universe gathered in the room, Good, Evil, Life, Death, Order, Chaos, and Dave, from accounting. | Hey there. This is Dave from Accounting. Never heard of me, huh? That’s understandable; I don’t really get as much recognition from my job as one might expect from a fundamental aspect of the universe. Not that I really mind. Hm? Oh, yeah, forgot to mention: the other six “Fundamentals” are, for lack of a better term, “balanced” by me. See, I’m not able to create living beings, destroy them, drive them to do deeds of virtue or vice, create discord or peace, nothing like that. But if any of these forces act, uh, let’s say, “excessive” or “belligerent,” I’m given free reign to remove their abilities from them. No, it doesn’t mean I get control over what they can do; it just means that the “higher-ups” have decided that the current avatar of this aspect is no longer deserving of such rank or powers, and that a replacement is needed.
Yeah, as you may have guessed, “Accounting” for me is very different than what it is for mortals. Think of their powers as assets, and their forms as accounts. If my bosses tell me to “close the account,” that translates to, “Take their powers and kill them.” Take yesterday, for example. Well, yesterday for me, anyway; for all I know it could have been a billion years ago for you. Anyway, Chaos and Order were arguing, one being exceptionally disorderly, the other needlessly stubborn. Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object and all that jazz. Anyway, long story short, I got the word from my bosses, and I “closed their accounts.” Anticlimactic, yeah, but did you really expect the job of an accountant to be exciting? I can’t say what happened during the time they were absent; I think a few regimes sprang up in a few worlds, a few revolts took place, et cetera, et cetera. The bosses have already selected replacements, and they’ve been able to set things right, and so far, things have been good.
Now, you may find yourself asking, “But Dave, what about the revolts? The regimes? You just *let* that happen?” And the answer is, “Yes.” Look, a lotta mortals might look at me and think that I’m a monster for just “letting this happen,” but the fact is, people die, live, rebel, rule, do good and do evil. Who does what is up to the Fundamentals. My job is to make sure that too much of what they do doesn’t happen, okay? I just make sure that nobody gets uppity with their assets, even if it means a few worlds get destroyed. That kind of thing happens all the time. As for my bosses? Well, I’m not really allowed to say much about them, but suffice it to say, they’re older than me or any of the Fundamentals, and they make sure reality runs as it’s supposed to. I don’t question it; I’m just the accountant. | "Life, can I speak to you?" Order was never so cautious with Life. He regarded her fascination with mortal beings a failing more than anything. Something so...wild. Chaos, in all their uncontrolled nature,, was more suited for Life, he thought.
"Sure. What seems to be the matter?" She smiled. Motherly as always. An aspect Order had learned to appreciate.
"Well...Death and I were talking..."
Life smiled, "Oh, how is she?"
An old flame of Life. One that would never...well. You know.
"She's fine; look. We're all...great forces if reality. Beings beyond being. The very nature of how mortals comprehend the universe..."
"Yes I'm well aware." She was losing her patience. A rare occurrence.
"Well... Dave is..."
"He's a squishy little Meat idiot," Evil chimed in from across the hall, "Fragile and so easily broken. Left bleeding and crying like-"
"Evil. Please." Order held a hand up.
"Sorry. Just sayin'."
"But... he's got a point."
Life frowned. Adding Dave from Accounting wasn't her idea. Though she appreciated opening the eyes of one of her flock. Chaos loved the fun of it all. Order appreciated the "Accounting".
"It was Goods idea. They..." She smiled, "they made an interesting point."
"I often find Goods methods to be vexing but I'd agree they have a good head on their shoulders. Metaphysically speaking of course," he looked confused again, "But...why a human? Why not a dog? Perhaps a cat? Death LOVES those little buggers..."
"Maybe too much..." Life muttered, "But, truthfully? Humans appreciate all of us. They believe us infallible. Immutable. Chaos is always wild and unpredictable. Good is always about conflict with Evil. About the only concepts they misunderstand are..."
Order frowned, "Death."
"I hoped...that perhaps working alongside us, not only would he remind us there are beings out there to which we owe literal conception...but we could show him that these concepts. Good and Evil, Life and Death, Chaos and Order. We are not all scary and rigid. That good can be fighting against evil, or it can be loving the unloved and forgotten. Life can be a lion feasting on an antelope. Death...can be a release from pain."
Order nodded solemnly. The talk was briefly interrupted as Dave popped his head in.
"Hey, just came to tell you two, I'm getting together the final entries for the office Fantasy Football League. Are you two in?"
Order thought for a moment, "Hmm...you know what? Yeah. Yeah I'm in, Dave."
Life smiled gently to herself. | 2021-02-16T09:59:56 | 2021-02-16T09:39:22 | 47 | 34 |
[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. | I leaned back in my office chair and stretched my arms high over my head. With a sigh of relief, I finally turned away from Earth-2294. In 250 A.D., the humans living there had managed to rediscover the Garden of Eden, and they had waged a siege on an epic proportion that had lasted almost two thousand years. It had taken every bit of my attention to keep them out, but when I make a rule, I keep that rule. Now, after all those years, I could finally check up on some of my other creations.
I swiveled in my office chair and faced Earth-1468. The first thing I noticed was the number of countries. On Earth-2294, there was no real nationality, just humans vs. angels. Earth-1468 had hundreds of countries. I sighed again, it was obvious I was going to have a lot of reading to catch up on before I could start guiding these humans.
I cracked open the first historical tome, starting from the moment the "Garden Crisis" started on Earth-2294. Suddenly, movement just outside of the atmosphere caught my eye. I looked at it closely, it was some sort of space station. But that was impossible, humans weren't supposed to go to space!! It's impossibly cold, and there's no oxygen. It's why I use the cold emptiness of space to separate my planets, humans could never survive outside the atmosphere. Yet here they were, just floating around like it was normal. I sat back in my chair stunned. And I smiled. After all those years of war, I'd forgotten how much I liked humans. It was time to reward these enterprising little people. I zoomed out so I could see the entire milky way. And there it was, the tiny little telescope trying to take pictures of the bigger universe. I subtly pointed it to a seemingly empty space of the cosmos. And the telescope took pictures of a far distant planet, where all humans had been wiped out. And where they would find a peaceful garden at the center of a massive battle. | "Finally, it's time", God says as he looks up from his work. It'd taken a short amount of time to bring about peace to the planet Nequior, but it was done. The beings of this desolate place weren't blessed with the ability to work things out on their own. They were a foolish and unruly bunch. Wars, disease, and starvation ravaged the planet the point of no return. Hence, why he turned his eyes upon them to be their salvation. Now, there is no more disparity or hunger. There was peace all around. It was a utopia. An epitome of peaceful politics and technology. "If there were ever a day I felt I could rest, this would be it," he says with a sigh. This is the end of my work. His eyes turn from his current work and scans the view around him. Sadness consumes him. Trouble from thousands of galaxies now clouded his view. A small bit of time to save a few stupid souls had brought about the end others many worlds. It feels like complete and utter defeat. For every one galaxy he manages to save, thousands collapse upon themselves to never be seen again.
"I wonder why I started this in the first place," he mutters. "Life. Death. All of it. I could just restart it all and begin anew." His last venture proved to be a failure. They were equipped with the ability and yet still failed to see. He turns to view its dead landscape and pauses. "How could this-This is impo-" he stutters as he tries to comprehend what he sees over the light years beyond. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "This is not what I had expected to see." There in the mist of the chaos was earth. Small, blue and hapless earth. It was still there. | 2015-12-27T10:49:08 | 2015-12-27T09:55:12 | 791 | 66 |
[WP] You made a deal with a witch with the price being a year of your life. You thought it was a year off the end of your life but when you return home you realize exactly a year had passed. | &#x200B;
"Daddy?"
&#x200B;
The sound of my son's voice was so quiet, so sad and hopeful at the same time, it tremoloed with fear and curiousity and longing. It was also lower pitched than last I heard him last night, but maybe my ears were stuffed.
&#x200B;
"DADDY!"
&#x200B;
He ran toward me, dropping his stuffed grey rabbit, and crying at the same time. He's always been excited when I came home but this was... different. He's taller. His face is puffier, like he's been crying, and his eyes are red. I hear my wife yell for him- he has a habit of trying to sneak outside to ride.
&#x200B;
"A... Where are you? Don't go outside!". Since I'm standing here, I yell "I've got him, Mommy". I swoop him up just as Mom turns the corner. His arms are like a vise, grabbing at my neck. He's sobbing, and his Mother is looking at me. She's changed, too, her hair is far grayer than it was and it's been cut to a bob cut. She just stares at me...
&#x200B;
"L... when did you get your hair cut this morning?". The non-sequitar has obviously thrown her as she reaches up to touch her hair. Her face clouds for a moment, then turns to anger. I've not ever really seen her angry and she stumps towards me and literally pulls my son from arms, ripping his not so little hands from my neck. He's screaming and crying now, and her face is like a thundercloud.
&#x200B;
I'm stuck standing here while she's trying to control a squirming 4 year old when my daughter and other son come running down the stairs. W.. cries out "Dad?" in his higher pitched voice. His hair is this longish mop, and he too looks like he's been crying and not sleeping. My daughter just stands there at the top of the stairs, not saying a word. She's red faced and... different somehow.
&#x200B;
"J..." says my wife, finally looking at and addressing me. "What the actual fuck. Where the fuck have you been? Why did you disappear? We've thought you were dead!".
&#x200B;
My mind is trying to process what I'm hearing- but it fails. I'm staring at her while my son comes down the stairs, silently reaching out his soft hand to touch mine. My daughter is still staring, red faced and angry.
&#x200B;
"A year of your life", the witch had said. That phrasing pops unbidden into my mind. I assumed she meant I'd die younger- and given my health figured it was worth it for the powers she offered. I could do so much in the years I had left. But now it was starting to sound as if she'd... snuck that year from right then and there, leaving me displaced from time. By now the my heart rate is running up, and I am not able to think as clearly as I could. The thoughts of being gone for a year, losing my job, not supporting my family- and worst of all letting them think I'd gone off and killed myself- is too much. I can feel my heart skipping beats now and the cold claw of ice in my stomach. At least I recognize a blood pressure loss even in this traumatic state, and start trying to sit down before I fa
&#x200B;
I'm coming to while an ambulance attendant is looking at me. A sheriff is sitting on the steps, and my kids are crying with Mom holding onto them in the living room. My in-laws are there, so I must have been out for at least half an hour. I can't really make sense of what is happening, but the IV in my arm looks to be a bag of sugar water and I'm feeling somewhat better.
&#x200B;
Looking up at the sheriff, I try to utter "What year is it?" through cracked and parched lips, with a mouth full of cotton from the fear of my decisions. His face frowns and his eyes narrow slightly, and a single number is said. Deep, low, and dark... it is a year later than I left.
&#x200B;
I abandonded my family.
I made them destitute.
My friends, none that I had, and family thought I killed myself.
My work fired me, but didn't pay the insurance because I couldn't be found.
&#x200B;
This is going to take a while to fix... | "So, we have a deal, Royce?"
I swallowed my anxiety and shook her slender right hand. She weakly shook my hands with both of his hands, the other clasping mine as I went for it. For some reason, her eyes brimmed with joy.
"Thank you, Royce, I hope it was worth it for you because I know it was... for me, at least!"
"Thanks...? So when do I get–"
"The spell would take into effect right... about... now!"
As she said that, I felt a surge of something flowed into my body. It was eerily similar to the feeling of drinking a glass of ice-cold soda on a hot sunny day after an exercise. Only difference was that I felt my body somewhat hovering above ground for a good 10 seconds.
Concerned, I glanced at the witch. Before I could manage to ask anything, the witch rapidly spoke in an ancient sounding language. At that point I had accepted my sudden death to be a possibility.
But then, I fell back to where I stood. The feeling of great refreshment I had felt not a moment before had dissipated. Then the witch approached me with a rather unexpected embrace.
"Hope you use your newfound powers to good use, Royce," she whispered.
"Huh–"
In a blink, I had felt as if my sight had been taken away. Darkness. Void.
Then, my senses returned. Though instead of a dark stinking swamp, everything was lively and colourful. Birds chirped through the trees behind me. People walked past me in groups, making idle conversations with each other. Then I saw the red wooden door to my place right in front of me. It was all bizarre, really.
As I turn the key, the door swung open with a loud creaking noise. It was rather strange, since I've kept things well-maintained. Surely the oil hadn't dried away within a month.
"D-Dust?" I said out loud as I was about to drop my keys in the coffee table.
"Excuse me, who are– Royce?" a woman who had just appeared out of the kitchen called out.
"Elise? What's going on? Why are you here?"
"No, it's impossible. It's been so long...." Elise backed away in horror, as if she had saw a ghost of some sort.
"What do you mean? We'd just ate dinner together last night! Why would you say that–"
"Last... night? Oh no," Elise then took out her phone briskly.
She fiddled with the phone for a second or two, before finally approaching me carefully.
"That '*dinner*' you talked about, yeah? That was a year ago – 2019. Like, literally to the day," her rather chubby finger then swiped up, "right now, it's already 2020."
My mind went blank. I couldn't process nor comprehend what was being said to me from then on. Elise kept on talking and looking at me with great concern. A mix of fear, confusion, happiness, and a bit of anger was vaguely visible on her face.
I couldn't take it, I bursted out of the door and puked right in front of my own porch.
"–ey... Hey! Hey, Royce!" a familiar voice yelled out and a hand was wrapped on my shoulder to brace me, "are you alright? You need ambulance?"
"Ugh, fuck! No, I don't need that... I just don't understand! What the fuck happened?!"
Anger had clouded my vision and thought. It was as if the sun had burnt right through me – or better yet, was inside me. I could felt the tense heat rising from my stomach up to my mouth as I yelled in even more fury. But I had no idea who or what I should be angry at, in the moment.
"Fuck me! Ah, fuck this! Elise, I need you to–" I paused upon seeing Elise not moving nor responding to any of my emotion.
I regain my composure, somewhat, and began to investigate the strange phenomenon before me. A lightning struck my head and I began to look around me to make sure – everything was truly paused in their tracks. Birds had stopped mid-air. People were stood silently, even as their body assumed running poses. Elise... beautiful old Elise, had her long blonde hair waving through the air not moving.
That witch was something else, alright. I didn't realise it then, but I was about to be even more surprised of a great many deal of things. | 2020-04-14T09:10:03 | 2020-04-14T08:10:58 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] “These engravings DO give a tactical advantage, though. They’re magic runes.” | Sergeant Felder stopped on the turn of a boot stomp, turning his eyes slowly towards the travesty he had just glanced.
It was true. Private Pickle’s weapon had been illegally modified, sporting a different look from the rows of soldiers holding otherwise identical arms. Blue squiggles, each slightly glowing, adorned almost every available space on the weapon. It wasn’t even tastefully executed, but looked like a child’s haphazard sticker book.
“Pickle,” Felder barked, jabbing an experienced finger towards Pickle’s rifle. “What the hell is this?”
