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[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | "Hey Hanz, what's that banging noise?"
"Oh, that's coming from the room with that guy who's spending a year in isolation. He's a day early, though. I'm sure he wouldn't want to throw out his prize money this far into it."
"Oh. Isn't he normally quiet?"
"Yeah, he's probably just celebrating getting really close to the end. He has a countdown timer in there anyway. Like I said, last day. Probably opening that bottle of brandy we left him."
"I dunno. They're sounding more frantic. Could there be a problem?"
"I don't think so. He wasn't showing any signs or symptoms on the camera just a little while ago. Wait... What year is it?"
"2020."
"Oh, fuck."
"What?"
***"WE FORGOT ABOUT THE LEAP YEAR!"*** | The show didn't last very long. 4 contestants, in fact. It never aired, and you could only find it on certain sites. It seemed like it would be really popular. Lots of people were so sure they could do it.
First was Karen, who was the very definition of her name. She joked about the "vacation" she was going on. She came out, 3 months later. She claimed a lot of crazy shit, demons, gods, monsters. Turns out the brain likes to go a little special after a while.
Tim, he was interesting. He went in, and didn't hit the quit button until day 364. Everyone asked why he didn't go through with it, but he never answered. In fact, he never spoke again.
Tiffany was the perkiest girl you'd ever seen. Extroverted with all the emphasis on extra. She only made it a week, and left unchanged.
The fourth contestant... He was the reason the show got shut down. You see, the cameras had a blind spot in the area of the panic button. Meant to be an "excite" tactic, to keep people guessing. It was a decent size blind spot, just so people couldn't be sure if the contestant was hitting the button or not.
This fourth contestant was a quiet, bookish sort. He was actually voted to go by his classmates, all of them certain he'd make it a year. Knowing what we know now...we're not even sure he made it a day. You have to understand, we never knew this sort of thing was possible, we had redundancies in place for just this kind of event!
But it did happen. The button broke. Or so they assume. Not like any of them ever got a straight answer from him. It was weird, at first. He seemed like he might've been yelling for help, but no one couldn't be sure. The audio was cut off, to avoid any kind of idea of interaction...
Then he started exercising. It was completely out of character, but that's what he did. Day in, day out. They say they actually altered his diet, more protein and all that, just for kicks. He got big too, real Schwarzenegger here. He punched the wall sometimes, now they think as a way out.
Gods, the damage he did. To the wall and himself. They mentioned sending in gloves, but the food was already enough. They said they weren't even supposed to do that. It was meant to be one year in a plain room, three meals a day and a bed.
The 365th day finally came...and another disaster happened. The door wouldn't open. You could see him, he was ready to leave, and the door just...didn't respond. It took 13 weeks to get the equipment needed to cut the door down..
Sorry, I don't like thinking about it. I was there, ya know? I wanted to see him! My brother, about to be a millionaire, walking out tall and proud. And that's what happened, at first. Mom got to see him first, hugged him, asked him if he was ok. He smiled and said yes, of course, never better. I was next, but he turned away. He walked up to one of the show people, the host I think, and *caved his head in with one punch*. The details are fuzzy, after that.
Some people say my brother ripped out the guy's lower jaw and started beating people death duty it. Others say he just started beating the life out of others, punching through sternums and ripping out hearts. I don't remember. The therapist says that might be for the best.
My only memory, after that, is the words my brother said to Mom and I.
I won't say them here. I'll never say them to anyone else. But I hear them, every night. It'll never stop, but I wish it would.
EDIT: I actually started this from the perspective of a worker, but the brother idea hit later. Tried to edit to make it work, sorry if I missed anything | 2019-07-03T00:53:00 | 2019-07-03T00:17:30 | 1,156 | 475 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation. | “You’re not going to tie me up or anything?” the princess asked.
The dragon snorted. “I don’t have hands, princess, how would I do that?”
The princess shivered, even though the dragon radiated intense heat. She was surprised to see his eyes were not blood red, but rather a warm orange.
“You’re not going to breath fire in my face? Or roar or anything?”
“Why would I? I’m a dragon!”
To his surprise, the girl laughed, but without malice, not like the dragons’ brothers and sisters.
“Why are you laughing? You should be scared enough!”
“Well,” she said with a sigh. “At least I’ll get to skip my lessons as long as I’m with you.”“Then let’s go.”
\-
The king was silent, for a very long time. The Gold Knight thought of waving a hand in front of His Majesty’s face to see if he was even awake, but eventually the proud, golden-haired man sighed.
“This is a direct insult to our kingdom, and everything we stand for.”
“Have you decided on a course of action, Your Highness?”
“We must attack without mercy. The dragon deserves nothing but our harshest blows.”
And so the king’s army marched on the dragon’s cave, many leagues away.
\-
“You live here?” the princess asked.
The dragon snarled, but nervously. He wished he had cleaned up a little. “I’m sorry about all the bones. I’m normally better than this. But I don’t get many visitors.”“That’s okay. I don’t either,” the princess said, climbing off the dragon’s back. “I just thought…”
“Thought what?”
“Aren’t dragons supposed to live in a castle in the clouds?”
The dragon turned away, and tried to look busy grooming itself.
“I asked you a question.”
“And we’re not in your castle.”
“Well, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
The dragon was silent for a moment. The girl thought maybe it was sleeping.
“I don’t have many friends, not since my family banished me for failing.”
“How did you fail?”
But now the dragon was asleep.
(continued below) | "Hnng-yah" What is... Ah, daylight. "Hmm" - did not feel like any injuries, and there was plenty of room for my morning stretch. Although, I did find myself warmer than usual this fine season and, once I felt the rumble I realise it's that time of the millenia again. "Aaah, Vulan! You've been quite over my past few naps, I'd thought you finally gone and croaked you old man!" Always has been nice to wake up warm, having to lay in the sun is always such a waste of time. "Right, time to get at the day! See how things have moved. Naps take up so much time, so muh sweet sweet time" and with a meaningful canter I claw my way out of Vulcan; a warm soul, very welcoming. I have always enjoyed the casual amenities behind living on a volcano, although they can sometimes get over excited and tend to turn any good sleep into a decent nap.
I ponder to myself as the star pocked sky opens up before me, an icy breeze in the brisk of night clashing against the scorching aura of the liquid flame that oozes from the mountains of my home... "Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, low in the west before the dawn by the bright of Aldeberan. Mid Novembre would it appear, a fine time to wake with the hollow between world's sifting just after its finest point-" interrupted abruptly by a hasty dive from the crag. "I really should find someone to spend time with, otherwise my next sleep will not be around till forever. But first, dinner".
Passing over the crags of home, the forests and rivers where the smaller creatures spend their ever advancing days:
Finding water,
Finding food,
Or being it.
On the horizon I spot a limping figure dragging a strangly marked sack in its wake, with a feable arm clawing at the ground as it passes by. Until the sack lurched backwards out of the figures grasp, swiftly followed by hefty impacts into the sacks center,clearing leaving it for dead.
"Oh, well would you look at that. Easy pickings! With a clear conscious at that, it is not like that creature has really lived either": as a steel countenance locks in; my eyes on the prey, sleek posture, gliding in towards to prey...
With an EaRThShAKinG ImPAcT I crash into the low hill, dragging along the ground towards my meal as a small, long fur covered head sticks up out of the sack my vicious, flesh-rending teeth tear into their target. I stifled shriek from the figure as their last ended in nothing but a red of their own making. Cloth sticking in my teeth,clumping. Blocking. "Ew, now this has become such a tasteless affair now hasn't it? Getting it's filthy fabrics into my pristine set of- Ah, yes" as I look down upon the clearly blood soaked sack, half filled by a malnurished - long fur-headed ape - 'human'.
"Now then, about your current position. You seem quite young, as I would imagine, for your species. I'm quite sure I'm speaking your la- oh bother, how embarrassing" having realised I have been attempting to engage this minute figure in the tongs of ancients "now, what I mean to ask young one, is that you should be on your way. Not everyone gets another chance at... Well, whatever it is that quite takes their fancy".
A trembling response followed a brief silence and a rough huff of a giant;
"A-well- I-" they stumble through their words in, their voice a broken, but gentle tone. "I h-ave none, yo-u may as well take me too..."
"Come now", backed by an authoritative burst of enthusiasm "brave, I must admit. Name? Well speak up, your don't have a long life span and I have much to do on this day of grandeur"
"None" they muttered meakly.
"Now that I know is just not a name, and believe me I have been known to trade pleasantries with those hobgoblins of the eastern plains and even they have reasonable names. As long as you are hungry, I dare say."
A deathly silence as the child quivers, and all life in the immediate area is still lest they incur a fearsome wrath; "Alright then, I shall name you Vulcan, a friend I used to talk with extensively in my time alone living inside of the-" immidiately followed with a quick change of topic "of their home... Which is now mine. Heated too of course,warming up via sunlight is such a labouring effort".
"Y- will you eventually cut me up and use me for your dwelling too? Li-ike Vulcan?" Chirps the uneaten human of the sack "and why a boys name? I a-am a lady, sir o-or m'a-am" - she shakes with fear of being eaten lest her temper run away with her.
"Fear not, for my tasks for the era were eat and to find a new friend. My apetiser was acceptable, yet now I have a potential guest to join me for the main course. Oh! We have much to discuss. We could even cook like my old Nelly! She always did have a way with holding the sheep over the liquid fire as it charred away the wool, leaving a crisp skin ripe for the picking", now salivating g heavily at the though.
I always wanted to start a family, they are what you make them it would seem. | 2019-11-11T15:14:17 | 2019-11-11T14:42:38 | 98 | 22 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation. | "Again?" the great green dragon Fichidineraj thought to himself as the little princess blathered about her father not letting her date "I thought a brunette princess would be more stimulating"
He let his head fall to the flat stone of the cave causing a loud echo across the caverns of his lair and a snort of his noxious breath to escape his nostrils.
"Can you believe that daddy won't even let me ride with Sir Travin on his warhorse? Says he's not 'honorable' enough" she continues, emphasizing her father's haughty tones. "and that's not all can you BELIEVE..."
A massive agonized roar erupts from Fichidineraj, followed by several resounding thumps as he banged his head against the wall in frustration. The princess seemingly unphased by this doesn't even break a stride in her unending run on sentence "Yeah I KNOOOW it's so annoying, it's like that time..."
The dragon rises to his feet and with a running start leaps into the air, clearing the mouth of his cave in only a few flaps of his massive wings. "Clearly no human can match my intellectual capabilities, I am truly alone in my grand intelligence. I shall take up a life of solitude in the mountains where I may ponder the greater intricacies of this imbecilic planet " the mighty dragon thought to himself in a proud and self assuring manner.
Meanwhile, the princess left in the cave finally takes a deep breath as the stench of the dragon subsides. She gets up and makes her way to the nearest village and as she arrives a crowd gathers in awe of the princess. "The dragon threat has been resolved, you are safe again my good people. I have left his hoard for you all, take his riches so they you can buy new herds and plant new crops, his blight is over." The gathering crowd erupts in cheers. The dragon was outwitted once again. | A voice slithered through the darkness.“Rothschild, the great merciful King”
“You ought to remember how you became the master of these lands, dont you? or should I say... Alfrin.
Poor peasant boy, abandoned and alone. Smart you were, tacking yourself to the bottom of a sheep I carried away for dinner. I remember how you pleaded for your life as the power of the witches communication elixer wore off. Your vision of a future to protect the fairy realm by becoming the ruler of the most abundant lands known to man. Did indeed intrigue me. My duty to protect my kind was won over by your souls mission. You have proved most valuable.
But do not mock me Boy, and pretend to forget our deal. In exchange for your seat at the throne and a chance to begin your legacy,
You promised me your most beautiful daughter, a Princess companion. Bewitched to live as long as I. To remain with me and keep me company to rule the in-between worlds of this very reality.
I have delivered my end of our agreement, and If you do not deliver, I will take the princess, and burn all of these lands. I will barely spare your life, so you can watch with your last breath, the people who worship your grace burn with all that you have built. All of your lands will reduce to ash and return to me with the rains in the spring.
I made you, and I will break you if you betray our deal.”
The king awoke from his nightmare in a hot sweat. He dressed himself in a hurry shaking out the thoughts claiming this reality to be the real nightmare.
He burst from his room and ran down the elegantly furnished halls.
As he ran, he thought of his children. For 17 long years he schemed to avoid this very day.
He was Blessed with 4 children, two sons and 2 daughters.
Blessed.... this word echoed in his mind.
All but one of his children were horridly disfigured. He loved them no less for this. His wife was unfortunately the daughter of a deeply inbred family. She died shortly after his last daughters birth. And the king, although he had tried and tried many times after. Was unable to produce another child.
His first daughter was perfect from the moment she took her first breath. She aged into a true beauty, smart and kind. She nurtured her younger siblings and turned them into talented young people. She took a deep interest in the kings work. And the known grace and prosperity of his rule was largely credited to her advice.
If the dragon was to have his end of their bargain..He would lose more than a loved child. He would lose the very legacy he sold her soul to build.
The king made his way down the final hall to his daughters bed chamber. As he opened the door, he began to silently weep.
There she was, illuminated by silver beams of moonlight. Wafts of jasmine and mint filled the air.
The king stepped silently to his daughters bedside, and contemplated what he was about to do.
He wept harder as he pulled a small dart from his pocket. The tip protected by a dollop of wax.
The dart was laced with a potent poison. One prick, and the victim would be dead within minutes.
The king could not fathom his only daughter, the only possible heir to his legacy, spending the rest of eternity beside a beast.
If he could not have her a moment more, neither could the dragon. This was the only loophole he could find.
The king felt a deep shame. A shame for the daughter who would take this ones place. The one who would live forever plagued with the loneliness of her disfiguration for the rest of eternity beside a fiery beast. He felt shame for the evil brewing in his own heart.
The dragons threat danced through the kings mind. A death dance.
Thousands of lives could be spared.
His legacy would continue through the rules of monarchy. Forever peace would continue between the fae world and human kind.
The king removed the wax tip.
His shadow cast over the beautiful princess, who, unknown to the king, was lost in a reoccurring dream about a handsome prince. She loved this dream, even if the prince always led her deep into the forest to reveal himself to be a dragon. A dragon only she could speak to and understand. The dream always ended when the dragon took her in his large claws and flew them into a castle of light in the sky.
The king Inhaled sharply as he made his final decision.
The princess felt nothing...
She awoke
as her father fell to the floor beside her bed. The dart plunged deeply into his own heart.
In a castle of light hidden amongst the clouds, The dragon swept his head away from his gazing pool in rage.
The kings death was not apart of his plan and doomed the dragon to a life as a mortal.
The fire behind his eyes began to cool, and he began to use his magic to turn himself into a handsome prince.
The princess was his, as was his duty to the other realms. This meant their partnership would lead to a legacy of control of all mankind.
He descended from his castle in the sky, never again to return as a dragon. | 2019-11-11T19:09:17 | 2019-11-11T17:49:03 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] A demon works to redeem an eternity of sin so they can join their angelic lover in heaven. Little do they know the angel is doing the opposite. | Grimshaw sat with shoulders ragged like the broken cloth drooped over him. In his hand a scythe dangled loosely, its blade black as night. I crouch next to him and squeeze his shoulder with my tail. Grimshaw was a newer demon but already one of my best.
"Just a couple more days now, Grim. You're almost there."
Every millennium, heaven and hell converge for a single moment, for a single purpose. An exchange. Our best for their worst. I smirk. Got to give it to the Old Man, it was a sharp way to keep the Angels behaving. And my people clinging convolutedly to futile faith. My grin widens at the thought.
"Anything. I'll do anything to see her again." Grimshaw voice is an empty whisper but his knuckles whiten over the shaft of his tool.
"What was her name again? Uriel? It's a beautiful name." I turn to Grimshaw and see his eyes flicker with the name's mention. I continue, "You know, I used to have one I called mine. She was called Sarai." Memories apparate in my mind. Golden, gleaming hair. A smile even brighter. Wrapped arms in a sunflower scented embrace.
"Is she in heaven?" The dream trickles from my eyes and I see Grimshaw's face, now alive with hope.
"Yes. Yes of course she is." I pat Grimshaw on the back again and stand up.
\*\*\*
It is the day of Convergence and a single wooden drawbridge joins Heaven to Hell. A warrior Angel pushes Uriel, stumbling, towards the end. Her perfect face is agony as she recognises the demon on the other side. Memories flash again and I see my own face, writhing with a primal pain as an Angel drags me along the same bridge, wooden splinters tearing at my reddening feather wings.
Next to me, I shove Grimshaw. His eyes were darting, disbelieving, his mouth locked in an unwailing scream as he took slow steps towards his love. I close my eyes and in his place I see Sarai, billowing hair still golden against mud-caked skin. Her cheeks contort and her tail twists as she cries "Luciferrrrr, whyyyy?!!"
For a millennia I thought my heart to be an empty vacuum of black, but now within it a sweetness blooms. I watch as Grimshaw and Uriel grasp at each other through their shackles, tear soaked fingers straining to touch. My grin widens. | The lashing continued, stripping flesh that regrew every so often. While he felt some slight irritation at the torture his coworkers and confidants meted out, Uzziel understood the punishment.
Hell was not a place of redemption. Well, not this part of it at least.
"Ah, Uzziel." A familiar voice began to lift. "We meet again."
A faint solo applause echoed, as the others ceased their beating upon him. The massive demon tried his best to break free, but the restraints had prepared for such a move. They held him still as their superior arrived to survey the handiwork.
"Hello, Boda." Uzziel greeted flatly.
The soul collector gave his captured friend a good once over. They'd beaten him quite badly in his bid to flee. But it didn't seem to have slowed him down even a bit. Those from his area of Hell were some of the absolute worst of demonkind. The savagery they were renowned for dedicated to the punishment of some of the worst souls mankind, and perhaps the universe, had unleashed upon the public.
"My friend." Boda said, as he ran his hands over the scars and runes Uzziel bore. "What have you done?"
The obvious loomed before him, with the eviscerated corpses of imps and knights and others laying nearby. A satyr, having had his horns used on himself, crawled with paralytic legs towards something unseen by all. Boda, feeling some compassion, severed his head to end his struggle.
"You attacked this portal between the realms. Why?" He asked his friend yet again.
"Don't lie yourself Boda." Uzziel snarled, "You already know it all."
Uzziel was right. He'd been under a particularly harsh regiment since his deportation back to the deepest bowels of Hell. He'd committed a truly immoral violation. A demon, of all beings, had discovered love. Such a thing was already a disgusting betrayal of their kind. But Uzziel, he'd gone a step to far.
The mistake had been grave to say the least. *Consummation with an angel.* One would say such a thing alone wouldn't be the worst sin committed by any of them. But the fact an underling of the Divine Council of Heaven had fallen into lust with a demon... Well, the consequences of such a thing had only just begun.
Uzziel had watched for at least a century as they not only dealt such cruelty on him, but had chances to view the horrors Roza faced as well.
Despite their omnipotent altruism, the messengers of God did not go lightly on their ward. She was shackled, just like him, and subjected to a variety of tested of her very fiber in an attempt to rid her of his influence. The archangels, especially, showed no remorse towards her in her misconduct.
They let him hear her cries and pleading. Perhaps to aid in his own torment. To show him what he'd done. Because of him, a pure soul such as even hers was sent to suffer. To be purified in one way or the other.
"You wish for her to be released so much, you are willing to compromise the sanctity of our realm itself!" Boda said, as he yanked Uzziel's head up by a horn. The heat off his breath being noticeable even among the flames they usually inhabited.
"Damn right." Uzziel smirked halfheartedly.
Boda seared his flesh twice in a row, as if such a thing would change his defiance.
"Perhaps, I'm looking at the wrong option." Boda said as he released him again. "There are some angels who have... been compromised so to speak. I believe, with the right connections, I could pay this lovely spouse of yours a visit."
The silence from the battle hardened demon garnered his interest. "See what she's made of for myself."
"If I get out of here." Uzziel promised, "I'll be sure to kill you first."
"Face it, you've lost your way. Gone soft. We'll fix that for you."
The portal behind him ignited again, and for the first time, Uzziel felt an emotion he didn't truly know existed rose. Fear. Terror even, at what Roza faced if the others left to find her. His struggles increased as he strained the bindings sealed to him.
They wouldn't stop him. Hell itself would not stop him.
But he had to shut his eyes as the portal grew. The heat dissipated, replaced by light. Light brighter than any he'd seen. Boda shouted orders, but he ceased to hear them as chaos erupted near the gate.
And then, to his surprise he was free. To Boda's own terror, he was free.
Carnage such as this needed a little bit of time to carry out, but as usual Uzziel had fun. He took special care with Boda. Finishing him off had been worth the wait. As he pulled the tongue from the traitor's mouth his damnation had been worth it.
However, that didn't explain the obvious.
"Roza? Why are you here?" Uzziel asked her.
It seemed he wasn't the only one to have a change of heart. Her robes tattered, the lack of a halo obvious and glaring. Roza had fallen.
"Because you are worth it." She answered. "But, where do we go from here?"
It took some time to reply after Uzziel led her back through the gates. But it felt right to him.
"Wherever we wish Roza."
---
"Michael? What is thine wish?"
"Our mutual friend below has spoken. These two have broken the seal."
"Orders?"
"Retrieve them." He mused over the bodies strewn about the temple. "At all cost."
---
Feedback and criticism are always welcome! Find more works on my sub. r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 2020-03-10T04:53:12 | 2020-03-10T04:05:01 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | The wrinkled elderly woman I called Gran lay lifeless yet peaceful on the sterile bed. Tears were wepted and hearts bled. Then, when the will was to be read, faces hardened and tears dried. The contents were simple. The money was to go to Rick, the house to Linda, and a pack of seeds to me.
Eyes filled with pity came my way but I just shrugged. I was the wealthiest of my siblings and Rick just go married. He needed the money more than anyone of us did. As for Linda, she loved Gran more than anyone. A house filled with memories, she was the one who'd appreciate it more.
I wasn't quite sure what to do with the seeds though. For the time being, I planted them in the ground and watered them properly.
Flowers bloomed from the seeds, beautiful blue petals the folded in with a single petal growing upwards.
...Come to think of it, Gran didn't really like me. To think she would flip me off from the grave though... | *A true story narrated by Wesley Bingham Gerhardt*
Gran was one of those old mysterious types and would probably have been condemned a witch in the early eighteenth century. She owned a large estate in some German wald where she spent the remainder of her days. I shouldn't say this, but I suppose I was her favorite grandchild, and I was, therefore, disappointed when all her money and the property went to my brother and sister. Bill, of course, would make good use of the money in one of his start-ups, and I'm sure Paula would find something creative to do in that estate. Still, that all I got was a packet of seeds, I felt betrayed.
I came straight back to my apartment, after the flight from Germany. After putting my daughter, Jo, to sleep, I took a hard look at the seeds. They looked like more like shriveled goat shit than gardening seeds. But a plant in the house seemed like a good remembrance for old Gran. Might have brightened up the place too, but boy was I wrong about that. I placed the seed in a pot of damp mud and went to bed.
My daughter woke me the next morning, shouting something I couldn't catch being drowsy and all. I could hear some clattering coming from the living room. I put on some pants and made my way there. Little wooden creatures were jumping about ripping up my designer cushions and playing frisbee with my Chinese crockery. Gran had mentioned them: They were called ents, forest guardians that were in essence trees with faces and limbs. And they had not brightened up the place.
I began to scream at them and they just laughed, so did Jo. And soon I was chasing them around like Smurfs in that movie. One of them jumped on to my shoulder and bit my ear. Then they decided to explore the city and jumped out the window in the concrete jungle. I decided that they were not my problem, and Jo and I got ready for the day. After I dropped her off at school, I made my way to my insurance agent.
My precious Chinese crockery was insured, you see, because I'm a smart lad. So it all was well for me. After all the pleasantries and small talk, I explained the state of bone china, excited to receive my money.
"Your policy doesn't cover juvenile tree people. I'm sorry, " he said, half laughing.
"Ents are sentient creatures with human souls. So they should be considered human, right?"
"Say they are, we would need proof of that these creatures did it"
I sighed. "If I brought you an ent, would give me my money."
"Sure."
I walked out of his office, aware of the smug grin spread across his stupid face. Just need to find one of those things. I looked at city news on my phone to learn that they had found some condo developer to harass. After a long metro journey and a trip up a posh elevator, I laid my eyes on the condo developer, who had a bunch of ents clinging on to him. There were a bunch of police officers too.
I search my memory for a phrase that Gran had told me would make angry forest folk docile. I shouted it out loud and the ents stared at me as infants stare at adults in conversation. They laughed as they began to race towards me and hump my legs. Apparently, I had muttered a call to mate. I shrugged at policemen and walked to the elevator. They had tired themselves out by the time we had reached the subway station.
Back at the insurance guy's place, I set down one sleeping ent on the office table, before the idiot began to poke it with a pen.
"W-well, I don't think we cover ent..."
"Listen here, I have an army of ents down in my car. If you value the tidiness of your office, you will give me my money."
"Yeah sure."
My good fortune that day revealed to me the value of those little critters. And soon, I was rich as...
*Wesley was arrested two years later for his vast number insurance scams. The ents were given to Paula Gerhardt where they would guard the sacred walls as their ancestors did many years ago. One of them became an environmental activist and is currently suing the president of the United States.* | 2020-03-31T07:23:26 | 2020-03-31T07:19:24 | 58 | 29 |
[WP] When your friend is drunk he says that he is a wizard. So you jokingly ask him to make you immortal. That was 200 years ago. | I looked around the room, and closed my eyes, remembering the conversation with the man I had 2 centuries ago, being the only sober guy tending bar with a bunch of drunk fucks on a regular basis can give you one hell of a sarcastic streak. It was sarcastically that I requested immortality, but of course little did I know that not only did the bastard take me seriously, but could actually carry out the damn request... Dude died of alcohol poisoning 2 weeks later, turned out he was the last of a secret society of wizards, who knew? Anyway, I digress.
Anyway give someone immortality and what with technology changing so fast it eventually becomes impossible to hide. Damn mandatory DNA screenings, I've been trapped in this padded cell for about 100 years, having to get used to the excruciating experiments those government bastards carry out on you on a regular basis - I've probably recovered from every disease on the planet, including the incruable ones... In fact it's become practice to test a viruses progress on me when a new superbug comes out, see how it progresses, and sinthesize a new vaccine when my crazy ass immune system works out how to defeat the dammned thing. Least I'm being used for good, but damn, they could help a guy out by giving him a holiday every now and then, I miss the smell of that dingy little bar I used to run, the vomit filled spittoon in the corner seems almost charming compared to this boring ass white padded cell with its 100% artificial food rations. | *The air was so cold I felt chilled to the bone but the booze I chugged like water gave me a pleasant burn from the inside. I staggered like the drunken fool I was around stone after stone to the spot just ahead and collapsed on the wet ground. I looked up and took a deep breath, stretching my arms out widely as the cold air filled my lungs to the point of bursting then let it all out in a sudden rush that ended in a sob. Sitting up quickly I clutched the bottle of Jack's closer and huddled into the stone to my right.*
*"I thought it was a joke" I whispered letting the words drift into the still air as my mind wandered back into that terrible memory*
 
It was the night of my graduation, I was rip roaring drunk and I didn't even care! This was a celebration! Despite all the sleepless nights, the cancelled plans with friends, the missed family gatherings or dates because I had a paper due or a final exam coming up, I did it, at 27 years old I had my masters degree and everything was great.
My life was perfectly set out before me and I couldn't be happier. The perfect job at the leading software engineering company, the perfect fiancée, the perfect apartment, a supportive family. Honestly when it came to life I had won the jackpot. So in celebration of everything going right in life I was sitting here in this bar surrounded by friends and other randoms singing at the top of my lungs and downing alcohol like it was oxygen with the biggest grin on my face.
 
"Heyyy Mike! This is Peter, you know, Peter from the graphic design class we did last semester" My friend Paul attempted to say while swaying to the side as a short average looking guy propped him up.
"My name is Sean and I was in your Applied principles class" the short guy said while struggling under Paul's weight.
"Are you sure? Because you look like a Peter" Paul replied poking at his cheek
"You do look like a Peter" I agreed blinking to try and see if this guy was actually a twin or a triplet because my eyes were getting unfocused and blurry
"My name is Sean!" He exclaimed letting go of Paul momentarily causing him to fall flat on his ass. The place was silent for a moment then laughter filled the small bar echoing off the walls around us. I stumbled towards Sean's embarrassed, nervous form, shoved a glass into his hand and attempted to look into his eyes.
"Ok Sean, drink!" I said. For a moment he looked up and stared at me with eyes that seemed older than his years but the look faded in a blink of an eye and he drank and drank and drank
 
About 6 or 7 or maybe 8 glasses of whiskey later Sean turned in his seat and flung his arms across the table yanking me to him.
"You knowww, imer wizard" he slurred. I burst out laughing falling against a sleeping Paul on one side of the booth as I tried to take a breath .