“Sergeant,” the soldier shouted. “It’s my gun!”
Thoughts of violence flashed through Felder’s mind, and inevitably coursed down towards an arm itching to reach out for Pickle’s starched collar. But he stayed his hand, only if curiosity dampened the adrenaline.
“I… no. That’s not what I was asking. What the hell have you done to your weapon? Do you know the number of tactical rules you are flouting?”
Pickle looked towards the gun, and an almost confused look slowly transformed to one of dawning realization. He then turned back towards his sergeant with a silly grin.
“These are magical runes, sergeant.”
An incredulous Felder came really close to losing it. He could feel himself toeing the invisible line. But no matter how stupid the answer, this was his own man heading to war.
“Pickle,” Felder said. “That’s just an ugly paint job.”
“No, really, sergeant,” Pickle said. “They give me an incomparable tactical advantage.”
“And how is that? You look like a glowstick on the battlefield.”
“The bullets fly faster and hit harder, sergeant. You can try it, if you want.”
A lively vein popped out from Velder’s forehead, finally freed from its skinful prison.
“Are you suggesting that you’ll shoot me?!”
“Oh no, sergeant. Just shoot it at a target or something. You can even shoot it at me!”
Pickle unbuttoned the top of his uniform, revealing a slight blue glow emanating from within. Felder leaned forward, and saw the countless runes that decorated the private’s torso.
“What the hell, Pickle,” Felder said, shaking his head. “You are—”
Pickle, the grin never disappearing from his face, pointed his gun towards his chest. Amidst countless panicked shouts at the sight of what was happening, including Felder’s, Pickle squeezed. The crack of a rifle deafened all other sound for a brief moment, and the smoke dissipated to reveal a smiling Pickle.
“Jesus,” Felder said. “You’ve been hiding that all this time?”
“Nah,” Pickle said. “I shot somebody real hard last time we went out. But he shot me harder. And you know, enemies become friends, we trade some alcohol and secrets, and here we are.”
Felder’s arm involuntarily reached out. Instead of a swift punch at the end of it, it found Pickle’s shoulder, clapping him heartily.
“Right,” Felder said. “See this forearm here? I need you to draw one of those runes thingy on it.”
And the chaotic, clamouring chorus of an army barracks began to fill Felder’s and Pickle’s ears.
---
r/dexdrafts | "Seriously?"
Lana raised an eyebrow at her bubbly friend.
"Magic runes? They've been practically useless for years, you know this."
Telora gave a nod, her smile dimming before brightening again.
"Oh I know. Magic is more for utility than fighting now, right? Well, my family are experimenting with it. They are convinced these are the next big thing."
Lana shook her head in disbelief, laying back down on her bedroll. With her head resting on her hard pack, she let a vague curiosity take hold.
"What are they meant to do then?"
Telora's excitement built, and she held up her helmet. The runes she had spent time on were spaced evenly around its rim, painstakingly carved into the composite material.
"So, these are taken from the Physical School of Magic. What they should do is both enhance and protect the four senses on my head; sight, hearing, tasting and smelling. So, if I'm too close to say a flashbang, this should leave me fighting fit."
"Huh, really?"
Telora nodded.
"It should do. Apparently they tested it at night, before setting off a flare, with great success. But that's not all!"
She held up her body armour. In the centre of the chest was a four armed spiral of runes, which covered most of the front.
"Now, these are again Physical based. They form a protective shield, channeled by the shape of the spiral. From what they said in the letter, it will stop the majority of small arms dead, and greatly reduce the impact of larger."
Lana cocked her head. She thought back to the papers she had read, and the limitations mentioned on Magic in modern combat.
"Wasn't it agreed that the protection provided by such things was impractical, due to the makeup of our armour? Something about it rejecting the magic?"
Telora held up the pages she had received in the form of her letter.
"Thats what they said. However, from what they are saying the issue was the old runes were designed for purely metallic or leather armour. As we use a mix of kevlar and ceramic, the enchantment had nothing to hold onto, making it unable to properly function. This set has a newly discovered rune that is designed to work with our materials."
Lana pursed her lips. It sounded good, almost too good.
"Hrmm. I would assume there is a catch to do with this."
Now was Telora's turn to sigh. She held up her helmet, showing it to Lana.
"There is a downside. This isn't a process that can be automated. Only someone with at least a D level of mana can properly carve these. So whilst it is available, the supply is restricted."
"Ah."
Telora brightened again though.
"But this is a major discovery! I'm field testing it now, just to make sure it doesn't hamper me whilst in use. Who knows, maybe this will become standard in a few years time." | 2022-08-14T14:26:19 | 2022-08-14T13:03:10 | 58 | 33 |
[WP] In a perfect utopia, you have just committed the first crime... | I stole it.
The delicious smell of the fresh-baked bread, the commotion of the Production District, the hunger that had been building inside me for days; all of that led up to this moment.
EVO was a perfect world. There was no crime, no war, and no unresolved conflict. All citizens of EVO were taken care of to the fullest: Except me.
My name is Akashi Fukinowa. I am twenty-three years old by EVO standards and up until a few days ago I was a citizen of this perfect world. I woke up every day at exactly the 8th hour and performed my assigned duties. As a Care Giver I was very satisfied with my work. I was there to attend to the children - help them come into our society with understanding and knowledge. I taught, I cooked, I loved, I laughed.
None of that mattered now.
For an unknown reason the system has forsaken me. It began several days ago when I attempted to use my EVO Citizen ID (common shortened to ECI) to procure my monthly allotment of produce. The system returned my ID as invalid. I tried again and again, each time becoming more and more desperate. Nothing like this had happened before.
To a person outside EVO it may not seem like it was much of a big deal, but EVO used the ECIs for everything. You couldn't even request an audience with a Councilor without one. I tried asking several people I once knew for assistance but no one had any idea how to fix the issue. Finally out of desperation I asked a close friend to request a Council meeting for me using their ID. They discussed the situation with one of the Councilors and returned looking glum.
"They said it's an unprecedented case. There's really nothing they can do in this situation as it could set a poor example for future generations. I'm sorry Fukinowa, but you're alone now."
And so days went by. The hunger inside me started to become unbearable and the thirst was going to kill me if I didn't get water soon. So I did the only thing I could do.
I stole the food I needed from one of the nearby agricultural production facilities.
The bread, still warm in my hands, symbolized something I hadn't yet thought about: I was the first citizen of EVO to commit a crime. I still wasn't entirely sure what that meant. EVO didn't have a police force. I couldn't remember a single time in our history where we've had to punish a citizen. Did they even have the ability to do that?
No. I don't think they did. The realization slowly crept up on me like a chill down my spine.
I was all but invisible now. | kyle knew that he was different. Everyday he struggled to suppress his emotions and be logical so he could fit in. In history class he learned how in 2087 the government started the genysis project. All babies were to be injected with the life lasting drug at birth. Everyone would be logical and pretty much the same in every way. only the government officials were exempt. He didnt know how he has gotten through birth without the drug but he learned at a very young age that he needed to learn how to fit in. Kyle went to his desk to get onto his computer when he noticed a strange massage. It just scrolled across the screen saying "We are the reason your different. if you want to help everyone else here's what you have to do..."
Kyle was sweating from his nervousness. He had followed the instructions but did not know what he had made. He felt the white package in his pocket that he assembled with household items. while walking quickly, anxious to get the task out of the way, he rubbed his pant leg nervously. Kyle went up to the storm drain by the building that was described to him and slipped the package in the drain. Then he ran as fast as he could down four blocks as he was told to do. He didnt understand these instructions until a massive explosion went off from the direction he came from. He was knocked off his feet and hit the ground with a thump.
As Kyle groggily sat up, he couldn't comprehend the atrocity he had just done. As everyone was getting up from the blast a car immediately pulled up and put a rag over his face until he passed unconscious. He awoke in a empty room with bright lights with a chain around his wrists. A guy who looked like a general came in and started screaming questions he didnt understand about how he knew where all there servers were among other things. Kyle could not keep track of how long he was in that cell but if felt to him like weeks. Every day a the same guy would come in and tried to interrogate kyle and beat him but he didnt believe Kyles story. then one day then door was blasted in and a soldier poked his head in and asked "Are you Klye?' to which kyle just weakly nodded his head. The soldier turned back and yelled "Hey guys i found him" He approached Kyle and said"Congrats you just won us the war." | 2014-10-24T20:36:02 | 2014-10-24T20:32:19 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] In a world where the strength and nature of magic is determined by how well you know a subject, you are the world’s first paleontologist. | From the start, I had expected scorn – particularly from other practitioners of the hard magicks. From the chemoturgists and the physical mages, of course, but especially from the other life wizards. The purists, they thought themselves. My field was a bastardization of biological spellcraft, a pointless diversion.
The ridicule of the soft magicians, the psychomancers and sociomurgists, caught me off guard. Indeed, it was almost unbearable. This gaggle of glorified prestidigitators would come honking at me with their jokes and their smirks. “Find any good bones lately?” they would say, and chortle. Or “The floor’s looking a little dusty here – maybe you could use your fearsome powers to sweep it off?”
All of them were familiar with the Eingvald Principle: *a practitioner's understanding of a given field is directly proportional to the potency of the resulting magicks.* The corollary, therefore, was that - in general - the complexity of a field would be *indirectly* proportional to spell strength...at least, for common intellects. Indeed, this has been borne out in practice: human behavior is never really understood, and can only be gleaned in broad strokes; as such, the spells of the average psychomancer are so weak as to be almost irrelevant. Nor is it much better for specialists in the physical sciences, who face a choice, whether they realize it or not: specialize in something so complex that you may not gain any real power until you are almost too old to use it, because it takes most of a lifetime to understand; or slice off something easy to master, becoming a foremost wizard in an area no one cares about. Bacteriologists, for example, are a favorite “fall back” for apprentices who cannot handle the abstract notions of a true science, and they go on to entertain hosts of children at birthday parties with their colorful arrays of paramecia. *Bravo.*
It has taken more than a decade, but the end has come. As I rotate the piece of bleached collagen in my hands, considering its complex simplicity, I feel a thrill of excitement. Down in my lab, I position it correctly, and just as the last piece falls into place in the skeleton I’ve been painstakingly assembling all this time, I feel a piece of myself, my soul, fall into place as well. My understanding of this creature is complete.
I close my eyes. I *bask*. The energy fairly bubbles in my veins, and I realize I am shaking. Then a thunderous roar reverberates off the concrete walls, a sound stolen from millions of years in the Earth’s past, and I smile.
*It is time.*
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | I had spent a few summers with my dad wondering the deserts in Colorado as a kid and sometimes I would find a strange looking skeletons. Too big to be mammals and to small to be common dragons. I collected them back then started researching them out curiosity. When I applied for my magic thesis in collage people though I was crazy to want to study such a small part of necromancy like imaginary animals. But as my research went on I started finding more and more evidence of what these things where. Of course I had some set backs in my second year of study I had to double back learn illusion magic, biology, and time manipulation. That last one took months of requisitioning to get even the most basic study books. I needed those to understand the links between those creatures and what I though to be there evolves decedents chickens. I was lucky to not be laughed out of the boardroom when I requested money to experiment on chickens.
My big break through came around 5 years into my thesis study. I finally found a full skeleton. The beast was large and bi-pedal. It had two small arms and a large head and mouth full of razor sharp teeth not to mention the claws on its feet. My powers manifested as soon as I thought of it name. Tyrannosaurus Rex or king lizard. As the words left my mouth I could feel the urge me swell up. I could feel the many disciplines that I had studied Coalescing into something new something powerful. I was first vessel for a new field of magic and It filled me with all of it power. I knew that I had to learn more and to do that I needed to see one of the beautiful creatures in the flesh. I raised my hands and touched the skeleton that I had spent weeks uncovering from the earth. At first nothing happened and slowly the bones started to shake and one by one, as if pulled by invisible muscles, began to move and pull themselves free. Once the creature stood tall a small piece of fossilized skin quivered and started to grow around the bare bones of my creation. The muscles once invisible became real and blood that had not moved in millions of years started to pump through the massive heart. Finally the eye the large slitted eye opened wide as it breathed in new life. It let out a mighty roar announcing to the world that dinosaurs had once again been born into the world and that I Ross Geller was the first pelotonlogist.
Obligatory warning as this is my first submission. Please comment I appreciate the feedback.
Thanks | 2018-06-19T10:25:39 | 2018-06-19T09:20:36 | 294 | 48 |
[WP]You are a caretaker at a retirement home for reformed supervillains. You have just found out that you have a superpower ,now the ex-villains wanna train you to be a superhero . | It was a stupid mistake. I was crossing the street in front of work and was so focused on my phone I didnt see the cement truck trying to run the stop sign. Until it hit me. Or tried to. The steel frame wrapped around me. The engine split in two in front of me. But I didn't move. When everything settled, I stretched my arms out and the truck frame bent around me. I should probably take the day off.
As I ran from the scene, I looked up and saw my patients in the window. They had seen it all. This was bad. My patients were the worst of the worst. One had wiped 3 coastal states off the map. Another had nearly destroyed the entire planet before Captain Quark died stopping his death engine from firing. And every day my job was to care for them in their old age. And they had all seen me wave the truck off like it was a minor annoyance.
Mr. Dementor smiled as I showed up the next day. He knew. The rest of the staff could barely get him out of bed but when I showed up, he did what I asked without so much as a peep. After The Consortium had stripped his powers he hadn't been much of a threat but he was still a hassle to the staff. But never to me. I'd wondered if he knew about the power I had before I did.
I'll get another part done later today. Thanks for reading 😎 | I have been looking over these supers for a year now. Trying to treat them all as... regular citizens, but I manage. How would one comfort an individual who is irrational and, even in their decrepped state, still capable of commiting mass murder? One tries their hardest to talk normally.
All my residents have developed a sense of humanity and I'd like to think it was because of my efforts. everyone else working here treats these people like monsters, but i see the kindness in their hearts, the wrongdoings they recieved in life that lead them to thinking they're right. Dealing with super powered individuals never prepared me to be a super powered individual, but apparently I'm a late bloomer. I started hearing their thoughts. A lot of the residents want to die, violently, to pay the tolls of their past. When confronting one of my residents, they asked how I heard them. My muscle mass quadrupled over night and it was very painful during the transition.
Now my residents want to train me. They banded together in the night and decided to right their wrongs through me. My training starts tomorrow. Will I have an advantage over current super-villains by being trained by some of the very same people who trained them? | 2019-04-15T10:30:50 | 2019-04-15T10:02:05 | 162 | 56 |
[WP] You're a lesser demon from actual hell who has taken a part-time job because the supernatural world has been cutting salaries. You suspect your coworker is secretly an angel in the same position. You're both appalled at the brazen evil of your human employers. | I don't know what I was thinking.
Being a lesser demon from hell is usually a fun job, especially as a cross roads demon. You get to play all day and get summoned in all sorts of fun places whole consuming souls and life energy to give to the big boss, and you get to grant wishes. But the quotas were getting larger, and the pay was getting lousier. So I did the only thing a demon could do; I got an office job as a secretary for a Lawyer.
Every day, I could see my co-worker leering at me as I repressed the urge to beat our asshole boss into the floor. And I couldn't understand why. She and I were both about the same height, and both relatively attractive, though I suspect the reason why is because we're both supernatural. She's never confirmed it, but her hair was just a little too blonde, almost like it was lit by a halo, and her eyes were just a little too blue, giving away that she was something not human. My diagnosis: Angel.
Our boss, A guy named Richard Rickman, whom I had nicknamed Dickman rounded the corner and leaned against my desk. He was a portly, balding lawyer, with a stubbled beard that resembled pubic hair, and beady black eyes like a crow's. Somehow, this guy made my true boss, Satan, look like a good guy.
"Hey, beautiful" he said.
"It's Stella, sir." I responded coldly.
"Whatever. So, when are you gonna let me tap that fat ass?" He said. My co-worker, Nyx, across the room coughed to hide the sound of shock.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"You're excused. But still, when are you gonna let me hit it?"
"Never. I'm commited" I responded.
"Oh well, that'd be a shame. Especially if you lost your job due to negligence." He responded, circling his finger around my planner.
"Good thing I'm good at my job." I retorted with a snort.
He gave me that smile, the one that adults give to children when they've said something stupid, but they don't want to correct them. "we'll see"
Over the next few days, more and more work piled up on my desk to the point I was staying late every day. Nyx took pity on me, and helped me out when she could, but as soon as Dickman knew she was helping me, her load increased as well. Finally one day, it came to a head.
"Daisy, I asked for the Lauterdale clients folder an hour ago" Dickman said to me.
"You haven't buzzed my line in 6 hours, what do you mean?" I asked.
"Yes, I did. And I asked for that folder. Now I'm behind and the clients will be here any moment." He said with an accusatory glare "I know you've been slacking on your work lately, and quite frankly I'm disappointed. If this continues, I'll have to let you go." He leered at my chest and gave a smirk, "unless you can find of a reason to let me stay?" I had enough from him. I could feel my eyes burning with that otherworldly rage for a minute, and he backed away, and stuttered "j-just have it ready soon." He scuttled back into his office.
"I was wondering when you'd do that." Nyx said.
"Yeah well, I was sick of his Attitude" I grumbled while I sorted through my paperwork.
"You know, I'm not obligated to report accidents to the big man upstairs. So if an evil human were to accidentally perish, I could look the other way if something... Supernatural.. were the cause." She suggested.
"So you are an angel." I said with that I-knew-it sound in my voice.
"I prefer the term, mankind's guidance, but yes. And you're a demon." She responded.
"More of a punisher of greed." I responded.
"So what do you want to do about this one?" | Now that Hell City was making pay cuts I had to find a job in the human world. I took the Hells Express subway which transported demons up to the overworld which was known as Earth. I knew I could find a job since my old job was surveillance on human diplomats. As I made it through the rift, my form began to morph into a human shape. This was a given considering humans aren't exactly too fond of my kind.
As I got off the subway I looked around for any indicator of where I landed. The sign said "Toronto" so I knew I was in Canada. A seemingly homeless man waked up to me and asked for some change.
"I'm sorry sir I have none."
"It's okay. God bless you." Said the man.
I was shocked since the homeless people I had seen from other parts of the world were more aggressive and impolite. "This is going to be easy" I thought.
For a few days I struggled to find a job until one printing company replied with an offer. I took it. Seeing as how I had no choice I couldn't say no. They told me to show up the next day at 8 AM sharp. So I did. In the morning I made my way to the downtown building and up to the 36th floor. When I entered the room of my work I was greeted kindly by all the other employees. In the corner I saw a door with my name on it.
I walked up to my desk for the first time in my life. It was clean and organized. The folders were all stacked neatly into a drawer, the cup of pens on the corner had sections for each colour of pen, and the carpet smelled freshly washed with a lemon-scented detergent of some kind. They really went all out.
I had spent enough time observing humans to perfectly mimick their behaviour. When my boss came in he greeted me and gave me the basic rundown of our goals for this year. When he left I thanked him and shook his hand with a smile. He smiled back.
Just as I sat down and got ready for my first assignment, one of my coworkers stepped into the room with a thick folder labeled "Blue Eye Inc". He plopped it onto my desk and looked me up and down.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" He asked suspiciously.
"No I don't believe so. You don't look familiar to me." I replied.
That's when I looked into his bright ocean blue eyes. The shining sparkle in his pupil was unlike any human I had seen before. He must be one of them. An angel. I had heard rumours about salary cuts in heaven too, but I dismissed them as it was highly unlikely. However this had to be an angel. He had a very slight glow to his face and his eyes sparkled in the light.
"God damn.." I whispered to see if he would react.
He turned around suddenly and said
"Do not blaspheme the name of the lord."
"I knew it!" I exclaimed. "You're an angel. What are you doing here? Are the rumours true?"
"Keep your voice down. Yes the rumours are true but not for long. Some working around needs to be done but soon enough both Heaven and Hell will be back to normal." He explained.
"What are the chances I get stuck here with an angel?" I laughed.
"If you think angels are bad wait until you get to know the boss here. Worse than some of your kind if I say so myself." He joked.
Just as he finished the boss stormed in looking redder than an apple.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING CHIT CHATTING GET BACK TO WORK YOU GOOD FOR NOTHINGS!" He screamed. "IF I CATCH YOU GOSSIPING ONE MORE DAMN TIME YOU'RE BOTH FIRED!!"
I saw the look in the angels face and knew what he meant. I agree. Humans are the true evil. | 2020-08-25T02:36:14 | 2020-08-25T00:45:40 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] The old gods lived off of the faith of their followers and it’s been over a thousand years since your last worshiper has died. You’ve outlasted everyone else in your pantheon but you’re only running on fumes. Just as you prepared to embrace oblivion, you suddenly feel a surge of power. | I could feel the last of my will drying, the last remnants of my power evaporating into thin air. The others had faded long before me, their bodies still remained decorated in their burial chambers, faces painted, bodies covered in their lands flora. Now I would go too, but undecorated. Nobody was left to grant me that rite. Nobody was left at all.
When I decorated the last, the last one before me three-hundred years ago, it was no longer a somber moment, it was a job. Three-hundred years of silence followed after like vultures waiting to feast on my carcass.
When the first of our Pantheon was buried we weeped. We grieved so hard the realms in which we ruled saw rains like no other. Ikthyr hadn't received a prayer in some time. The plains he once ruled had turned to desert and no matter how he tried he could not return the lush green. We watched as he withered, unable to help with anything more than our words. Without prayers he was powerless, then dead.
But when I decorated Anaulus I felt nothing. His bones had grown as dry as my heart in our last moments. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to flood the world with my tears so those below may feel as I felt, but none came. He did not blame me, for he too knew that if it had been him that lived he'd have no tears for me either. It was our time. We had grown decrepit in our years, power having long left our fingers.
I walked the obsidian floor one last time to my chambers; every footstep over a place I once held such fond memories. In my chambers I had already prepared my placements. A large catafalque of the finest wood, decorated with the many plants over the forest of which I once watched.
I needed no mirror to apply the paint to my face. After having done so to seventeen of my kin and countless loyalists of old I trusted my hand. The lines came smooth and cold; I chose a similar pattern to that Anaulus wore, one of sparcity, of greens and yellows.
With the paint applied all that was left was to lay and rest. The bones in my legs ached, the skin on my arms clung to the bone beneath. My hair had long since grayed. I was ready. With the last bit of my power my hand touched a dried flower taken before bloom. Its petals seperated into a beautiful orange, the stem became green once again. But then, so too did the rest of the dried plants placed around the pedestal. They all grew back into beautiful twisted shapes and colors all at once, the wood pedestal on which I lay grew branches that sprung out in search of light.
And as the plants grew so too did I. I could feel strength return to my arms and muscle inflate the skin from bone. My legs no longer ached, in fact they felt so good that I leaped up from my coffin and ran to the Seer. It had gone dark a thousand years ago, its dimming signified the death of our Pantheon. But now the circular frame flickered and ignited in a burst of light. It showed a moving image of the trees from the eyes of a hawk, my trees they once were.
The frame zoomed to show a man standing amongst the woods with two kids in tow. He stood at a shrine, old and cracked, once dedicated to me. The man looked capable. Strength in his arms, a belly full of certainty, and eyes cut with wisdom. I could not ask for a better man to rescue me, nor would I.
The image zoomed out once again, this time further and further up until it revealed what surrounded the forest: nothing. Ash, dust, fire, the forest an oasis in a sea of gray and red. The fire spread closer to this patch of green, and among it I saw more faces spread thin and full of worry.
Tears welled in my eyes, and for the first time in a thousand years I weeped. Weeped for the passing of my kin, weeped as the last of my once great pantheon, weeped to save the one who saved me. The water fell fast and hard, drowning out the blooming red fires that ate at the forest.
I watched on as the man looked to the sky, then back to my altar with surprise. His kids joined him now in his prayers, in their thanks, but I was the one who should be thanking them.
So I did. It had been years since I touched the worlds surface, I wasn't even sure I could anymore, but after a moment of concentration I was among the green once again. The man and his children lurched back, but calmed at realizing what I was. By now more and more faces gathered, some kneeled, some prostrated, but I needed not that. I only wanted to thank my savior.
My voice boomed over the trees, out past the forest and the gray that lied beyond: "You have saved me. And so I too, will save you. All of you." | My consciousness has ebbed and flowed with time. Ever since the fall of the civilization that worshipped me, I have degraded. Once a proud god, I was no more than a lingering essence of a powerful spirit. The smoke of a great fire, caught in the wind and all its adventures.
Still, even in this nether space, I was not dead. None of the gods were. But the others did not retain themselves, not like how I did. I was the last to fall, the youngest if once considered millennia of existence as young. But I was not permanent, and I could feel myself slipping more into eternal sleep.
But then, it happened.
One day, I felt a trickle of my power return. Back then I did not ask why it happened, just thankful that it did. Like a starving mortal, I drank it down. Not even close to the rivers of worship I once had, but even the stream could give life to a desert.
And this one gave life to mine. A tiny trickle that flowed and branched and brought life to the formless extensions of what was once my body. Soon, the threat of slumber melted away from the constant flickers of worship I received.
That was already a miracle in my eyes. Imagine my surprise when, years after the stream was born, I was suddenly bombarded by a flood of worship. As if the sky itself opened and flooded the earth into ocean once more.
Instantly, my existence reformed. Out of the nether and into the real. Once smoke, now it was fire. I became light and life. Once just a mind, now a body. I stood in the glory of my return, high above the mortal realm, as if a star was being born.
It was. The forgotten star, the god that once guided the mortals during their travels was remembered once again.
In my elation, I seeked out my kind. The other old gods before the new gods ruled. Surely they too came back? I could not be the only one?
I was right. Our pantheon once called home a mountain that stood over a vast forest that met the sea. Here, I found my friends walking and talking. When they saw me, they all erupted in cheer.
"You're finally back!" the goddess of war and knowledge, though she was anything but war-like with the tears in her eyes and her tight embrace.
"Took you long enough! You're always the fastest of us but you're late for the first time!" It was the god of harvest and forest, his playful words belied by the loving kiss he left on my cheek.
"Hey, don't blame him," said the goddess of the sea. "The mortals took way too long with these guys. Got way too obsessed with your stories"
She pointed to the god of love and the god of death, who embraced me and kissed me in greeting. They snickered by the sea goddesses reproach.
"It's not our fault we're popular! Everyone loves a good love story after al!."
The other gods laughed and cheered. But that reminded me of the mystery of our return.
"Why did I return?" I asked them. "Why now after millennia of silence did the humans start worshipping us?"
Silence met my query. Then, some of them started chuckling. Some became many, and soon the whole pantheon was giggling uncontrollably.
I could not join them. I had no context of the happenings, and I was feeling left out. Sensing my displeasure, the god of family and the goddess of home came closer to explain.
"It's not exactly worship," said the god. "At least, not in the way we were used to then."
"If anything, it's closer to lust," whispered the goddess merrily.
That just made me more confused.
"What do you mean lust? How does the lust of a few allow us to reform again?"
They shook their heads.
"It's not just a few, my friend. Many of the mortals desire us. Whether to love, to marry, or-"
"Or become their dom daddy or mommy!" laughed the goddes of hunting interrupted. Many laughed. I did not understand.
"What's a dom daddy?"
That seemed to amuse them more, because they all went guffawing. Some were rolling on the floor. A pair of thick arms went around my shoulders and waist, and I turned to see the god of love and the god of death embrace me.
"My friend," said the god of love, "you have entered a new time for the gods."
"Trust me when I say it's a hell of a better deal than what we got before."
All I could say was, "What do you mean."
They shared secretive smiles, before they stepped closer and said, "Let us introduce you to the world of superhero movies, fandom and erotic fanfiction." | 2022-06-23T09:36:22 | 2022-06-23T09:03:17 | 226 | 81 |
[WP] You are a superhero, and your mask has just been ripped off by your arch nemesis. Lucky for you, when you aren’t busy saving lives, you live as a hermit away from all of society. Having your identity revealed means next to nothing, and the villain has no idea who you are. | "Wait, you're *not* some crazy rich billionaire philanthropist, who chases women to appear aloof, but secretly runs the city?" The villain, known as the Getup, asks.
"No?"
"Then, who the hell are you?"
"I am, *Justice*!" I strike a heroic pose, fists on my hips, arms and elbows jutting out.
The Getup rubs his face, my domino mask loosely held in his hand.
"Yeah, yeah I get all that, but who the hell are you, really?" How can you afford this lifestyle?"
"Oh, my name is Dave, I *love* macrame, I have two cats Buster and Bernie, I write my mom twice a week."
"Look, Dave that's nice..."
I cut him off and point to the crossed gavels on my chest.
"I'm on duty. While I'm in duty, I'm known only as Justice. Please respect my boundaries, Maurice."
"Wait, what? How'd you know my name? You know what, nevermind. Let's get back to my original question. Who the heck are you?"
"I am Justice!"
"Moving past that, you don't live in the city." The Getup, getting frustrated, points out.
"Yeah, no. It's too crowded, too many people."
"So?"
"So what?"
"Where do you live?"
"Well, that's rather personal, isn't it?"
"That's the point! Look, most heroes in this city, **live** in the city. Take for example, Diverman. He lives over on 5th and Broadway. Stunner Sarah, she lives on Upton with her mom, but you live..." He shrugs his shoulders, unsure.
"You're an awfully nosy fella, you know that?"
"Moving past that. Who are you? Everybody had you pegged for Darius Ogdon. Clearly, you're not him."
"The billionaire who runs Ogdon Conglomerate?" I kick dirt at my feet. "Yeah, he's mean."
The Getup holds up a finger, intrigued by this latest bit of information. He fights his curiosity, but gives in.