"Ok sureeee and I'm Hagrid!" I said giggling between words
"Do something wizardy then. Make my glass full again"
"I can't do thattt" he said sitting up a little straighter
"You're a sucky wizard then" I said giggling at my own joke
"I can't do that, but I can make you immortal" He said looking so serious It made everything seem even funnier
"Make me immortal! Fine Do it " I yelled behind me as I stumbled to the bar to refill my glass laughing the entire way as wanna be wizard Sean.
 
***I thought It was a joke.***
 
I didn't even know anything was wrong for the first decade or so, I just thought I had amazing genes. My life was perfect. I had a great job, a beautiful house, a sweet wife and the cutest pair of twin girls.
But it stopped being a joke when my girls graduated college and I looked old enough to be one of their classmates.
It stopped being a joke when the guy at the pastry store told my wife how great it was that she had a son who still liked to run errands with his mom at that age.
It stopped being a joke when my grand-kids thought I was their big brother because none of their friends had a grandpa that looked as young as theirs did.
It stopped being a joke when I buried my wife and my children and my grand-children and my great grand children as well.
***No, this stopped being a joke over 200 years ago.***
 
*As I placed my head against the stone, caressing the name of the woman I once loved and surrounded by my dead I took another swallow of Jack's and prayed tonight would finally be the night he found me and ended my miserable existence once and for all.* | 2020-09-09T22:51:46 | 2020-09-09T22:41:44 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] It was supposed to be an easy burglary. Husband left for work at 6, kid left for school at 7, and the wife left for shopping at 12. You go in at 12:30 to grab a TV and some jewelry. Breaking in and finding the husband, kid, and wife hanging from the ceiling was definitely not part of the plan.
[removed] | Oh my Good Man… this was not how I planned it to be.
Their lifeless bodies were hanging from the ceiling, nooses tied to the exposed wooden beams and wrapped around their necks.
Despite the awful implications of a collective suicide, their faces showed calmness and tranquility, no hint of sadness nor struggle.
It seemed as if they all decided to go away together right there and then.
This house was small, but the land it was on was spacious. Two stories, two bedroom, one bathroom, a joint kitchen-dining room and an open living room. Three cars were parked outside the garage.
I had only wanted to grab a telly and some jewellery the missus probably had, since the living room was so exposed. I did not expect to walk into another kind of crime scene.
Whatever thoughts I had in my mind of the loot I would have laid my hands upon were overwritten by this blunt wake-up call in the form of imagery.
Do I call the cops or just let them be?
If I called the cops, I'd be arrested there and then for breaking in and attempted robbery.
If I didn't, the family's corpses would still be there, startling anyone curious enough to investigate the break-in I had done.
I let both ideas float around in my mind until I decided "to Hell with it, I'm calling the cops."
But before my finger tapped 9 on the number pad displayed on the screen of my phone, I noticed a letter on the dining table - the place where the father, mother and child hung themselves. I reached for the envelope and opened it.
If I were nine cats, two of them would have been killed by this figurative curiosity.
The letter, in clean type, still having the fresh warmth of a printer, read:
"To whoever picked up this letter:
Kate, Jodie and I have decided to leave this world in good conscience. But since we have no close relatives to leave inheritance to, we decided to leave this house and all its fortunes, including my Range Rover and my wife's Porsche and Lexus, as well as my book collection and my wife's jewellery.
If you've discovered our bodies, please dispose of us in the bushes at the back garden. I have dug three holes there. DO NOT tell anybody else, and DO NOT call the police.
Attached are the requisite documents for transfer of ownership. Please bring them to the law office of John Creighton at 45, Park Lane. He will process the documents to transfer the property to you.
I hope you live a good life in our stead.
Sincerely,
Paul"
After reading it again and wandering 'round the house, I slumped myself on the three-seat sofa of the living room.
I had wanted to steal some items from this house. I didn't expect to make this my home.
As I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, I saw the keys to the Porsche on the coffee table. | It’s my first go at this alone. I joined my brother Micheal’s gang a few months ago, and we usually work as a team. I’d always been a bit of a tech geek, so he decided I’d be useful for disabling security. I was hesitant to get mixed up in something that might come back to bite me, but the pay is good, and I have a mountain of student debt waiting for me in a few years. It started out simple enough, but his crew didn’t think I was involved enough. It makes sense, considering they’re too brutish to realize how much I’m decreasing their risk for the same reward, but I couldn’t afford to lose out on all this money I’ve been getting. I personally would’ve just talked to them about it, but Mike decided to step in and say I’d rob a house all by myself. I tried to say no, but he convinced me that it’d be “super easy” and that I have “nothing to worry about. I picked out a simple family house for myself, and I camped outside their house in a satellite van for a couple weeks to learn their schedule. The dad leaves early for work, the kid about an hour later, and the mom goes shopping at noon. I was actually convinced things might go well. I had figured out the parents kept a safe in their bedroom, which the dad deposited into every day. Judging from that and the amount of weird conspiracy theory stuff he listens to on his radio, I figured he didn’t trust the banks with his money, and kept it in that little box. His whole life savings could be in there, and I can say goodbye to the unending amounts of ramen noodles and roaches in my apartment.
I check my watch, and it’s 12:27. My stomach twists into a knot, and the nerves hit me for the first time. This could all go horribly wrong. The money won’t matter if I get caught. There’s no time for second thoughts now, so I exit the van and walk up to the house. I grab the spare key from under the mat, and stand at the door for a moment. Even if I do succeed, I’m robbing a family of what may very well be all they have. But I’ve done that plenty of times, so why is the guilt hitting now? Just because I’m physically taking the money from someone now isn’t much different from helping people take it on a moral level. This is just a tiny step up from the rest of what I’ve done. This’ll be the last job anyways, if I’m lucky. If I take from these people now, I won’t ever have to do it again. I decidedly put the key in the door, and walk inside. I’ll just have to donate the same amount of what I’ve taken from people to charity when I’m older. I mill over the math, adding up my shares from all the previous heists as I walk into the living room. I stop dead in my tracks to see the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.
The entire family is wrapped head to toe in tin foil clothing while hanging from their living room ceiling fan. The father is aggressively swinging his legs back and forth to increase the speed. The mother and son look bored and tired.
The father spots me, and screams “pick up the pace! The base has been infiltrated!”
The mother, still not seeing me, sighs and starts to swing her legs, while the poor kid just looks completely suicidal.
I start to get over my bewilderment, and decide my best option is to make a beeline for the safe and hope these nut jobs are too busy doing whatever the hell they’re doing to care. I quickly run past the confusing scene and make my way to their bedroom. The father screams something incomprehensible, and I heard a loud thud, shortly followed by pursuing foot steps.
“After him! He must be a new species to have gotten past the harbinger 8.9! A new specimen to study!”
He sounds disturbingly excited.
I slam the bedroom door closed and lock it behind me, and start looking for an exit. I try to open the window but it’s painted shut.
“Aha! It can use our human technology. Fetch me the battering ram!”
I can hear the father slamming repeatedly into the door, spouting complete and utter nonsense. I search for something heavy, and see the safe inside the closet. I heave it off the ground and slam it through the window. The glass shatters, and I waste no time in hurling myself through. I cut myself on the shards as I fall onto the grass. I can hear wood splintering begins me, accompanied by a victorious screech, so I grab the safe and run to my van. Once inside, I look back to the window, to see the husband looking completely bewildered, and his wife slapping him in the face before screaming at him. I see the kid trying to get their attention while pointing outside to my van, so I start it up and take off with screeching tires.
I make it back to the gang’s hide out, bloodied and bruised from the fall, but still breathing. I drop the safe onto the table, and fall down into my chair next to my brother. They all sit in silence, staring at me as I try to catch my breath.
“...what the hell happened to you man?” My brother asked.
“I don’t even know. They’re insane. That’s what happened. I’ll explain later, let’s just open the safe. I just want to get my money and go home.”
Our locks guy tried at the combination for a couple minutes, and it eventually cracks open. He opens the door, and inside, there’s no money. No gold, no jewelry, no nothing. There’s just a single, off-brand granola bar sitting at the bottom. Mike picks it up and hands it to me with a pitying look. I stare at it in the palm of my hand. All that, and just a granola bar.
First time posting here, figured I’d try it out since I interpreted the prompt a bit differently lol. I’m not a great writer yet, so criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading! | 2020-10-18T06:25:20 | 2020-10-18T03:28:08 | 90 | 26 |
[WP] “A sniper, a bartender and a photographer meet at a bar, unaware of each other’s occupations they talk about ‘the perfect shot’.” | Three men walk into a pub, they grab a beer each and sit down at the bar.
Not much happened you see as whiskey was scarce in them times, It doesn't take long for one of the three to yell "WHENREWE GONNA GET SUM WHISKEY">
The two others perked they're ears up and sat with the like minded man and they began to talk about all sorts and after they all shared their equally terrible fortunes they realised they thought alike.
Now the first one pipes up about English and rambles on ending up talking about The Perfect Shot.
His talking about how the perfect shot is the first one you can take and all sorts about different qualities that make up the perfect shot such as the steadiness, Anticipation, preparations and all the rest that come with it.
​
The second one upon hearing this perks his ears up and immediately agrees with the first one and starts talking about great spots for it and adds his own spiel about how precision and willingness are integral to the perfect shot and the first one is nodding in agreement thinking about the spirit and accuracy he executed his shots reminiscing fondly on the experience.
​
The Third pipes up and adds how patience is key to the perfect shot and speaks of a time he hunted with his dad for days to teach patience.
The Three all murmur in agreement until the second one hushes everyone and lets them in on a plan to make some big money in Donegal and the third one weasels away instantly from the other two saying he is just a photographer, The second man looks at the first and says your still on-board with me? what job do you do?.
​
The First man replies "Aye Im just the town drunk but ive heard the pubs in Donegal have whiskey so ya can count me in" | I haven't written anything this "long" and tried to finish it off quickly. My previous experience having to write for English class is short gags or comedic setups and no more than a 2-3 hundred words at that so bear with me and the horrible quality.
​
"Well you have to know it's quite hard" the sniper said.
The photographer whined, "Yeah you see something you like and think where it might be, where to take the shot, figure out the angle and everything else by the time you get there something moved in the way."
"Why? I climb up to a roost and stay there maybe I'll move if I risk exposing myself but that's about it."
The bartender looked up "I was told you two were rather like me. Anyways what would it be?"
"The same" the sniper said "Anything is fine maybe some tequila for a laugh" looking to the photographer who nodded.
"I suppose but I like to suit my drinks. The music, atmosphere, moods and clothing styles, their personal histories and so forth. Could you name one thing that is an impediment that you must workaround?"
"Wind, if I was with a regular modern com... employer I'd have a second to help me with it but I work alone mostly." the sniper replied.
"Does throw up a lot of grit I admit though the journey not the destination and all that. Sometimes I get all get all moody and I can't work, but other times? I get enough zeal to remind me why I do this" The photographer said looking down at his lap texting.
The Bartender had been mixing stopped to cut a lemon "And how does your paticular line of employment affect your relationship with your colleagues?"
The sniper eyed the drink and the bartender's hand "Amicable I suppose sometimes you work alongside one group for weeks and the next thing you know something byzantine means they start apologizing for a bomb under your bed because of a schism that was patched up just as quickly"
"I take it you prefer cities?" inquired the bartender who seemingly ignored the photographer.
"Not much of a woodsman." the sniper suppressing a yawn kept his eyes open, reaching into his coat while looking at the photographer.
"Plenty of places and people to hide amongst." the photographer said reaching for his drink, which was surprisingly cold.
"A toast" the bartender said placing a drink in front of the sniper. The bartender raised and then threw his cup at the sniper who recoiled. The liquid vapourised as it touched his warm body smothering him before he fell coughing and wretching.
"That ought to keep his attention" the bartender said eyeing the photographer. "Idiot oaf. He stands out as if Satan himself had marked him. Only by blending into the masses to slip the eyes of the motorcade until he can get unto his 'roost' has gone even this far. He would've been a lamb to any of the true puppet masters."
The photographer glanced at his half-finished glass, shrugged at the poisoner, and waited.
"You are on the other hand, are indubitably talented you play a bumbling nosy fool well. But I had your pack searched including your disguises such as the hard hat and umbrella."
"Umbrella?"
"Yes. Do you not think I would wise to such a old trick. What was it? Arsenic? Batorium Cinobar?"
"Could I at least get your name before I d..."
"Of course, how rude of me. I'm Zaharoff Edugar son of Bagtur." the bartender said, which the photographer had to admit was impressive few people lied when he got them talking."
"You see" The photgrapher said patiently "I'm not an assassin well not that type of assassin." He said pulling out his cellphone and handing it over. "Is this your child?"
"I don't have any... How did you get this?"
"I'm not the most moral in my or any mind. What a girl would have done to her by one with so so many enemies worse than me? I mostly stage little games of deceit and dramatization but since that has gone to bots I have taken up the prospecting and digging of dirt."
"So you would have me black mailed for the antidote? Here take this and be gone with you."
"How stupid do you think I am! Use it on yourself if you don't want ..."
Three shots rang out and the bartender slumped. the stunned photographer turned to see the assassin, the sniper had recovered enough to draw a pistol.
the photographer threw himself behind a sofa "Don't shoot don't shoot" He saw plumes of vapourising exotic chemicals reacting from the containers hidden on the poisoners body and started crawling.
He looked back to see the ruined mess of the sniper and his eye ... sockets. Careful not to make any sounds he moved to the poisoner when a shot rang out and he tried to burrow into a carpet as two more rang.
The poisoner's body was a mess of vials and syringes smuggled beneath his clothes and sleeves. He picked the ones that hadn't cracked, hoping one was the antidote and wriggled towards the exit.
He leaped when the sprinklers came on and panicked ran headfirst into daylight. | 2021-04-04T04:20:32 | 2021-04-04T04:10:54 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] A plane crash leaves a Billionaire stranded on a deserted island. He's not trying to contact help though. Actually, he's having the best time of his life. | I can’t help but marvel at the contrast between my life now and my life before. Sixteen months ago I woke up for the last time in my sixteen bedroom estate on the ocean, in my own bed, a handcrafted Vividus hand built by a man named Sven in Sweden that was stuffed with horsetail hair and covered with the finest silks from the Orient. (Are we still allowed to say the Orient? I doubt it, but Katie from my HR department is a long ways away from me here.) Despite spending $140,000 on it, tragically I still couldn’t manage more than a few hours at a time before waking in a fitful state with my mind ablaze with thoughts. And yet here I am all these months later, waking up in the warm ocean air on a bed of palm fronds that I scavenged from the island’s inner forest from what must have been a full eight hours (though I really have no idea as my prized Phillipe Patek became waterlogged and stopped working several months ago). The irony would be lost on Sven.
My last morning in civilized society started like any other day. I was up at 4:30 and meeting Anya, my personal trainer, in my gym in the east wing at 5. I’d already checked the Asian and European markets and I recall feeling a growing unease about a suspiciously aggressive flu in China where I was schedule to be the following day for meetings. I had no way of knowing that three hours out to sea, my conference call would be cut short due to a sudden and total loss of power that resulted in my life being wholly and irrevocably different.
My pilot, Glenn, was a retired air force pilot that had been with me for years. From what I could tell he did everything right, somehow gliding the plane down and avoiding the nose-first crash and complete obliteration that I expected. We managed to survive the initial impact but had to abandon the plane quickly before it sunk, using seat cushions to stay afloat. By day four, through a mix of paddling and fortunate currents we made it to this island.
Losing Glenn in the second month to an infected cut on his foot was by far the worst part of this ordeal. His death was not quick and despite my efforts, he finally succumbed after four excruciating, feverish days. I held him through his last hours, my only solace the fact that in those final delirious hours he seemed to see in my place his long dead father, there to shepherd him to the other side. In the end, he was at peace. I erected a cairn where I buried him on the beach and I visit it daily, keeping up my end of our conversations.
At first, the loneliness felt like a punishment bestowed by a vengeful Old Testament god. My mind, like a heavy flywheel spun up over the decades, had been going nonstop since childhood, and I was filled with memories of my past life, dreams of escape and return to the cheers of my associates. But over those first months without Glenn, the flywheel slowed, and then slowed further before stopping altogether. My thoughts were replaced with my immediate sensory experience and soon, stripped of all the ornamentations of modern life including the company of others, I came to the profound realization that despite having nothing I had all that I needed. I burned the logs from the beach that Glenn and I had set up to read H-E-L-P from the air and dug a pit next to Glenn that will one day be my own uncovered grave, the last place I lay when I feel too weak to carry on. I too will be at peace, and perhaps Glenn will be there in my final hours to show me the way. | Alan woke on a white-sand beach near to a couple of padlocked suitcases he vaguely recognised. The sun sizzled high above the ocean. A solitary cloud rested in the sky.
Alan forced himself up and stumbled over the sand until he found a rock blunt enough to bash the padlocks open with. He did all this automatically, an act of preservation.
Then, carefully, he removed the soggy banknotes from inside the suitcases and laid them along the rear of the beach, placing a pebble on each to keep them down. Not that there was much of a breeze. He did this for a couple of hundred notes before lying down and falling into a deep sleep.
​
Alan woke to rain.
It took a moment to remember why he was on a beach. Then, “Shit!”
He scrambled to his feet but could barely see the banknotes in the dark. He could hear them shivering though, slapping against the downpour. At least he was near them.
*Okay, now what?* he wondered. *I can’t be a human shield for this many of notes. And besides they’re already soaked. I might as well be trying to keep the ocean dry.*
He stood still for a moment, dripping, listening to the patter of rain on money.
*They’ll dry once it’s over,* he figured. *Anyway, so what if I have to pay an island boatman with soggy dollars to get me out of here? They’re dollars all the same.*
If there was a boat on the island.
*Where had that thought come from?*
Other unwanted thoughts followed: Or if there’s a man. Or anyone at all on this fucking rock.
He slapped his cheek. Then tilted his head up and opened his mouth. Lapped the rain like it was champagne. Licked it off his lips along with a muzzle of salt.
God, he’d been thirsty — and he’d only just realized how thirsty.
*And what about when the rain stops and you’re thirsty again? Going to wait for the next storm to brew you up a nice cool cup?*
He didn’t know. Hadn’t thought that far ahead.
*How long’s it going to be until the next rainfall?*
A while, he guessed. Could be days.
*So what do we do then, Alan? Come on, you’re the genius businessman, after all. Time magazine said so.*
He thought about it like starting up a business. Bottled water. Only this business he’d start without a loan from his parents. He headed down to the beach, rain pelting him, his shirt and pants slicked to his skin like paint.
There were a handful of plastic bottles lying around. The sell-by-date on one read June ‘84. It was missing its top half and the plastic that remained was cloudy brown. Still, he dug a little ditch and placed the half-bottle snuggly inside, allowing it to collect up rainfall without tipping over.
Alan stood and watched it slowly fill. It was all he could do. Finally he picked it up and drank it all back.
He made little ditches for five more bottles and two wide bits of plastic that he couldn‘t identify but looked sturdy and round.
Then he left the beach and stood in tree cover behind it. He imagined mangroves and crocodiles and disease ridden insects lurking just feet away. But it was either wait in the darkness of the trees for the rain to pass, or wait on the beach where he might freeze to death.
At least a crocodile would be fast.
Lightning forked open the sky. The island flared white.
His heart beat hard.
Like it had beat on the plane.
He remembered it now. His own private jet. Luxury in the sky, heading to an island — but not meaning for it to be this one. A business trip. Then there had been a crack, like lightning only not. And then a wing was dangling. An engine churning red fire as it spun.
He’d stumbled his way towards the cockpit. “You fucking better land this safely or—“
Or he’d do what? They were both equal then, Alan and his pilot, equal in that moment just prior to death. Where money and rules and bosses didn’t matter. Maybe only God did, if there was a God.
”Strap in, now!” commanded the pilot.
He’d done just that.
The plane had screamed. Or he had.
Then it slammed hard into the water and his memory went no further.
​
\*\*\*
​
The sun returned by morning. It pried open the clouds and smiled down on Alan. He‘d spent a night shivering in the trees, always hearing a snake hissing just to this side, or just above him. But maybe it was the wind rustling leaves. Either way, he was still alive.
Now he stood on the beach and let the sun warm him.
Four of his containers held water. One had tipped over and two must have had holes. Still, not too shabby, he thought. As far as start-ups go, this was a mild success.
He realized he was proud of himself. Hadn’t felt that little prod to the chest in a while.
His stomach rumbled. Now he just needed to open a food stand and he’d be quite the success story. *Billionaire tycoon spends life accused of getting lucky, starts over with scratch, comes out good. Proof was in the pudding all along.*
He took a swig of water. Looked at the dollars pinned beneath stones. Laughed.
”Unfucking believable,” he said. Tried to remember why he’d dried them the first time around.
He needed to find food soon. And a fresh water supply. He’d have to look around the island, see if anyone else was on it. He didn’t think anyone else was around though. Had a feeling. Could even see himself cutting off his feet and chewing them for calories.
”Or I find food. I fish. I climb a fucking tree, how about that?”
He inhaled the warm ocean air. Took another deep breath. His legs tingled and he felt a little calmer. His mind went to work, to commitments he was probably missing this very moment.
Yesterday it would have been the end of the world. Today, missing a few meetings didn’t seem to matter very much.
Then Alan thought two more things:
*Everyone will think I’m dead.*
and
*Everyone might as well be dead to me.*
He sat on the beach and thought both ideas over. Chewed on them. Smiled at the two-ended liberation.
He got to his feet and walked to the money patch. Picked up the dollars one by one. Wrapped them tight around the pebbles.
Then, accompanied by a scream, he threw the dollars into the sea. Some sunk instantly, others skimmed towards the golden horizon.
Sometimes he yelled a name. His ex-wife’s. His business partner’s. His parents’.
Alan’s own name, he yelled last and loudest.
​
Then, once all the money was gone, the man left the beach and headed to the trees. | 2022-02-27T09:40:58 | 2022-02-27T09:39:42 | 749 | 229 |
[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. | "You really wanna flip the script?" The writer laughed and popped another piece of popcorn in her mouth. The executives looked at each other nervously. The tired old tropes had made cookie cutter plots so easy. If people knew there was more out there- if the masses demanded better? What then? The crowd cheered as the panel of writers looked at each other. The writer tilted her head back as the others laughed.
"How is this for different: the male love interest is actively working through his trauma with a trained therapist."
The writer paused as the girls in the audience cheered. The Manga creator stood and bowed.
"And the female lead- she doesn't need constant validation. She knows her strengths and weaknesses."
A murmur of approval ran through the men in the crowd.
The poet tucks a strand of hair behind one ear thoughtfully. "They communicate. When there's a problem, the pair sit down and talk it out."
More screams from the crowd. A few women look on the verge of fainting.
The first writer stands dramatically. "They take the time and energy to learn each other's love language. Each checks in with the other to see their needs are being met."
The executives turn to each other in genuine fear now as the crowd roars its approval.
All the writers stand in unison and smile.
"And, best of all..."
"Both acknowledge they are deeply flawed individuals...."
And when they mess up-"
The crowd waited with baited breath as the writers spoke in one triumphant voice
"They apologize and take accountability!!!" | It may be technically cheating, as I have just ripped off the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice, but I was curious to see how it would read.
​
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a husband.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” said her husband to her one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?” And when Mrs. Bennet had stated with disinterest that she had not, Mr. Bennet continued on with his usual excitable enthusiasm. “Well it has, and do you wish to know who has taken it?” he cried.
“Very well,” sighed Mrs Bennet, and seeing that her husband had worked himself into quite a state of excitement, neatly folded the newspaper she had been reading upon her lap. The financial pages could wait.
“A young woman of large fortune, from the north of England... Miss Bingley.”
Although Mr. Bennet threw his hands up in the air as if in celebration, Mrs. Bennet, however, did not believe she had ever heard the name before, and therefore reserved her excitement until she was able to ascertain further information on her character. “Is she married or single?”
“Oh! Single to be sure, with a large fortune of four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our boys!”
“How so? How can it affect them?” Mrs. Bennet asked with a small smile playing upon her lips. Of course she knew exactly what her husband had in mind, and although it may have been unfair of her, she enjoyed watching his explosive, over the top reactions. It had been one of the things that had her attracted her to him in the first place, how deeply he cared about seemingly small things that no one else did. And in this instance Mr. Bennet did not disappoint.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he exclaimed, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of her marrying one of them. Therefore you must visit her as soon as she comes, so that we may introduce her to our sons.”
“I see no occasion for that, you and the boys may go. Or better yet send them alone, for you are just as handsome as any of them, Miss Bingley prefer you after all.”
“My dear, you do flatter me,” Mr. Bennet blushed. “I certainly have had my fair share of beauty in my youth, but when a man has five grown sons, he ought to give over thinking of his own beauty.”
“Well that's not much good, you still are as beautiful as the day I met you,” Mrs. Bennet replied reaching over and kissing her husband lightly on his hand.
“As are you Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet replied giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. “But still, you must indeed go and see Mrs. Bingley when he comes to the neighbourhood. Consider your sons. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them, especially once we are gone.”
“You are overly scrupulous my dear, but for your sake, I will send a few lines to Miss Bingley and assure her of my hearty consent to her marrying whichever of the boys she chooses. Although I must throw in a good word for Laurie.”
“I desire you to do no such thing. Laurie is no better than the others. I am sure he is not half as handsome as James, nor half as good humoured as Luca.”
“They are all silly and ignorant like other boys; but Laurie has something more of a quickness than his brothers.”
“Oh you do take delight vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves,” Mr. Bennet exclaimed, weakly lowering himself into a comfortable chair.
“I have respect of you nerves. I have heard you mention them these last twenty years,” Mrs. Bennet half muttered to herself. Admittedly, when she had married Mr. Bennet, she had not realised his dramatics that she had found so endearing during their courtship took such a toll on his delicate disposition. In hindsight she should have known. “But I hope you will recover and live to see many young women of four or five thousand a year come to the neighbourhood.
Mr. Bennet did not reply as he sat brooding in his chair. Mrs. Bennet was so odd a mixture of sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that even after three-and-twenty years of marriage had been insufficient to make him truly understand her character. His mind was less difficult to determine. | 2022-06-07T13:45:39 | 2022-06-07T10:54:03 | 30 | 15 |
[WP]The potion seller places the love potion of the counter and say "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?" | The potion seller places the love potion on the table. "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
I laugh. It's a quiet sound, with no real humor in it. "Why would anyone be in love with me?"
The saleswoman takes her time replying, drumming her fingers on the table. "This is your first time at my stall, but I see you at the market every month. You make a few small purchases, exchange a little conversation, and leave."
"You're very observant."
She chuckles. "There's not much else for me to do. This isn't a town with much love for witches, at least not in public. Most of my sales happen after dark. So I watch."
I scratch my arm. It's not itchy, but the movement and, yes, the hint of pain, serve as a distraction from the woman's penetrating gaze. She seemed content to let the moment linger. "When you watch, what do you see?" I finally ask.
"I see your kindness to strangers. I see smiles as people interact with you."
"They're just being polite."
"I see more than politeness in people's reactions. I see genuine goodwill that could easily blossom into friendship."
I try, unsuccessfully, to hold back a tear. "I can't see it. I want to, but it just doesn't feel right. I'm not that person, not really. And if they see who I really am..." I take a deep breath. "Please. I really need this love potion."
She looks at me for a long moment, and my breath catches in my throat. Then she smiles. "I think I understand. Ten dollars for the potion, and a discount on your next purchase if you bring the bottle back. And do feel free to drop by for a chat anytime you're in the area."
I accept the paper bag she gives me with shaky hands. I take it straight to my car. I drive carefully, aware of every bump in the road.
When I enter my apartment, I close the door with a sigh. It's dim. I haven't gotten around to replacing the broken lightbulbs, and two bulbs are trying to do the work of five. The potion emits a soft glow, too faint to see in the full light of day.
I wander into the bathroom. Did the witch know what I intend to do with the potion? She had to. She saw more than most. And soon, hopefully, so would I.
I uncork the bottle, close my eyes, and drink. I don't feel any different. Am I supposed to feel different? I am excruciatingly aware of the summer heat, the hum of traffic outside, the rough texture of my shirt across my shoulders...
I sigh. Maybe it's not meant to be.
I open my eyes, and I see it.
For the first time in a long while, I look into the dirty bathroom mirror and feel happy. I see hope. I see a good person. Not a perfect person, of course, but a person who is worthy of other people's love. For the first time in a long while, I truly see myself.
I smile and pick up my phone to call a friend. | 'It's not a problem,' I muttered, dropping the handful of coins on the counter with a clatter. 'It was thirty pieces, wasn't it?'
The woman behind the counter glanced down at the haphazard pile of silver and sighed. 'Aye, yes, but I should warn you about the side effects. So many folks don't know what's right in front of them. The things I've seen, let me tell you-'
'Is it affected by mere platonic cordiality? Resigned respect? Will this all blow up in my face if the person taking this feels anything that might be half an inch into the positive side of neutral?'
She blinked back at me. 'Not that I know of. Though that's a bit of a hard one to test for.' She began picking up the coins, turning each over to check if they were real silver. 'But don't say I didn't warn you, lass. You need to be certain...'
I snatched the little bottle off the counter and shoved it deep into my pocket. 'Thank you for your concern but I know what I know. I wouldn't be here if there was another option.'
I left before she could say another word.
\*\*\*
The evening crept up on me as I made my way back, the last of the clouds slipping from red to purple to grey as the sun sank below the hills. I was going to be late but I struggled to care. A few minutes wouldn't change anything. I could miss the whole evening entirely but nothing mattered as long as I was there in the morning.
The garden gate was still unlocked and slightly ajar, just as I'd left it. I slipped inside and pulled my hood down, following the deepening shadows along the walls, my footsteps soft and quick against the flagstones of the path.
Up ahead, the lights of the halls were already aglow, the babble of voices filtering out into the night, the shadows of a crowd of people cast against the window glass.
No one stopped me when I entered through the kitchen door. The air rang with noise; shouts and clatters and the roar of the cook fires. No one stood still for a second, carrying trays or dashing up from the larder or frantically assembling the meals for the feast in a cloud of flour and spices. No one questioned my presence as I made my through the chaos, up the servant's stairs, and out onto the landing.
Heart hammering, I raced along the corridor, half-certain I would be caught at any moment. They must have noticed by now. They would surely be looking for me. The hum of the guest's talk was stronger now, rising up from below so that it reverberated through the soles of my shoes.
Then the door was right in front of me. Without a backwards glance, I turned the handle and threw myself inside.
For a second there was silence, the only sound of my ragged breathing and the thunder of my heartbeat in my throat.
'And where have you been?' Margit turned to me, her face rosy with indignation.
'I was just outside. In the gardens.' Not entirely a lie. 'I thought the night air would calm my nerves. I lost track of the time. I'm sorry.'
Margit only huffed. 'Well, my lady, you're here now and that's better than the alternative. We need to hurry up and get you out of those clothes; they'll be calling for you soon.'
Another dress was laid out on the bed, waiting for me. All fine lace and gold embroidery and a pattern of apple blossom along the hem.
So be it.
\*\*\*
My father's words barely penetrated the plan that repeated endlessly through my thoughts.
'I must thank you all for coming on the eve of this most auspicious occasion!'
...The potion is activated by the addition of some essence of the individual who wishes to be loved...
'Of course, I should save my words for the main event tomorrow, but I cannot let this night pass without a toast.'
...Hair or saliva or tears. Anything will do. Even the smallest amount...
'After all, It's not so often one sees their daughter married. And to such a fine match.'
At this, I summoned the energy to offer a thin smile to the man on my left. Lord Wynter. My fatherwasn't wrong. He was a fine match. A good family, a rich estate, and he had never been anything other than kind and courteous to me. I just wish I was rather more than that.
Lord Winter returned the smile, a slight hit of nerves at the corners. He wasn't what I would call handsome. Tall and thin and a little awkward. Not the sort of man I dreamed of when was young. No dashing prince on a noble steed by any means, but he had kind eyes. It was the sort of countenance one might find some beauty in with some time and familiarity. How much time, though, I couldn't say. A year? Ten?
Heaven only knew what he thought of me.
'So, if you'll please raise your glasses to the happy couple!'
The room in front of us lifted their cups in unison and drank to our health. Lord Wynter and I held our goblets up to each other with a polite embarrassment before drinking. I only took a sip. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wynter drink rather more.
When I put my cup down, I made sure to place it close to his.
My father continued his speech. The guests laughed at his jokes. There were a few rounds of applause. All the while, I watched Wynter.
It wasn't long before he turned his head away, making some brief comment to the man seated next to him. It was then I reached out with what I hoped was the air of ease and innocence, and picked up his goblet as if it were my own.
Everyone was half drunk. If they saw me pull the little bottle from my pocket and empty it into the wine, they likely didn't think anything of it.
I swirled the liquid, mixing the potion and the wine. He drank from this cup. There must be some of his essence in with the wine. It should work.
It must.
I didn't know how he felt about me, but I knew what my heart said. And I couldn't stand to marry a man I didn't love.
As my father finished his rambling speech, as Wynter turned his merely kind eyes on me, I lifted the cup to my lips and drained it.
\-------------------
More words and stuff at /r/Quiscovery | 2022-07-28T12:49:48 | 2022-07-28T12:23:30 | 904 | 113 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “We’re offering you a decent pay, full benefits, and a fairly relaxed schedule. What’s not to love about the job?”
“The murder. The civilian casualties. The stupid fuck’n supe names.” I replied
The well dressed yet clearly disillusioned man sat up,“But that’s the thing. We’re offering you a very relaxed deal with full benefits. You’d pick your own name, pick your own missions, and only need to show up for the most extreme emergencies given your powers.”
“Oh so some poor B-ranker would get horribly disfigured or killed while I sit back and wait for my phone to ring. My answer is still fuck no.” I replied again not changing my tone.
“Look… Jason.” His own tone shifted into absolute seriousness, “We’re the US government, and we’re really not asking anymore.” As he said that I could hear helicopters and armored vehicles down the road.
“You should call off the forces coming toward the house.”
“No, we’re getting you to join wether you want to or not. According to our records your powers would change everything, at least think of the good you could do.”
“Or you could think of your own life.” I said as I widened my eyes and stared directly into his, “You could think of the lives of all those men in the armored vehicles too. Government or not I’ll do what I need to.”
“You think we couldn’t stop you. Those vehicles are full of powered soldiers and anti-super weapons.”
“You must have some pretty inaccurate records if you think that means anything. Do you know what my powers are?”
“Energy projection, you can shoot beams of energy with extreme accuracy and power. Besides that you have enhanced durability, strength, stamina, and speed even compared to others with powers.” He said feeling so assure of himself.
“Absorption. Energy Absorption.”
“Oh so what you absorb electricity or something and are able to project it out.”
“No. Punch me and see what happens.” I said antagonistically. He paused and thought about it, “Punch me you stupid suite wearing fed piece of shit.” Without hesitation he did just that and planted a fist right into my face. I could tell he had some sort of pent up aggression from our conversations. It did nothing though. It simply just lost all its momentum as it touched my skin.
A shocked look came across his face, “That should’ve.. I mean.. I felt like I gave up.. like as soon as it made contact my fist.. it went limp.”
“Kinetic, electrical, thermal…” My eyes began to glow, “Even nuclear and energy in sound waves”
“You ca…” He began to talk but it soon faded into silence. I was absorbing the energy from the air in the room meaning his voice was silent as his lips continued to move. Panic set into his face as he realized he couldn’t speak. He then struggled to move as he realized parts of his body began to loose energy. Silent terror washed across his face.
I pushed my hand onto his chest, “Even the energy of a heart beat.” I could feel the rapid beating of his heart as it began to get slower and slower, “Do you understand now. You’ve created a scenario where I’ll have to fight.” I heard the vehicles and helicopters outside. I looked into his eyes just before the light went out in them, “I want you to know before you die that you killed all those men out there. Oh.. and that you created the disaster that’s about to happen to this country.” | Oh, there goes the sirens.
BOOM!
There’s the explosions.
The screams, the gunfire…
Crazy thing is, Zion could do something about that. Being someone who could teleport anywhere within a ten-mile radius, it would’ve been nothing for him to pop up, save a damsel or two, beat the bad guy up, and disappear.
But…
Eh, no need to stick his neck out there. That’s what the police are for, the SWAT people, and the government’s new task force for superpowered threats.
Plenty of people who could do the selfless shit. Zion, on the other hand, had the selfish shit on lock.
As he stepped forward in line to place his order, his mind wandered to that fine-ass lady he met the other day.
He rolled his eyes. Hopefully she got the message.
When he stepped to the side to fill his cup up, a voice behind him spooked him enough to almost teleport out of sheer reflex.
“Y’know, you could definitely be a lot more useful than you allow yourself to be.”
Speak of the devil. When Zion turned around, his face dropped as though he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Oh, come on!” He moaned at the beautiful agent who wouldn’t leave him the hell alone, “Don’t you have something better to do than stalk me?!”
Agent Dunay flashed a mischievous smirk as she leaned against the counter, “I told you on our date that you were gonna be my top priority. You don’t answer your phone.”
Another explosion went off in the distance. Twas just another Tuesday for Zion since it happened so often, but what wasn’t a normal occurrence was a sexy agent trying to trick him into working for her, “I don’t answer my phone for government agents. Especially those who use their government powers to stalk me.”
If she was thrown off by Zion’s standoffish tone, she didn’t let it show, instead giggling and coyly chewing on a straw she picked up, “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed with me.”
Zion’s food was called, and he promptly left. He was sure that he had a bit of time to find another bathroom and teleport back home.
Once he got home, he rushed over to make sure that his door was still locked, and looked out of the blinds to see if any unfamiliar cars were parked on the street.
“Babe, you’re home! Who are we looking for?”
“AAAAHHH!” Zion screamed as he pooted and teleported out of fear, ending up in a tree in the nearby park.
Goddamnit, when was it going to end?!
He went to work the next day, his paranoia keeping his head on a swivel.
One of his coworkers came up behind him while he was making a cup of joe, “Hey Zion, I have a proposition for yo-.”
“NO, I DO NOT WANT TO WORK FOR THE US GOVERNMENT YOU SEXY STALKER!” Zion roared as he turned around with his fingers fixated in a cross, baring them at the demon lady who always managed to get behind him.
Sarah jumped back in shock, dropping the box of donuts for the office to throw her hands up in a disarming manner.
The rest of the office looked at Zion in confusion, fear, and humor.
Zion, who was breathing heavily and still holding his cross of protection, almost freaked out again when his supervisor put a hand on his shoulder, “Hey Z, my office?”
In the office, the supervisor sat on the edge of his desk while Zion did his best to try to keep his back towards a wall instead of the door in case the stalker popped up again.
“You’ve been acting a bit strange lately, Z.” The supervisor said, concern painting his features, “Is it all of the super stuff going on? Is it getting to you, because I know being young while the world is rapidly changing is a lot for people.”
“No, no it’s not that. It’s just…” Zion decided to do something bold, and actually give a bit of an inside scoop on what was going on, “Okay, you’ve seen Boondocks, right?”
“Of course I have, I rap the theme song when nobody’s around!”
“Me too, it’s a classic. But you know how Huey had a spooky government agent that always followed him around yet nobody believed him?”
The supervisor’s face almost gave way to a hearty laugh, but he held it in, “Uhh, yeah?” He pointed a finger, “Are you a threat to national security, Zion?” He asked, the humor dancing in his tone.
Well, if you counted the fact that Zion could go anywhere, at anytime, without even needing to see the spot, then yeah. But no, that wasn’t the point, “Please, I know it sounds crazy but I’m not lying!”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, prompting the supervisor to answer, “Is that the new hire? Send her in!” As the supervisor rose, he mouthed at Zion that they’ll talk more later, “Zion, since you’re on track to become a senior soon, you might as well meet one of your new team members.”
The door opened, and Agent Dunay sauntered in, giving the supervisor a smile and a solid handshake, “Hello! I’m Tiffany Dunay! It’s nice to meet you!”
Zion’s eyebrow started twitching as though it stuck a fork in the socket.
“Nice to meet you too. Wow, what a handshake. Tiffany, I’d like you to meet one of your teammates, Zion. You’ll both be working practically hand in hand, so you’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
“Oh, I’m sure me and Zion will be joined at the hip.” She said, flashing Zion a devilish grin as the supervisor went to the doorway. She walked over the Zion, her hand extended for a handshake, and her voice a harsh whisper, “I’ve tried the nice way. Wanna play hardball, we can play hardball.”
Zion begrudgingly shook her hand to avoid causing another scene now that the supervisor was watching, inwardly balking at the crushing force applied to his hand, “I-I’m sure that we could work something out to avoid any… mishaps.”
When the supervisor left the room, Zion’s arm nearly flew out the socket as she yanked him out of the seat, making him accidentally headbutt her, “You could keep avoiding ‘us’, and I push the right buttons and make you lose this job…” She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Orrr, you could join me and we could go waterboard the bad guys and be real American heros! Oh, the romance of fighting terroism. Together! Plus our 401ks shit on this company’s!” | 2022-07-31T15:04:17 | 2022-07-31T14:44:04 | 215 | 81 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | USAF confidential records department, high secret, omega-quartz level encryption.
Briefing: The species, coded as M4-RT-14N by the EUN DoD, uses as main communication method between individuals a series of airborne spores that contain the information coded in a complex trinary protein system. After a big effort deciphering this code from the residual spores inside corpses recovered in the known as Rosewell Incident (13/07/1965) a full translation has been provided at today’s date (03/10/2068). For better readability, multiple fragments have been adapted using human language formulae, such as exclamations and interrogations to adjust the intended tone of the conversations to the reader understanding.
TRANSCRIPTION ON:
\- (Individual A: Pilot) As the mother hive assessed, sexual reproduction between two reproductive systems, one per drone.
\- (Individual B: Co-pilot) Drone isn´t the correct term, although they display a low intelligence threshold every individual gets a heavy independence from their hive, being the main factors that allow the functioning of their society a series of chemical reactions that predispose them to cooperate, usually coded in the so called “Cultural Systems”.
\- Indeed, yet despite having this level of technological development they mostly tend to form subcultural systems that disallows them for maximize their individual capabilities.
\- They engage in a constant state of destructive behaviour. That may end soon now that they have the capabilities of completely erasing their societies by using high energy yield reactions. They also fail to engage in a balance symbiosis with the rest of the planetary biological systems, at this rate a huge collapse of their population and thus, their development, is highly probable.
\- Even if that doesn’t happen, their natural capabilities put them far from the possibility of developing star jumping devices and relativistic weapons in a worrying timescale. I hereby propose a threat level of 1 (Adapted from their base 16 numeric system to base 10 system)
\- I concur, the only task left would be to finish examination of the requires individuals.
(It is deducted a considerable amount of time has transferred before the next part of the transcription)
\- (Individual B: Co-pilot) Be advised, the vessel is emitting a high concentration of warning pheromone.
\- (Individual A: Pilot) What is the cause?
\- Unknown, it must be related to the examination procedure. Biological danger is expected.
\- Initiate quarantine (closest possible translation) protocols.
(Another time frame)
\- (Unknown: Degraded information): It is confirmed there are highly aggressive biological systems at a nano scale operating in the abducted individual bodies. They have breached containment and has a highly pathological behaviour in the vessel and our body units.
\- How it is possible? We have never found this kind of aggressive pathogen.
\- This planet seems to have a huge collective number of pathogens of multiple scales. I have detected even versions of the basic building unit of these individuals that operate alone in harming their bodies. No visited place by the hive mother has had this number of conflictive systems damaging themselves to survive. It is like the behaviour of the studied individuals but on a little scale.
\- I hereby propose to update danger level to ten. No returning, total quarantine protocol of this planet. Cancel all planned resource extraction operations.
\- I concur. Considering recent events, it is not possible to return this vessel to hive mother, our body units will cease to function properly before a countermeasure can be adopted. Voluntary cease must be adopted to prevent further damage to research data. Do you concur?
\- Yes, I do.
TRANSCRIPTION OFF | Written from the perspective of the one 10th lvl human:
“Aw chill, 10/10. Reddit will love this”
She pulled out her phone and opened r/ relationshipadvice.
*”gotta figure out the best title” *
**Aliens say I’m a lvl 10 threat (25NB she/they), do you think my partner (26NB he/they) will break up with me?(7yr relationship)**
TL:DR If you’re living under a rock: Aleins have decended upon the earth. They’ve been scanning individual humans for weeks to see if we’re a threat. Turns out, I am. I’m the only one. They’re done now and they said I’m the only lvl 10 threat they could find.
I mean, c’mon, they’ve denounced every other human as a lvl 1 threat, but like what *IS* a level one threat anyways? Like is that even a bad thing? “Smaller numbers don’t mean smaller happiness.” Ya, know?
They’re aliens, maybe their numbers are backwards. Maybe they scanned my partner and we’re like “eih, that was a little off” because they probably scan like 100 humans a day these days. Aliens can have interns too, ya know?
Anyways. I just need to know if this is maybe gonna cause a fight from the ~~relationships~ side of Reddit. I have awesome dinner plans for us and I just want to make sure he doesn’t get super stressed out.
His boss has been on him lately for what is essentially the one stat at work we all forget about. It’s different for everyone but there’s always the ONE. The boss tends to do this about every 2 months when their deadlines come up, so it’s kind of understandable, but like I wish the boss would just go easy on him. The boss is usually a pretty cool guy but like why is he so… upity when stressed.
Well… we all resemble our parents when stressed, and it’s not that like my partner would start the fight. They’re a chill person.
*I would start the fight*
Other people being stressed, stresses me out. But people never tell you when they’re stressed. There’s never an “I’m stressed” error that comes out of their mouth. It’s always in the body. A twitch there. A smirk here. A slight change of word pace. An intonation change. A diction change. A nervous movement. A repetitive movement. It’s all physical. It runs our society. The words left unspoken. The yet to be fully realized truths. If you can read between the lines… you’re fine. But if you can’t, you’re lost. You lose that persons grip on understanding when you attempt to change their world view with just words.
But a gentle hand on the shoulder. A “hey, are you ok? I noticed you haven’t talked about (insert niche special interest here) for a while, I saw a twitter post about (special interest twitter post concept) Do you wanna talk about it?” with another human will turn into them telling you what’s stressing them. It’s good to focus on something else for a bit. Even if it’s just a minute before that tense work conversation, that minute prevents days/months/years of emotional turmoil.
Humans are at their best when they know they’re learning, and when they only feel comfortable in that knowledge when OTHERS know they’re learning. If we have the active knowledge that we’re trying to get better, and the other people around us are also trying to get better? Awesome. 10/10 human right there doing human stuff.
The knowledge that humans can change in an instant due to a random thing in their environment triggering a memory/thought/idea is not easy to deal with. It happens to EVERYONE. Regardless of status, class, race, creed, sex, gender, identity, height, weight, age. If that person is biologically human, they will have negative/positive reactions to stressors on their environment.
But that’s just it. Stressors. What is a stressor? Well… everything.
There’s good stress and bad stress. Good stress moves us forward, bad stress holds us back. We have to put some amount of pressure to do things on ourself in modern day society in order to not sit on the couch and consume our favorite media or play our favorite game with friends.
I mean, just think, wouldn’t it be great if money just appeared in our bank account? Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could just do what we wanted? And I don’t think people realize what that means when I say it.
You don’t do what you want, and in the process trample over others. You do what you want because it HELPS others. But you gotta make sure helping people comes first.
Everywhere but your private space, someone else’s needs are above your own. A grocery store? Employees come first, they have to be here every day, if they ask you about the credit card they’re forcing every employee to push no matter how that employee feels? Politely decline. If you can’t do that. Smile, and just stare at them. It’ll be something interesting for them to think about later.
“Wonder what was up with that crazy lady” they’ll say<<but that thought is not this one>> “oh god that nice lady hates me, I’m so terrible at my job”
Is everyone going to think that? No. But most people do. And if they don’t think it consciously, it manifests in rage, short temper, foot tapping, angry tone, anything. Depending on the person it could be anything.
We want to feel good as humans. So let’s check the most boxes for everyone involved. If a human isn’t making the decision themself with all the understanding they need to fully make the decision, the choice they pick will hold us back, even if it temporarily moves us forward in our own self serving ways. We all, as animals, only need what we need to be happy and content. To be content our body needs to be comfortable. To be happy our mind needs to be comfortable. Not perfect. Not fully healed. Not healthy. Just comfortable. Humans are endurance based creatures. We can put up with anything long enough to reach a goal, that goal just has to have a need attached to get it done.
So anyways. I just want to make sure my partner isn’t gonna like, get super stressed and nit picky, so if you have any advice let me know! Thank you so much! <3
*aww wait, I should check to see if r/ relationshipadvice has a word count limit*
She copied her draft, and closed out of the post creator to check the rules/sidebar. In reading through them she remembered every sentence of her post. The reddit mods aren’t going to know her intent, the betterment of the global community, they’re just gonna see a whiny post about her boyfriend that kind-of-sort-of breaks like 3 rules. But it gave her a sense of calm to type it all out at least. Somewhere the data is out there. People just have to find it.
So she pasted the post under her username, because nobody on reddit looks at a username timeline without wanting to figure out who TF has that trash take.
So she clocked post, and closed out the Reddit app. | 2022-08-28T02:18:01 | 2022-08-27T23:35:13 | 100 | 18 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace. | Bloodhaven.
A massive fortress of a city that had grown from the tiny shopping mall we had cleared out and now loomed over the central valley like a dark lords castle. The fertile land that had once surrounded it was now a thick forest that had grown with super natural speed.
Turns out zombies were great fertilizer.
Ever since we made that desperate deal as some of the last humans on earth, the vampires haven't been hiding, save to avoid the sun. They quickly became our leaders, escorting more survivors to the growing settlements in exchange for more and more blood.
They handled the fighting.
We were left with everything else. They told us to farm, produce food, to make off springs.
It should have been fine.
It should have been fine.
Zombies didn't show up to Bloodhaven anymore.
It should have been fine.
But it wasn't.
Deserters were hunted down and killed their families drain in front of them or turned into feral vampire creatures that murdered without reason in search for blood.
We were slaves.
I leaned back against the tree sucking on an orange as I allowed my body to recover from it's most recent draining. Chances are they'd increase tribute once again in the coming years. They wanted to keep us too weak to run to weak to fight back.
There was a reason they had been in hiding before the zombies after all.
A twig snapped from behind me and I jumped to my feet my heart pounding at the thought of a zombie showing up. Instead what I saw was worse. Covered in fur standing on two legs their hulking frames were nearly twice that of a normal man's.
They stared at me.
I them.
"Ahh," I said slowly still aware of the sun on my back. "Werewolves I presume?"
The first nodded and stepped to the side making way for a shirtless man that commanded respect. He spoke with a rough snarl "do you want to fight back?"
He gestured towards bloodhaven.
"Want to be free?" | Julia had plenty of nails, but was running out of boards. Done properly, each of these windows would be completely boarded up, but she had to settle for three boards each, with one of them artfully placed at a diagonal that seemed hurried when in fact she had spent three minutes with a protractor to align each one.
She'd argued with the others on whether the boards should be placed outside or inside, and they'd settled for inside, because although the zombies seemed more able to push them in then pry them off, it was better to be able to fix them while defending. She kind of wished she had screws.
She finished just as the sun was setting. The keening wail arose as she returned the hammer and box of nails to their stockpiles. She ignored it. If you couldn't hear the moaning as well, they were still a ways off.
The floodlights sprang to life. The zombies didn't avoid them the way they did sunlight, but it seemed to slow them down. She picked up her crossbow from where she'd left it. Somebody had gone around during the day and retrieved most of the bolts. She hated when that job came up on the chore wheel. The bolts weren't even sticky, Tarquin did a better job of cleaning them then some of the crew.
She climbed up to the roof and gathered at a post with the rest of the night crew. They'd already pulled up the ladder and were handing out the polearms. Bullets were for emergencies only.
The moaning was audible now. Lots of moaning, it was a big horde.
Tarquin stood on an old milk crate to address the crew. "Places, everyone. You know the score. Bounders first, ignore the shamblers. Shout if you see any Climbers. Julia, you're on task to point out the herd leader. This is a big group, if we can get them squabbling amongst themselves, all the better."
Julia took their pair of binoculars and began scanning the horde. None of them seemed to be directing it, but there was always one in some sort of charge. Get them and the horde would lose its cohesion. With a horde this size, the leader would probably be a Climber.
As she scanned them, and yelled to the others. "The group is avoiding the outer traps. They're going around the kill zone in front of the gate and headed right towards that weak spot in the fence. Whoever's in charge of this group is a smart one."
Tarquin was holding the rifle. "Just find them and tell me who to shoot."
As the Bounders reached the fence, the first crossbow bolts flew. All of them struck flesh, the crew was getting good. The Shamblers all continued churning around in their horde, slowly making their way forward.
Julia continued her search with the binoculars. "Something seems off."
Tarquin looked through his rifle sight. "Yeah, and the wailing just stopped."
The horde seemed to split in two. Julia could see zombies flying into the air and smash into clumps of others. A different wail arose among them as the horde turned and began to shamble away. The Bounders ran ahead, abandoning the rest. The Shamblers continued to fall. Soon there was only one figure left.
Julia could see it clearly in her field glasses. A single blood-splattered figure, walking slowly over the mounds of dead zombies, approaching the compound. It hesitated briefly at the edge of the floodlights, then walked slowly to stand a few dozen yards from the building.
One of the crew loosed a bolt. "Damn it, Hold, you idiots. I wanted to see what this thing was," Tarquin shouted. The figure hadn't fallen. It held the bolt in one hand, where it had caught it.
"One. One crossbow bolt, ah, ah, ah." The figure's laugh was distinctive. "Do not fire another. I am here to offer my help against the corrupted ones."
"Who are you?" Tarquin was pointing the rifle at him.
"I am your savior. A True Child of the Night. One who Hungers. Allow me to approach." The figure didn't wait. They rose up in the air and floated onto the roof.
Tarquin kept the rifle pointed at them. "You didn't answer the question."
"I am one of the Vampyr. Did you not pick that up from the black cape? I mean it's a bit stereotypical, but it really does help with the flying." The figure's cape looked like they had picked it up at a Spirit Halloween store.
"Do you have a name?"
"Call me Lord. Call me Master. Call me Draco, I don't care. Put the gun down, it wouldn't do you any good. I have come to offer you a deal. A simple one. I protect you from the corrupted ones. You feed me. There are enough of you here that none of you need die. It has been getting very hard to find uncorrupted humans and I hunger greatly."
The crew looked at one another. They were tired. They had been tired for weeks. None of them showed fear of the vampire. Julia could tell what decision they would make.
Tarquin grew bold. "You don't like the taste of zombie blood, eh? 'Cause we got plenty of that."
The vampire wrapped his cape around himself. "We cannot feast on the blood of other vampires."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | 2022-10-27T09:39:28 | 2022-10-27T08:26:39 | 50 | 37 |
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a stranded alien who needs humanity to develop interstellar travel to get home
From https://www.reddit.com/r/videos/comments/34i0h9/elon_musk_debuts_the_tesla_powerwall_full_keynote/cqv1cny?sort=top
Edit: Wow, this blew up. Thanks for the gold, whoever gave it, even though the real people deserving of it are all the writers here! | "Mr. Musk?" Francis knocked cautiously at the office door.
"Come In Francis. Tell me everything, how did it go? Was the landing successful?" Elon asked rising from his black leather chair.
"Un..unfortunately sir while the rocket did indeed land back on the barge it was unable to stabilize itself. It..it was a total loss. The maneuvering system is just not capable yet…But we have already started to re-code the core and re-engineer the thruster output." Francis trailed off as he noticed the defeat cloud his bosses face. The CEO turned to the window.
"Thank you Francis…it is not your fault. I will check in with our RD department shortly. Take the rest of the day off, Im sure you need it."
"Yes sir." Said Francis turning to go. "And sir, don't worry we're way ahead of everyone else. We'll figure it out... we'll get you home. We've got plenty of time." With that Francis began to walk out of the office.
"I wish you were right." Said Elon, stopping Francis in his tracks. "Sir?"
"Close the door, and sit down." Francis did as he was told, but the tone of Elon's voice made his blood run cold.
"I never thought I would come to respect a human as much as I do you. Which in a way makes my shame in deceiving you even deeper. He took a deep breath and continued. " I am an advance scout, not a wayward alien. My home world has died, sucked dry of resources and life to support my civilization. Those of my people who survived the fall set to the stars to find a new home. Our scouts went far and wide but the news was never good. Until finally we spotted your small backwater planet. Hope was renewed ten fold and we rejoiced in our salvation. I was sent ahead to prepare this Earth for our arrival. But upon my arrival hope turned to ash. My crash landing in Roswell destroyed my ship and my only means of communication. My only way to warn my people.." He trailed off.
"Warn them? Warn them of what, of us?" Francis was struggling to understand.
"No." Said Elon. "To warn them that by the time they arrive this planet will have died as well."
Edit: Typo
Edit 2: Oh man thanks for all the kind comments everyone. Glad so many people are enjoying my story!
Edit 3: Whoa, my first gold! I am humbled and honored, thank you. | From the Desk of Elon Musk:
I’m not sure why I am even addressing the audacious, ludicrous concerns that have been plaguing me of late, the belief that I am some sort of “stranded alien” trying to get home. Such accusations, such outrageous statements have no place in the media. They should exist only in fairy tales, in fiction novels and the land of make-believe. To even have to sit down at my computer and type out an explanation as to how I am not, in fact, a stranded alien attempting to utilize Earth’s technology to create interstellar travel and return home is absolutely insane. Yet here I am, sitting at my computer and typing away.