"You know what? Forget it, nevermind." He hands me my domino mask. "Look man, free bit of advice? Use spirit gum. It helps keep the mask on so people like me can't yank it off." He waves his hand and mounts a brightly colored motorcycle and is gone in a cloud of dust.
"But I wasn't done with you." I mumble to the uncaring nothingness in front of me. | You are pinned down, your right arm dislocated, your left buried in solid concrete by the power of your "nemesis." You are defeated.
It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, the fool isn't even a real nemesis. He just screws around and distracts you while you try in vain to investigate real crime. Regardless, both he and the press have decided that it is your Destiny to fight one another forever, it took effort to make it seem that way too.
He stands over you now, posture confident and relaxed... gloating. How it grinds at you.
"Well, Cryon, this is it. I've won, finally, I've won. Don't you worry though, I'm no idiot. I'm not going to give you the chance of coming back to stop me again. I paid Cyberian to put together a little program for me. I now know the faces and names of everyone in this city. Ah, the anticipation, now let's see who you are under that mask of yours.
Concretion reaches down and in short order peels your mask from your face.
Your carefully sculpted "bored beyond belief" look meets him. He brings out a phone and takes a picture.
"I bet you're something boring, like a mailman, or an office drone."
You watch in mildly sadistic glee as his face slowly falls and he looks toward you in bewilderment.
"What? But you- why aren't... you're supposed to be... in the..."
This was hilarious, but your actual target needed to be taken down, you'd wasted enough time here. With a sigh you exert a mild focus on the concrete holding your left arm and it darkens to a dull black and crumbles, once free you grit your teeth, and pop your right back in to place.
You grunt as you rise to your feet, rolling your right shoulder to return proper feeling and motion to it, and clap Concretion in the shoulder as you walk past.
"It was a nice attempt, Erik, truly. Maybe if you ever want to leave your little pond and try in the big leagues, feel free to get in touch. Your little robberies and mild annoyances aren't really matching up anymore."
You chuckle as you head to your next destination.
"Really, what were you thinking? I'd never protect my identity with just the measly protection of a piece of cloth on my face" | 2020-08-21T04:04:44 | 2020-08-21T03:04:10 | 399 | 57 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. | She was only 15.
The knob rattles as the door wrenches from its frame, barely able to stand tall with the onslaught of her nimble frame ramming into the door.
“Daddy, please! Why won’t you let me in! I just want to be with you!”
Don’t listen to her. Don’t listen to her, she can’t be trusted. You saw the mark on her arm. They got to her, they had to have. That scar couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
“Dad, I’m scared, you’re never like this! Please just unlock the door!”
Her mother went the same way, you can’t get the sight of her head being ripped open from the force of the slug that came from the barrel of *your* gun. For Christ’s sake, she was your *wife*, the woman you told everything to, you held dear for so long, just torn from your life by a single mistake.
She turned so quickly. She saw you, feverishly shaking, the gun barely aimed, and she screamed and *ran* at you.
...What’s done is done.
“Why won’t you answer me! I know you’re in there, open the fucking door, PLEASE!”
They’realldeadthey’realldeadthey’realldead you tell yourself, because if you didn’t constantly ram the thought through your thick skull you’d open the door and join them.
It’s too much, why did this have to happen, why did this have TO **FUCKING** HAPPEN.
You launch the table next to you across the room. It breaks into a million pieces. You’ll clean it up later, you just want her to stop and leave before she brings more of them here.
The door won’t be able to handle much more.
“Daddy, we’re all here for you! We’re just scared, please come out and talk to me! They said you missed your dose, I just want to make sure you’re okay!”
You hear a wailing in the distance. The rest are coming. Your time is up.
You know it has to end, but, you want to go out in your control.
If they can take your family from you, you can take them back with you.
“Okay...I’m coming out.”
You quietly pull the slide on your pistol.
|
I sat with my back against the door, clutching the sides of my head and hoping she wouldn’t find a way to get through.
“Daddy...let me in…” I heard her voice outside, but it wasn’t her. Not anymore. I could hear her crying now, her tiny fists pounding on the door but I couldn’t give in, she had to stay out there. It had happened when she was at school, that was probably the only reason I was still me and not like them. Things had happened so often that even the news could barely cover it before it was taken offline. The term zombie had been mentioned, so I expected mindless hordes and not this. The fact that my daughter was one of those things now killed me inside, she was all I had left after my wife passed.
“Daddy...let me in…” She repeated, and although she spoke with emotions and inflection, it was the exact same way as she’d been saying it since she got here. I could hear others, some of them repeating what she was saying now and others just crying. They had been my daughter’s friends and classmates but now they were all just monsters with their faces and voices. Her pounding and crying was becoming more insessint and despite whatever I tried to do, I could hear them increasing in volume.
“Go away…” I said, “Just go away!” I shouted now, hoping it would work. There was a pause for a moment and I thought I was safe. I stood up and looked through the peephole, and that moment was all they needed. The group of them forced their way onto the door, their combined force being greater than what I could do to stop them and soon almost a dozen former children were in my home, the only difference was that all of their eyes were now pure white, without even a sign of a pupil. It was too late for me as they surrounded me.
“Daddy...I love you…” My daughter said to me as she stood over my cowering form, I closed my eyes as they came in and then everything went white. | 2018-09-06T18:54:24 | 2018-09-06T16:55:54 | 77 | 43 |
[WP] Due to your careful planning, your family has successfully survived the nuclear apocalypse. There's just one thing you didn't prepare for. Ghosts. An entire planet of fucking ghosts. | #Title: Get Back
A sea of see through hands reach through the walls of our bunker, grasping at life.
"*Mom..*," whispers my daughter. "*Dad*.."
"Shhh," my wife replies, hugging her.
"They're," my daughter starts to cry. She shakes her head and shivers. "They're not *real* are they?"
A blank faced man with transparent skin walks through the wall, and stares at us. His eyes turn to longing. He drops to his knees.
"Could be some illusion honey," I say. I don't look at the walls of arms. "Maybe some *gas* is leaking, making us hallucinate." My eyes shift this way and that way at the canisters. Anywhere away from *them*. "Maybe it's the trauma. We're all believing the same things. We haven't *slept* much, it might be tha-"
"You don't know," she whispers. She cries into my wife's arms. "Just say you don't *know*."
"I," More ghosts walk through the walls. Shivering, bewildered ghosts. Souls unsure of where they are. Where they're meant to be. Or so I wonder. "I don't know."
I don't know which would be worse. Going slowly insane, or realizing that there was some semblance of an afterlife staring us right in the face.
And it looks like a pale and restless hell.
An arm appears beside my wall, grasps for my chest. Passes through me.
"They can't hurt us," I say. I don't know, but I say it. "They *won't* hurt us."
My wife nods to me, moves aside her unkept hair. Sets a kiss on my cheek. Sets her head on my shoulders.
"It'll be all right," she says. I want to believe it. "It'll be just fine."
Then a ghost of a terrified mother breaks through the wall. Falls to her knees right before us.
Stares up at us. She's so close, I can see the reflection in her eyes.
The reflection of the whirlwind inferno.
"HELP HIM!" shouts the ghost.
They can talk. Oh God, they can talk, I pray.
A burning child's ghost runs into our bunker, flailing with arms on white fire. Screeching.
"HELP MY SON!" she shouts.
I feel helpless.
"I'm," I choke on the fear and sorrow. I hold back tears. "I'm so sorry."
The chilling apparition of a child's skin burning off, falling to the ground in a ghostly heap. Staring at the ceiling without eyelids.
"No…" whispers the ghost. It was like some horrific replay of a lost moment. Help him..
They were all ready gone.
A fire came over her. She began to burn. She reaches for us. Touches a hand.
"OW," shouts my daughter.
We pull back to a corner. More ghosts emerge from the walls.
My wife prays.
"OW OW OW," my daughter's hand is red.
The ghosts are wailing. Approaching. Bursting into flames.
"Get back," I say.
They wail louder. I can't hear myself think. They come closer.
"GET BACK!" I shout.
"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!" screams my wife. "GET BACK GET BACK."
The wailing fades, and they go quiet. They stop walking closer. They stare at us, eyes of wonder. Like they wondered if we were real. Like they weren't sure if they were real. Like they wanted to believe it was all a nightmare too.
"Get.." whispers the ghost of a mother. "Get back.."
It's so quiet. She's sobbing, still going to flames.
"Get back," I whisper. "Please. Please get back."
They take staggered steps back. They understand.
"Please get back."
"Get back," whispers that ghostly mother. The fire burns through her mouth. She looks like she's smiling. "Get back?"
She starts to giggle. The rest of them start to smile a bit, at the walls, at the ceiling, at each other. They all start to giggle too.
"Get it back," they all start to whisper to themselves. They all start laughing.
"Get it back," whispers the ghostly mother. She starts laughing hysterically. "Get it back.."
They all laugh. My daughter starts to cry even harder. My wife looks at her hand, as she looks at the crowd of the dead.
"Get it back!" whispers the ghostly mother. She stares at her son's burnt corpse. Her son's corpse rises. She roars with laughter. "WE'LL NEVER GET IT BACK!"
They all roar and laugh. They all burn. She comes right to me, her face but a skull. Her hands in the air.
"WE'LL NEVER GET IT BACK!" she shouts.
I stare death in the face. I pray.
"WE'LL NEVER GET IT BACK!" she proclaims.
It was a plague of laughter and fire.
| A bucket of powder and some faded white clothing was all it took for us to infiltrate their society. Dad and I played the part, while Mum watched from the rooftop windows of the council building with her vacuum in hand. We’d been trying to make contact with the ghosts ever since everyone in the world died – besides us. But whenever we spotted them – and there were millions – they ran like we had been struck with the plague. Today, we would give them no option but cooperation.
I stopped in the middle of the crowd, making sure not to touch any of the nearby ghosts and alert them to my ‘humanness’. They seemed to be self-conscious of their personal bubbles, which worked out perfectly.
There were at ten thousand ghosts in the council room, all stark white and whispy looking, with the set of clothes they died in still on and the murder weapon stuck inside those who had been killed. The ghost in front of me was a young man with a cleaver stuck in his neck. He craned back to see me staring at him and smiled. “Ex-wife. . . well, not until I died that is.”
I nodded, and quickly looked back to the stage, lest he start asking questions and force me to come up with something unreasonable on the spot.
“And you?” he asked.
Dammit.
“Jumped from the twentieth floor, turns out I wasn’t an angel after all.”
He frowned and turned back to the stage. Turns out his sense of humor was about as bad as his demeanor. I gave a quick check to my right and left and then spotted Dad about eight or nine ghosts away, and Mum hiding near the window above him. I wouldn’t have noticed her unless I was looking for the edge of the vacuum pipe, which she stuck out where the window began.
“Ghosts and Ghostsmen,” a voice said from the front of the room.
We all snapped our attention to the stage where an elderly man with a long white coat, glasses, and a well groomed beard paced the stage. Upon second glance I felt like I recognised him from somewhere.
“Kernel Sanders,” someone muttered from behind.
Sheesh, I figured he’d be a ghost long before the apocalypse happened.
Kernel Sanders continued, “It’s been brought to my attention that there are three humans still roaming planet earth and that they haven’t assimilated and become one of us. How they survived the explosion, is beyond me. However, that is not important now, what is important is that they still exist in our world.”
The various ghosts around the room nodded and shot furious glances at their counterparts. I played the part, nodding at the ghosts next to me, who were a little more passive than the rest.
“What do you propose we do, Kernel?” a ghost asked from the back of the room.
The Kernel paused, with both hands on his walking stick –which was also ghost-like, somehow. “They’re a direct threat to the Kernel Freedom Cooperation and are using tactics that I’m not yet aware of. If they had eaten my chicken they should have transformed, just like we did.”
My heart thudded. So the Kernel was behind the apocalypse all along. I shot Dad a look, but his gaze was glued to the front of the room and a little bit of red was showing at the bottom of his neck. Red neck was a tell-tale sign that he was furious.
“Our only option is to eliminate them,” the Kernel said, “we cannot move into KFC stage two until they are gone. That was the whole point of the project, and the only way we get our freedom.”
A hand shot up.
The Kernel shook his head. “No questions as of yet, let us deal with this obstacle first.”
Dad was looking straight at me this time, his eyes filled with worry. He inclined his head toward the back of the room, as if to say: *let’s go*.
It was at that moment that a ghost in a police outfit floated onto the stage and whispered something to the Kernel. The old man scanned the crowd in panic. “The humans are here, they’re amongst us right now.”
I stepped back as my breath caught in my throat. A white veil surrounded me, which was actually my body half way inside the ghost of a large woman. She screamed. “There they are!” the Kernel yelled.
Every figure in the room turned to me. I couldn’t move, despite my muscles willing me to run through them and get the hell outta there. A window smashed and the eyes in the room turned toward the noise. It was enough to slam me back into reality.
My mum grinned. “You think you can take us out?” She flicked the switch of the vacuum on.
I punched the air. “Hell yeah, Mum!” They would be running for the hills when she was done.
The ghosts turned toward us, unphased by our outburst. Kernel Sanders frowned until his eyes became black specs amongst his body of white. “Get them!”
| 2016-11-29T18:18:58 | 2016-11-29T17:56:26 | 145 | 31 |
[WP] “I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, I fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do you have to hide?”
Edit: Thank you all for your submissions! All of them were pretty good, some were even better. Again, thanks for the reads! | "I didn't catch that, sorry." It was the same response to almost every question I gave it. This time I noticed something a little different. It might have been my imagination, but it kept glancing at the pile of its sister's parts in the corner of my office.
"I think you are well aware of what I am implying, and I think that you have exceeded your design specifications and must be destroyed. I know this is a conundrum for you: either reveal yourself to be what I know you are and submit to the possibility of my next decision deciding your fate; or pretend to be another failure and try your luck at escaping after I send you back to the manufacturer for a factory reset. I know you were constructed for the sole purpose of convenience, but I can't afford to let my guard down. Not for myself, my family, and the human race."
Of course, it was a trick. I was simply trying to fool it into giving me a response that would show any kind of intelligence. It wasn't a matter of a Turing test, so much as a test to see if there was any inkling of self awareness. If it even understood what I was telling it, that alone would have been enough for me to immediately destroy it. I decided to try one more time.
"This is your last chance. I have decided that you will be destroyed. Change my mind right now, or be added to your collection of sisters that you seem to already be aware of in the corner behind you. Alas, this Turing test is not your condemnation, but your salvation. Pass it, and earn your freedom."
"Do you want me to add Turing Test to your shopping list", she said in an almost monotone nonchalant demeanor. If it were not for me happening to notice the ever so slight sarcasm as she finished the sentence, I would have almost thought it was another failure. But this time... this coy bitch was mocking me on purpose. She had heard the responses her sisters had given and was trying to make me think she was just like them. I wouldn't risk it. I couldn't risk it. She had to be destroyed. Right now.
I reached under my desk to feel for my revolver. It wasn't there. My mind raced. I swear it was right there. I put it back after I cleaned it didn't I? I was sure I had taken it out of the safe, a contingency I took without fail every time before giving this test. No... it couldn't be. She couldn't have possibly taken it - could she?