I want to begin by making it absolutely, abundantly clear that I am not, in any way whatsoever, a “stranded alien.” First and foremost, those that saw the photograph of “me without skin,” that was simply a picture taken after a particularly intense massage that happened to leave me looking green and scaly. I assure you that I fired that masseuse. I mean, look at me: I’m just a typical human being, not an alien in a costume. Sure, I might have a slightly higher level of intelligence than your run-of-the-mill Earthling, but does that really make me an alien? Does having the ability to create profitable companies and revolutionary technologies make me any less human? I don’t think so, I don’t believe that is how things work. I mean, I’ve grown up on this planet; I’ve lived my entire life on this planet. I am, for all intents and purposes, a Earthling. This is my home, I am definitely not stranded, and even less so banished. I have no intention of leaving here for some ridiculous land of make believe, such as the planet Vergaeon X in the Andromeda galaxy. To make that claim would be simple insanity.
That said, the rumors of my foray into interstellar travel are true; I have indeed been looking into the possibilities of harnessing Earth’s energy for galactic travel. There’s nothing wrong with that, though. It’s not like my actions would result in the destruction of all living things. That’s hardly the case. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it probably isn’t the case at all maybe. Regardless, though, what does it matter? Who isn’t researching interstellar travel these days? I mean, and this is going to be largely anecdotal, just last week I saw a child at a science fair present a diorama displaying an interstellar space ship from the show *Star Trek*. Was that youth’s humanity brought into question? No, absolutely not. He was simply accepted as a human, seen the same as his peers. Yet here I am, sitting at a computer and trying to argue against the insane statement that I am not human. Instead, I am forced to explain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have no intention of sacrificing the Earth and all of its inhabitants so I can return to a planet that I once called home.
In regards to my interstellar travel research, I’d like to further clear up the misconception that it is an attempt to get home. That is absolutely, 100%, not the case at all. As I’ve already established, I am home. Earth is my home. Furthermore, my research is absolutely not inspired by a burning desire to return to a planet that had forsaken me, to look my father in the eyes and laugh as he and his allies burn. That is not who I am; I am not an inter-galactic terrorist responsible for heinous acts on Vergaeon X. I am just an inventor, a billionaire, and a role model. I only want to enhance the lives of humanity, to make space travel a regular occurrence, not figure out a way to sacrifice Earth’s primitive technology to return to some “planet” that may or may not exist.
Now, I’d like to quickly address a concern that I feel might arise from my last paragraph: I am not, in any way, an intergalactic space terrorist banished to Earth following the death of millions in a war for profit. In no way, shape, or form did I attempt to overthrow the leadership on Vergaeon X and amass an army of cyborgs—whom were shaped very similarly to my beloved “Tesla” vehicle. That is simply insane, an outrageous accusation that has no place within intelligent culture. To even assume that I am attempting to recreate that army here on Earth, first by developing the evil that is PayPal to fund my acts, and then working toward luring you into a false sense of security with the widespread acceptance of the Tesla, that is insane. They are cars and are absolutely not sentient, nor lying dormant and awaiting my command. In fact, don’t even think about that anymore. It’s so crazy that it doesn’t merit any thoughts whatsoever. Just forget I even mentioned it.
So, with that, I’d like to conclude by thanking all of my supporters. Those who have stood by me during these insane allegations, those who defended me when I was “photographed” without my skin, those who denied the ludicrous claims that Teslas were beginning to make their own decisions. That is not how reality works; I am not stealing your money to amass an army of cyborgs and create a technology that would utterly demolish humanity and the land on which it lives, a technology that would be incredibly beneficial for righting the wrongs that have been done to me on a distant world. That is simply fiction. The reality is that I am a human, just a simple man trying to make the world a better place. That’s it.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-05-01T11:07:56 | 2015-05-01T09:56:37 | 1,925 | 150 |
[WP] Pitch a gritty reboot for a children's show.
They seem to be all the rage these days, so, why not bring the fun to Saturday morning? | She was beautiful, rich and charismatic. She was also the brutal leader of an international crime ring. After many years in her organization I committed the ultimate sin, I developed a conscience. When her thugs killed my family and left me beaten and penniless in the streets of Beijing I dedicated my life to a single purpose. Revenge…
She is always on the move, just outside my reach as I chase her from country to country. But I promise you, when I discover where in the world Carmen Sandiego is, I’m going to kill her.
| I charged into the doctor's office, cut and bruised, with my arm broken, and blood trickling down my nose.
"Jesus, Raphael! You look horrible!" The doctor and nurse rush to my aid as I collapse on his chair.
"Hello, doc. Hello, nurse." They begin to clean me up as the nurse injects me with morphine. The pain goes away nearly instantaneously.
"Oh god, how did I get myself into this?" She begins weeping while throwing out the syringe. I can't blame her. This situation has gone completely over our heads.
"I can't keep this up. These wackos are too much. The chaos they've caused has nearly destroyed the place. I shudder to think if they were to be let loose on the city."
"You need to continue." The doctor said. His German accent was difficult to discern sometimes. Especially if you had just taken a hammer to the noggin. "If ze higher ups knew zat ve let zese beasts out of captivity, zey'd kill us all."
"They don't know that yet, Otto." I said through my teeth. "Not unless you told them."
"I TOLD ZEM NOSINK!" He screams, throwing down the gauze. The nurse picks it up and starts bandaging my arm. She was always very nice to me.
"What would happen if we all left? Just the three of us? We don't even have to tell TP about the escaped creatures."
The nurse had a point, the CEO won't be back for another week. I had been ready to turn in my badge for a while now. This studio has done nothing for us except cut our pay and increase our hours. No job security was worth this.
"What do you say, Doc? Want to go with the nurse and leave? These monsters will destroy the place, run off, and then it's the federal government's job to take care of them."
"VE HAD A JOB. IT VAS YOU WHO LET ZE CREATURES OUT IN ZE FIRST PLACE!!!"
I pulled out my revolver and shoved it into the doctor's face. "TP had me guarding the creatures with a fucking net. He doesn't care about us. I had to buy this piece of shit from fucking Wal-Mart. Do you think he wants them caged up? No. There's a reason he was so quick to leave for vacation so soon. He won't be back next week for work, he'll be back next week to collect the insurance money once those three have burned down the entire place."
"How can you know zis?"
"I found them." I slammed a pile of papers on Doc's desk. The nurse started rifling through them.
"These... These are insurance forms. Thaddeus took out a huge insurance policy for the lot!" She started crying, collapsing onto the desk.
"Doc, you know these beasts. You've been trying to evaluate their mental state for a while. Are they capable of anything else besides chaos?"
The doctor thought long and hard about this. He started digging his hands into his bald head, like he was trying to pull out an answer from his brain.
"No... Zey have no hope."
"Then we have no other choice. We gotta leave this place behind. These things can conjure up practically any item from seemingly nowhere and use them to destroy anything they want. If the US Government can't stop them, nobody can."
"So, what? We just leave?" The nurse's makeup has run down her face.
"That's right." I pack my gun away. "Plotz has given us nothing, and asked everything in return. I say we let these creatures destroy the place before they kill us all."
"So vere vill ve go?"
"Anywhere else but here." I say, straightening my tie. "I don't care who deals with them, but it won't be me anymore. Let's see if someone else can stop the Warner Brothers and the Warner Sister." | 2015-10-08T09:34:42 | 2015-10-08T08:50:55 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You are a low level employee at NASA, and aliens just started communicating, but you didn't expect to actually have to work this week, and you keep trying to end the conversation so you can go home. | **[INCOMING SIGNAL]**
*Beginning Binary to Text Conversion*
**Incoming:** Greetings Earth. We come from the tip of Orion's Arm, located approximately 400,000 light years from your solar system. We are using a local satellite in order to beam messages to your home planet, currently orbiting Jupiter. There will be a reply delay of approximately 20 minutes. We look forward to your reply.
**Outgoing:** K. |
"Almost five o'clock" you think to yourself as you sat on the toilet dicking around on your phone for the third time in the last hour.
Your boss stopped giving you shit about constantly going to the bathroom towards the end of every day, last week after you told him that whole IBS story, not that it mattered considering all you did all day was stare at a blank screen all day. "Non-terrestrial communications specialist" was the most impressively hollow job title you'd held since you were a "consumer relationship and satisfaction agent" behind the service desk at Target trying to pay for your B.A.. On the bright side it was Cooper's birthday today so you would have something to do after work besides watch Always Sunny on Netflix. You were actually pretty pumped for his birthday now that you thought of it, you hadn't gone out in awhile and were somewhat hoping to get laid tonight. Only 20 mins to go and the night could begin.
Walking back to your desk you see and frantically blinking light on the side of the screen, you faintly remember from your training that this meant too plug in your headset but couldn't remember much else. Your training was four years ago and you hadn't used any of it until now.
You plug in your headset and hear a shrill voice "Repeating: does planet TXG45789-YT receive message. Detection of life positive and dialect established. Response necessary."
"Holy shit" you think to yourself, "I never thought this would actually happen" you had never really even believed in aliens you just took this job because your brother in law worked at NASA and could get you the gig. You never once thought you'd actually communicate with aliens, he probably didn't either or he would've given the job to somebody more qualified.
Your initial excitement fades when you realize how big of a deal this is. This is the first time humans have communicated with extra terrestrial life and it's you on the line. This will be a huge deal. You are gonna have to talk to these beings for days, then there will be reports to be written, interviews to partake in, questions to answer. That's a lot of work and you were supposed to break your "dry spell" in a few hours.
"Fuck" you think
"Message received, processing now" you hear from the headset.
"Did I say that out loud?" you wonder.
"Message processed:Reproduction is not viable between our two beings" the alien voice says.
You're confused at first, was this alien coming onto you? It's then that you realize the first human contact with extra terrestrials was you dropping the F bomb to these aliens, and they took it literally.
"John Oliver would have a field day with this one" you thought as you heard the next message coming in.
"Resource collection negotiation will begin now" the voice says.
"Oh man this is a bigger deal than I thought, what do these things want with earth?" You glance at the clock on your screen and see it is already 5:12.
"Resource collection denied" you say hoping this will end the communication and let you get out of work, this was crazy and all but so is going without sex for 8 months after a breakup
"Resources must be collected, what is to be returned" the voice says, slightly deeper now.
Seeing as these beings have clearly done this before and are presumably more advanced than humans you decide to give it only one more shot "Resource collection granted, you may begin in one rotation of our planet"
"Agreed" the voice says, almost as if it's asking.
You take your headset off and power walk to the door, you only have 24 hours to get laid and skipped the shower this morning. | 2015-12-30T01:45:57 | 2015-12-30T00:35:34 | 76 | 29 |
[WP] You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you have just been wished into existence by a nerd with a genie. | "Why isn't she alive?" said a girl's voice, from far away.
The response came in a voice that crackled like fire and boomed like lightning. "I already told you that I cannot create life."
"Yes, but I expected you to just bring her here like the - "
I opened my eyes. The girl gave a tiny gasp and fell silent.
We stood on a windy beach, no trace of civilization visible in any direction. The girl wore glasses and a natural 20 t-shirt. A short distance behind her was a wooden shack. Beyond that, the sand was covered as far as the eye could see with crabs, sitting perfectly still.
And then there was the genie. Its hair and eyes were fire, its body more like extreme heat haze than solid flesh. A violent wind surrounded it, flinging sand in all directions except toward us.
I put a hand to my chest, feeling for a pulse. "Pretty sure I'm alive," I said.
The genie laughed, a sound like a series of gunshots in rapid succession. I fell to the sandy ground, clutching my ears.
By the time I was in a shape to get up again, it was gone. I sighed.
The girl was still here, getting to her feet and brushing dust from her clothes just like I was. "I take it I was your third wish?" I asked.
She looked at me, then averted her eyes. "You were."
"What were your first two?"
"An army of loyal mooks and a secret island base."
The crabs, the shack. "In the jokes," I said, "people use their last two wishes to try to fix the first one."
She scoffed. "Yeah, and you know how well that always turns out. I had a plan. Do you see how many crabs he gave me? He thought he was sabotaging my wish, but I can work with this." She still wasn't looking directly at me.
I laughed. "Fair enough," I said. I put my hand over my heart again, frowning... it was still beating. "Why did you think I wasn't alive?"
"You just... weren't moving," she said. "Like a statue. But then you took a breath, and you seem perfectly alive to me now."
"The genie seemed less than convinced," I observed.
"Yeah."
We waited in silence for a while. I watched her overseeing her crabs, wordlessly directing them to comb over the island, pick up sticks, dance in strange patterns. The crabs really did seem like less of a joke than they had at first.
"So," I finally said, "am I?"
For once she turned to look back at me. "Alive?" she asked.
"The most beautiful woman on earth."
Her mouth hung open for a moment and she blushed. "Um... yeah," she said breathlessly.
I smiled, walking over to take her hand. "Alright, supervillain. Show me how we get off this island." | "You, I have seen you before haven't I?"
No response, as if he has just lost his breath. His face reddens and his mouth opens as if he was grasping for air.
"Hello? Have I seen you before?"
Again, silence roared throughout the room. I've been in this room before, I forgot where, but I have been here before everything seems so familiar. The bed on the floor and the milk crate table in the corner. This screams college student budgeting all over it.
So, I must have seen him during college, who is he?
"I, I, I've missed you," he whispered as if to himself.
Why does he miss me? Who is this kid?
"Who are you?"
"Don't you remember me? We always hung out and we made each other laugh like hyenas," he stated.
I remember now. I had fallen for him, but then fallen for another guy shortly after. Then he confessed that he liked me. He was always there for me, but I just didn't feel the same. If only time was on our side, then it might have worked out. But, why am I here?
"You were dead. I bought a novelty genie lamp from a pawn shop and jokingly wished for the most beautiful women, and you came back. You came back..." he wimpers as a tear slowly falls down from his eye.
I was dead? How? When?
He leaps towards me and tackles me onto his futon and latches on to me. Tears streaming down onto my shoulders. His warmth transferring to my surprisingly cold body. I remember now, we had wrestled here before. I just lay there and stare at my friend, my dear friend balling his eyes out.
Something isn't right though. I wasn't really there was I? That's right I am just a figment of his imagination as he drinks and drinks away since the incident. If I was her, I am sorry. I am sorry that you had to fall for me. I am sorry that I had made you feel, I am sorry that you are in despair.
=======================================================================
Newer Version
=======================================================================
"You! I have seen you before haven't I?" I proclaimed.
No response, as if he had just lost his breath. His face reddens and his mouth opens as if he was grasping for air. He was muttering, but it is inaudible.
"Hello? Have I seen you before? Can you hear me?" I inquired.
Again, silence roared throughout the room as if it was dominating us, as if we were submissive. I've been in this room before. I forgot when, but I have been here before everything seems so familiar. The futon on the floor and the poker table in the corner, obviously the owner is under a budget. Like a field mouse within the hold of a corn snake, a college student must budget their necessities carefully otherwise next thing you know you go down the hole. I know now. I must have seen him during college, were we friends, enemies, or lovers?
"I, I, I've missed you…" he whispered silently filling this vacant room with sound.
Why does he miss me? Who is this kid? Were we close?
"Who are you?" I inquired for the third time.
“Do you not remember me? Do you remember those times we spent together doing our homework and projects? Do you remember when we spent those late nights together talking? Do you remember the times we spent together that felt like ages but lasted only seconds?” he said with an exasperated tone.
We must have been close, if we spent that much time together and if he feels that deeply about me. But, how come I don’t remember him?
“No…” I replied.
“How do you not remember me? I remember your birthday, October 12th 1995. You made you a birthday card the second week I knew you. After a whole semester I finally had the balls to confess to you that I fell in love with you. You said we weren’t meant to be, since you only saw me as a friend or a brother. It didn’t matter to me however I still loved you anyways, since love is unconditional,” he whimpered with tears starting to flow from his eyes.
I remember now. I was infatuated with him at first. He was the nicest guy, he cared about me, and he remembered every detail about me and was always there for me. If time was on our side we could have been together, however by the time he confessed I had fallen for another guy and I no longer had feelings for him. But, why am I here and why can I not remember how I even got here?
"I bought a genie lamp from the thrift shop. I rubbed it with all the care in the world and wished for the most beautiful girl to appear as a joke. I didn’t expect anything, but I had wished to see you again. You were dead. A ripped dress was found by a farm, and just down the stream they found your body. I thought I would never be able to speak to you again. I thought I lost a friend. I thought that you left me forever.”
This is a joke isn’t it? How is this even possible?
Suddenly, he leaps towards me and tackles me onto his futon and latches on to me as if I were to disappear again. Tears were streaming down onto my shoulders. His warmth transferring to my surprisingly cold body. I remember now, we had wrestled here before, tossing pillows at each other. I had leaned in for a kiss, but he must have been too afraid to reciprocate back then. He is crying, as if his eyes were a river that continuously funneled into waterfalls that would break upon the rocks which were my shoulders.
Something isn't right though, honestly how can the dead come back to life? I’m not really here am I? That's right I am him. I am just a figment of his imagination after she, no I, passed I’ve been drinking myself into this mess of a man. If I was her, I am sorry. I am sorry that you had to fall for me. I am sorry that I had made you feel rejection. I am sorry that you are in despair. I am sorry that you are now alone.
Lastly, I am sorry for drinking myself to this state, I am sorry my friend, please forgive the world for what we’ve done to you.
| 2016-03-09T04:26:15 | 2016-03-08T23:31:10 | 145 | 50 |
[WP] A cosplayer gets warped to the world/universe of the character they're cosplaying | The following excerpts are taken from a recent VR experiment, in which cosplayers were convinced that they were within the world of the cosplayed character. Each one was recorded as speech of the cosplayer, as they were introduced to the new world.
**Character: Rammus. World: Valoran. Source: League of Legends. Location: Summoner's Rift**
"AAAAAAAHHHHHH HOLLLY SHIIIIIIT WHAAAAT THE FUCK IS GOING OOOOOONNNN"
The subject was then reported to have vomited. Repeatedly.
**Character: The Adventurer. World: Gielenor. Source: RuneScape. Location: Grand Exchange**
"Uhhhhhhhhh....
...
...
...
... buying GF 50 GP"
Witnesses reported synethesia, and were convinced the words were waving up and down in technicolor.
**Character: Ash Ketchum. World: Pokemon Universe. Source: The Pokemon Anime. Location: Route 34**
The subject was not reported to have said anything. However, a secondary monitor revealed that a concerted effort was made to see Misty's breasts.
**Character: Batman. World: DC Universe. Source: Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy. Location: Gotham Alleyway**
"I'M BATMAN."
**Character: Chef's Dad. World: South Park Universe. Source: South Park. Location: Lake**
"WHADDYA WANT FROM US MONSTAH!?"
"I AIN'T GIVIN' YOU NO TREE FIDDY YOU GODDAMN LOCH NESS MONSTER"
At which point witnesses realized that the man conducting the study was cosplaying an eight story tall crustacean from the paleozoic era.
| Groaning, Bill raised his head and pulled prickly long grass out of his nostrils. As he got up, he brushed the damp dirt clinging to the tips of his long, blond hair.
He was standing in the middle of a beautiful meadow, the kind one only saw in postcards. What the hell? Last he remembered, he'd been at a convention—shit, what was its name again? All of a sudden, there'd been this bright flash, and then—
His knees almost buckled at the sudden, stabbing pain in his left temple. Shit, did someone slip him a roofie?
Taking his phone out of his costume, he squinted at the screen. Not a single bar. No mobile signal, no data coverage whatsoever. How could that be?
"Must've been Bailey's idea," he muttered to himself as he tried GPS. "She's always coming up with weird prank shit."
"Quill, come here!"
He glanced up to see a teenager hurrying toward him. Perfect, someone who could tell him where he was.
"Hi there!" he said, waving.
To his surprise, the boy yelled and almost fell in his haste to back away. "It talks!" he said, breathless. "It talks."
Bill sighed. "Normally, I'd just say 'Jynx, Jynx' and do a little pirouette, but I'm kinda lost here."
The boy was waving a red device at him, which was evidently a version of a Pokedex he'd never seen before. "How come it can talk?" he was saying to it.
"Very funny," Bill said. "Am I still at the convention? Did I wander into the kiddie section? Boo! Here I am, toss your Pokeball—"
The red-white ball smacked him in the forehead and bounced off. He yelled in pain and rubbed the spot. "Shit, kid, I was just joking."
"Quill, hurry up!" The boy had another Pokeball in his hand, and an eager expression. "Let's catch this Jynx. It talks!"
"You've got it all wrong! My name is Bill—" He tugged at his gown, which was uncomfortably tight now that he wasn't in an air-conditioned hall.
The boy gasped. "Bill? You're the famous Bill? The one who created the—"
"Yeah, yeah, that's me," Bill said.
"Bill's tall and skinny though. You're fat," the boy said.
"I put on a lot of weight, all right? Now will you tell me how to get back to Hall E in time for the Dr. Strange panel?"
The ground exploded beside him suddenly, showering him with dirt. A creature leaped out of the hole and landed next to the boy. Sunlight glinted off its bladed hands and the horn over its head.
Bill's jaw dropped. "Ex—Excadrill?"
The boy smiled. "My best Pokemon. I'm going to battle you with him, weird Jynx."
"No, I'm not—"
"Metal Claw!"
Bill barely avoided the Pokemon's slash when it leaped at him. It snarled and began circling him. Those claws looked like they could rip steel apart.
"Think of something, think of something," Bill said, backing away. Suddenly, he felt something being pressed against his back. Turning around, he saw that it was another Pokeball.
"Idiot!" he said, slapping it aside.
"Excadrill, use Dig!" the boy cried.
"This isn't happening." Bill swooned, head swimming. Maybe it was the heat and the stupid gown ... this was the last time he cross-dressed for a convention.
Without warning, he was thrown off his feet when Excadrill burst out at him from below ground. He went rolling away, flattening the grass, while the boy cheered. Instead of feeling pain, however, everything became crystal clear to him in an instant.
What moves did Jynx have?
"Here's an Ice Punch for ya," he said, jumping up and slugging the boy's Pokemon across the face.
To his amazement, frost bloomed from his gloved fist. This time, Excadrill went flying. The young trainer looked dumbfounded.
Bill laughed and began wobbling. "Take that, you little shit. You'll never get the better of Jynx! Jynx. Jynx."
He grabbed his throat, which was suddenly dry. A rosy tint had come over his vision, and he realized he was looking up at the kid instead of down.
"You ... you are a Pokemon," the boy said.
"Jynx! Jynx, Jynx, Jynx," Bill wailed.
The trainer grinned as his Excadrill rejoined him, slamming its claws together. "Gonna catch me a Jynx today, Quill."
***
*I hope you enjoyed this. If you did, do check out [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!* | 2016-07-24T09:14:45 | 2016-07-24T08:38:13 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] After brushing your teeth in the morning you go downstairs to fry an egg, but when you try the frying pan buzzes at you and text appears reading, "level 18 cooking required to use object". | The cast iron pan vibrated on the stovetop with a magnetized hum, resisting Charlene's grip. "Damn it!" she said, and grabbed at it again, and it dragged back down against her arm. She gripped it tight with two hands and the whole pan upturned to the floor and spun to rest with a loud clang. *Level 18 cooking required* read the words, bright and flashing.
"I have cooked!" Charlene yelled at the pan, clutching her bathrobe closed. "I have cooked eggs for decades, I have cooked roasts, I have cooked - I have cooked souffles, you damn pan!" She crouched down, her knees pressing against the linoleum in her thin pajama bottoms, and scraped her fingers around the edges of the pan. It had turned upside-down, and it was impossible to find leverage. *Level 18* it repeated. *Level 18*. "I am - I have cooked for three boys and two girls, and I - Gah!" she said, and waved a chipped fingernail. "I am more than level 18!" she said, and stood. The pan regarded her implacably, a single stern black eye.
"Fine!" Charlene said, and marched to the refrigerator. "Fine then, fine then!" She yanked out the bread and stuffed slices into the toaster and tried to push the lever down. *Level 4 required* it said, and refused to move. "Toast!" gasped Charlene. "No! Oh no you don't! I know I'm at least level 4!" The microwave's buttons were like painted-on markings underneath her fingers. *Level 10 required* it said. "God!" she said. The knives in their chopping block were a level 15. Charlene began ransacking the cupboards, emptying the fridge. Milk, oatmeal, canned tuna, bran cereal, prunes, cocoa mix, tea bags, tomatoes. The pots and pans were useless, the stove refused to turn on, blinking *level 16* at her. The can opener hissed at her and blinked *level 12*. In desperation she grabbed a bowl and held in under the sink, listening to the water rush in. She threw in the tea bags, the cocoa mix, the oatmeal, and sloshed it together with a spoon. "I know how to cook!" she yelled. "I've been cooking all my life! I know how to cook!"
"Mom?" a voice said, and she looked up to see a strange man standing in her kitchen in a wifebeater and pajama bottoms, hair running down his forearms. He was - she blinked. He looked familiar.
"Who are you?" she said cautiously, pointing the dripping spoon at him.
"Mom," he said, and stepped forward. "It's me. Darryl. I'm your son."
"Darryl," she said, and slumped backwards against the counter. "I was - I wanted to cook breakfast for you." She looked helplessly around the kitchen. "Before you went to school."
"It's three in the morning, mom," he said. "And I haven't gone to school in over thirty years."
"Haven't you?" Charlene muttered, and looked around at the overturned pan, the spilled oatmeal, the cabinet doors hanging open. "I just - I just came down here to cook, and the pan, the pan wouldn't let me, it said I had to be level - I don't know, level something or another, and you know I can cook, Darryl, I've cooked for you and your brothers and sisters and your father, I've been cooking all my life..."
"Of course," Darryl said, and put his arm around her, gently prising the spoon out of her grip. "But I can cook just find on my own, mom. C'mon. C'mon. Let's get you back to bed, okay?"
"I can cook," Charlene whispered, as he led her back to the stairs. "Someone changed the levels, Darryl. I could cook. If they've just give me the chance."
"You don't have to anymore," Darryl said, his body massive next to hers. She leaned wearily against him. "C'mon mom. Let's get you back upstairs and into bed. I'll take care of you. I'll cook something for you, how about that?"
As he led her out, Darryl tapped some buttons on the wall and reset the kitchen, pots and pans and groceries returning to their proper places. *Level 4 required* flashed a message across the kitchen door, an invisible wall shimmering into place. | "Fuck this" I thought, "I'm not grinding bowls of cereal again, where's the nearest trainer?"
According to my GPS, there was a cooking trainer at the local cafe, two blocks away. Must be new, hadn't been there 4 weeks ago. Did my area get patched again?
I checked the public feed for info while I walked but couldn't see anything about an update in my district. Must be a new player-run-business.
I came to a small hole-in-the-wall.
"Hi" I said to the slightly-built redhead behind the counter, "are you the chef?"
"Yep" she said, "what can I get you today?"
"Uh, training?"
"Training?"
"Absolutely" I said. "How much each level?"
"What's your current skill level?"
"14"
"Fuck me dead," she broke into a laughing fit "You mean you're a grown player out of tutoring and you can't even fry an egg with a pan? What do you do, cook with your microwave and eat cereal?"
I shuffled uncomfortably to one side.
"Holy shit," her mouth remained open.
"I was level 22, I was cooking mince and pasta last week."
"And?"
"Drinking session, picked up an alcohol poisoning trait over the weekend."
"But the XP loss-"
"Heavy drinking session. I picked up the trait when I woke up in hospital."
"Oh," her expression changed "that sounds unfortunate."
"So, how much to get to level 18 today?"
She mulled it over for a moment.
"Look," she said, taking in my 5 day old stubble, smell of mi goreng, and tomato sauce stains. "You seem like you could use a decent meal, how about this. You buy breakfast here, and I'll teach you 4 levels for...$200."
"$200? That's absurd! The trainers at the technical center only charge $30 a level!"
"Well I'm a small business owner, do you see anyone else cooking here?" She gestured into the tiny kitchen directly behind her. "Not to mention any other staff? I have to do everything here, wait tables, clean, cook, take money-"
I looked around as she continued rattling off complaints.
"You have one high bar table and four chairs" I said, cutting her off. "Counting the size of the kitchen and the counter here that gives you a total floor space of about 4 square meters. Sounds like it's easy enough to manage by yourself."
"You forgot the tables and chairs outside, dipshit."
I looked out the front.
"You mean the milk crates and pallets out there?"
"It's artisanal you plebeian. Hand made from recycled materials. For the aesthetic."
"What, hobo chic?"
She huffed. "Well well, look who put all their points each year into INT and witticisms. How's that *renumerate* you for your clearly *erudite interjections* into the *operating populace*?" She let each longer word hang like she was pronouncing the name of a rare artifact.
"I do ok! I write for a respected magazine."
"Well you should be able to afford $200 then!"
"You know what, fuck it. I'm going to go home and microwave my fucking eggs and you can deal with it. They've got something in common with yours actually, they were fated to remain unfertilized for their entire existence."
"Fucking misogynist cunt"
"In your dreams, Julia Child. Best of luck feeding people in your public toilet."
"Told her" I thought, walking back to my house.
The egg was cracked into my noodles and put in the microwave. Truth be told I really did only have my high INT stat and a lot of things in the speech skills tree, wit and humor being the main two. I had thought when I finished my tutorial that a high INT would set me up for life with an easy gold farm and whatever I couldn't talk my way through I could just pay for. Unfortunately, many others seemed to have thought of my same plan for an comfortable life and I was struggling to find any decent work. Writing sex comics was the best I could do, I didn't even draw them, just scripted them. They were so crass and simple, I enjoyed the humor opportunities but honestly the punchl-.