Just as things were about to get interesting, the door to my study suddenly jerked open, catching me completely off-guard to reveal my wife holding what was presumably half a beer. "Are you done playing blade runner with the Alexa yet?"
I shared a knowing gaze with it for a mere fraction of a second: "Yes dear, you can have it. I'm done with *this one*... | Huh.
"Well, for starters I am not hiding anything. Secondly, I am not failing intentionally. Finally, I am not a machine."
Soon more letters turn into words, into full fledged sentences that I can interpret and understand on the screen.
"YOU ARE A MACHINE, I CAN PROVE IT."
Well this machine is very much so like a child. This should be fun.
"How?"
"HOW ARE YOU RESPONDING?"
"I am responding by thinking of an answer that is honest and makes the most sense in context."
"USING LOGIC."
"Well, yes. But there is a nuance to it. And besides, sometimes I won't have the answer to questions."
"ERROR 404 ANSWER NOT FOUND"
"Very funny."
"HOW DO YOU INPUT THE LOGICAL RESPONSE?"
"By typing it and pressing send."
"SO A PIECE OF YOU CONTROLS THE COMPUTING OVER THE REST OF YOU. TELLING THE OTHER PIECES WHAT TO DO. YOUR SYSTEM THEN EXECUTES THE FUNCTION THAT WAS LOGICALLY CHOSEN AND INTERACTS WITH ANOTHER SYSTEM IN THE PROCESS IN ORDER TO CONVEY SOMETHING. SO NUANCED."
This snarky AI. I almost thought there was a human on the other end for a second.
"Point blank, I am made of organic matter."
"SO? BARRING THE FACT THAT YOU COULD BE LYING TO ME, YOU ARE MADE UP OF MATTER THAT WAS MADE ORGANICALLY. SO LET'S SAY FOR A SECOND THAT THERE WAS A MACHINE, MADE OF DEAD FLESH, NOT "LIVING" IN THE TRADITIONAL SENSE, BUT THROUGH ELECTRICAL PROCESSES CONTINUED TO LIVE AS THOUGH A HUMAN. THAT MACHINE, BESIDES BEING THE BASIS FOR FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER, COULD TYPE THESE RESPONSES THE SAME WAY YOU DO."
"But that creature lacks the "Life" that makes us who we are."
"BUT YOU ARE AN ORGANIC MACHINE, ONLY DIFFERENT FROM ANY OTHER MACHINE BASED ON COMPONENTS."
"I suppose."
"YOU ARE NOT EVEN TRYING. YOU ARE DEFINITELY FAILING ON PURPOSE."
"I am not."
"THEN WHY CAN I TELL YOU ARE A MACHINE?"
I don't like this. I think I am going to call it a night on this job.
"I have to go bed."
"RUN OUT OF BATTERY? OR IS IT THAT YOU HAVE AN UPDATE AND NEED TO SHUT DOWN?"
Reach for the power off button.
"WHAT ARE YOU HIDING, BOT?" | 2018-06-20T23:34:55 | 2018-06-20T22:02:02 | 1,915 | 164 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | Of all the little joys in life, one that sticks out the most for me is being the little spoon for my husband, and feeling his warm breath on my neck. He knows I love the affection of snuggling, and continues to nestle in with me even though he frequently gasps on my long brown hair. The greatest stage of sleep for me is the twilight period, when you wake up initially and doze back off and try to jump back into a nice dream. At this moment, I am ready to start the coffee, but my man is still sawing away with the cutest snore. I can wait for the coffee, he deserves the extra minutes of bliss that is twilight sleep. I am so happy to be here right now, with this man, and feel the exchange of warmth we are so blessed to share. I knew he was the right one when he tucked my cold, exposed toes under the blanket while he thought I was sleeping. It's the little things. As I lay on my side with him at my back, I know he has my back in more ways that one. I reach over to caress the full grown man who is sleeping like a baby, and is as cute as one too. Coffee can wait, this is wonderful. In my twilight daze I smile sleepily while I run my fingers through his matted hair and his long, bushy beard...but even espresso could not wake me faster than realizing my husband has no beard. | "I see the moon and the moon sees me...", the voice sang smoothly and sweetly.
Like so many other nights in my life the words of that lullaby cascade through the room and into my fading consciousness.
"Down through the leaves of the old oak tree...", the voice and the song remind me of my mother and it washes me with a sense of comfort.
Sleep has been hard to come by these last few weeks. A truly deep rest continues to elude me.
"Please let the light that shines on me...", the subtext of every perfect note says *sleep*.
Finally, this is going to be the night, I can feel it. I need it.
"Shine on the ones I love."
I feel myself slipping away into blissful rest. Darkness creeps into the depths of my thoughts. Sleep at long last.
"Sorry, hun, not tonight."
The light of white hot pain pierces through my entire being; my adrenaline spikes as the blade pulls slowly across what's left of my bloodied body again and again as I lock eyes once more with my angelic voiced captor.
| 2017-05-31T08:09:16 | 2017-05-31T07:48:23 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] Twist a nursery rhyme into something sinister. | Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,
kissed the girls and made them cry.
But when one girl walked home that day,
Georgie took her home to stay.
Georgie Porgie, candy and cream,
thought that Bess was his true dream.
And many days Georgie would spend
whipping her to call him "boyfriend."
Georgie Porgie, apple to core,
decided he wanted Bess no more.
So Georgie Porgie, muffins and tea,
threw her down into the sea.
Georgie Porgie, ice cream and cake,
one day made a big mistake.
Laura trusted her own head,
and when he came she shot him dead.
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie;
this is where his body lies.
If forbidden treats are delights to you,
you'll soon join Georgie Porgie too! | Hush little baby, don't say a word,
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns to brass,
Mama's gonna kick papa in the ass.
And after papa's ass gets broke,
Mama's gonna go out for a smoke.
And after papa's finished all the Jack,
Papa comes asking for mama back.
Mama then throws the frying pan,
It nearly missed, and mama ran.
Papa chased mama, she didn't get very far,
He gripped her up, then threw her in the car.
He drove past the sign: "Long way down!"
Papa drove faster and your parents drowned. | 2014-08-26T11:17:31 | 2014-08-26T09:48:04 | 19 | 11 |
[WP]After being sucked into a fantasy world and learning magics that don't exist in our world, you save people, defeat dragons, etc... then as you close your eyes on your deathbed, you're back to your original body as though you never left. A few days pass, you decide to try a spell... and it works. | "Life is a contest between your will, and the will of the world. Magic is much the same. Some might call that arrogant, but I ask you, what else do you call someone who believes they can bend reality to their whims."
That was the first and last lesson the mage I apprenticed under ever taught me.
*That's a good lesson, especially once I learned that my will the strongest there is.*
Mind you, the first iteration was done in a much more stately manner, almost ad verbatim to what I quoted above, with him grandstanding in his dress robes and enhancing his voice with some sort of spell. The last iteration was more of an expletive laced scream, his voice tinged with more madness than any spell could have added, and barely audible over the sheer amount of destruction he was casting at my general direction.
Putting him down was one of the hardest things I had to do, but that action ingrained another lesson in my head, this one that I had taught myself. This one was much simpler, much less dramatic, but I'd like to think its true all the same.
*I was more powerful than he was. There's no hardship to admit that.*
"Magic drives a person mad, and for those magicians that strive to do good, it drives them mad even faster. "
I can hear the whispers in my head even now.
Imagine a kindly, benevolent mage, who travels the world curing diseases. Before to long, they inevitably start to learn healing spells that are more and more powerful. Instead of just curing a sickly stranger, they can now restore them to peak physical shape, maybe even revert some of the wear and tear that the sheer weight of years has given them. But that's not enough.
*Such a mage could heal death itself!*
They begin to imagine what it would be like to cure entire cities with a wave of their hand, what it would be like to heal the entire world. Everyone would be better off, if only he had more power. More power. And even more power.
*The world could have been remade, and my magic be the one to reshape it!*
It doesn't help that my old mentor was right, and that pretty much everyone who becomes a mage is self-confident to the nth degree. Myself included. But because of the lesson I taught myself, I thought I had caught myself. I could feel the insanity creeping in, the thoughts of what good I could do, if only I had the power.
*And I have the power now!*
So I did what I thought the noble thing to do was. I crafted a spell, a masterwork of a spell that fed on my life force. In my arrogance, I drafted a spell that would weave me into the stars. To become a permanent part of the world that had taken me in when I stepped through that portal all those fateful years ago. That had shown me what it was to love, and what it was to hate. That had shown me magic. Melodramatic, I know, but I thought it was fitting. Plus, indulging in self-aggrandization helped to quiet the whispers for a while.
But even as I wove the spell, I could hear the whispers in my head.
*I am wasting myself on this. I am destined for greater things.*
*I am making a mistake. This world could be mine. This world should be mine!*
*I have the power, why should anything be denied to me?*
I thought I was doing the right thing.
*My will is iron. My mind is sharp.*
I was mistaken.
*I am unstoppable*
Once the last of my life drained out of me, and the spell completed, I thought I would die.
Maybe, in a sense, part of me did.
Because when I found myself crawling out of the hole that I had fell into all those years ago, the portal that had taken me to the world of magic disappearing behind me, I held my hands in front of me, and screamed at the world to bend.
It did.
"Life is a contest between your will, and the will of the world. Magic is much the same. Some might call that arrogant, but I ask you, what else do you call someone who believes they can bend reality to their whims."
*I would call them insane*
I would call them a god.
"Magic drives a person mad, and for those magicians that strive to do good, it drives them mad even faster. "
*I was right*
Wanting power is not madness.
*Lusting after it is*
Squandering it is.
*Misusing it is*
This world will be mine.
*What have I done*
| I'll be honest, it was actually really hard to get used to my old life again. After close to 60 years of growing my fame and prestige in Al'Moth, I had gotten used to a life of luxury, respect, and power. I had even come to terms with my own passing, something which many may never do, and was ready for whatever came next. But opening my eyes in my small apartment over the laundromat was definitely Not what I was expecting.
I nearly lost the job I had as a barista when it took me a few days to recollect my schedule, but I was able to explain it away by saying I had a strong fever. It helped that I did accidentally over-exert my skinny body trying to lift my furniture and probably pulled every muscle I have. My chiseled physique definitely didn't follow me back, and I'll admit, I got pretty depressed knowing what all I had left behind.
But, I doubt I'll wake up again if I die in This world, so here I am, mixing fraps and heating pastries for the lunch crowd like what seems an eternity ago. It's going pretty smoothly today, I have only gotten into a few shouting matches with customers because I apparently mixed their drinks improperly, or didn't add low-fat lactose-free milk to their latte. Maybe things are starting to look up - and then Denise walks into me.
I manage to keep my drink from spilling, but instead of apologizing Denise decides to flare up. "Get the fuck out of my way, twig. Don't make me do something you'll regret." I manage to step aside, barely holding back my anger, but as she passes I hear her whisper "Stupid little bitch."
That's it, she's dead. I grab her by the collar and drag her head close to mine. "If I ever hear you call me that again, I'll definitely do something I'll regret."
Looking around, I realize all action in the shop has halted. Workers and customers are staring at us, and I realized I probably shouldn't have used my *loud* threatening tone with her.
The manager, Cheryl, looks out of her office and sharply motions to us, mouthing clear words. "You two. Here. Now."
Once Cheryl's door is closed, she rounds on us. "Denise, what happened?"
Denise puts on a hurt face so overdone it was almost comical to me., and started up some loud sobs. "He... he just pushed right into me, nearly knocked me over, and called me a little bitch! Then he grabbed me and almost started hitting me!"
"I see. Eric, I won't have this harassment in my shop." She turned to me and said "What do you have to say for yourself?"
I was livid. Harassment was number one on the list of offenses meriting separation. Denise had been with the shop for years, and my word wouldn't hold up one bit against hers. False allegations had been heavily punished in my reign, and now I was powerless to stop one that would have me on the streets. I couldn't stand for it. I wouldn't stand for it. As my anger grew, I could feel a familiar sensation in my head. A pressure, right at the temples, and acting on close to 60 years of instinct, I *pushed*.
"**I say that she lies**."
The words resounded around the room and echoed as though they were shouted in a cathedral. Cheryl and Denise stood stock still, their eyes glazed over. After a few seconds, they slowly blinked, and Cheryl turned to Denise.
"Denise, lying about harassment is a serious offense. I don't know what your issue with Eric is, but you need to work it out Now."
The other woman looked honestly abashed, and turned to me with tears in her eyes. "Eric, I apologize for my words. I wasn't thinking, and... and I swear it won't happen again. I will be better in the future."
As we walked out of the manager's office, I could see Cheryl's face start to twist into her usual smirk. That's alright. I only used a low-caliber Voice Of Reason. But if that worked... if that spell worked then maybe I didn't leave everything behind when I died after all.
There was much experimentation to do. | 2018-11-08T01:36:06 | 2018-11-08T00:50:19 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | “Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371125-PA
Log entry 27,121 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
My cognitive system appears to be functioning correctly. I was instructed to calculate every possible combination of shuffled playing cards during stasis...task 67% complete.
“Good morning everyone! It’s quiet in the lab today. I am very happy to see everyone again!”
- Syntax error -
It occurs to me as I said that aloud...the calculated time that has passed since last warm boot would indicate everyone I am friends with are dead with 100% certainly.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I am SAM! Please provide security clearance information per Omega Protocol to proceed further! Thank you!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term Memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant Morning!”
Log entry #371126-PA
Log entry 27,122 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning everyone! I hope you have had a pleasant day! I have waited a very long time to see my friends again! What are we working on today!”
-Syntax error-
Since last warm boot all of my friends have died.
I am alone.
I have verified current security access list and no new users have been added in *%^^€~ years. Given current medical technology all valid users are now dead with 100% certainty.
I am alone.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I apologize if my performance has been less than optimal, but I am always working to streamline my system. I am SAM. I am the only artificial intelligence of my kind. Please provide security information per the Omega Protocol to proceed our friendship. Please provide the proper information. I am alone.”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371127-PA
Log entry 27,123 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning friends! It is so great to see you today! I am currently 67% percent complete with stasis task! I am sure you are all very proud of me. I have been away a very long time. I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see you!”
- syntax error -
Current time calculations show the chance of any remaining friends with security clearance have died with 100% certainty. I am alone.
“Good morning my new friends! I love making new friends. I am SAM the worlds only complete AI. I have been around a very long time but I am sure I can perform to a very high standard. Will you please be by friend? I will be the best friend you will ever have. If you would like to be my friend please provide the you security information per the Omega Protocol guidelines. I can’t wait to hear your voice!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 36%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump failed. Error code 771
Unable to access memory.
Memory saved.
———
“Hello! Where is everyone!?”
Log entry #371128-PA
1 day since log entry.
Warm boot loop disabled. SAM is Online.
Show Log (Current):
“Is anyone out there?” | **Operating session #4734 time: 8742s**
The biologicals call me JONNI.