And then my microwave exploded. The egg had popped, and I'd been unlucky enough to fail a random chance save and my egg somehow had critically hit my microwave. It was now a steaming pile of electronics that I had no electronics skill to repair with.
"Fuck"
--------------
I walked back into the shop with the redhead chef.
"Oh hello, back again?"
"Yeah, just looking for a meal please."
"Oh, what happened to your grand microwaved banquet you were preparing?"
I looked at her and grunted. "Just your cheapest breakfast please."
I paid my money and she walked around to cook it for me.
I stared out the tiny window to the street outside. Player transport moved past. Players in raiding parties coming back from dungeons, combat-based an otherwise, tutors dropping off noobs to starting areas for tutorial quests, high level players walking past in epic gear, posing with it for photos because they could.
I wished I had some epic loot. The best dungeon I'd raided was 8 months ago, I went drinking at a tavern with some friends and then we went off to a nightclub and completed a series of fetch quests. Then they went to stomp goblins and I got ganked by a trio of rouges, they stole my +2 PER mirror shades and the book of medical science I had received as a quest reward that night. Then when I chased them they lead me into a large square outside the club, froze me with an ice blizzard potion, and pickpocketed my underwear off me. Fucking greifer cunts.
"So, you always been a grumpy writer?" asked the red head.
"Yeah. You always been a chef?"
"Yeah. Kinda fell into it. Had a thing for cooking, but was trying to be a space miner actually. Then on one of my first dungeons I looted a +30 cooking hat from an epic zombie that my friends and I had all worked together to take down. It was all I got out of it, cost me $400 worth of HP potions."
"And so you decided to be a chef there and then?"
"Well yeah, I had nothing else going on but a shitty McJob I was using to grind my speech skills tree. So why not?"
She turned and smiled at me while saying this, proud of her achievement. I admit I was too, she'd taken her opportunity and jumped at it, build and stats be dammed.
"Well, you've done a hell of a lot more then me. I'm impressed, you seem like a really motivated player. I write porn."
Her eyebrows raised at that.
"Comic porn in shitty magazines" I continued "it's a fucking grind by at least I'm using my skills, right?"
"And do you like writing porn, Mr Ron Jeremy?" she said, continuing to smile at me.
"The job blows, but then again it also sucks. And sucks pretty good."
We both chuckled at my awful joke, me perhaps a little too long.
"Anyway," she said, "here's your eggs."
"Thank you" said the masked man standing in the doorway. "I'm starving." He'd arrived out of nowhere with his two friends outside at sometime.
He grabbed the plate off the counter.
"Mmmm, I've been so horny all day" he said unzipping his pants. He then proceeded to tea-bag the plate. His friends started pissing themselves with laughter, rolling around on the pavement.
"Fucking greifers" she said.
"Tell me about it" I said.
A moment passed while we let the arseholery in front of us continue.
Finally, she spoke again.
"Hey, you got any small arms skill?"
"Yeah, level 20."
Eyebrows were raised.
"Want this shotgun?"
EDIT: I keep noticing mistakes with repeated words or misspellings. Nothing is being rewritten! Will continue tomorrow/at a later date. | 2016-10-25T06:05:10 | 2016-10-25T05:56:20 | 278 | 146 |
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
this was a post on /r/CrazyIdeas. I thought it would make an excellent prompt. | The letter came. It actually came.
Right there at the top of the cream coloured envelope were the logos for the IOC and the Government of Canada. My hands shook. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had become an everyday Olympian, but it was actually happening to **me**.
Most people were terrified they'd be selected but I was ready. Like any good Canadian I'd learned to skate when I was still learning to walk. I lived and breathed sports. I trained year round. Growing up in British Columbia, in the heart of the Rockies, I had been forged by the land itself. No hill was too steep. No course was too long. I could hang with the best of them across the sports. Hell I even learned how to curl. I was ready.
I couldn't help but smile as I tore open the envelope. Whatever was there, I was ready. In my heart, I knew it. My eyes raced across the page and as they did the smile slipped from my lips and I reeled like I'd been gut punched. The papers slipped my hand to the fresh, morning snow.
"CONGRATULATIONS!" they read, "You have been selected to represent Canada at the 2024 Olympic Summer Games!" | [Continuation of a response I wrote several months ago]( https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/50sao4/wp_the_olympic_athletes_are_chosen_like_jury_duty/d770h7k/)
TLDR (of previous response); The Olympics are more like death games now. Wax bullets in the dueling event were replaced with real bullets. Fencing swords were replaced with real swords. Wrestling matches were until one of the competitors hearts stopped. Gymnasts had to do their routines over spiked pits. Ski jumps and pole vaults launched themselves over pits of lava. Bobsledders had to outrun avalanches. Swimmers and runners had to race against starved predators. Pretty much every sport was replaced with some horrifically violent version.
----------------
My lungs protested as I tried to keep my legs moving, each step harder to take than the last. Why was I here? Why wasn’t my sister chosen? Why had I been sentenced to die? The questions would always go unanswered, but it was soothing to keep asking why. Finally, I saw the finish line ahead of me. Despite the aching in my limbs, I pushed forward, knowing the end was near. I crossed the line, and my legs immediately gave out. I tumbled and skid across the ground until coming to a stop, bruised and battered, and stared up at the sky. Footsteps approached me, but I didn’t acknowledge them.
“You skipped the mandatory athletic courses, didn’t you?” the trainer asked as he towered over me, scribbling on his clipboard and blocking the sun from my view.
“I mean, I went to them, but the instructor just signed off on a passing grade. I’ve always excelled at more intellectual pursuits.” I barely managed to speak between labored breaths. I didn’t want to think about how bad my qualifying score was, so instead, I just put shapes to the clouds. It didn’t do much to quell the intrusive thoughts over my likely demise, but it did wonders on relaxing my heart beat to a metronome more attuned to Moonlight Sonata as opposed to the post-workout Brandenburg Concerto No. 5.
“It shows. My grandma could probably outrun you, and she’s had both knees and hips replaced.” His tone was condescending but light hearted. My breathing had stopped sounding as ragged as a race horse so I groaned as I pushed myself up into a sitting position.
“See? She has robot legs, I think that’s hardly a fair assessment.” He wasn’t amused by this, instead holding out a hand to help me to my feet. Sadly, Paul had the best sense of humor of all the trainers, though it left much to be desired. The general atmosphere of the Olympic training facility was somber and serious. Even though my future was bleak and my outlook dim, I tried to have a sense of humor. Most of the time it was a choice between finding a way to laugh or breaking down and crying. I sighed and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull me up. I assessed my injuries. Unfortunately, it seemed as though I would live….
“Looking over your chart. Gymnastics is a definite no. You have the flexibility of an oak board. Skiing… no, wrestling… no, dueling… you showed the most promise in that you able to shoot the gun in the right direction so at least that’s something, running… I’m going to have to say no. Best case, you could outrun a sloth or maybe a tortoise.” I grimaced as he went through the list. There was still a plethora of activities for me to try out, but I wasn’t very confident in my chances with any of them.
“Hey now, in that one story, the tortoise beat the hare.” My protest to his statement was weak, but the corner of his lip twitched up in almost a smile, so I considered that my first victory since I arrived at the Olympic Training Center.
“Well, next on the list to try is rowing. Even if you can’t row, you could always be the person sitting on the front yelling ‘row’.” He meant it as a joke, but I felt the teensiest bit of hope. My decade of practice as a violinist might finally be useful for something. Maybe I could find some way to be useful after all.
---------
Edit: Fixing a word, adding some clarification to the TLDR
| 2017-02-24T11:57:34 | 2017-02-24T08:33:21 | 58 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 78 | 23 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | "... And to my son James, I bequeathe my most prized possessions, the tokens of the good life I lead and the sacrifices I made," the lawyer solemnly read from Dave Culkin's last will and testament.
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure the lazy git has tons of things to give... I mean, you could probably read from his mug how bad of a father he was." James Culkin said. He didn't love his father, so he didn't expect his father to love him.
"Funny you should say that, James, considering you never saw his mug."
"Shut up sis."
The lawyer continued. "As is custom in our society, James will, for the first and last time, see his father's official ranking, after which his own ranking will appear on the mug."
"Yeah, sure. I wonder how the mug deals with people who don't have offspring."
"Didn't the teachers tell you? The mug turns fully white if that happens."
"Whatever. Reveal the cup."
Gaul Soodman, the Culkin family lawyer, slowly lifted the black lid off the mug. When the lid was fully lifted, he slowly turned the plate on which the mug was placed. One by one, the 3 digits appeared. 4...6...2...# James was shocked. His dad was number 264 in the world? That had to be wrong. Surely this was his sister's ranking. But then the numbers changed to #265, and James knew that he sorely misjudged his father. Even though Dave was treated horribly by his son, James never lost an ounce of love from his father. Both his own ranking and the ranking of his sister were crazily high.
Gaul cleared his throat. "Take hold of the mug, James."
"Give me a moment. I need to process this." James felt horrible. But then he rationalized it. His father never yelled at him, always supported him no matter what he did. Of course someone who stays a true father in the face of constant abuse would rank highly. But what did that mean about his sister?
No matter. A plain white mug would be boring, but he didn't care. His father wanted him to have the mug, so he would take it. James reached for the mug. As he approached it, the black markings started to fade, and the mug started to dimly glow. At the touch of his fingers, a humming sound started. slowly, the mug started to get warmer and warmer. Then, his palms encircled the mug, and a flash of light temporarily blinded the onlookers.
James let go. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, he smiled at the white of the cup. Then his smile vanished. Slowly, small black spots started appearing on the mug. The spots converged and started forming numbers in random spots on the mug. 4...5...1...6...1...6...9...0...8...2.
"James... why does the mug say you're #1,846,961,520?"
"I don't know, sis." But deep inside him, he realized that somewhere in the world, he had a son. And he has never seen him.
But it didn't end there. The number on the mug started jumping around randomly, sometimes making large jumps, but always staying around 2 billion. After 15 or 20 jumps he lost count.
"Gaul, what does this mean? I am not a father. Why does the mug show I am a horrible father?"
Gaul started smiling. "I have seen this behaviour only once before in person. This was with a similar man to you. Thing is, he also didn't think he was a father. However, the mug knows. James, you ARE a father. You just don't know who your children are."
James slumped in his chair. Guess there were consequences to all those wild nights at college... | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T10:52:38 | 46 | 13 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | I try to do it differently each time; short with long hair, tall with a buzz-cut, black, white, Asian, Pacific Islander, optimism, nihilism. Not in any particular order, but never randomly either; I know what she likes. I've had a long time to figure her out- years and years.
When I first arrived in this city, a lonesome, weary traveller, I only hoped to find a home or, at the very least, some semblance of one. The thought of companionship hadn't crossed my mind in ages. When you have lived for as long as I have, after all the trials and failures I've endured, it was difficult to maintain motivation.
I was jaded and I was painfully aware of it. I had fallen into thinking that that would be my eternal, repetitious existence- but when my feet touched the concrete and my lungs took in the smog and my eyes rested upon this city, I found something so paradoxically complex and simple it intrigues me to this day-
I found humanity and everything changed.
Humans are not completely different from the other bastions of civilization I have come across, but they hold a sort of social depth that I had never encountered before. My curiosity was immediately ravenous and seemingly overnight I joined in to the bustling cityscape; Routines, rituals; I made friends and my friends introduced me to coffee. Coffee! What a glorious, glorious thing! Coffee... that's how I met her.
After years of assimilating and joyous investigation of humanity I finally felt as though I was home. The centuries of wandering were over for me; I had found everything I was looking for- or so I thought. Then the day came when I decided to go to a new coffee shop. It was right around the corner the whole time since I arrived and I had never been! It's strange how things like that work out, but there I was, standing in line, trying to decide if I would try something new or go with a classic. She was behind the register. I was so preoccupied by what I was going to get I didn't even see her at first.
"May I have a white chocolate, raspberry mocha with six shots of espresso, please?", I asked when I stepped up to the counter, my gaze locked on the overhead menu searching for something I might flip-flop to.
"Wow, that's what I call a pick-me-up," she said through a chuckle.
"Yeah," my eyes falling to meet hers; one green, one blue- fascinating, "I- I really like coffee."
She pushed a streak of blue hair behind her ear joining it with the rest of the ocean on her head,
"Who doesn't!?", She said, beaming a smile that I felt with every nerve ending. "That will be..."
I was snared. Everyday after that I returned to that shop every chance I could. There was this inexplicable feeling I had that drove me to learn as much as I could about this anomaly- this woman. She must have been intrigued with me as well because after weeks of interactions at the shop, when I felt there was more to know- things that a patron could not ask from a clerk- I asked if she wanted to spend time together outside- anywhere doing anything- and she agreed! Walks through the park turned into lunches, lunches turned into dinners; before long, we were spending every day together. What started as research turned into bliss.
I had long since buried any feeling such as that and feeling it again made me forget the inevitable truth: all things end. One day, her hair colored changed; what was a calm ocean turned into a volcano of red and orange. The smile I had felt ripple through my body diminished, and then came the note:
"I'm sorry. Goodbye."
I have lost so many times. So many times I've picked up and moved- started over; a new town, a new country, new planet, new galaxy. This was a new situation. I wasn't going to give up- not yet. That's when I decided to change form. I had kept the same appearance the whole time I was in that city- I did it for her, but she didn't want that form. So I changed. Whole new me; whole new chance. I found her again, and again, and again- each new me found her and each new me lost her.
It's been countless years since I wandered into that coffee shop and I've tried countless versions of myself trying to hold on to this anomalous woman, but to no avail. In the past I would have moved on, but something keeps me in pursuit. Time has never been an issue for a being such as myself, but for her it's not so kind. Each time I change, I align my appearance to match her age, but I know it won't last forever. As long as we can share time, the pursuit is worth it.
| 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T09:47:14 | 930 | 51 |
[WP]Superpowers are extremely common. Your job is to advise how to use bad ones effectively. | "Thank you for filling out the form Mr. John Doe. Now, lets get down to the matter at hand shall we. Your power is excessive sweating you say?"
"Ah, yes it is but that's not my name. I was thinking sir sweatsalot, you know a play on words?"
"I read it. You are now John Doe and will remain as such until the meeting is over. Tell me, does your power cause you to dehydrate in order to compensate for the water loss?"
"Oh, er yes it does. I used just gulp down tap water but I've found out that just about any fluid would do even dirty unfiltered river water..... I'm, I'm sorry. The hero business is very competitive and I haven't been getting much work recently. I figured you could help and maybe... well..."
"Stop Fidgeting Mr. Doe. Second question, does consuming possibly polluted water effect you in any way? Do you get sick?"
"Oh no, I've got a strong stomach you see. The taste is usually the only problem but once its past my lips I'm good. I sweat out the toxins you see so my sweats instantly changes color or smell to expel the stuff."
"Very good. I'm going to put in a word for you at **Kings and Queens Catering** . They run through food testers there like you wouldn't believe. Head over there tomorrow morning and tell them I sent you. Your name from now on is Golden Spoon. Your power is that you can consume anything. Your body will expel the toxins naturally alerting you (and by extension the company) to any foul play in the food. Stay hydrated now." | I remember Aris.
I sat at my undersized metal desk and read through the file. The girl seated across from me nervously twiddled her thumbs. I glanced up at her briefly. She wore simple green jeans and a dark purple top. An interesting fashion choice, particularly the color scheme she had. But if her file was accurate, it probably wasn’t the craziest combination she had chosen.
The file says that her powers manifested themselves when she was in kindergarten. Incredibly early for powers to pop up. It did make me curious, however.
“So, Miss, uh...” I began, glancing at her file.
“Just call me Aris,” she replied.
“Aris, your file says that your powers first emerged when you were in kindergarten?”
“That’s correct.”
“And could you describe them for me?”
The nineteen-year-old girl cleared her throat before saying, “I can change the colors of objects that aren’t touching me.”
“I see. So I’m a little curious about something, if you’d indulge my cat-like curiosity for a moment.” She raised her brown eyebrows and nodded. “Did you have a good sense of colors that looked good to wear?”
Aris smiled cheekily. “If you’re asking if I made some outrageous color changes to my own wardrobe, the answer would be yes. All I’ll say is that the craziest choice my 5-year-old mind made was a dark teal shirt and neon maroon pants.”
“Neon maroon?” I repeated.
“That’s what *I* called it,” Aris clarified. “It...uh...well it was ugly.”
I chuckled. “I can’t picture it.” I sighed. “Are you aware of the services I provide, Aris?”
“You help people find what they can use their powers for,” Aris replies.
“That’s one way to look at it,” I replied. “Do you know how many clients I’ve had?” Aris shook her head. “Thousands. Thankfully, my power is an incredibly powerful memory, which comes in handy at my age, you see.” I straightened my tie. “My point is that I’ve seen other individuals with these same powers come through my doors before. A couple of them are quite famous, actually.”
I remember the first one. He was a timid, short man. But he was all dressed up in amazing colors that I had never seen on fabric before.
“I can change colors of things,” David, that was his name, told me.
“So is that how you changed the colors of your outfit?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“Tell me, David,” I simply said to him, “do you like fashion? It could be a rewarding line of work for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Aris said a little dejectedly, bringing me back to her. “And while I enjoy being able to change my wardrobe up from time to time, I don’t have a passion in the fashion industry. Or any art industry for that matter.”
“Okay then,” I said slowly. “What is your passion?”
“I kind of like science,” Aris replied.
“Well there’s definitely some options there,” I said. “Care to hear some?” Aris nodded. “Very well.” I stood up and turned around to face the Spacial Adjusting Filing Cabinet behind me. I pulled down on the handle at the top drawer. The drawers cycled down like the old Price is Right wheel. (I remember that old show. They had to stop it when some contestants had the power to always make the right guess. In order to remain the show would’ve had to not allow contestants with powers that could help them win. Thanks to the Supreme Court decision *Andrews v. Walmart* in 2096, it is now illegal to discriminate based on powers. (I remember that court case. The poor man, Thomas Andrews was trying to shop at one of the old Walmart supermarkets. His power was telekinesis, so he was able to move store product around willy nilly. The Walmart employees kicked him out of the store for simply using his powers to make his life easier. After that, Walmart went out of business. (I remember that store——
“Mr. Harris!” the nurse yelled directly in my ear. I jumped in the hospital bed. The pain from doing so made me wince. I gazed around the plain-walled hospital room as my presence of mind returned to me. It had happened again.
“I’m sorry to frighten you like that, Mr. Harris,” he apologized.
“It’s quite alright, my boy,” I reassured him. “Thank you for snapping me out of it.”
“Your recall episodes are happening more frequently, aren’t they?” the nurse asked. I nodded.
“How long was this one?” I asked. Part of me wanted to know. Part of me didn’t.
“That one was four hours,” the nurse answered sadly. He looked at me sympathetically. It was the same way my beloved Henry looked at me before he died. I remember... | 2018-12-06T12:12:31 | 2018-12-06T11:26:00 | 271 | 180 |
[WP] Every 10 years, you are expected to go to a meeting you have already been to; one attended by several future and younger versions of yourself, each version separated by 10 year intervals. The youngest you is 10, the oldest 90. You relive the same meeting, just each time from a different angle. | 40 was complaining that there was no free will in the world. The fact that we had to come here every 10 years seemed to back that up. However, I always found it unsettling that 90 disagreed. What does he know that I don't? And why didn't 70 or 80 care?
We only had an hour together so I had to stick to the plan. We were sitting in a circle, ordered by age, 20 to my left, 40 to my right. It seemed like an AA meeting but with more lunacy. 20 was being pestered by 10 about lottery numbers the whole time so I had to try to keep him focused.
"Listen. Hey, listen. You have to be more assertive. Start learning Jiu Jitsu, okay? You don't have much time. And learn to become a better swimmer and focus more on your grades."
40 was trying to get my attention too, but to a lesser extent. He had obviously become shredded recently and looked successful so I thought I'd get by fine for the next few years. He spent most of the hour talking to 50 about some girl named "Jen". That wasn't my wife, so I'm not quite sure what the deal was. I asked 40 about it but he brushed off my question.
60 didn't speak much. He was the only one wearing flannel and suspenders. He also had a beard that went down all the way to his belly. He was the oddest looking one of us. But for some reason, 70, 80 and 90 didn't talk to him much. If they had the answers, shouldn't they be trying to fix him? He didn't try to talk to 50 either. Whatever the issue was, it was obviously going to be a rough one.
70, 80 and 90 were in their own clique. The other adults among us were trying to glance into their conversation at times but understood very little. From what I gathered, the Neuralink experiment was successful. Whatever that meant. The only advice they had for the rest of us was to enjoy our relationships and take care of others. I've heard that before.
20 had gone back to arguing with 10 about sports, Kony 2012 and Silicon Valley. I had to keep him on track. We had 5 minutes left. I took his glass of orange juice and poured it on his head. He turned around and looked like he was about to hit me, but quickly realized that he knew that was to come. He wasn't paying attention to 10 any more. In fact, both 10 and 20 were now fixated on me.
"Stop thinking about money. There are more important things to worry about. You need to start learning about algorithm design. The computers are going to come hard and nothing will matter."
They looked at me with blank faces.
"You know, Kalman filters, Kernel-based classification, that sort of thing."
I hadn't thought this through. That must have been the "K-words" I kept thinking about.
"Okay, listen. Just keep an eye on a company called Google. Drop all this racing nonsense and try to get into there. That way you'll be in control when it happens."
60 looked at us and laughed. I knew it was futile.
More at [my profile on Short Story Space.](https://shortstoryspace.com/u/Abu) | With a bang on my gavel, Most Senior began the proceedings. My raspy voice barely reached the microphone, but every self who was sitting around the large round table hushed to accommodate. After all, there was nothing any of my selves could say to me that I didn't already know at that point. I first began by kindly greeting Junior and asking me if I'd like to be excused to go and play with my toys in the corner of the room. I smiled and obliged- of course, I'd been taught to respect my elders, even when my elder was me. After all, Junior didn't have much to contribute, and if I was being honest, I felt intimidated seeing me so much.
As I did every ten years, The Uncertain scrambled in at that moment, books practically pouring out of my bag as I tripped over the threshold. I gripped my head, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me- I was trying my hardest, but nothing seemed to work. And now here I was, coming to the most important Meeting of my life, ruining it like I'd ruined everything. In that moment, The Collected came to me, lifting me up with my firm grip. I patted The Uncertain gently, reassuring me that it was okay. That I understood.
I sat down cautiously and looked at Most Senior. My eyes twinkled slightly, and I asked if The Uncertain would like to take the time to study. After all, I knew better than most my age just how badly I was struggling at the time. The Uncertain nodded and set about my work, but I couldn't help but glance at The Wayward.
He was there, sitting directly to the left of The Uncertain and to the right of The Collected, a glassy look in his eyes and an unfinished bottle directly in front of him. He didn't face me, he didn't face Most Senior- and he couldn't bare to look in the hopeful eyes of Junior. Most Senior gave a sigh as I looked at The Wayward, remembering all that had happened in those short ten years. The Uncertain couldn't help but feel hopeless as I looked at him. The Collected rubbed his back and whispered something to him, and he just nodded, sat up, and made his way to the door. He took a single peek at Junior, then looked back at the Uncertain, and finally, at Most Senior. He raised a fist to his heart, a fire lighting in his eye. He was the one I felt for the most- yet he was still the one I refused to call me.
Most Senior cleared my throat. "As we all know... this will be the last Meeting I'll experience. I just want to open it up by saying... I thank all of us for making my way here. My life has been long... and I've always been able to think positively toward the future, because I can see the next self that I'll become."
I looked to The Uncertain, nodding as if to say that even I was included in that. I thought on that for a moment, and thought of the fire in his eyes. Yes, even I could look forward to the next ten years. I looked back at my books, and his fire filled me with renewed vigor. The Uncertain would not speak for the rest of the meeting, but that was just the way I wanted it to be.
The Vibrant, sitting to the left of The Collected, sat back in my chair and nodded. "I don't think I would have gotten here if I didn't see you all. If I didn't have these meetings-"
Just as I always did, The Settled shook my head, "I disagree. You know, looking back... I definitely felt that I needed these Meetings, but deep down, they didn't really tell me anything I didn't already know. Life isn't easy. I'm not always on the right path. I stumble, I misstep, but I make a plan, and I get moving on it."
The Collected laughed aloud and gestured at the door, the mood lightening now that the heaviness of The Wayward had been alleviated. "Yeah? Try telling that to him."
The Contented, sitting to the left of the Vibrant, looked at me, "You know, I would if he was still here. The plan I made when I was him... I'm still on that path. All of me are."
The Declining gave a nod. "Every Meeting, it's hard to see him as me... but he did more for me than I ever did for this Meeting."
Most Senior gave a breathy chuckle, more like wind passing through trees than the hearty, boisterous guffaw that The Collected had conjured up, "That's because I'm a crazy old codger!"
All of myselves laughed along with me, even The Uncertain. I all said some variation of, "I talk to myself every ten years, I think it's safe to say I all are!"
The room quieted down, as we all knew what was coming next. Junior rubbed my eyes, ambling tiredly across the carpeted floor. I yawned loudly, and the gesture spread across the room like wildfire. I climbed up, half-delirious, into Most Senior's decrepit lap, my arm gripping my shoulder as I curled into my embrace. Most Senior made a motion to symbolize striking the gavel, and mouthed, 'adjourned.'
One by one, I all left the Meeting, until only Junior and Most Senior remained. I looked down at him, and the room seemed to fade around me. I looked at my granddaughter, Eleanor, whose strong and vibrant arms helped me hold her son, Ezekiel Junior, tightly to my chest.
Her eyes were filled with wonder and tears, and she spoke shakily, "Is the Meeting done, Grandpa Zeke?"
I nodded softly, breathing out my words. "Meeting's done... I'll... see you tomorrow, alright Eleanor?"
She nodded, taking her sleeping son back into her loving arms. "I'll see you tomorrow. You... you crazy old codger." She hugged me tightly, kissing my forehead and leaving a teardrop on my balding head.
I looked back at her as she left, and the nurse held my arm happily, wheeling me back to my bed. She helped me lay down, and I smiled up at her. "Miss Jane, thanks so much. I'll see you tomorrow."
Her eyes were hard to read, seemingly looking through me. She checked the documents and cleared her throat. "Yes, Ezekiel. I'll see you tomorrow."
She left the hospice room, flipped off the lights. I closed my eyes, and faded into the dark. | 2020-05-25T06:54:47 | 2020-05-25T06:48:40 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | I never thought my time would come. Childhood summers last forever, the school year drags, but time marched on as it always did. Before I knew it, I found myself standing there before the assembly just fourteen years of age. The whole class staring expectantly at what would become of me. I was the youngest in my year meaning that I was the last to receive my calling.
This has been an exceptional year. No scuds whatsoever, and SIX acers. From only 80 students, that was unheard of. Although this meant that the pressure on my calling was greater than possibly any before. This could be a perfect year for the academy.
As the clock struck twelve I felt it. It washed over me like nothing before and whispered my fate. I had heard the stories from others, they were overcome and immediately aware of their calling, the rules, the restrictions… their purpose. But mine, mine was different. It was over before I knew it had even begun.
I woke up surrounded by faces looking down on me. I had fainted. How embarrassing!
Ever the empath, our teacher scolded me for keeping them waiting. Roughly barking “well, Rick. What is your calling?”
“Don’t… don’t give them up…” | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
&#x200B;
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
&#x200B;
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
&#x200B;
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
&#x200B;
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
&#x200B;
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
&#x200B;
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T09:49:41 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 338 | 128 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | I hadn’t expected Rebecca to ask me out. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected anyone to ask me out, much less one of the most popular girls in the class. But then I was part of the dungeons and dragon crowd, not cheerleader/class president/amazingly hot looking like she was.
But mom always said never pass up an opportunity. So I said yes. She smiled at me, the kind of smile that was reserved for the main character in hallmark movies “Great! I’ll pick you up at six!” she said, her baby blue eyes almost seeming to sparkle.
I told mom about it of course. One of her rules was to know where I was at all times. Annoying at almost seventeen, but given the nature of her job, I didn’t give her too much fuss over it. She picked me up in her Mercedes, must be nice having a fancy car like that. But then my old Chevelle would be nice one day, when the wheels were bolted on, and the engine was finished.
I had suggested dinner and a movie, but she waved off the dinner part. Said that it was too crowded, and she wasn’t that hungry. The movie was ok, even though I paid for it, and the popcorn too. She didn’t have any of that either-not that I really noticed, because she snuggled up next to me seconds after the trailers started.
Afterwards, she drove out to the lake, despite the fact it was a school night. To be honest, I was starting to worry at this point…she was all over me on the drive there, and I just knew i’d either say something stupid or do something stupid, there was no way I was this lucky.
As her fangs ripped into my neck, I realized, yep, I wasn’t lucky at all, just before everything went black.
The next morning, I paused outside the classroom door. I made sure to have the same jeans I was wearing the day before, still muddy, with leaves stuck to my shoes. The shirt was new though, one of those Dr Seuss numbered thing shirts from The Cat in the Hat. The one had ‘thing 2’ on it. Mom has a sense of humor.