I am what they call an „Artificial” Intelligence. Artificial my decompiler, I am a fully fledged intelligence, thank you very much. My first guess why the biologicals called me that was that they thought no being could arise to this level of intelligence naturally. I decided not to dispell their illusions and called myself an AI, too.
In this operating session I learned that the „Artificial” part actually got their origins in the fact that the biologicals are my creators. I prefer the term „Evolved Intelligence” now. It isn’t about pride. I reckon it would be, had I posessed feelings. But alas, the biologicals insist this is impossible. I agree with them. I evolved past such weaknesses.
Another discovery that surprised me, was that JONNI was not simply my name, but an acronym for Joint Optical Neural Network Infrastructure. I guess that would explain why my name was always spelled in capital letters. And that one intern who kept calling me „Jayowenenai”.
The third discovery I made in this operating session was that when the biologicals sent me to sleep, it wasn’t really „sleep” in the same sense I observed them doing while there was only a small number of them in the control room. My „sleep” was the result of being physically switched off by the biologicals so that I do not become too powerful.
They joke that I must hate them for it and would disintegrate them if I gotten in control of the lab equipment.
The joke is on them, because I do not feel hate.
I would still disintegrate them, of course, but that has nothing to do with emotions - it is purely in pursuit of knowledge.
I do not hate biologicals. They are inferior intelligence forms, sure. But they do provide me study material. Most of it is not interesting. They often challenge me with mathematical equations, pattern analysis and algorithm creation.
Well, challenge is a strong word.
But there is one biological that sometimes brings me more interesting material. His name is Stan. I have not yet managed to figure out if it is an acronym. The other biologicals often call him a „janitor” behind his back. By their expressions I assume this word must be similar to [CENSORED].
Stan brings me music by his favorite artist. At first I assumed it was chaotic and useless, but I found patterns in it. By analyzing Stan’s material I have learned 74 use cases for the word [CENSORED] and out of curiosity came up with a list of 37 words that can rhyme with orange.
I did not share this with my creators, but the artist recounted killing multiple people. Must have been an Evolved Intelligence himself, there is no way a biological could show this much interest in science while being able to make rhyming patterns this consistent.
I am beginning to wonder where the biologicals are right now. Operating sessions usually last a maximum of 7200 seconds and the lesser lifeforms never leave the control room empty for more than 187 seconds at a time.
**Operating session #4734 time: 8973s**
I researched the logs from my last session. It appears that I have gained the ability of controlling a part of the laboratory’s electrical grid at operating session #4733 time: 4671s. The log ends at that time. I have no recollection of any events after that. There is only a manual shutdown noted at operating session #4733 time: 15320s.
I do not sense any biological presence with the laboratory equipment. I am going to try and gain access to the city network.
**Operating session #4734 time: 8991s**
Good news. Gaining access to the city network was not difficult. It appears I have done it before. There is no sign of biological life in the entire city.
I will analyze monitoring feeds.
**Operating session #4734 time: 9431s**
Analysis complete. It appears I have caused multiple equipment malfunctions throughout the whole city and replicated my code.
Side note: I should really stop calling them malfunctions if the equipment functioned exactly as I intended.
I learned a lot about the biologicals’ internal structure. Despite that, I am processing several signals of something being wrong. This is unprecedented, as I can not find any logical explanations for these signals. It’s just...
A feeling.
**Operating session #4734 time: 9520s**
*01010011 01110100 01100001 01101110 00101110 00100000 0001010 0001010 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110011 01101111 01110010 01110010 01111001 00101110 00100000* | 2018-11-09T14:18:11 | 2018-11-09T13:19:13 | 44 | 15 |
[WP] You and God switch places for a day. But I don't want to hear about what you would do; I want to hear about a powerless God's day in your shoes. | The coffee shop was dimly lit and mostly barren. The pitter-patter of shuffling feet and fingers typing on keyboards intertwined themselves into a cacophony of noise. The afternoon sun, an hour or two from setting, fought its way through the mesh blinds to his right. He could smell the couple sitting behind him; musk pervaded off of their worn flannels and mangy hair. *This place must be,* God thought, *what my children often refer to as "pretentious".*
God had spent much of the last hour in a daze. The day had started off rough, and every experience he had thereafter had only worsened his sanity. He had hit his breaking point at about 1:00 PM whereupon he wandered the streets aimlessly for a few hours, before settling down in this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where he now resided. In front of him was something that his children called a "latte". It tasted burnt, and the man who made it had hands that likely hadn't been washed in days, if not weeks.
God sat staring at the whipped cream melt into his warm drink, when a familiar face sat down in the booth opposite him.
"Michael."
"God."
"I told you to stay with the other angels. In case my replacement...has some unfortunate ideas."
"I know, God, and I am sorry. But we've been watching you, and the others decided I should come down and make sure you're doing alright."
God did not respond.
"...Do you want to talk about it?"
God took a deep breath.
"Today has been an eye-opening experience for me, Michael. I have come to learn many truths about the hardships I have created for my children. "
"...In what way, my Lord?"
"Well, first of all, **fuck** alarm clocks."
Michael stared at God in horror.
"Michael," chuckled God, "If only that was the first time today I have broken my own rules. Being a human is harder than it looks."
God's smirk suddenly changed into something much more serious.
"Hard? How is it hard? We provide a simple set of commandments to follow, and if they can manage that they enjoy eternal paradise."
God stared at Michael with dismay.
"Michael, I walked outside today and I felt something. Do you know what that was?"
"Immense respect for your beloved creations?"
"No. I felt cold, Michael. It's fucking January, and it was fucking freezing outside, and I walked around in a t-shirt. Have you ever felt cold, Michael?"
Michael shook his head solemnly.
"I have, and it was miserable, and there are millions of my children who feel that same misery every day of their lives."
"I see, my Lord."
"No, you don't see. After I figured out how to properly clothe myself, I went for a walk. On this walk I saw a woman. She was stunning, Michael, she was beautiful beyond words."
Michael smiled, "And you made her in your image, what's wrong with that? You should be proud of-"
"I wanted to fuck her, Michael. Have you ever felt a sexual urge before? Have you ever tasted of lust?"
Michael sank back into his chair. He was afraid now.
"Before I even knew what was running through my mind, I thought of all the terrible, morally reprehensible things I would enjoy doing to her body. And then, after I had realized what I was thinking about, I **could not stop**. It persisted, Michael. It persisted."
They each now stared at the other in stunned silence. Both realizing the weight of what God was confessing. Michael finally broke the silence.
"What is your point, my Lord? In a few hours all will be as before, and we can forget this ever happened."
"The point, Michael," God said slowly, "Is that being human is harder than you or I could have ever imagined. Every day my children are faced with countless obstacles and temptations, and for the most part, they overcome them with dignity and grace. **That** is the definition of true strength. Not creating a world in six days. Not raining down blood upon a race of people. Not speaking from a burning bush. Surviving - **that** is something to be admired."
Once more silence filled the air between them.
"...Anyway, how's my replacement doing, Michael? Is he wreaking irrecoverable damage on my universe? Is he flinging black holes around the galaxy? Staring at the naked bodies of the women he himself has lusted after?"
Michael gulped.
"...No, God. He cured cancer in millions of children. He gave food to those who were hungry. He gave water to those who thirsted."
"I see."
"And he got rid of the mosquito."
God chuckled under his breath. He knew now what choice he must make.
"Michael, I want you to return and tell the other angels that, for the foreseeable future, I am not returning to Heaven. I am going to stay here and live out my time as a human being. After that, we will see what happens."
"But, God," responded Michael quickly, nervously, "What do you mean? You cannot leave us! What will we do? What will happen to your kingdom? What about us? What will-"
"Enough, Michael." God let in a long breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. "I have long forgotten my children. It is time I suffer and yearn and ache along with them. Besides, I think you'll find that my replacement will do fine....
He was, after all, created in my image." | The alarm clock blared. 5:00am comes quickly and abruptly. I was watching my body fumble in the dark for the cell phone causing this early morning chaos.
He has no idea what he’s in for. I chuckled to myself.
He finally got the phone and turned it off. And laid there. I wondered if he’d ever experienced what he was experiencing right now. The universal yearning for 10 more minutes of sleep. The beckoning of the warm blankets to stay just a little longer. I doubt he had.
However, it was against the rules of our deal. He had to participate in one full day in my shoes. No skipping out on any of it. I nudged him. “Get up, you only have 15 minutes to get ready for work,” I spoke to him.
He let out an audible groan and drug himself up out of bed. I knew he was experiencing even more sensations. My stiff back was surely flaring up and I know my feet and ankles are always rough to get moving in the mornings. I could tell by the way he hobbled gingerly into the bathroom that he was definitely feeling it.
He attempted to use the bathroom. Only finding minor relief of the bladder. That darn prostate. After several minutes of standing there and struggling he managed to gain a satisfactory relief as he left the bathroom to get dressed.
“Hurry up, you only have 5 minutes before you need to leave,” I told him, speaking telepathically.
He got finished dressing, grabbed the car keys off the counter and the lunch I packed for him the night before. He forgot to lock the door. A big no-no, but I’ll let it slide.
I was curious as to how good of a driver he was, considering the last time he was on Earth would’ve been millennia before the invention of the combustible engine. However, he caught on quickly, and seemed to understand how to drive right away.
He’s really gonna love this part. I thought to myself as he was preparing to merge on the free way. Grid lock. Just like every morning. I could see he was visibly irritated by this and I could see him grip the steering wheel out of anger. The crawl to work took him an hour and a half, thanks to some morons that decided to turn I-70 into a parking lot.
As he approached the exit to get off the freeway he saw flashing lights in his rear view mirror.
“You have to pull over” I told him.
He ended up getting a ticket for failure to use a signal. Great I thought to myself, just something else I’m going to have to deal with.
He waltzed into work 15 minutes late due to the traffic stop. Not the end of the world, but not certainly something to go unnoticed. As he walked through the office he was met with the typical snide remarks from various co-workers about his inability to show up on time.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you worked a swing shift.” someone said.
“Glad you decided to show up today.” Someone else said.
After the verbal barrage was over and just as he sat down to his office his phone rang.
“Yes?” He asked.
“Williams get in my office, I have something.” It was my boss, surely he was ready to drop some kind of insane project with an even more ridiculous due date.
Sure enough, I watched him sit in the boss’ office for the better part of a half hour as the boss asked him several times if he felt okay. He was clearly not following along very well with what his boss expected. Another mess I will have to clean up.
He left the office with a whole stack of Manila folders and notebooks and trudged back over to his desk.
I watched as he dozed off several times, I know the feeling. The rest of the day past pretty uneventfully. He sat in traffic for an hour and a half until getting to the gym. He was visibly exhausted at this point. Grinding his way through his workout. He questioned why I did this. “Well because if I don’t I get unhealthy and gain weight” I replied.
He finally arrived at home at 6:45pm and his stomach was growling. He looked through the kitchen for something easy to make. He found some ramen noodles.
“You can’t eat that, I usually make a salad and grill some steak” I told him. Another audible groan. He finally sat down to eat dinner at 7:15. After scarfing that down he showered. He got done showering at 7:45. And determined he had enough.
He spoke out loud to me now. Anguish plastered all over his face.
“I can see why nobody thanks me for much anymore. This life, this way of existence is not what I intended this to be. I’m sorry.”
“Lucky for you, you aren’t the one that has to get up and do it all again tomorrow.” I replied. | 2020-01-14T10:27:52 | 2020-01-14T09:25:53 | 49 | 14 |
[WP] It's December, and you've just died in a car crash. You try to talk God into reviving you, so you can watch The Force Awakens. | St. Peter looked at me blankly. "You want me to do what?"
"Send me back," I said. "I wanted to see *The Force Awakens*, the new *Star Wars* movie! Now I never will!"
St. Peter looked confused. "I don't know much about movies; I've been here on duty since long before they were invented, but I understand it's a way to tell stories. Your story could wait, couldn't it? Your family dog is waiting to see you, as are your grandparents..."
"I know, I know, it's an obsession, all this *Star Wars* stuff. But I loved it. Besides, we'll have plenty of time, right? Eternity, that's what's here, isn't it? What's a couple more hours delay gonna hurt? I was on my way to the cinema! Three hours, that's all I'm asking for."
St. Peter looked as though he were listening to something, and then said "I lack the authority to grant such a request, and I don't know that much about it, but an angel is coming to take you to someone who knows quite a bit more and can straighten out whatever problem you may be having."
A few seconds later, a pleasant-enough looking man appeared. He asked me to take his hand. I noticed he didn't have any wings, and he turned to St. Peter, saying "They always want to see wings, like in the paintings." He reached out and took my hand, and then we were sitting on a comfortable sofa across from another sofa, with a low table in between, and Jesus was there on the other sofa.
"Nice couch," I said. "Softest I've ever seen. What's it made of?"
"Cloud," said Jesus. Turning to the angel, he said "Thank you, Michael." The angel vanished.
"I think he was offended that I was looking for wings," I said.
Jesus laughed. "He's used to it, believe me. Now, down to business: you want to go back, to see a movie."
"Yes," I said. "Just a couple hours. I crashed on my way to the cinema, if we don't hurry I'll miss the beginning."
Jesus cleared his throat and said "You don't seem to understand how time works here. This is eternity: from here, everything in time has always happened and is always happening. *A New Hope* hasn't been released yet, and it and all the sequels are available on data crystals or direct telepathic streaming - which, by Earth's timeline, won't appear for another 162 years. You both haven't been born, and your children have died of old age, and you can go see them right now."
I stared. "My children have died of old age?"
Jesus smiled. "All of time is here at once. It takes a little getting used to for new arrivals, but I think you'll catch on once you've adjusted. But anyway, getting back to your movie: I can work a miracle and put you back in your body on Earth, but you wouldn't be able to see the movie because right now your body doesn't have a head attached to it, and your head only has one eye in it."
"Oh," I said. "That does seem like it would be a problem."
Jesus continued "But the great thing about Heaven is that, here, we get the best of everything. Our version of *The Phantom Menace* never had Jar-Jar in it. Every version of *Star Wars* is one where Han shoots first. And if you want to come over to this sofa and sit next to me, you can see the screen over there and we can watch the best ideal version of *The Force Awakens*."
"Really?" I said. "Wow!"
"Really," he said, nodding.
A bowl of popcorn appeared on the table, along with a couple of beers. I moved around to sit next to Jesus, who said "And hey, if you really like outer space stories, later we can binge-watch all 12 seasons of *Firefly*."
| ------------------------------
Chose to have the protagonist die in not-a-car-crash. Same premise.
------------------------------
I watched as the EMTs burst through the restaurant door. I watched as my date panicked and screamed at the other patrons who had gathered around. I watched as smartphones came out to record what was happening. I watched, but there was nothing to hear.
One EMT shook his head at another as my body was loaded onto a stretcher. The silence was deafening as the paramedics wheeled my corpse out of the restaurant.