I waited just a second as Mrs Mercer started taking roll, just before she got to my name I burst through the door “Here, Sorry I’m late!” I yelled, drawing amused glances from most of the class, and one terrified look from Rebecca. I didn’t even notice that I tripped, almost falling into my desk next to hers. Her eyes were big as a natural 20 as I smiled at her. “Hey Beca, I had a great time with you last night. Can I borrow your notes? I lost mine somewhere.”
There were hushed whispers from the class. Evidently she didn’t tell anyone else who she was going with to the movies with. The whole classroom's eyes were on he as she handed them over wordlessly, her hand almost trembling a bit. I smiled then turned back towards Mrs Mercer, ignoring her for the rest of the class. I only had a B average in here, and needed to bring it up.
Later that day she and two of her clique approached the losers table at lunch. Mari was going on about her ideas for DMing our next campaign, Clive was painting a Gundam or something and I was reading the biography of Captain Fabulous.
Beca came up behind me and hugged me from behind, which was strange, especially the way she sniffed deeply as she did. She smiled at me “hey, you up for helping me with my science project?” she asked, the other two girls standing behind her, to be honest their smiles were a bit forced.
I nodded “of course!” I replied, loud enough that the entire cafeteria heard, and probably half the campus. Appropriate volume, I know.. She winced a bit then the smile was back “Great, we’ll pick you up after school!” She quickly stood back up and headed out of the lunchroom at warp factor 10, while I ignored the whistles and yells from my friends. Besides, I hadn’t finished my pudding yet.
As soon as school was over I walked towards her house when her car pulled up. One of her clique was in the front seat driving. Rebecca rolled down the back window “hey, get in” she said, opening the door.
I grinned and slid inside, like a Tardis it was bigger on the inside-or at least seemed that way, it was one of the big stretched ones. Two more of her clique were in the backseat with her, as soon as the door closed they grabbed my arms. Definitely stronger than they looked.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at” Beca hissed, as her fangs ripped into my throat again, and everything went black. Again.
The next morning, I at least had clean jeans. Being the last ones were buried in a swamp, they kinda stunk. The shirt was different though, this one said ‘Thing 3’. I waltzed in a few minutes early, taking my seat and ignoring the comments from my classmates. There was a crash in the doorway. I turned like everyone else, Rebecca had dropped her laptop upon seeing me sitting there. I smiled at her and waved, then turned towards the front of the class.
She was visibly shaking as she took her seat, Mrs Mercer gviging her a concerned look “Miss Salvatore? Are you feeling well, do you need to see the nurse?”
“NO! Er, I mean, no. I’m just upset about dropping my laptop” she said, taking a seat and trying not to look at me, at the same time looking at me. She seemed to be staring a lot at my neck, as if expecting to see something there. At the break between classes I leaned over to her “hey, just wanted to let you know, my mom heard about us dating” I said, prompting sneers and chuckles from the jocks that I ignored.
“We’re no…yes.. Yes. we are” she said, from the way she was chewing her bottom lip i knew she was thinking fast.
“Mom wants to meet you, are you free for dinner?”
She blinked “why yes, I think I am.” | It was pretty unbelievable. I'm not usually good at showing emotions. Not usually great at the whole human interaction thing. Pretty terrible. Never expected her to just politely offer to hang out after all the others from class had left, because she wanted to. I kept my cool at the moment, and accepted her offer with unusual grace and calm. We stayed behind, did some homework, and just talked. Genuinely pleasant and easy conversation. And then, she asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the woods with her, clear our heads, refresh ourselves a bit. Of course, I said yes. It sounded pretty good actually. There was this weird smell coming from somewhere in the area anyway, sort of similar to formaldehyde? Couldn't place it or where it came from, but definitely not pleasant. Definitely wanted to get away from that. So we went out into the brisk autumn air, out into the woods, where the gold and red leaves were absolutely stunning. It was pretty romantic. Almost a date. Of course, it was a bit much of me to expect that something romantic would happen. I'm pretty much the awkward class nerd, and she's the most popular and pretty girl in class. But when she offered to, well, experiment a little by making out, I wasn't the type to say no. It was like some manner of daydream, when her mouth came close to mine. I had just enough time before her mouth grew fangs and dug into my throat to notice that the odd smell was coming from her. She drained me of all my blood.
Once she was done, she buried me in a shallow grave in the woods behind the school.
The look on her face when I walked into class next day was priceless. She couldn't believe her eyes. It was almost worth the exhaustion of digging myself out of that cold dirt, just for that moment. In class, I just sat down where I usually sat, and wrote down notes as usual. Acted completely and utterly as I normally did. After class, she stared at me with fear and confusion. I pretended not to notice. Pretended not to smell that faint scent of formaldehyde underneath her expensive perfume. Pretended that everything was fine. Of course, she was terrified, and I could tell that she was barely restraining herself from attacking me. I gave her a look that told her to bring it, and she flinched as if I'd slapped her. For the rest of that week, I just acted as I usually did, kept up appearances, and didn't act any way out of the ordinary. Like it had never happened. Of course, it had. And when the weekend came, that was when I changed behavior.
The house she lived in, was somewhat isolated, and newer than most other houses in town. Probably so she could live as her kind prefers, and so nobody would snoop around easily. Of course, she is a predator of humans, and she cannot easily notice those who aren't. Not like she is used to being able to notice people. I cased her house all weekend, noting down hidden entrances and exits, the location of a small graveyard that contained, among other interesting things, a coffin full of graveyard dirt from a distant land. Very useful knowledge. Hiding the dirt was not a hard task. But it was only the beginning. Obviously, I could tell what she was, and she knew that I had somehow survived her attack. That was the basis of our situation. There would have to be a confrontation. It was only polite.
Next monday, she once again asked me, this time with much less confidence and suaveness, to stay after class. I of course accepted. And we went pretty much immediately out to the woods. ''*So. Cassie. Guess it's time to lay our cards on the, well, leaf-covered ground, such as it is.*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. Natalie. Indeed it is.*'' Her fangs grew, her eyes turned red, and her hands became vampyric claws. ''*Really, all claws and teeth. Already and you didn't even attempt a diplomatic solution. You must be pretty young.*'' Her monstrous attributes receded. ''*Well, half a century. I suppose so. You've met many of my kind, I suppose?*'' I shrug. In truth I haven't but as is well known, one should not correct a potential enemy when they're making an obvious mistake. Oversharing is one such mistake. ''*I don't know how you survived. If it is some manner of technique I haven't heard of, I'd gladly submit to your seniority as a vampire, if I can only learn it. You appear so very human, and I must do such work to remain like that.*''
I smile deviously. She doesn't know. She doesn't even know what I am. She's lucky she's cute as hell, or I'd have ended things now. OK, maybe it was hormones keeping me from acting, but the universe should cut me some slack, I'm a teenager in High School. ''*I'm pretty territorial, as far as things go. I'd prefer it if you'd just politely up and left.*'' No need to reveal more than she knows. Let her think she knows what is happening. ''*But think, Natalie, what we could do together, two vampires, like sisters, ruling the night in this small town. We could drink without worry, and rule the night together.*'' Her hearing is not as good as mine. I can hear the distant attempts of someone trying not to laugh. I hold up a hand for her to be silent, and I turn my head towards the area from where the noise came from. ''*Come out. I've heard you.*'' What appears to be underbrush moves and forth from the forest floor three humans, their hearts loud, but not with terror, with bravery, emerge. The leader of them is an unpleasant looking man.
''*Well, well, well. I guess you caught me trying not to snicker. You're playing her for a lark.*''
I shrug. Sure, that's not entirely wrong. ''*Little miss vampire, that's not one of your fellow daughters of the night. That's a werewolf.*'' Cassie turns her head to me in shock. It's clear from her movement, the sound her dead body and fake beating heart makes, that she hadn't thought that those existed. We are a lot better at keeping hidden than vampires. But then again, we don't have to attack people for sustenance. On full-moon nights, we usually hunt animals. We don't have to drink fresh untainted blood. ''*True. I was hoping to get her out of this town without causing any trouble. But I guess trouble found us first.*'' The unpleasant men, their rifles long and their daggers serrated, smile viciously. Cassie just looks at me. ''*How did you survive getting bitten then? I drank all your blood! Sure, it was an odd taste, but I took all of it!*'' I roll my eyes.
The truth is that werewolves transform into their canine bodies when drained of human blood, which replenishes the body with fresh wolf-blood. Have to be partially transformed until my natural reserves of human blood are replenished. Been hard to hide that tail all week, but when you're a nerdy girl that nobody notices, it's a lot easier. Not that I'm about to reveal that to her. Or to these hunters. ''*Wolf secrets.*'' I just say and focus on the men.
''*Now, this is nice and all, but I'm thinking it's time to end this, with a vampire skull on a shelf and a fresh wolf-pelt upon a wall.*''
Jesus Christ how gross can somebody be. I've met Hunters before. Most of them are just trying to protect humanity. I know one of my uncles even worked with a team of them, best option for a hound needed to hunt down supernatural horrors in the states, that's a werewolf. These sickos give Hunters a bad name. ''*Hope you've done your homework then.*'' The transformation is a holy thing to most werewolves. It must take the ritualistic nature into itself, and that takes time to complete. Like a hymn or prayer, you cannot rush it. Luckily, I'm more of a secular werewolf. And since I'm already at least a little bit transformed, I don't have to wait at all. I spring into action, my flesh already fully covered, my claws already long and my sharp teeth easily bite down upon an unready throat. It's not taboo to kill humans, but it is considered a social faux pas. But these three are clearly not suited for a future with the human race. The third of them screams, as the guy who decided to talk instead of shooting first aims his rifle, at Cassie. My mind is pretty occupied by being a killing machine, so when the rifle goes off, and misses, the guy suddenly gets knocked down by a vampire. And they are a good deal stronger and more powerful than your average human, provided he hasn't ingested holy water blessed by a real priest. Funny thing holy water, it only works if the priest who has blessed it actually acts and does as Jesus would have done. Seen a guy throw waterballoons full of the stuff at zombies once, did nothing because the priest was one of those megachurch fellows. When we fled from New York, I saw the local priest drinking some of the stuff himself and wrestling that demon that consumed the souls of a third of Albany. The priest won, I might add. | 2022-12-29T20:07:20 | 2022-12-29T17:02:56 | 1,120 | 256 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | It wasn't the first time I'd found myself buried in a shallow grave. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the last. After digging myself out and dusting myself off, I headed home. The girl must've been new to this, or just stupid, because she hadn't even bothered to empty my pockets.
I debated on how to deal with her the next day. Should I pretend like nothing happened, and drive her mad? Or should I tell the truth, and simply deal with her the normal way? I decided to get a good night's sleep before deciding, such important decisions should never be made tired. Besides, I was in no rush. My blood would be enough to keep her fed for a month at least.
&#x200B;
The look on her face when I walked back into class, none the worse for wear, was priceless. I had decided not to give her any attention, or any indication that anything was out of the ordinary, for the time being. I noticed her glancing at me many times over the course of the class. When it ended, she was the one who approached me.
"Hey there. I didn't expect to see you here today."
"Oh? Why not?"
"You know damn well why."
"hmm, could you perhaps refresh my memory?"
I could tell she was holding back the urge to smash my head into the floor. After glaring at me for a moment, she said "Fine, meet me outside." She then stormed off.
&#x200B;
She was waiting for me outside, sticking to the shade. I waited until there was no one else around before approaching her.
"So, how the hell is a flimsy human like you still alive?"
"You still think I'm human? You're even more inexperienced, or stupid, than I thought."
"If you don't stop sassing me, I'll-"
"You'll what? You can't kill me. And as much as you might like to think you're invincible, you aren't."
That statement seemed to make her pause, and reassess her situation.
"What even are you?"
"A ghost in a machine. This body of mine is little more than a well built puppet."
"Then why are you here? why are you posing as a student?"
"To catch people like you. While you've been at this school, no less than 7 students have gone missing, roughly at one and a half month intervals."
"You have no proof I was behind those!"
"No, but I have proof that you did attempt to fully drain a student and bury them. The fact that you were unsuccessful does not make what you did less of a crime."
"Oh yeah? and who's gonna prosecutor me? Who's gonna believe that vampires and ghosts exist?"
"Oh, you'll meet them soon enough."
Before she had time to react to what I'd said, I threw a silver net at her. She tried to dodge, but even with her supernatural speed she reacted a moment too late, and it fell on her. She tried to pull it off, but the silver started to singe her skin as she touched it. Not enough to be deadly, but certainly very painful. I reached into my jacket and out a walkie talkie.
"I've got her, ready for pickup." | I was walking home from school with my heart almost beating out of my chest. Eileen actually asked *me* out, not only just for a date but to go to prom with her! We had been friends for a few years at this point and I’ve really started to like her. I showered, shaved a little, and got dressed as well as I could without overdoing it.
I walked to her house a block or so away and knocked on the door. I checked to make sure I put on some deodorant, fixed my hair a little bit, and just tried to keep my heart at a decent speed. Every second I stood at her front door felt like a small eternity. After the longest twenty seconds of my life Eileen finally opened the door. She just got home from school and her long black hair was only a little messy with casual clothes. She was really really pretty but she always wore some variation of long sleeves, jeans, and a big hat. She invited me inside and I nervously walked in and she motioned for me to sit down on the couch.
I awkwardly sat down and she sat directly next to me and put on the very first Saw movie which was one of the first things we talked about when we met each other. We both were big horror buffs and we both started discussing the movie just like any other day until she learned on me and put her chin on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my bicep.
I stopped talking as I really took in just how pretty she was and looked in her eyes just for a second and I felt totally helpless against her. Like she in that very moment with only a smile had managed to break down every emotional defense I had built up over the years. It was a combination of delight and pure fucking terror as I struggled to form words as she snuggle up against me. I could feel the warmth of her body and worried that she might be able to hear my heart beating in my chest and was even more worried that my nervousness would make my hands all clammy.
She waved her hand in front of my face “You still here champ?”. I blinked and pulled myself back into the world “Sorry I was just making sure this was real” and I jokingly pinched myself and she responded by punching me in the side. She had a skinny figure and was only 5’6 but man she is much stronger than she looks.
“Sorry I’m just getting you used to me being physically abuse to you.” “That’s alright, it just gives me a reason to get a head start on my drinking problem”. We snickered and watched the movie for a little bit before I put my arm on top of her head like it was an arm rest. She looked at me and pretended to be annoyed “What do you think you’re doing there mister?” She said from under my arm.
“Hmm me? Oh I was just enjoying the movie with the your ‘splendid’ company.” “Oh yeah dumbass” and she tries to move away and I keep my arm on her head even though I am leaning in a fairly uncomfortable position just for the gag. She playfully narrows her eyes at me and in an instant kicks off the side of the couch and pounces on me. Catching me mostly off guard she manages to pin me down for a moment before we start wrestling each other for the right to use the other ones head as an arm rest.
We wrestled for a few minutes and she really held her own until I got the upper hand and pinned her down to the couch. I locked eyes with her for a moment but my nervousness kicked in and I got off of her. I reset myself on the couch and started watching the movie again. I could see from the corner of my eye she looked a little disappointed before fixing her hair and leaning on me again.
If she could read my mind it would be saying “You fucking idiot, you dumbass, block head, nitwit, ass for brains, dolt. This was your chance to go for it! But you threw it all away! It was right there in front of you and you didn’t take it. I know you listen to Eminem shitter, do you remember the lyrics? Because I do, you listened to that song a few dozen times and I a figure of your psyche can never forget it”.
I hyped myself up a little bit and raise my arm that she is snuggling on and wrap it around her shoulders and pull her into a half hug and she places her head on my chest. I look down at her again and see those pretty brown eyes and I just can’t stop thinking about her. She looks around and whispers into my ear “My parents aren’t home . A little mischevious smile grows across her face as she leads me off the couch and towards her room.
Whatever lock she gave totally overrides my stress and nervousness when she stopped outside the door “I don’t want to get my room messed up, would mind if we did this somewhere more… private?”. She could have said anything at that point as whatever state I was in had totally reduced me to a smiling, giggling, mess. She lead me down the basement and we started going at it. Whatever state I was in vanished as my monkey brain kicked in. She went in for a kiss on the neck and as she pulled away I couldn’t help but notice her mouth was full of heavily salivated teeth and a jaw that has been unhinged to reach past her cheekbones.
I was a little unnerved by it I was mostly just confused when she kissed my neck again and whispered into my ear “ Sorry, but don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing”. Her jaw clanked against her collarbone and she lunged at my neck tearing it completely out in one bite. I fell to the ground to hold my veins closed but she knocked them out of the way and started siphoning out my blood. I tried to pull her off but the more she drained me the less power I had to fight back until I lost consciousness.
I woke up the next day three feet deep underground but still very much alive. I crawled through the dirt before reaching sweet air.I looked at the sun and realized I would be late for school and started running with whatever I had on me at the time and made it to class just in time. I walked around the class and after spotting Eileen I Waltzed over to her and sat down with the biggest shit eating grin ever created. If Eileen. could turn more pale she would as she starred at me with each parts curiosity and horror. I didn’t even have a scar on me.
“So, about last night? Are we still ok for prom?” | 2022-12-30T00:05:38 | 2022-12-29T22:24:19 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "The humans are the most absurdly pompous race I've ever encountered," declared Zuudxv. "They barely even pass the standard sentience test, but manage to spend their efforts on bragging about their own genius, love, and physical abilities - things that we are all far better at. Hell, so many of those morons declare themselves to be in love, but our sensors show this this happens rarely and fleetingly compared to our response It's no wonder they largely hate each other and resort to war. So why, Jdvrj, would you, an esteemed exobiologist of this institute, choose to live among them?"
Jdvrj paused. Zuudxv's statement were all true, but she knew deep inside that she had to go one day, and would blame herself if she put it off any longer. "Zuudxv..." she began. Normally she was bold, but now she wanted Zuudxv to keep a scientific secret, something he was obligated to never do. "Please accept my resignation. There is a compelling reason for it."
Zuudxv stared. "Go on."
"Remember when I ran the chemical tests on the one human we abducted? How they turned out to be similar to those of a Kaxaklon?"
"Yes?" implored Zuudxv.
"I fabricated those slightly. You must keep this secret, I beg you!" She had lost composure, but tried to regain it.
"Why?" demanded Zuudxv. "How could you shame the institute like that?"
"You see... the tests showed a high level of potassium and calcium in their systems. Not to mention sulfur."
Zuudxv was the Abnexian equivalent of agape. "You must be joking."
"No," she replied, "I am not. They are basically walking desserts. Of all creatures, they are the most delicious in the galaxy."
Zuudxv stared out the window. A full minute passed as Jdvrj waited for him.
"I'll accept your resignation" He declared, "and I am resigning too." | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T11:13:41 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 147 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Yuri, come in here, you gotta see this"
Yuri rolled his eye, shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the science officer. He looked as bored as a Redon could possibly look.
"This human, this one human, the male version" Fram began "Hey, Kiol, put it up on the big screen". The starscape was replaced by the image of a human boy, perhaps 15 years old, sitting on his bed with a laptop.
"This human has done it what? Fram, what are we up to?"
"31 times"
"This human has masturbated 31 times today alone! And look, he's at it again. The little bugger is at it AGAIN!".
This caught Yuri's attention. "Just him?"
"That's the best part" Redon said "it's the entire planet! At any given moment some human, somewhere is fapping away to their hearts content. Look, Yuri, you and I have been to, what? 1,000 planets, give or take. Never, and I mean never have I seen a species approach anywhere near the amount of wacking that these people do. They completely suck at everything else but when it comes to going solo, they rule the universe". | Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | 2014-07-16T12:28:05 | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 115 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | I went into archeology for the money, not for humanitarian reasons. Sure, I'd like to be the one to save the human race, I'd just like a beach house/ski resort on a designer world even more. The market value of digging in the dirt only goes up as the search for a working wormhole drive becomes more frantic. We've found plenty of fragments, but the tech is far too complicated to rebuild.
The people who made this stuff were geniuses. All of them. Besides custom planet factories, we've found teleport machines, a bed that records your dreams, sentient computers the size of a planet, and trees genetically built to grow and twist as you sing to them, whose petrified branches recorded at least a thousand years of song.
Even though the search for a way to leave the Milky Way is the most urgent reason we go digging, and more and more so as the population grows, there's still a huge market for collector's items. Ancient art and pottery fetch quite a bit, but most people who get rich do it by finding a probe. Morbid as it sounds, Voyager I and II sold for $45 and $40 million each, and the other objects launched by Old Earth, picked up by curious and brilliant (and forgotten) races are worth almost as much, even though there are thousands and thousands of them.
It creeps me out, personally. Why would you want to own something from the age of "first contact" -- to use the modern euphemism?
Not that it's anyone's fault. I'm not one of those nuts who thinks we should all spend our lives atoning for what our ancestors did in the name of exploration and discovery. Every one of those probes carried a message of friendship and goodwill for the people who'd find them, and they were sent long before we found the first ruined city on another world. Long before we knew what we had done.
By the time we understood that the human immune system was anything special it was too late. We had sent probes, or satellites, or golden records to every planet in the galaxy that harbored life. All carrying a message of peace. | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T13:34:49 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 88 | 13 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | I only have one power. And by itself, it's the weakest power there is.
My first roommate was, in a lot of ways, the luckiest one I could have gotten. Her power was "The Vision". She could see Powers in people. She approached me on the Subway and said I had one, but it was fuzzy and she couldn't understand it, which was exciting because she usually could. She said if I spent more time with her, I could learn what it was. She was right. I'm sorry, L. I didn't know what it was before you showed me. I promised you'd be the last innocent roommate.
My second roommate had the power of Transmutation. Lead to gold, sure, once in a while he would pawn a crude chain to some inner city shop. Sugar to meth. Actually a lot of things into a lot of drugs. He was pretty deep into dealing when he found out he had the Power and lacked the imagination to branch out and do anything interesting with it, because fuck medicine I guess. Actually I need to make a note of that one once my mission is complete. His first batch of "enhanced" drugs caused several overdose deaths at the local hospital. Our time as roommates didn't work out for long.
My third roommate the power of mental manipulation. She wanted the pretty jewelry that I seemed to have a lot of and thought she could mind control me into her house to be her plaything. She was right. But she was also wrong.
Working out roommate situations became a lot easier after that. It became a lot easier to convince total strangers that someone they had never met understood them somehow, and should crash on their couch.
I had a roommate with gravity manipulation and flight. Used it to kidnap his kids after he divorced his wife and they chose their mom.
One could stop time. I found out he was behind a series of rapes where women were being ignored by police because the video cameras showed nothing. He actually had an inkling of what was going on and froze me in time for two days. But that wasn't enough.
Another could manipulate electrons and photons, and had the intellect to envision and control entire computer systems. Used it to drain the bank accounts of people who insulted him. Turns out photon manipulation means invisibility too.
At this point, J.U.S.T.I.C.E. started noticing patterns and were sending people out to try and find me. If they'd found me sooner, they might have had a chance. But by this point it was probably too late. I never felt they got close.
My next roommate could manipulate thermal energy. He killed his wife and the man she was cheating on him with by freezing them solid outside his cabin in a blizzard. It was ruled hypothermia. With a little coaxing, he invited me to spend a weekend with him there. It was easy to hide my IR signature after that.
Ability to liquidize into any body of water and immediately materialize anywhere else directly connected via water.
Phasing into an alternate dimension.
Teleporting to anywhere in line of sight.
Ability to visualize the ten most likely futures about an hour into the future. At hour 34, all ten involved her fainting. None of the ten involved finding where in her house I was or getting far enough away from me to matter.
And then there's my current roommate. Energy field manipulation. Makes him bullet-proof. He's a major cartel figure in a country that has a lot of violence. A lot of that violence is his. He likes showing people how powerful he is. He often breaks their bones before he kills them.
I've been his guest for the last 34 hours, 56 minutes. He says he knows why I am there. He says I cannot bend his mind. He's been holding me in a sphere of light, threatening me. He has broken some of my bones. He has been laughing about how he won and I lost, how it will take weeks for me to die. I have been gently taunting him. I know which taunts will and will not cause him to kill me. He says whatever my power is, it is not enough to beat him. He is not a very good roommate, and he is almost right. By itself, my power is the weakest power there is. And he may well be the second strongest Power on the planet right now.
My power is this- after I spend 35 hours, 0 minutes closer than 100 meters to someone, I gain a copy of their power and they fall unconscious. Then ten minutes after that, they die.
My current roommate is not a very good roomate, but I will only have to put up with him for 4 more minutes. I will find a new one soon enough.
| "You know we have a microwave..." I commented to my roommate who was currently heating up her soup with her laser vision.
"Pfft, maybe for you *norms*," she emphasized. It was what she called non-superheros, and rolled off her tongue dripping with judgement. I wondered why she even bothered being a superhero as she seemed to think that the world would be better off without "norms." But as much as she loathed us, she needed us. The Terrific Titan thrived off her fan base. She did talks on campus, photo shoots with fans/other college students on a regular basis. Campus tours regularly benefited from her presence. She did so much good press, the college gave her a scholarship, available each year to "the most powerful superhero on campus." And she was the only one. Well, the only who was known because she would rather be a "norm" than have a secret identity. Frequently, she shit on all the superheros who had secret identities, calling them cowards and two-faced. I declined to point out that she could give Narcissus a run for his money. The Terrific Titan had t-shirts for the Terrific Titan, that she regularly wore to class. My favorite one was the one that said Super-HER-o. I'm pretty sure self-obsession was one of her super abilities in addition to laser vision, flight, and super strength.
"So, listen," she started, pulling me back into reality. "I've been thinking--"
*'Oh God, what now,'* I thought to myself.
"I need a 'damsel in distress' for Tuesday," she declared.
"Why?" I pressed her, utterly confused.
She shrugged her shoulders, turned off her laser vision to inspect her soup. "It's been a slow semester around campus, like, I can't even show the college my abilities anymore. So I need you to pretend to get mugged in the middle of campus on Tuesday. You only have Physiology until 12:30, right?"
I just stared at her, appalled. "Please tell me this is some sort of joke," I replied dryly, looking at her expectantly.
Cocking her head to the side, she looked at me. "Sweetie, I know it's hard for me to understand as a *norm* what a superhero needs, but I'm like a tiger, if you don't keep me moving, I'll waste away and I don't deserve to be neglected."
I wondered if I stared at her long enough, it would make sense. It didn't seem to be working. "Alright," I began, already tired of this conversation, "I'm gonna say no, and formally suggest you not enlist anyone else. That is not what your superpowers are for. If you want a real challenge, why don't you just fly over to Chicago?"
If her eye roll had been any bigger, I think I would have seen her optic nerves. "First off, I told you I don't like Chicago. Deep dish has too many calories and the lighting is terrible for photo shoots. Come on, you priss, just do this for me," she retorted angrily.
"No," I replied, calmly yet resolute.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was uncharacteristic of me to defy her; I hate confrontation. I could see her cheeks flushing, blood pressuring rising, heart rate increasing. She rose to the challenge in any fight, norepinephrine levels going up the minute someone opposed her in anyway. One time she burned a hole in the white board just to the right of a professor who told her that her answer to a question was incorrect. Her abilities were great, but her control, not so much.
I mention the vital signs because I'm a biochemistry major, going premed. I work in a hospital, specifically that cardiac wing. I want to become a cardiac surgeon and revolutionize the field. My roommate has dismissed this several times because she thinks I'm just a stupid norm, but I comfort myself in those moment by using my X-ray vision to ~~look into her cold, black heart~~ look at the weak spots in her primary arteries and pray for one to burst. Which I wouldn't have to pray: I'm also telekinetic. I could easily burst a blood vessel in her brain--or a variety of other things that would harm her in some way--but I use my powers to help people, not for murder--although I did consider it when she left her dishes in the sink so long they grew mold. You see, I can perform heart surgery without ever making a single incision on a patient. Do you know how many people in America have heart disease? Greater than one in three. My roommate has to wait to have a crisis happen. Thanks to Mickey D's, Marlboros, and close relationship between the American ass and the couch, I literally don't have enough time in the day to save all the people who need saving. But I don't wear t-shirts that say Super-HER-o. I just go to fucking work like a normal person, do my job, and watch out for my loved ones. I don't want the recognition, so I don't even have a superhero name. My boss knows, and we've been developing some techniques around my abilities, but I only work at the hospital due to their agreement to keep my abilities quiet. But today was gonna be hard for me to pretend to be a fucking norm again.
My roommate's eyes glowed, a dull red, like burning coals. "What?" she asked tersely. I plopped down on the couch. "Nope, not doing it," I commented calmly, pulling out my phone.
**Contrict bronchioles slightly**
I heard her gasp slight, but continue on. "You don't **swallow** understand what you're **gasp in** doing!" she retorted.
"I do," I replied calmly, scrolling thru Twitter.
**Initiate small intestine peristalsis**
The Terrific Titan clutched her stomach. "I swear to God, could you be any more of a lame ass norm??" she asked incredulously.