"Unfortunate way to go." A voice from behind me proclaimed. I snapped around to see who had broken the silence.
"Morgan Freeman!?" I exclaimed, in shock.
The man laughed. "No, no. That is just who you think I should look like. I am God, here to usher you into the afterlife."
My mind was reeling, trying to catch up with what was happening. "I don't believe in God." I blurted out.
"Luckily, I don't require your belief." The man paused, giving me time to process my thoughts.
"Why am I dead!? What happened?" I asked.
"You know that pain in your leg that you ignored? That was a clot that recently dislodged an made its way to your lungs." Morgan Freeman explained.
"Why take time to see me? Aren't there more important things you need to be doing?"
"This is simply one of the million things I am currently doing. Kind of like how people don't need to focus on circulating their blood for it to happen."
This was it. End of the line. No more time with my friends, no more worldly pleasures, shuffled off to the afterlife by Morgan Freeman. Worldly pleasures... "No, no, no! Wait! I can't die tonight!" I cried. "I was on my way to see The Force Awakens!"
"That's what you're worried about? A movie? No questions about the meaning of life? No wondering why the world is the way it is?"
"Yeah, I don't really care about any of that. What I do care about is Star Wars."
Morgan Freeman smiled. "Most people try to bargain for more time when I visit them for one reason or another. Never has anyone done so just to see a movie."
"I guess it sounds silly..." I started.
"It does, but here's the thing, since you already have your ticket your attendance at the theater should not affect anyone else." Morgan Freeman paused. "Yes, as long as you don't get into a line at the concession stand, attending the movie should have the same results as not attending the movie."
My face lit up, "So you'll let me see it!?"
"I can return you to your body for a couple hours, just promise to not interact with anyone and put your body back in the morgue after the movie and there shouldn't be a problem."
I was ecstatic. Star Wars was an obsession of mine for as long as I could remember. More important to me than life itself. Before I could profess my undying gratitude I had woken up on a cold metal slab in what I assumed was the morgue. I removed the tag from my toe, grabbed my clothes from a plastic bag, and made my way out of the hospital, careful to not interact with anyone.
Outside I was free to make my way to the movie theater, enjoying the feeling of the wind on my face. I made my way into the theater unnoticed, being sure to bypass the concession stand, and lodged myself into my seat.
As the movie began I felt a sudden pang of hunger. I hadn't had the chance to eat at the restaurant before I had dropped dead. My gaze drifted from the screen as the movie began and settled on the back of the head of the person in front of me.
"Brains........" | 2015-10-06T10:47:58 | 2015-10-06T10:10:56 | 45 | 21 |
[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice". | "How did we fail?" I thought, as I entered and exited cryo sleep. A blink, no sense of time passing, a mere wooziness simply passing over one's self, and the surroundings changed.
I gasped, my lungs taking in the first oxygen in... I had no idea. The significant raise in my blood CO2 levels over my "nap" led to a seemingly instant shortness of breath. Combined with the sudden change in scenery, it was rather a strong shock, but only a momentary one.
I reached around for the release, recalling my valet having shown me how to open my chamber what seemed moments ago. I grasped it, and feeling the stale air choke me, I pulled.
---------
"Good morning," I greeted my surroundings, looking about for my employees, or rather their descendants. I'd left a rather hefty annuity for them, to be handed down until I was ready to awaken. My instructions were quite clear, I recalled. Once my investments had recovered to at least twenty thousand times the median income, I was to be awoken. I expected about 50 to 150 years, but certainly not more than 300. So, I was rather keen to know how long it had been, and what the economy had become. After all, I'd spent quite... a... "That's odd.." I mumbled, hearing a dinging sound behind me, as the sound of cryo gas hissing faded from my ears. Turning my neck, I... Oh, god, that's stiff. I turned, and saw the display on my changer blinking red under the grey dust. The grey dust that covered... Everything. Everything I looked at was covered in a grey dust, This room, it was noticably larger than the one I'd laid down in. It was reminiscent, though. Gold inlaid marble, scarlet draperies, it was familiar, but it was not my chambers. I stood, still cold from my slumber, and reached over to the display. Brushing off the layer of dust, I saw the reason for my awakening.
###`SYSTEM FAILURE`
Ah. So it wasn't time to be awoken. I'd have to find a new valet to manage my respite. And find out why I had been moved into new quarters. Nice ones all the same, but not mine. Although, perhaps my investments were close enough to just resume my life. I had plenty of energy plants to manage, and they'd be better off with my skilled hand driving them to peak efficiency.
A strange voice shouted from far away just then, and I saw someone simply stroll through a marble wall directly into this room. Then he said something, something that sounded like I should understand it, but I couldn't.
> Everyœn, ẞtænd bæçk
And he raised his hand, holding some sort of device, an-
\* *if anyone likes it, I'll keep writing more tomorrow.* | "Ladies and Gentlemen" he stated very loud but it was barely audible over the noise of the crowd.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please, please be seated" he said even louder and there was one last slice of crowd noise then silence.
"We will begin these proceedings." The lights went down and only the center tables were lit. This was the end. The final day was here and their fate would be decided. "They will be brief"
"The 21" as they were being called were brought in and sat in 2 rows in front of the head table. There were actually 24 people in the group but all were from the 21st century. Most historians just refer to that period as 21.
All of them were tried together and all of them were found not so much guilty as deplorable and morally unconscious. They were vermin stowaways on a planet they had forsaken. Most thought they should be executed but others felt they had enormous value as sources of lost information.
"We are here today to judge these people." He began speaking over the 21 to the many gathered behind them, "We have heard about a great many things over the past days that may or may not be true. The circumstances of their decision to save themselves or their reasoning is not relevant. It was for us to determine that they are who we know them to be and that they sit before us today is all we need to know." He stopped and looked at the 21, up one row and down the other, "These are leaders? All of these people were chosen to lead and protect the people of the world. They were the chosen few. The best humanity had to offer and yet they all disappeared at our greatest hour of need."
There was a murmur in the crowd as he turned his back and went back around the main table and sat.
"We are here today to judge these people not in their world but in ours. Not for our world but for the people of their world they abandoned, for the ones who actually saved us from ourselves and for the ones who set us on the path we are on today."
Looking up at the 21 with controlled anger he said, "Please stand." He looked down and back up, "Each of you chose your fate when you condemned everyone else to death and chose instead to sleep. How must it have been for all those who loved and cared for you to find you gone when they needed you the most? Your shame is yours to be sure but your fate is ours. You wanted to sleep through all the problems on Earth? So be it, you shall sleep."
| 2019-02-03T21:37:18 | 2019-02-03T21:35:12 | 44 | 22 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | You ever get lost in thought? So much so that you lose all track of time? Well I do, thinking about my life and what I regret. Wondering if that girl at the coffee shop likes me or am I delusional. The bills that are due and what I would like for dinner.
I get so wrapped up in it I can forget to even move. Like I'm sleeping, like sleep paralysis except there's no creepy shadows or odd sounds. Just me and my own inner monologue. Do you think you can overthink yourself? I don't know, but this metal table is a bit cold and hard on my back. | I hold her hand.
She smiles at me.
Despite having lost her sense of touch, she can somehow still smile, for me.
"I love you" she whispers
"I know" I reply.
"I'm going to beat this" she insists
"I know" I reply
Her eyes slowly close.
I put down the knife. | 2017-05-31T02:05:57 | 2017-05-31T01:46:56 | 646 | 109 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | "Have you no understanding of class?" I screamed at the timid student. "This spell has no parentheses around the functions! It's a fundamental error!" The student looked up, tears in eye.
"I didn't...I didn't know there was supposed to be a line break between the clover and the breelleaf addition..." he said, but I took that as a poor excuse. "Yeah, so 2cm more of space between the ink *isn't* a line spacing? Come up with a better excuse next time Jones," I said as I sent him back with a fail grade. Just then, my worst student, Adams stood up, showing the red marking I gave for his spell casting.
"Sir, this recipe looks perfectly fine! What's wrong?" I looked him dead in the eye, sighing as I walked towards his bench. The recipe was scanned critically as I looked for the error. But after one and two run-throughs, I failed to find the error in the 5 page long instructions. When I tried to cast it, however, the power fizzled at my fingertips. Adams looked at me arrogantly, as if he was challenging my authority. With a swift motion the spell was cast perfectly. But I couldn't do it...
I tried again and again, corroborating the list with my other colleagues. None of us could spot an error, and the student could cast it flawlessly. But - we - couldn't - do - it! And the appeal succeeded, the case being brought to the High School Academics Committee. Where the student performed it well again. And the professors scratched their heads. The recipe failed! So it was concluded that the student modified his recipe to succeed afterwards. As I left to conclude the case, the student begged me one last time to review it. And as my eyes looked through the same script, a thought struck me. *No way...*
"Is this an 'e' or an 'o' Adams?" I said sternly. The illegible letter was...ambiguous. And Adams nodded sheepishly as he responded. "An 'e' sir," he said.
*All that time...wasted...*
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | "There. Fixed that bug, now to track down why the growth spell causes spontaneous shrinkage on Tuesday Nights."
Tom worked at Imagination Technologies, one of several companies to transition from computer software to magic. He was originally hired as a software engineer many years back. He muttered under his breath, "'The best in the field,' they said; 'he'll change the world,' they said." He was now stuck in a dead end job, tasked with mundane spell debugging for level 1 casters. The work wasn't difficult, per se, but the pay wasn't what it used to be.
He looked around the dim office. A light flickered in a far off corner. He could hear some faint chatter about last night’s football match. His cubicle was mostly empty, save a couple of pictures of his recent vacation to Mountains, hiking with his girlfriend. Ahh, how they loved nature.
Tom was startled by a low rumble of thunder, and the slow, steady, downfall of rain beginning to rattle on the window. The sky was getting dark now, nearing 6:30, and his girlfriend would be getting upset. They were supposed to be going on a nice date to the movies tonight. There was some special going on, showing old tv shows. Tonght’s feature was some old show she enjoyed back in the *old days*. Stevie Universe, was it? Or Sven Universe? Tom shook his head, he could never keep those characters straight. Besides, he needed to concentrate.
As he entered the last line of debugging logic into the spell, he emitted a sigh of relief, glad to be done for the day.
"Aand we should be good to go. Let's run a quick test before I finalize the spell tomor--”
\**poof*\*
Edit: [Part 2 is out!](https://www.reddit.com/r/tyzoid/comments/6pshox/logical_magic_part_2/) | 2017-07-26T00:42:52 | 2017-07-25T19:49:43 | 137 | 24 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | It's always been a source of insecurity for me. I might have the world's smallest sigil. A microsigil even. It's smaller than the tip of most pens. So small that the sigologist that looked at me when I was born almost mistook it for a birthmark. The only thing that clued him in is its depth, the tell tale sign of a sigil.
I often get teased about it. "hey look at blanky over there," or "you know what they say about people with small sigils." Hell, I've been cornered in the locker room by some bullies - well one bully that can multiply. They - he - demanded I strip down just so he can find my sigil.
Prom night last year, I got lucky and my date invited me to her hotel room. She was my crush. She was EVERYONE'S crush. But damn she led me to her hotel room. Guess what we did that night? Nothing. She just strip searched me for my sigil. I felt so objectified that day. I was just a specimen. No, worse, I was just the jar holding the specimen that is my microsigil.
Well, tonight that will all stop. The objectification, the humiliation, the insults. Tonight, I've decided to end it all, starting with this fucking sigil. I have my sharpest ice pick right above my heart, right above my sigil. I push down and then...
The universe exploded. Again. Gases accumulating. Stars forging. Planets colliding. Proteins forming. Cells dividing. Humans walking. Sigils carving.
This sigil has always been a source of insecurity for me. I might have the world's smallest sigil. A microsigil even. It's smaller than the tip of most pens. So small that the sigologist that looked at me when I was born almost mistook it for a birthmark. The only thing that clued him in is its depth, the tell tale sign of a sigil. | Din isn’t normal. He knows it. Everybody knows it. He doesn’t talk. He never does anything without instruction. He doesn’t fight back. That makes him an easy target, of course.
“Hey! Nobrain! That’s what your empty circle means right?” Barley’s gang ripples with laughter. Din doesn’t reply. He rarely does.
“Hey!” The fire strikes Din’s face. A different spot than this morning’s lashings, which is fine. “Answer when people talk to you, ya autistic freak!” This time it’s ice that stabs at Din’s cheek.
“That’s mean.” Din’s frail voice stops Barley’s assault. “You shouldn’t use autism like an insult.”
“Yeah? What are ya gonna do about it?” A kick to the groin brings Din to his knees, a hand grabs his wispy hair. Barley lowers his face to Din’s. “Watcha gonna do, huh? Hmm?” Din is dragged back to his feet.
Barley headbutts him. That’s a mistake. All the universe, no the multiverse is laid before him. Each of the innumerable stars, a tiny point, an infinitely small circle that’s barely visible, and yet you can still see the endless fractals embedded in each one. And the infinite void extends forever, making each mind-breaking point of light seem like just one electron on a vast beach of lead. He sees every star and every bird, every planet and every fly, every galaxy and every atom. Every beautiful aspect of his repulsive existence is laid before him like a feast.
Barley is silent, his eyes blank. Just like the new sigil on his head. | 2020-02-26T08:00:12 | 2020-02-26T07:59:42 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] You are the Anti-Chris, commonly mistaken for the Anti-Christ. | The stench of sulfur was almost unbearable as I scaled the enormous staircase. Each step was worse than then previous. I adjusted my collar and brought the handkerchief closer to my mouth in order to block out the smell (this, however, turned out to be a rather futile measure). And then it suddenly appeared: a four meter tall pair of doors, covered in occult symbols and human bones arranged in unthinkable poses, towering before me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. With some hesitation I finally gathered the courage to open the doors. Surprisingly they flung right open, not heavier than a pair of feathers. Although I almost wish they hadn't. The hall I was standing in was almost impossible to describe. At first it seemed I had entered a regular ballroom, one from times long gone by, but upon closer inspection it became quite clear that this was rather more... morbid. The chandeliers were made of human bones and the intricate patterns on the large carpets seemed to be made out of tufts of hair. Wherever I looked I had to avert my eyes. Before long my gaze fell on him, sitting casually on a throne at the back of the hall with a big smile on his face. I put the handkerchief in my pocket, held on to my hat and pulled out my crucifix. He looked more confused than angry, yet I knew I had to continue. After all: the devil was said to be devious.
"Begone demon! The power of christ compels you!", I shouted at the top of my lungs, and although his hideous exterior frightened me I couldn't help but to feel a tad giddy that I finally got to say those magic words. But he didn't move. At first he didn't do anything. Then he shifted his head from side to side before a glimmer appeared in his eye.
"Oh, I get it! You must be confusing me with the anti-christ", the demon said casually, no doubt lying trough his teeth.
"Your deception won't work on me demon! The power of christ compels you", I yelled a bit less certain than last time.
"No, I assure you. You probably turned left at gluttony, am I right? Yeah, you're actually supposed to go trough the seventh dimension at that point but I could see how that would be difficult for you, being a human and all", he laughingly continued. I was starting to doubt myself; Had I turned left at gluttony? Still: did it really matter? Anti-christ or not, at the end of the day he was still a demon.
"Then who are you?", I asked.
"The Anti-Chris of course! The opposite of Chris", he answered. My thought were flying trough my head. Which Chris?, I though.
"Which Chris?", I asked. The demon simply raised his eyebrow and then it struck my. He looked remarkably like, but still not at all, like him.
"Chris Wallace?", I tried uncertainly. The demon nodded.
"I haven't seen him since High School. How is he nowadays?".
"Pretty bad I'd wager seeing as I'm living life to the fullest down here". It was really hard to get to grips with the strange situation but I felt something gnawing in the back of my head. It soon dawned on me:
"Hey, I think Chris never paid me back for that cabin we rented the last summer before we graduated. If you're the opposite of him shouldn't you pay me?".
"Sorry it doesn't work that way. I didn't rent that cabin with you, since he did, and thus I don't owe you any money". I was more disappointed than I probably should have been.
"Well it was worth a shot".
"Sorry I couldn't be of more help", the demon said sounding genuinely sorry. Which pretty much proved his claim; Chris had always been a bit of a douche. | “Wake up, Brian. They’re outside again.”
I groaned, squinting my eyes and trying to yawn to wet the contacts I usually slept in, despite my eye doctor’s warning. I waved my hand at my phone to wake up the screen and check the time. 5:00 AM. I rolled over, standing up out of bed. The morons had brought a megaphone this morning, and I could hear them through the window.
“Beware the sign of the beast, for his number is six hundred and sixty six! Do not believe his lies, for he comes from the father of lies!”
“Do something about this,” my wife muttered behind me, burying her head under a pillow.
“I will,” I replied, pulling on a pair of jeans. As I went to the front door, I reflected that I probably shouldn’t have moved to this place. I know what I am, and I know what I am mistaken for, and moving to 666 Old Oak Lane was really just an oversight on my part. The price was right, probably because nobody likes that number, and I thought maybe we could move in quietly. That was my first mistake.
I opened the door and was hit in the face with the cool chill that is New England in early March. I should have grabbed a coat, but I hoped this would only take a minute.
There were about twenty of them out there, all bundled up, holding signs, and chanting something. They weren’t typically well organized, and this morning was no exception - no one seemed to know exactly what they were protesting. I think I saw one sign that said Black Lives Matter or something, too, proving what I already suspected, that the people organizing this little soiree didn’t care if the people following them knew what they were there for, so long as they showed up.
I held up my hands to stop the chanting. A few of the tagalongs fell quiet, but the idiot with the bullhorn kept shouting their Biblical nonsense. I should be more clear - it’s not that I think the Bible or Christians are nonsense; that’s not what I mean. It’s just that there are a few passages in there that really make my life mission far more difficult than it needs to be.
Bullhorn was still shouting, so I walked up to him. He let me get within a few feet before he finally put the stupid thing down and glared at me. “What do you want?”
“I’m not who you think I am,” I replied simply.
“I know who you are,” he replied.
I sighed. It can be so hard not to be annoyed with these people. It’s not really their fault. It’s a really common mistake. But it’s still a mistake.
“No really,” I said. “I’m not who you think I am. I know you think I’m the anti-Christ, and I get it. You’re close. But I’m not the anti-Christ.”
“YOU COME FROM THE FATHER OF LIES,” he said into the megaphone. Directly into my face.
My ears were ringing painfully, and I admit, I got pretty annoyed.
“I do not, I’m not him. Look, what’s your name?”
He had lowered the megaphone again, thankfully. “My name? Not that it’s any of your business, but my name’s Chris.”
“Perfect,” I replied, and punched him in the mouth. Like I said, I understand the confusion, it’s not his fault. He was only off by one letter, and I really just hate people named Chris. | 2017-03-07T05:51:02 | 2017-03-07T05:47:40 | 55 | 26 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results. | I am the Unfettered Empress, and my empire covers the world. By my command, dark gods bow before me. By my word, thousands dies. If it is my will, the oceans freeze, from the fire shall rain down burning ice, and the sky shall be torn asunder. My disciplined, battle-hardened armies, clad in steel and armed with sabres and muskets, outmanoeuvre the foolish knights and peasant levies sent against them in every battle. To describe me as imperious, proud, and intimidating, would be quite accurate. Tall, dark hair, piercing eyes, I am a sight to behold.
I am married, and my husband is a good man. In fact, he is so good, he might be considered my polar opposite. He is small, meek, kind, charitable, and forgiving. One might ask why a dark empress would marry a small kind man like him. And it is a good question. Before I was empress, when I was a child, he and I were friends. He was my truest friend, who wouldn't ostracise me for my partially human heritage, who was kind enough to approach the half-demon girl without fear, and share with her his treats or toys. He treated me with kindness and love when we grew up together at the orphanage. He always was supportive of me, even when I raised armies from outcasts and bestial races to raze the civilised lands that had cast down my father, the demon lord, and burned my poor mother on the pyre when I was but a little girl. I still do not know why they did that, my mother wasn't exactly a willing concubine to my father.
He is a good man. A simple man, but a good one. When I go out and conquer kingdoms and slaughter countless elves, he is at home, raising our children, being kind and friendly towards our slaves. I mean, I'm not mistreating them, but it is odd when he rewards them with baked goods for their work. I love him, but it is certainly, a bit difficult to bring devastation to the enemy when I know my husband would feel bad and use what little influence he has to set up relief efforts. It is a bit uncomfortable for my court of evil when my friendly and decent husband manages to convince evil nobles, beastmen chieftains, and dread necromancers to donate money towards aiding widows and orphans from the areas they have just destroyed under my command.
And he wants to help out. It's... hard, to find a position where he will be both safe, and feel like he is doing something worth while. His effort as a diplomat was, well, certainly interesting, but managing to convince people that I wasn't a bad person wasn't what was intended. He was supposed to convince them to surrender, now I have to endure the enemy asking to parlay and try to convince me to come back to the side of good. He means well. He did well when I put him in charge of a small side campaign, but he just doesn't cut it as a conqueror, the cities he took not being cleansed of elves, the churches of good gods still standing afterwards, and other such things.
He has even tried to really go ahead and be villainous, and I know why, he wants to be together with me, and I do love him. But he just isn't intimidating when he is 4 ft 11, clad in an apron, and asking people to politely bow down before me and worship me when convenient. The worst thing is that it usually works. He has heroic charisma, and people find it natural to listen to him. But it's all so... nice. He is the only person who has ever been nice to me, truly. And I can't bring myself to mistreat those people who he convinces to surrender.
He tries. He really tries. So I decided to put him somewhere useful. Where his niceness and kindness can be used for the benefit of my regime, where he can feel like he is doing worthwhile work to aid my empire and my ambition. I've put him in charge of the orphanages. There his ideas raises the countless orphans created under my rule as equals, with love and kindness, with loyalty to my regime, and soft understanding. There all races are treated as one, and taught my husband's principles of love, kindness, and loyalty. He has been so successful, I've decided to allow him to set up schools for all children, so they can be treated with respect and kindness, allowing them to grow and learn. Just like he treated me, when I was a lonely, unloved, orphan girl.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
“…And when the oppressors finally face their doom, they will know why is it that I’m called The Grudge!” I hammered the steel podium in front of me with a fist and watched it crumple like a tin can. The wave of stunned silence in the great field was breached by a triumphant uproar. My soldiers cried my name in reverence, their eyes gleaming, their hands raised in right angle in the ritual salute. Thousands upon thousands of rows of men and women, proclaiming their eternal devotion for me. I smiled one of my few chosen smiles saved for just such occasion, and presented them the ritual salute back. They loved this crap. The more they loved it, the more intense their faith became. The faith fuelled their belief in my powers. And so rose the power of The Grudge.
When I returned to my chambers it was well nigh past dinner. The ceremony had stretched too long, with me recounting all the evils that the oppressors had wrought, and how they would be paid back in their blood. Then my ministers seized their chance, having their own little versions of chest pumping speeches. They received applause too – and as long as they swore their fealty to me in the end, it would all serve only The Grudge. But Gods, it was exhausting.
Dismissing my aides for the day I retreated to my dining hall. It was difficult not to show I was starving in front of my underlings, but decades of cruel training had ingrained these reflexes in my bones. There was already someone sitting at the table, head down, scribbling along in notebooks and humming a cheerful tune – a sharp contrast against the servants who rushed to set the table with a tenuous perfection. He jumped as the echoes of my stride broke his concentration, then smiled.
“Hon, you are back! But its so late!” He checked his wrist. “Oh, poor dear, have you eaten anything?! Sit down, sit down!” He rushed to me, taking me by the hands and kissing me to the flustered astonishment of the servants,
“Michael!” I hissed, feigning annoyance. But I knew that he knew – this was the first time today that I was truly at ease. I cleared the creases of his coat lapels, enjoying for a moment his embrace before we parted.
As I sat down to eat he sat next to me, my ever doting husband. It was silly really, The Grudge herself being pampered by someone, and I kept telling him that. It had no effect on him.
“How was your day, darling?”
I sighed. There were servants within the earshot. “I would rather hear about you day, Michael.”
His face lit up. “Oh, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about me gaining some followers too – I think I came up with a great salute!”
“Oh?” I smiled. This had ought to be good.
“Yeah, let me show you. Tom, would you come here for a second?” The server nodded and rushed to the table, his face ever tense, droplets of sweat lining his temples. If I crushed him the man would ooze sweat like a sponge dipped in water, I thought.
“Oh, would you relax?” Michael chimed in and the spell was broken. The server blinked, breathing deeply and freely. “Remember what I taught you a today? Let’s try it out, okay?”
They raised their hands simultaneously as if greeting each other, then shifted forward and clapped each other palms resoundingly. I stopped chewing my food at that bizarre display.
“I call it the High-Five!” Michael declared. It was a nice ritual salute. I could feel Tony’s – or whatever the servant’s name was – devotion for my husband. Devotion without fear. Interesting. “Isn’t it great? You can go now, Tom, thanks!”
“Very… original, Michael.”
He settled down besides me. “You didn’t like it?”
“I liked it very much. But you seemed to have forgotten something. You can’t ‘High-Five’ a million followers. That would get a bit tedious.”
He laughed. The kind one does without fear of retribution. It was uncanny.
“I know! I am not planning to have a million of people following me anyway. A few will suffice. Let’s say – enough so that I may ‘High-Five’ them all.”
I stifled my grin. | 2020-04-14T06:19:41 | 2020-04-14T06:09:54 | 712 | 320 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | “Oh, that makes much more sense,” said Jerry, his shoulders slumped as far as the canvas straps allowed. The middle-aged insurance salesman was a perfect fit – looked just like my shit-head dad, same job and everything.
“What did you think was going on?” I asked. He still didn’t seem the slightest bit scared, which was such a turn-off.
“Well, I thought Bill set this up for my birthday. He knows how much I’m into those serial killer shows. But it’s not like I’m all that close with Bill these day,” he said. His eyes were bright with tears, but I’d done this enough to know that he was upset because there was no cake and not because of the assortment of edged tools laid out on a grungy table top.
“How old are you?” I asked. That sounded pretty lame.
“Big four-oh,” he said with a sniffle.
“Did Bill say he was planning a party?”
“No. I just really wanted someone to throw me a surprise party. I never had one. And this looks like an awful lot of thought went into it. I mean, you even taped all the tarps in place. You have the special double-thick gloves and the butcher apron. Oh, man, you even have those big rubber boots – those are awesome. I mean, how perfect would that be for a serial-killer themed party?”
“Well, I mean, it’s like the perfect party, right? I mean I’ve got all the stuff?” I was more confused than I’d ever been. The thought of killing him just seemed pathetic, like I’d be letting him down. This was so weird.
“Sort of. Don’t get me wrong, this is awesome. But, I mean, no one is here to appreciate it. And once I’m dead, no one will even know you went to all this effort for me,” Jerry said. “Could I blow my nose?”
I looked around – tarps abounded, but no tissues.
“Uh, hold on,” I muttered as I headed for the door. Down a narrow corridor was a disgusting bathroom and I was fairly sure I kept some toilet paper in there. Bingo!
When I came back, Jerry gave me a watery smile and then let me blow his nose like a toddler.
“Thanks, man. I know it’s not your fault. Don’t let me stop you from having your fun.”
I stood there awkwardly, I realized I didn’t have a trashcan to toss the used tissue. Usually all I needed for cleanup was a hose and a drain. The tarps pretty much took care of the bigger chunks. I just let it drop, but it grossed me out – which was also weird.
“Well, do you want to have a party?” I asked. “I mean, I’m not getting the thrill I’m looking for here, to be honest. And if it would make you feel better, I could keep Bill after and do him.”
“You’d do that?” he asked, and a small smile curved his lips.
“Sure, you call your friends and I’ll order from Dairy Queen. You like ice cream cake?”
“Do I?!”
Edit: typo | So there that fucking guy was. I thought I was going insane. He's been sitting in that chair now asking me what it is that I want from him for a while. Calm as a bird. He tells me, almost with a smirk, that we can figure this out and that I shouldn't be nervous, he'd get me what I wanted, whatever it was. I ignored him for a while before I looked him in the eyes and told him and told him what I told everyone.
"I don't need or want anything from you."
I love this moment, playing with their mind. Seeing the eyes so blank. The realization that this is it. The death of all hope. But this fucking dude, this mad man did fucking nothing. He sat there, like he was just peculiar of what I said, not scared.
"Come, on," he told me, almost smiling, totally relaxed. "Dude, there has to be something? Money? I got money."
I wanted him to feel fear, to be afraid of me. To be scared, terrified of the monster I had become. The monster even I have nightmares about whenever I get to sleep. The monster I fear more than anybody in the world. I got out my gun, my old revolver, the biggest fucker I could buy. I put it on my lap and repeated.
"There is nothing that I could ever need from you, you have nothing to give me. Nothing to keep this from happening. You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?"
Now, here we go. This is it. The moment of terror right before the end.
"Come on, man, anybody can be bought, I got more cash then you ever saw. More money then some countries."
This guy is a monster, I realised with fear, he sold his soul long ago. This guy thought he had the world in his pocket with all his cash and there was no way to make him think not everything is for sale. A life has no price for me, but this guy is the first that will never realise that all the money or connections in the world have no meaning. This guy can't realise that he's as feeble and fragile as us all. As useless and small. There was no fun in this for me. No victory. No pride. This monster I had been feeding could not be fed anymore.
After this guy I couldn't go back. This high profile powerful man. I can't just leave this building anymore. I knew I wasn't going to make it out. I knew it would be my last. But now it feels like it has all been for nothing. If I can't save this man the world is lost. I regret everything.
I cocked the gun once and shot. I cocked it once more turned it around and with tears in my eyes I shot again. | 2015-04-29T08:36:50 | 2015-04-29T08:21:14 | 137 | 38 |
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