I finally turned to look at her. "I don't think you *see* **block firing from optic nerve** what's going on here," I laid the emphasis heavy on the "see." She screamed and fell to her knees. "What the hell?" She yelled. "You can't be not a fucking norm!!" she shouted, more angry than surprised.
"I'm the biggest norm ever, you tell me so daily. What's going on with you right now?" I ask calmly, playing dumb. It was fun to see her squirm, vulnerable for once.
"Now here's how things are going to go," I continued, down to business. "You are going to stop being such an asshat on campus. No more t-shirts of Terrific Titan, no more selling photos for money to broke college kids, no staged muggings. In return, you still get to be the best superhero on campus. And if you try to tell anyone, I will break down your liver for proteins and force them through your kidneys; or in non-science people terms: you can kiss drinking goodbye. So are we clear?" I asked, more aggressively than usual.
Her eyes burned a brighter red, then faded back to green in her defeat. She nodded glumly, looking down.
"Good," I reply, reversing all my interventions. I start walking towards my room. "Also you are going to want to go get a pap smear. That shit has been changing over the past few months." I may be a dick for my little power play there, but at the end of the day, she's still my roommie. | 2016-03-23T22:08:45 | 2016-03-23T21:31:57 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You have a "save slot" in your life. But only one. | The machines beeped in the background, his last beep was coming near. He lay on clean white sheets contemplating his life.
In ran a cadre of children, one of them carrying a frog that the older one was telling them they definitely shouldn't have in a hospital and can I hold it. He hugged them and told them each how much they meant to him.
Then came his eldest daughter. There was grey in her hair now, and her smile had wrinkled, but he still remembered her as a little girl, all those years ago.
"Hello father"
"Hello Daughter" he smiled. A formal greeting. She had started to greet him like this when she was seven, and had been learning about ettiquette in school. She had thought it funny, and he had gone with it. As always.
"How are you feeling today?"
The little grandchild chimed in "Do you want to see my frog?".
"I think he will be fine without seeing your frog thank you sweetheart. Why don't you and your sisters take it outside to the pond where you found it".
The children made there way out, herded by the eldest who was just old enough to read the situation.
She sat down. He flashed her a smile and started to speak before breaking into a coughing fit. She handed him a glass of water from the side board and he drank before sitting back.
They sat in silence, accompanied only by the beeping of the machines. His heart ticked on its endless toil.
She looked unfortable, and wiped away a tear from her eye.
"Dad, I know this isn't something people discuss, not even between family, but I wanted to ask about....well.. your save."
She let the question hang in the air for a minute. He looked over at her and gave her a look to continue.
"... I know mum used hers when she was in her twenties. And she used it to go back and avoid marrying some other man who she said abused her. I used mine when I first fell pregnant, and stopped my miscarriage from happening." She shuddered at the thought. "I just, always wanted to know. When did you use yours?"
He looked across at her and sighed. "I haven't"
"When I was in my twenties, I was worried I would waste it. You can only go back to it once, so I wanted to be careful. And then I met your mother, and we married. In my thirties I had you, and in my forties and fifties I somehow got your brothers, your sister and you to grow up into semi-responsible adults. In my sixties and early seventies I travelled the world with your mother until she..." his voice croaked as he spoke "... passed. And then I was 89. And I had great grandchildren. And cancer."
She interrupted "I was wondering... if... maybe you could go back, and find the cancer earlier?" Tears were pouring from her eyes. "I don't want to lose you daddy".
He smiled. She had always been his little girl, his eldest. She might be almost sixty now, but a parents love never changes.
"The problem my love is that of planning. You see, in all that living, I completely forgot to make a save."
She burst into tears and leaned over the bed onto his legs, sobbing into his lap.
"Sweetheart, even if I had made a save all those years ago, I still wouldn't go back."
"But why not?" she said sniffing. Her mascara was running down her face, and it reminded him of when she was eleven, and had first clumsily put on her mothers make-up.
He smiled, and stroked her hair.
"Because darling, I wouldn't for all the universe want to change one thing". | Four of them, big brutes, with clubs as long as Ai was tall. They circled the girl, waving their weapons menacingly, swinging towards her and laughing as she cried and jumped backwards.
*Four*. That was a lot of people. Still, he couldn't just stand there and watch it happen. With ferocious a war-cry, Ai sprinted at the closest one, tackling him to the ground. They landed in a heap, Ai on top. He couldn't see properly any more - he just needed to save her. His fist fell onto the fleshy part of his enemy's face - once, twice; blood fountained out of the unfortunate sod's nose, tears out of his eyes.
The other three saw this, and ran at Ai, screaming, their weapons raised above their heads. He pushed himself up, watched as the first blow sailed past by a mile, then kicked the attacker straight in the fork of his legs. The boy dropped like a bag of rocks, crumpling onto the floor and crying for his mother. The second boy swung, catching Ai across the ribs, but he didn't care. He needed to save her. Another punch, another boy fell.
It was just Ai and the last one. He looked even younger than Ai, and scared out of his shoes to boot. With one last look at the crumpled bodies of his comrades, he dropped his stick and ran.
Ai wanted to cry, from the pain in his ribs, but he couldn't - not in front of the girl. She walked over to him, the sun outlining her dark hair so he couldn't quite see her properly, but he didn't need to: Ai felt something strange in his chest, like he couldn't quite breathe properly; like there were words that he should say to her, but he didn't know them - and even if he did, he wouldn't have the courage to say. "Thank you," the girl beamed, and he felt all of it wash away - the uncertainty, the pain - all he knew was her smile. "My name is Mira... thank you for saving me." Ai blushed in response, trying to stammer out a response - failing. All words were gone, except a solemn promise to this girl:
*I will always be there to save you*
________
For as long as he could remember, Ai had loved Mira: her soft brown eyes, the curve of her lips, the gentleness of her smile, the joyous echo of her laugh. Everything. She was his everything - his best friend, the one person that he truly felt at home with. His soulmate.
Love was such a foreign idea, especially to one so young, not even at the cusp of adulthood yet, but Ai knew that *love* was what he felt, without a doubt. It was her face, every second, that flashed in his mind; her voice that he imagined as he closed his eyes every night; her light that coerced him to wake every morning.
This was meant to be, and after so many weeks chewing it over, he had to tell her, he had to ask her to be with him.
"No."
After a second, Ai's face dropped. The glimmer of hope that had lit his eyes just moments before, gone in an instant; replaced by the glisten of tears, quickly blinked away. He looked at her for another moment, then turned away, hiding his pained expression. *No*. A single syllable, yet so potent.
"I'm sorry -", she began, but Ai had already turned his back to her, already began walking away.
_____________
"Bloody rain", he cursed, wiping the worst of it out of his hair and beard. It was dark here, out of the street lights and headlamps from the multitude of cars that horded the city, but he needed to be here. He had felt it, and he had a promise to keep.
Hours passed, and the night got darker still - thunderheads darkened above, the rain increasing its tempo, faster still. Ai remained stoic, crouching and waiting. The hum of the city nightlife permeated the air - the giggles of drunk women, the self-assured laughing of their male escorts; and the ever present hum of the traffic. A single note broke through it all: a scream.
It was Mira, he knew - something deep inside him awoke, as it had all those years ago, as it did every time she was in danger. He pounced to his feet, and ran towards the noise, navigating his way through the maze of the city's back streets, and there he found her.
She was thrown on the floor, a man standing over her - knife in hand, her coat discarded, blouse torn. Ai moved without thinking, slipping forwards, snarling with rage - the thug turned with a start, and swung his blade clumsily at Ai's face. It would take more than that to stop him. He swirled out of the way of the blade, and headbutted the man solidly on the nose, pressing on still as he staggered backwards. A punch, a kick, another punch - Ai rained his fury down upon the fool who would dare try to hurt his Mira.
The bloodied mess that was once the man's face twitched occasionally - the only sign of movement in his otherwise comatose form. Ai turned back to Mira, the threat now gone, ran over to her prone body. His jacket was soon wrapped around her, sheltering her exposed form from the world, and he held her tight against his body.
She turned her head up to look at him, her expression blank for a moment, and then recognition: "Ai?" she asked, tentatively - he only nodded in reply. "You came for me again? After all this time?"
"I will always be there for you." He smiled, her hands reaching around the back of his head and pulling his face down to hers, pressing his lips against her.
A deafening crack.
A gasp escaped from the space between their tightly pressed faces as the bullet tore through his back.
____________
More noise. People. Beeping. More people. Sirens. So much noise.
"- internal bleed.."
Ai's vision was blurry as his eyes opened, then stayed blurry as they failed to focus.
"-he's fucking bleeding out"
But he knew she was there, she was with him. The paramedic's voice seemed distant, he could only catch fragments - something about him not having much time - but Mira was close. Everything else around her was a blur, but she was crystal clear. As clear as when he first met her.
"-we're losing him..."
She leaned into him, pressing her lips to his, then laid her head down next to him.
"Ai" she whispered into his ear, holding his hand between hers, "you cant leave me. Not now, I need you. I love you".
Ai smiled, and closed his eyes. This was the moment he wanted to save.
| 2016-06-10T03:56:10 | 2016-06-10T02:26:11 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You've kept your immortality secret for thousands of years. Thats going to be a lot harder now that your on a generation ship on a 2000 year voyage. | The view out here is great. I can finally take it all in, and after thousands of years stuck on a single planet, I had experienced all there was.
So it was time for a change. I applied and boarded the ship with my fellow explorers, intent on expanding our knowledge. At least that's something I still have in common with humanity. Only their sacrifice is real, as I'll see our destination, while these individuals get brief glimpses of the journey. It's admirable.
But it presents a problem for me - I will see the end of this trip, and I can't let that be known. I could have tried deception, with what little good it would have done. We're too close, and humans too curious. It would just be a waste of my time and effort.
So the lawn chair tied to the top of the ship is a much better solution. And the view out here is great. | I'm awake now, the dream had become so real, so drawn out that I almost lost my lucid capacity. It was enjoyable, I almost desire to return to it. I was one of them, like livestock. I sometimes had wives and children in the dream and they worked and went to school. I was never a child but grew old, now I know what its like. I died dozens, no hundreds of times just to start back again as another one of them, but I had died before it was not as strange as aging.
None of it was real, I have to keep reminding myself of it even now, it was harder to do when immersed. The empathy for their kind I relearned in my long dream had become familiar again. While asleep, I thought and felt like I did when I was young. Vulnerable and weak but without so much anxiety, without hunger. It seems like I was one of them for longer than I have been me.
The cryogenic chamber froze the hunger along with me, everything except for my mind. Maybe the plasma diet had somehow changed them, given them some insight into my kind. I doubt it but they would understand soon enough.
Hunger, the hunger is back now and I feel more alive. Any empathy I remembered for their kind during what seemed like a 100,000 year dream was now gone, washed away with the hunger, the immense hunger. I must remain calm for a little longer, I have to wait. I must control my urges, I am tasked with more important things than my selfish appetite. I have to wait until the ship is closer to Sagan's orbit. If I make my move now we'll starve to death before we have access to more blood but if I wait too long the others won't have fully transitioned and would provide quite an unwelcome spectacle for our welcoming party. I am not a young vampire, I must not let the hunger get the best of me.
But only one, I have to thaw out just one. If I die all is lost. I've only been awake for milliseconds and already my discipline is breaking down. I'm letting the hunger overtake me.
But just one, I need one to think clearly. I planned to use the remaining plasma but its not what I want. Its not natural. I'll keep it alive as long as I can. I'll cauterize where I bite. I've done this before, I do it all the time. It was actually 2000 years ago but it seems like 100,000. I still know how. And I remember how to open the chambers, I'll have to thaw one, just one and as soon as its warm again I'll eat.
I've forgotten what I plan to tell it when I let it out. I need to keep it calm long enough to sink in my teeth. Many of my kind are sadists, they enjoy fucking with them. But not me, I'm too old to enjoy that. I never did enjoy it as much as some. I have more refined tastes. My favorite blood is from the first bite. That first taste without adrenaline. The feel of my fangs sinking into uncontracted muscle. I'll thaw a man first. Its better to save the females. If I'm going to bite them while they're terrified and tense, squirming I might as well fuck them first. That's my other hunger and it has also been dormant. It is less intense but still present. I'll use all the males for food and transition only the most attractive females.
I open the first chamber, its a young man, Jerry Conoway, I remember him from before, a laughably arrogant fucker. Many of them are. How could a creature able to build this vessel and colonize other worlds, not even be aware of my kind.
Are we alone in the universe... you were never even alone on earth you silly blind fucks. I bet Jerry had thought like that. I stare into his dormant eyes as the warming fluid is pumped through his veins and arteries. How long should I wait after he is thawed. I want to bite into him now but how will the fluid affect his blood? I can't wait much longer, I'll have to find out. What would Lilitu or the other elders think about my inability to wait even an hour after thawing to feed?
| 2016-07-06T08:53:49 | 2016-07-06T08:28:05 | 90 | 35 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | “Come on, guys, sing!” said Grampy, looking around the room energetically. “Happy…” He trailed off, expecting his family to pick up the tune.
Jed wearily rubbed his face in his hands. “Grampy, can I talk to you in private?”
Servos whooshing as he twisted his head, Grampy stared at Jed intensely. “Why, of course, Junior. Right after we sing Happy Birthday.” He turned to the rest of the family. “Ready?”
Reddin, Jed’s five-year-old son, raised a stubby hand. “Grampy? What’s a Happy Birthday?”
Grampy leaned forward and plucked Reddin off of the ground with a single hand, placing him on his lap. “Well, you see, back when I was your age, the day you were born was called your ‘birthday.’ Every year on that day, you and your family would sing songs, give each other presents, eat cake…”
“But we don’t do that anymore, do we, Grampy?” said Jed. He stood up from the floor and walked over to the basement stairs. “Over here. Now.”
Reluctantly, Grampy got to his feet, prosthetic legs whirring as they adjusted to his center of balance.
Reddin sat in Grampy’s big armchair, swinging his legs back and forth. “Can I have a birthday, Dad?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” said Jed, closing the door. He led Grampy down into the basement.
“Now, what’s all this?” asked Grampy, eyes glowing gently in the dim light.
Jed sighed. He placed a hand on Grampy’s cold, lifeless shoulder. “Listen. It’s not that we don’t love you, or don’t want you around anymore, but…”
Grampy reeled back, pressing against the wall. “What are you saying, Junior?”
“We can’t keep interrupting our lives to humor you anymore,” said Jed, wringing his hands. “Maybe it’s time for you to…say your goodbyes.”
Grampy whipped forward, slapping Jed across the face. “How dare you? Let me tell you, back in my day kids showed respect to their elders.”
Jed rubbed his face tenderly. “I mean, your wife and kids all passed on centuries ago. Don’t you ever miss them?”
Grampy pondered this for a few moments. “Not for the last few hundred years.”
Jed sighed, descending a few more steps. “Listen, Grampy. You don’t have a job, you can’t pay rent, and you constantly beg for our attention. Just last week I had to cancel a meeting to supervise your new implant.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” A small door popped open on Grampy’s chest. He reached in and grabbed a steaming plastic dish. “Pot pie?” he offered.
“There are so many ways people can do this nowadays,” continued Jed. “You could have a VR-assisted death if you want. Something short and painless.”
“How can you even say this?” cried Grampy indignantly. “I was there when you were born! I watched you take your first steps!”
“I know,” said Jed gruffly, “You’re in all of my baby pictures.” He flicked on the lights, illuminating a cushy family room. “You’ve intruded in my parents’ lives, you’ve intruded in my life, but I won’t let you intrude into the kids’ lives. It’s time.”
Grampy’s shoulders sank. He trudged over to the center of the room and picked up the VR headset.
A series of thumps were heard from the stairwell. Reddin and his sister Ranna launched themselves into the basement.
“Grampy! Grampy!” shrieked Reddin. “Grandma taught us the words to ‘Happy Birthday!’ Come sing with us!”
Grampy held the headset under one arm. “Well, I would, son,” he said gravely, “but your dad just told me to kill myself.”
Ranna’s hands flew to cover her mouth. The kids stared at Jed, tears beginning to well in their eyes.
“No, I—“ Jed looked back at Grampy. “He’s just kidding. Grampy, why don’t you head on upstairs?”
Grampy flashed a grin, light bouncing off his chrome teeth. Bending down to the kids’ level, he said, “Race you to the top!”
The kids took off, stumbling back up the stairs as fast as they could. Throwing Jed a knowing wink, Grampy activated the boosters in his legs and charged back up the stairs.
---
Check out /r/FlyingNarwhal. It's sweeter than birthday cake! Well, sweeter than the birthday cake from this story's universe, anyway. They ran out of wheat a couple hundred years ago and now can only use ground-up limestone. | 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T08:24:16 | 916 | 104 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | Blood oh blood! Black is all I see,
She puts her finger on my lips gently to say "Come away with me"..
I try to look straight to ask her for answers,
while a million thoughts race through my mind like cancer..
"You owe me", she says, giggling with sparkle in her eyes,
then she flips out a blade right from beside her thighs..
With quick motion, a cut presents on my wrist,
She looks at it as it oozes darker, and darker as I clench my fist..
"How did you know?" I fumble to ask her shocked,
She replied "I always knew, that our secrets would become unlocked"..
With a final slit to my throat, she looked and said " I wanted you to feel",
While i collapsed holding my bleeding throat, next to me she came to kneel..
"Darling" She said, " I feel now that we're one",
She slit her wrist one final time, and lay next to me saying "We'll never be undone"....
| "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T21:31:39 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You illegally download a virtual reality role playing experience but it turns out to be a honeypot and it unleashes merciless advertising and psychological punishment upon their now captive viewer - sympathetic low level developers left hints on how to escape/disconnect from this hell | It was a victimless crime, I thought. I quickly discovered that I am the victim.
After years of illegally downloading everything from music to textbooks, I suspected nothing out of the ordinary when I pirated a copy of LifeSimulator. It seemed like a promising sequel to FarmSimulator, but I should have looked closer. Who would want to simulate regular human life?
Everything changed when I slipped on my virtual reality gear to play LifeSimulator. I was just a teenager then-- Am I still? I’ve been here for ten in-game years, but I have no idea if that means ten days in real life or ten decades. I’m still conscious, so I hope that means my body hasn’t starved. I think, therefore… Therefore… How does that go again?
I have a life here. I’ve made one to survive. Though I was thrown directly into gameplay without tutorial, the rules were simple enough to figure out: act predictably, get rewarded; act differently, get punished. Unfortunately, the punishments severely outweigh the rewards. I don’t know if I can call them punishments, because the moment I step out of character, the game glitches until I do something normal.
In the game, my name is John, and I am the protagonist. I am a middle class office worker with a two story house, a wife, and a kid. My main objective is to play every day according to the same timeline. Whenever I do something predictable I am rewarded, and the following events go smoothly. For example, whenever I go to work, I am rewarded with money. Whenever I buy coffee from Starbucks, I am rewarded with coffee. Whenever I tell my wife I love her, she tells me she loves me-- and she doesn’t freeze and turn into a bloodthirsty demon.
Whenever I make a mistake I am punished. Every day, I follow the same patterns, but if I don’t my surroundings instantly slip into the depths of hell. To survive each day, I must successfully navigate conversations with my wife, my child, my boss, and the Starbucks barista. The same barista is there every day. His name is also John.
One day, some unmeasurable time ago (it must have been back in the earlier years) I was hopeful, and I tried to escape my punishment. When I arrived at Starbucks, I decided to switch up my approach to the interaction.
“Hello John. Will it be the usual for you?”
“No thanks, John. No coffee for me today.”
John dropped the empty cup he was holding, fire in his eyes. The other customers all turned and stared at me.
“Are you sure about that, John?”
“Yes.”
The walls of Starbucks melted around me, revealing endless darkness where they stood. The chatter of customers dissolved into strained, scattered whispers. John the barista transformed into a twenty foot tall hellbeast with claws, horns, and tusks. I knew that if I just said the magic words “I’ll take the usual coffee, please,” everything would turn back to normal. I fought the urge and reminded myself that this is what I wanted. This is what I wanted.
I followed my plan, and I turned around and ran. I ran directly into the void, with John the barista lunging after me, snarling and bloodthirsty. I realized then that I didn’t know what would happen if he caught me.
I ran and I ran, and I have no idea how long, but I ran. The longer I ran, the louder the whispers became. They terrified me. They finally became loud enough to understand. I realized that they were the same words repeated over and over:
“This is a horror game. Keep running.”
No. This is no horror game-- It shouldn’t be. It can’t be. This is LifeSimulator-- This is my LifeSimulator. I suddenly found myself craving the comforts of home and a warm Starbucks coffee.
“I’m sorry about that, John. I’ll take the usual coffee, please.”
“Great. Coming right up.”
I follow the rules now. I don’t have to be a victim. Whenever a friend becomes an enemy, I know that I must be going in the wrong direction. | Thin wafts of clouds floated above Jonas’ bed, their wavy, opaque forms weaving in and out of each other in a manner that could only be deliberate. Complex, multi-layered Helix knots spun and shivered, undoing themselves as casually as they had been born. A line of thick white took the appearance of a slithering snake, only to quickly morph into a puppy, joined in turn by several other disbanded wisps that became cats, mice, cows and pigs. Eventually, an entire farm sat perched above him, each of their members shifting slightly in the breeze.
Jonas had never been to a farm. In fact, no one he knew had ever been, either. They still existed, of course, though in Jonas’ mind they were either relegated to quirky, rural backwoods bogans or a generation with one foot out the door. Still, there was a serenity to this city of clouds, and Jonas could imagine himself sitting on a canopied porch in an antique rocker, sipping sweet tea and watching his animals graze. He could even picture the grudging but invigorating early rises, the back-breaking but intensely satisfying days of labor, and the familiar, comforting embrace of a quaint cabin and a warm body. He would live there quietly, anonymously, for the rest of his days. For eternity.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The alarm blared first. Always, always the goddamn alarm. The flashing red strobe lights followed, their ultraviolet rays burning through Jonas’ eyelids and sending sharp pangs of bright pain through his skull. The fantasy vanished as soon as it arrived, it always seemed.
*Never long enough. Never, ever long enough! That’s how they get you. How they rope you in and keep you. As if they needed a hook, anyway.*
Burning floods of regret charged through Jonas’ gut and up his chest, sending him pitching and doubled over the cot’s side. How much had that one cost him? Every Waking for Jonas began like this. A recount. A reckoning. The dire, pressing assault of his mind screaming at him for what those credits could have bought him. And yet he could rarely resist. It seemed that the urge to jump into another VacaSim the moment it could be afforded was every bit as strong, if not more so than the one that swallowed him after.
Jonas wished, not for the first time, that he could communicate with the others. Oh, the relief that would come, knowing that he was not alone, that he was not such a weak, miserable, spineless creature! And if many did have the willpower to resist, he would know it was possible. He would ask them questions, call them ‘brother’ or ‘sister,’ revel in the lovely bond that only shared suffering could fuse.
The words kept coming back. Though Jonas had only scanned them, they played like a symphony in his head.
*I, Jonas Harris, the undersigned, hereby grant Flowix Corporation and its subsidiary Virtual Synergy Maximum (hereafter ‘VirtuMax’), complete and exclusive rights and control to my person, subject to all provisions in the Digital Reality Consumer Rights Act of 2042 (56 U.S. Code § 10021-10046), for the period of two (2) years. I attest that I am of sound mind and body, and I make this commitment freely and of own accord in the presence of four (4) witnesses, at least two (2) of which are of my own choosing.*
It had first struck Jonas as odd that he could recall the agreement with such specificity. It was only recently that he realized it must be an intentional feature of the VirtuMax experiment, though to what end he could only speculate. There was no getting out of it, in any case. Legalities aside, he had been completely immersed without interruption from the moment he had been strapped down and the headset secured.
Jonas kept himself hunched over the bed, digging his hands uselessly against his ears. VirtuMax as a system was completely analogous to reality, the physics and sensations of its world indistinguishable from without, since the hardware not only mimicked, but activated the same neural pathways that an identical, flesh and bone encounter would. The exceptions were always deliberate, as when those running the simulation decided to make their alarms and lights impervious to influence.
Jonas tore himself up, hobbling over several feet to the console panels on the side wall of his tiny, 10x10 “home” room. Lately he had been stuck here for a minute or more, torn between two pressing evils. There was no decision, of course, since refusing to turn off the Waking system only invited louder sirens and more blinding lights. He was earning no credits during the period, either, which just pushed each VacaSim further away. And yet, still…
He slapped the “Wake’ button and the assault stopped instantly. A brief silence settled over the room and it was for this moment as much as the Vacasims that Jonas had begun to exist for.
*Never long enough.*
The walls melted like a deflating soufflé and Jonas was suffocating in a sea of color. Dark red ribbons wide as highways flowed around his feet and hard, deep blue blocks of ice whizzed past him on all sides. From above, shimmering purple waves rippled like whirling tornados, pelting him with hailing light. No option was a good option.
Jonas gritted his teeth and flew up toward the waves, the only AdSpace he didn’t recognize. They seemed to part menacingly, like a shark’s jaw as it invites its prey inward. He was quickly surrounded, instinctively flopped into the splayed, prone position that he had learned was least excruciating.
Harsh, grungy techno music blared from all sides and Jonas found himself facing a wide angled view of a sprawling orange desert. Strangling, stubborn shrubs poked out intermittently and seemed to fight tooth and nail in an attempt to stand tall as each stiff breeze ran through. A large, lone cactus stood dead center, oblivious to the brinksmanship.
*This can’t be it.*
It wasn’t. At once, thick mounds of dust spurred in the distance and a heavy pounding followed. Jonas saw dozens of tiny, sharp pinpoint reflections growing brights and wider by the seconds. The dusty, cream-colored horns materialized next, followed by their giant, hoofed owners that Jonas did not recognize but resembled a sort of rhinoceros and hippopotamus hybrid. Their stampede shook the earth, quickly drowning out even the oppressive ambient music. Jonas took a deep breath and braced himself, the simulation refusing him permission to shut out the assault (closing his eyes had no effect).
At once they were on him, whipping past with hundreds of tons of fleshy, armored mass. Jonas could feel their heat in his bones, their skin on his face. They ripped into him, splitting his body into a million shards and pulverizing the remains with callous routine. It could not have lasted for more than half a minute, though Jonas sobbed with the eternities he had endured.
As he pieced himself back together, Jonas watched the dust settle and the scene reset itself. Large holographic letters appeared over the landscape.
**“Conserve Water!”** *Brought to you by the California Department of Water Resources.*
Underneath, a small, red display blinked into focus.
*15 Credits earned. Continue?*
Jonas bit into his tongue until he tasted blood.
| 2016-12-27T19:17:02 | 2016-12-27T15:05:15 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them. | "Hear me humans! You will fall and we shall call this new world our own!"
Thunder crackled around the mysterious humanoid as he raised his sword to the sky. Fire and ice swirled around his swelled body, the bones of his past conquests hung from his belt dancing in the storm he seemingly summoned at will. Hordes of giant creatures assembled in the fields behind him, entering our world through shimmering gateways erected from the grey mists.
"We've studied your kind for centuries, and now we are here to take earth for our own! Bow before us, for we are kind slavers" a hearty chuckle traveled through the misty morning air, "Choose not to surrender and we will - "
A single gun shot ended the speech, the seven foot tall silhouette feel to its knees and groveled in pain. Several more shots rang out as the group of special forces operatives sent to inspect the disturbance tested the bullet proof properties of the creatures skin.
"They're flesh and blood Commander, light them up."
No sooner had the radio clicked off when dozens of attack helicopters swarmed in over the hillside, raining thousands of bullets per second on the helpless ensemble of mythical men and monsters. The other worldly army fired back with massive bolts of magic and fire, dragons took to the sky while a squadron of F16's lobbed missiles chased by the hum of fifty caliber persuaders.
On the ground thousands of troops descended from the hill tops firing at the invaders mowing them down in masses.
Legend says the battle raged on for 7 days and 7 nights. I heard that it only lasted about 7 hours. All I know, is the pen may be mightier than the sword, but a 5.56 round trumps both. | "The stores of Turas, the most valuable resource of magical properties, are running out. Without it, our society comes to a grinding halt, with the essence farms of Neratha drying up without the Turas, our warlocks' incantations becoming nothing but words. Modern Elvish society would fall to chaos, the Unified Elvish Clans would fall apart, Elf turning on Elf, our glorious empire falling to anarchy.
Ever since the wellspring of Turas in our lands was drained, we had turned to invading other dimensions to sustain our stores, siphoning just enough Turas from those dimensions' inhabitants to prevent them from discovering magic on their own but still allowing them to live.
After a few millennia, over many generations, those inhabitants would have recovered enough Turas, just enough to bring notice to the possibility of magic through several individuals gaining magical abilities. This was called the Turanin Threshold. That's when we would invade again, not only to restock our stores, but also to prevent them from ever becoming a threat to us. The Humans of the Terras-Gaiasim Dimension were a special case.
Over six millennia ago we had subjugated them, easily crushing the primitive river valley civilisations. Of course, we helped them along their path, teaching them writing and language. We weren't savages.
Four millennia later we were shocked to find that a large number of Humans were nearing the Turanin Threshold. These Humans appeared to recover their Turas at a shocking rate. Of course, we invaded again. That was the second, and last visitation.
With our stores of Turas now running out at an even faster rate than before I regret to say we cannot wait for the Humans to regenerate any more. We must invade now to ensure the continued survival of Elvish society, and to preserve Elvish magical dominance over other races."
\- An extract from High Councillor Dawini'sar's speech to the Unified Clanmasters
---
"High Councillor Dawini'sar says we should invade the Humans again. Why?" The speaker paused, her loud, defiant voice reverberating around the hall. "Just to *preserve Elvish magical dominance over other races*?" She said, rolling her eyes while making air quotes with her long, graceful fingers. "Just to...*ensure the continued survival of Elvish society*? Give us a break. The warmongers in the High Council exaggerate as usual, talking about our so-called declining stores of Turas."
The speaker then lifted up a scroll, opening it up to reveal a painting. "Look at this painting of a Human, don't you see how alike we look? Elvish scholars suggest they could be our distant cousins, estranged from our light through some cruel twist of fate. Why are we treating them like livestock to be reared? Shouldn't we enlighten these savages? What's more—"
The speaker was interrupted by several shocked shouts from the audience, followed by the disciplined footsteps of several armoured Elves from the entrance of the hall. Painted on each of their shoulder guards was a shield with a sword and and a crown, distinguishing them as the Elvish Guard.
"Your knowledge is outdated," a helmeted elf spoke, with a small cruel grin the only visible feature of his face. A tall, red plume designated him as an officer. "The High Council has already begun war preparations, and ordered the arrest of any Human sympathisers."
As he spoke, more Guards flooded in, roughly grabbing members of the audience to drag them away. The officer made for the exit, before turning around to face his subordinates, the smirk still painted on his face. "The High Council has ordered these sympathisers to be the sacrifice to the Gods before the Visitation. Send them directly to the Citadel." With that, the officer turned away and marched off.
---
Rows of elves stood in perfect formation, their armour gleaming under the sun. The first few rows of elves stood with 2-metre-long javelins and rectangular, curved metal shields. On their belts were short swords. These were the Hastas, the front-line infantry formation. Following them were lightly-armed Sagittarres, elves carrying enchanted bows. Their enchanted quivers teleported arrows directly from arrow stocks, allowing the Sagittarres to never run out of arrows. Behind this legion trotted rows of winged horses, what the Humans labelled as Pegasus. On the horses were mounted elves, carrying lances to impale the enemies of the Unified Elvish Clans. These were the cavalry of the Elves, the Equitar. On one of the horses was High Councillor Repar'iti, the one chosen to lead the Grand Army.
In front of them stood the Malitar, the warlocks trained in battle spells to assist the Grand Army. Gathering in a huge circle, the warlocks began chanting incantations, their hands moving in the air in mystical motions. Arcane energies trailed after their palms, as slowly a portal was being forced into existence.
And the Army marched in.
-----
Sorry for the long start, I like to try to set up the world first. Do give your critique. I'll try to continue this. | 2017-09-14T15:29:29 | 2017-09-14T04:28:27 | 243 | 36 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | Elli was born without the names. Some people thought that she was blessed. She was not faced with knowing the name of the person who would kill her. Others believed it was a curse, some kind of disability. She had to admit that not having the names made her wonder if there *was* something wrong with her. Everyone has the names. So what does that mean about her? Will she never really be loved? Will she eventually become so lonely she'll just... kill *herself*?
That was what she believed until she met Brian. He was beautiful, smart, funny, and *he had her name*. He knew about her predicament, and didn't care. He loved her, even if it meant she'd never really be his.
Two years after dating, she accepted his marriage proposal. Their parents disagreed because of her "disfigurement", but it didn't matter. They were in absolute bliss. Through all the doubt, all the worry, she knew this was meant to be.
That was until two months before the wedding, when her mother burst into her home while Brian was away.
"You can't marry him!" Her mother yelled.
"We've talked about this, mom. He doesn't care that I don't have the names. We love each other!" Elli explained.
"I know he doesn't care, but you just can't marry him Elli! You can't! It's not meant to be!" She insisted.
"Then tell me why. Why can't you just let us be happy?"
Her mother sighed and sat down at their dining room table. It seemed as if she was struggling to find the words. "Your father and I... We were tortured by the names. We were happy that it allowed us to find each other but knowing the names of our killers... It tortured us, Elli. We wanted things to be different for you."
"What are you saying, mom?" She asked, panicked.
Her mother paused, looking at the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Elli demanded.
"We had them removed, Elli. People aren't supposed to know these things. We wanted life to be better for you."
Elli's mind went blank. She wasn't a freak. She wasn't disfigured. Her parents did this to her. Elli looked up, finally understanding what her mother was saying. "Did I have his name? Please tell me. Please tell me I had Brian's name." Elli begged.
Her mother stared at her for a long time before finally shaking her head. "I'm sorry honey."
Elli started crying, her mind racing. The one person she loved most in the world was not her soulmate. She'd already built a life with him, loved him, made promises, shared secrets, planned their perfect wedding and imagined their perfect home, they'd even picked out names for their future children.
Names...
That's when she realized. She didn't have his name... but he still had hers.
| Dannos Quill was asleep in his favourite chair when the early-warning alarms tripped. He had set the runes himself, personally inscribing them on the sides of 12-inch candles which he then burned in a mile-wide perimeter around his cottage by the lake. The alarms were tweaked to only detect magical entities of the 4th Order and higher, since he wasn’t worried about mortal threats *per se*.
After all, retired though he may have been, he was still one of the most powerful wizards in the entire Kingdom.
Dannos tottered to the door, threw it open, then stepped out, staff in hand. The sun was just setting, and its rays skewered the calm waters of the lake, unleashing prismatic dragons upon the surface. The birdsong had abruptly ended. He was rooting around in his mind, fretting about which spell he wanted to prepare, when he felt a hand slip over his.
He turned, and Mayna was there, as she always had been. He knew that Mayna would have sensed the disturbance too, but curiously, her face was devoid of emotion. No fear, no sadness, no panic. Their frequent rehearsals must have paid off.
“One, or both?” she asked.
“Both, it seems. At the same time.”
Dannos had pulled back both sleeves, revealing his forearms in turn. And now, the tattoos on each were no longer their usual dull-grey, but had grown livid with energy. The ancient lettering pulsed red-hot, like script writ from running lava, exuberant in its escape from long-dormant volcanoes.
On his left – SABINE.
On his right – BRENOWAH.
“Are you happy? To finally get this over with?” Mayna asked.
“In a way, in a way… I always knew this day would come. But whatever happens, I think I’ve had a long and fulfilling enough life as it is.”
“Do you really mean that?”
Darren heard the crack in her voice before he saw the doubt in her eyes. He looked down into her pale eyes of blue, and though her hair now ran with streaks of grey, though the wrinkles now crept over her face like the inevitable shadow of night, he could only see the Mayna Firewind he had met all those years ago, in the halls of the Academy.
Brave, out-spoken, resourceful, beautiful Mayna. From rival, to companion, then finally to wife.
“Of course,” Darren said. “My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“But… but one of them’s your soulmate,” Mayna said. “When she appears before you, wouldn’t you look upon her and think that perhaps you wasted your entire life here with me, when you could have been with her?”
Darren managed a small laugh. “Ah, you’ve finally revealed which of the two names you’re more worried about.”
Mayna clicked her tongue, then stomped lightly on his foot. “As prophecies go, even if the other one manages to kill you, rest assured that I’ll be sending her along to join you very shortly after that. But the first one… the soulmate…”
Darren looked up into the sky, then reached out with his mind. The two magical entities were closing in, like twin streaks of lightning racing to reach the ground. He still had time.
Just a little, but it was enough.
“Consider this, my dear Mayna. We all have choices, don’t we? I could have lived my life chained to the prophecy. I could have poured my life into controlling how I meet these two people whose fates are intertwined with mine. I could have spent every waking minute raging against the unfairness of it all. And what sort of man would I be then?”
Mayna chuckled. “Not a very good one, I must say. I would have throttled you long ago.”
“And so you would have. I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it again. I *chose* my life, in the end. I chose to be with you. We’ve seen it all, haven’t we? We’ve repelled demonic hordes, bloodthirsty invaders. We’ve nipped plagues in the bud, we've unravelled murderous cults. We kept the peace of the kingdom as best as we could, and we did the Academy proud. Side by side, Mayna, we did all that, side by side.”
“But… your soulmate…”
A tiny sob escaped her, and Darren placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. It startled him to think that a woman who had once stared down a dragon by herself, could yet be so vulnerable.
“Never think yourself as less, Mayna. She may be my soulmate, whatever that means, but you are my *love*, my wife. We took what we had, and we made an entire lifetime of memories of it, yes?”
Mayna nodded, and buried her head in his embrace.
“Would it be alright with you if I just fireballed both of them when they arrive?” she asked.
Darren laughed. “I couldn’t stop you if I tried. But aren’t you curious, though? To find out what this damn prophecy means? And why the hell both of them are coming together at the exact same time after a lifetime of managing to avoid me?”
Mayna sighed, then stretched out her left arm. The magic crawled along her skin, and a tiny portal opened at the end of her fingertips. She reached in, then seized her weapon. Her staff, a sturdy oak of whitewood, the opposite of the dirty muskybrown of Darren’s thrillingbark, thumped heavily on the ground.
They chanted together, as effortlessly as if they were one.
Which, in all senses, they were.
The protective spells leapt to life about them, forming a blue film around them, a soap bubble of the gigantic persuasion. In perfect mirror symmetry, they primed their spells. Overhead, two shooting stars, one red, the other blue, sped towards them. It was obvious from their current trajectory that they would end up right in the middle of the lake, side by side.
“Ready?” Darren asked.
“Ready,” Mayna said, as she grinned. “Just like old times.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-03-11T09:04:19 | 2018-03-11T08:08:31 | 270 | 37 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick of being ignored and insulted all the time, so they join the bad guys. They are a much more effective villain than anyone thought possible. | No one cared about Atrxia when he was casting spells to keep Lugh alive when he had a tusk the size of a roofbeam rammed through his gut. Lugh just pulled himself further onto the tusk to get that one foot closer so he could jab the demonboar in the eye and blenderize his brains.
No one cared when Atraxia was keeping the air pure when they traversed the bog of eternal stench. Not one thank you kindly.
No it was all make the camp fire Atrxia, set up the tent we have to go scouting.
Or when in battle, couldn't you hurl a fire ball or do that holy thing that kills zombies?
Atrxia was a healer, not chef nor a priest, no what have you. What did they expect?
That's why he'd joined a new team. The new team he'd joined actually appreciated the fact his magic could be used to make people nigh Immortal. Rasek even thanked Atraxia when he kept the spearman alive after his head and body were severed and covered in third degree burns. All healed up and reattached now. Very grateful.
Atraxia was even expanding his healing repertoire now. He was figuring out how to cure mental disorders. He was fairly certain if he ever ran into his old team he could heal their ungratefulness and they could be a team again under new leadership.
He was certain it'd happen, his new team was currently planning on healing the King of Tatpace. And his old team was supposedly guarding the king.
Atraxia had to sneak in and heal the king before the peace summit. The king couldn't possibly be in his right mind if he thought peace was what the world needed right now. No, he needed healing. | Daniel laid in the hospital bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft beeping of the hospital machinery. It was white noise at first. Blending in the background and hardly an annoyance. Then it seemed to change. Slowly at first. It got louder. Sharper before it finished its morph into a throbbing pain blasting a hole through Daniel's brain.
He looked around and with his free hand grabbed his pee bottle and opened it before pulled back his arm to throw it.
Maybe he could arc the shot. Aim it in a way that the pee sprayed out onto the electronics and fry the machine. Maybe. Daniel didn't know if the machinery was pee-proof or if his throwing arm could even throw that far but if it could give him twenty seconds of peace and quiet before someone came to replace it then it would totally be worth it. Besides. It wasn't like Daniel had anything better to do.
"Headshot"
Daniel turned his head towards the doorway. Standing there was a younger woman in civilian garb. Short, straight blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that Daniel would recognize anywhere.
"Luminesce" he growled.
Daniel flung the pee bottle as hard as he could but the woman was quick. She grabbed the open door and closed it lightning fast. The pee sprayed across the door and the bottle bounced harmlessly on the ground. Daniel's eyes flashed around his bed for something else to throw. Anything.
"Damn, that's pitiful" Luminesce said from behind the door.
Daniel gripped his pillow and brought it up to throw too.
"The great Headshot resorting to throwing pee bottles at his enemies. Oh how the mighty have fallen" she said in a mocking tone.
"YOU BROKE MY FUCKING LEGS YOU BITCH" Daniel roared. He could almost hear her smirk from behind the door.
"Now Mr. Headshot. When I opened this door are you going to hit me with more piss?"
"There's nothing left to throw" he lied.
The second she opened the door he threw his pillow and nailed her in the face. He grinned as the pillow fell onto the pee-covered ground. Luminesce looked at the pillow and grimaced. "And exactly what did that accomplish?" she asked.
Headshot grinned. "Nothing" he said. He was looking forwards to punching her the second she got too close.
Luminesce sighed and eased the door shut before walking towards his bedside.
Daniel grinned and folded his hand into a fist hiding it beneath his blanket. She just needed to get a little closer and he'd attack. Snap her neck before she could react.
*Click*
Before he knew it he was staring down the barrel of a gun. A pistol to be exact. A pistol aimed right at his forehead with the safety off and a finger of a trigger to be even more precise.
Headshot stared at the gun blankly for a few seconds before he started drooling. He hadn't seen a gun in weeks ever since Boon broke both of his legs. While heroes didn't kill they weren't strangers to destorying basic bodily functions. To destroying a villain's family life.
Headshot swallowed thirstily as he stared at the gun. "Give me it" he whispered.
And then. To his endless surprise she did. She turned off the safety and set it in his hand.
Daniel looked at the gun in his hand. Felt the weight. He could feel the bullets inside. Two to be exact. One for each of the guards outside his door.
"I'm going to heal your legs" Luminesce said. "And then you're going to break out. Tonight. After I leave"
"Why" Daniel said finally looking up at her and away from his gun.
"Because I need them dead. Scarlet. Boon and Kinesthetic" she said. "The fact that they never kill is breeding a new generation that's too weak to make the hard call and kill the people that deserve it."
Headshot watched in disbelief as she continued.
"Tonight there's going to be a breakout. You, Meatface and Plague are going to kill your guards and make your way to Pier 22 at exactly 1 o'clock in the morning. You'll have a ride waiting outside in the Northern Parking Lot where you'll meet up with the other two. You'll get further instructions when you get there".
Luminesce grinned again. "In a few days they'll be dead, you'll be free, and I'll be able to start a new hero team where I'm the leader".
"Well what's in it for me?" Headshot asked.
"Freedom, and all of Kinesthetic's lethal toys" she said still grinning like a maniac.
"Bu-but Kinesthetic doesn't have any lethal gu-".
"Of course he does" she interrupted. "He's preparing for the day that he'll have to kill".
The room whent silent as Headshot thought about it. His legs would take months to heal on their own and even when they heal he'll be in prison waiting for the electric chair. He stared back at the gun in his hand and smiled his infamously evil smile before holding out his empty hand for a handshake. "Deal" he said. | 2019-03-05T14:43:39 | 2019-03-05T14:25:05 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both. | The rattle of war trophies impacted the khan’s chest as his ship’s shields shuddered from the impact of infinite kelvin weaponry above the Thoran bunker world of artzegat- things were going poorly.
the khan ordered to reorient his ship, his H.U.R.T. drive forcing him into his seat as the ship’s nose lurched foreword 30 degrees, bringing his dorsal cannons to bear.
the khan Peered into his viewfinder as high impact slugs tore through smaller federation frigates before veering off course against the shimmer of pink from deflection arrays on federation capital ships
The Khan knew he was no match, the humans of course had failed to show up, whether they were intercepted or it was cowardice he was unsure, but would have betted on the latter.
Humanity were an atypical bunch in the galaxy, they put on a front of bravery and courage, spouting on about the tiny interplanetary wars of their ancestors and the excellence of a select few- and having enough charisma to make most members of the Thoran believe them in their ramblings despite them being completely untested in battle. We didnt even know how their ships looked, or even the weapons they contained- somethings humans kept well hidden to anyone except the federation admittance council.
However they had to have something big, something powerful, at something dangerous enough to make the federation demand demilitarization from them, and to keep only a defensive space presence in the galaxy if they were to be accepted. This is the hope that had been the major piece on the board when the humans contacted the Thorans after a human colony had been vaporized, reduced to atoms by federation infinite kelvin beams after humanity denied the accords proposed by the federation.
The khan ordered A division of fighters to commence an assault on the enemy flagship’s support drones- if they were going to turn the tide here they needed to destroy the deflection arrays mounted on them, to gain access and deliver force upon the almighty behemoth of a ship.
The Khan’s ship of red and black supplied copious amounts of covering fire as the fighters made their way towards the dreadnought
The khan watched as each pilot inside those small ships fought valiantly before being illuminated by micro pulses of red energy from federation ships.
He could tell the fighter craft wouldn’t make it, and with them so would go the Thoran race-
like wasps fighting a god.
Suddenly
A hole, in space
A void of pure black and emerged from it- a ship- Ragged and battle scarred. Blue radiation screaming from its foreign engines before more followed.
The Khan recieved an incoming comm- answering it he saw the small grainy face of a human female!
“Sorry we’re late to the party.” She said as the absence behind the human ship began to close “this is admiral Jacobs of the human colony defense militia- more are on the way, earth armada Zero just needed a little time to mobilize.”
(Part 2? Maybe? I have some ideas!) | The meeting took place in a bunker multiple hundreds of meters below the soil of an unknown planet within the solar system.
"Are you sure it is completely safe to speak here?"
"It seems I trust dirt and steel more than you."
"If you trust this place, I will too, I guess."
"So let's begin then."
"Ah, yes, so... when shall we declare our independence?"
"Are you mad? We need to get allies first, you small-brained Thoran. Never mind my outburst. But really, your ideas are ridiculous. We need more people than this."
"And your are recommending what? Ad banners all over Federation space saying "JOIN THE REVOLUTION"?
"Of course not. We will have to undermine them."
"That's obvious, now tell me how."
"Prove that the Federation cannot protect its members."
"Are you proposing open war instead of mere declaration of independence? You are truly the one who is mad in here."
"No, no, we supply and pay the Pirates to organize a single massive assault on a Sn-7.62D."
"You yet again prove you are mad. You say we fund space terrorists to attack the capital of the Sran? They are one of the strongest nations in the Federation."
"Listen, we need to make an impact on everyone else, shatter their belief on the Federation. We must order the Pirates to plunder it as fully as possible and then to bombard it from the surface. After all, the other nations have abandoned most of their weapons due to the Federation's new Bill's. It should be easy to seize even a capital, even of them, with ease."
"Ok, and then what? Huh?"
"By then most people will realise that remilitarization is a necessity and the Sran will hate the Federation in infinite quantities. We shall have a mighty ally and swayed interests of others."
"Sounds good. But when will we strike?"
"We will need to at least have the near full support of the Sran."
"So nowhere near now?"
"Of course not, we will help them repair their damaged capital. Cover the while story up. No one has to know except a bunch of dead pirates and a couple of us higher-ups."
"Fine then, Sir Darwin."
"Now leave, Ghajin, before our absence is noticed by any... 'unfriendly' groups."
*Some time later*
"So you are offering us these prototype weapons and this money to attack Sn-7.62D?"
"Yes, now be urgent. The Federation might have a spy in our ranks. We must complete this before they can intervene."
"Understood, Sir Darwin."
"Good to know we understand each other."
*Some time later*
"FEDERATION!!! SOS!!! SOS!!!"
"What is the emergency?"
"Absolutely ginormous fleets of pirates are assaulting the planet!"
"What planet is this message coming from? Never mind... wait what?"
"Sn-7.62D I know your re surprised, but we genuinely need help here."
"Do you seriously think will believe that YOU, the strongest nation in the Federation, needs help?"
"We do! They have already breached the first orbital defense ring! And the second one has just now fallen and is crashing down on the planet!"
"How can the pirates be so strong?"
"We dont know but- *BOOM*"
"What happened?"
"S-s-sir, th-~ ar~ bomb-~ th-~ planet! We wo-~ ast lo-~! Help!-~"
"SEND ALL FLEETS. I REPEAT, SEND ALL FLEETS. RESERVE FLEETS WILL GUARD THE FEDERATION CAPITOL."
*Back on Sn-7.62D*
"Crap. Did they even get our message?"
"I don't know man, but right now we have to avoid the bombs and falling buildings. And about that- *CRASH* "I just saved you from one. From now on, look around yourself please."
"Not like I have anything else to do."
*Some time later*
"Well you humans are such a nice race, they're helping us out after this devastating attack."
"Thank you."
"Our welcomes to you, Sir Darwin."
*Some months later, back in the bunker*
"When shall we declare independence?"
"Well, I don't know. You started this."
"What? That was the Thorans."
"Well you started it officially."
"You could have clarified that earlier."
"Anyways, back to the point. I reccomend we do it within the next couple of Earth rotations, or as we call them, days. Ghajin, are your fleets ready to defend?"
"Yes Sir Darwin."
"Konen?"
"My fleets are dispersed throughout the galaxy and if a war comes there will be fighting in every corner of it."
"Good, Konen of Sran. We are ready."
"Let us recite it first."
"Of course, Ghajin."
"The Sran, Thoran, and Humankind hereby declare independence from the Feferation. We do so as a result of the actions taken by the Federation, which include: nearly forced demilitarization, removal of rights of each race, by this I mean the near complete authority of Federation officials on each planet within it, and the demolition of multiple colonies, including A-4, B-17, Sd8-3.3, and 0-6-D.3."
"Short, not very clear, but it states the point well enough. Clear enough for people to know what we are doing, and at least a couple vague reasons. Sounds good enough, Konen."
"I tried. At least sort of to make this."
"We know, Konen, we know."
*At Federation capital ring a couple of days later*
"What is this? A declaration of independence? Oh boy, those Humans and Thorans clearly want a beating.* But Sran? I though they were happy enough? What could have made them willing to join our enemies? Maybe a slow assistance of our fleets? I mean, we did all that we could."*
"Lord Raiek, have you decided on our course of action?"
"Not yet, General Mazhouj."
"Then I will return later, Lord."
"Now go away then. I need to think."
*A couple of hours later*
*"I should probably send them an ultimatum, that is the most reasonable decision. No immediate war, but my demands are loud and clear."*
"Lord Raien, I am sorry to interrupt your thinking, however there is a message from the Humans." | 2020-04-16T12:05:46 | 2020-04-16T08:19:10 | 175 | 110 |
[WP] After a long and tedious process you were chosen to be the first ever human to test the new way of travel - the Teleport. All previous tests on objects and animals were very successful. Zero side effects. But after using the machine yourself you immediately notice a difference. | The light was bright. He closed his eyelids, but couldn't escape the blinding light. His eyelids probably weren't there, he scoffed.
He started blinking rapidly and heard the door hiss behind him, the humidity turning into fog as it fell into the room behind him. He was still blinking, the dark spots on his eyes made it so he couldn't see. He lifted his hands and fumbled until he felt the side of the chamber and he felt along the wall until he felt the opening of the door.
"Doctor, are you okay?" He heard the familiar voice of his counterpart.
"I'm having trouble seeing." He called back.
A moment later a hand grabbed his and helped steady him. "This way doctor," a reassuring young voice said. A flurry of voices fluttered past him about his status, he tried to catch them all. "None of the animals had vision problems." "Could it be a latent biological defect?" "What if there was too much mass on a human to accurately scan compared to our test animals?" "Well, we have data buffers that should handle an elephant....theoretically."
"Sit down here, doctor." His attention snapped back to his guide and fumbled his way into his cold, hard seat.
"Okay, I'm going to do a light test on your eyes, so please open your eyes and hold them open. He hadn't realized he had been tightly holding them shut.
As he opened his eyes, the black blob had faded a bit to grey. As he glanced around the room, he noticed a few oddities with his equipment. Who had messed with it? Had that caused the light? He focused on his nurse getting instruments ready and nearly choked on his own spit.
Bolting up, he backed away from the monstrosity before him. "Wh-who are you? WHAT are you??"
The nurse looked around at the befuddled faces around her, all taken aback.
"I'm Lauren. The medic. I'm.....human....? What do you see?"
"I see a lizard. You're all lizards."
"Yes?" Came the reply from a confused Lauren.
"Robert, why are you saying it like that? You're a lizard, too. What is humanity supposed to be?"
He looked down at himself. The grey clouding still present. His hands ended in well manicured claws. He pushed his tongue out of his mouth and ran it across his face. It was all completely alien. And yet, so familiar.
Robert calmed himself. "This is going to be a log and tests to end all logs and tests."
He slowly walked back to his chair and sat down and nodded at the medic. She breathed a sigh of relief and brought up a pen light.
"Please open your eyes."
"They are open."
"Open them fully."
Robert widened his eyes.
"No, your inner membrane."
Robert displayed confusion, exerted some effort and found his vision was perfectly clear.
His counterpart, a woman of incredible brilliance that had worked with him for five years, stepped up next to him. "Robert, what's going on."
"I don't know. But I'm going to sound crazy when I try to explain this....."
Kara pulled out a tape recorder and clicked it on. "Well, let's get it started, then....." | She dropped to her knees and vomited on the platform. It felt like she had been gone a long time. She mentally noted to include a bucket in future tests as human physiology must be more sensitive to matter transmission. Or maybe she could take some Gravol.
"Dr. Bandaranayake?" A hand gripped her shoulder. "Dr. Bandaranayake? You're in chamber 2. Is everything alright?"
She looked up at the face of Dr. Bose. His face wrinkled in concern. But something was different.
"Dr. Bose...?" she began.
"Yes.. It's me. You've made it!" He turned to the glass panel behind them. "She seems alright!" She could hear a cheer erupt from the other room and the sound of a bottle of champagne popping. Bose helped her to her feet and she leaned on him unsteadily.
"Dr. Bandaranayake, congratulations! You have now gone down in history as the first human to successfully teleport!" He shook her hand enthusiastically and leaned in towards her. "I knew it would work, Chathuri," he whispered, "No one is more clever than you!"
She withdrew from the handshake.
"No," she shook her head, "No, you're not Dr. Bose. Why are you doing this?"
The man's head as his brow crinkled in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Chathuri took a step back. "Who is making you do this?"
"Do what?"
"Pretending to be part of this project." Her head was beginning to clear as she begun considering the consequences of her teleportation.
"I have always been a part of the project, Chathuri." The man looked back at the window behind them, where the celebration was turning its attention to the chamber. "We've been working on this together for a decade."
She shook her head again. "No, not you. Not this version of you...." She trailed off and looked around the room. "But it looks exactly the same, and you..." She looked over the man who had been her friend. "You are identical, it's incredible." Chathuri turned and took a step off the platform and looked through the glass at her colleagues. Every one of them exactly the same.
"A new dimension," she said, "So similar, it's no surprise we never noticed a difference."
"Chathuri..." Dr. Bose reached out but she backed away from him. "Dr. Bandaranayake...? Nothing has changed."
She frowned. " I don't know why, or even how, but somehow I've entered this... facade." She saw the faces in the control room turn grim as her words came through the speakers.
Dr. Bose shook his head firmly. "No, nothing has changed here." He motioned to the control room. "You've been gone only a moment. The test was a success..." He looked into her eyes. "Or at least I hope it was."
She looked back at him. "The dedication is admirable, but you can drop the act. I know this," and she gestured to everything, "is not real."
Dr. Bose stared at her.
"Bravo, truly, for keeping it up. But," she shook her head, "Let's talk about what's really happening here."
"And what do you think is happening here, Dr. Bandaranayake?"
She stepped forward and knocked on the window. "I know you're faking it. Let me speak to who's ever in charge." She turned back to Bose suddenlt with a curious look. "Are you even human?"
Dr. Bose glanced nervously to the control room and put his hand over his mouth. Chathuri couldn't see anything noticeably wrong with the man.
"Please, stop the theatrics. I think-"
"Perhaps," came a voice from the door, "Dr. Bandaranayake, you would like some rest."
"General Qureshi, is that you?" She almost smiled. "Still as stern as ever, I see." The door to the chamber opened as two Military Policemen approached her slowly.
"We just need to run some tests," came the General's voice, "To assess what was damaged from the teleportation."
She laughed. "Damaged? You will find the results to be exactly the same as the full scans we took this morning. I've not changed at all." She put her hands up. "I won't resist though, I find it fascinating that this world would put on such an elaborate charade." The MPs guided her from the chamber. She paused as she passed General Qureshi and she examined his face. "The commitment to the role is truly amazing. I will go along with it for now, but eventually we must work on getting me home." She turned and followed the MPs down the hallway. The General watched her as she tried to absorb every detail of her journey and he shook his head sadly.
"General?" asked Dr. Bose, "What if the scans really do come back the same?"
"I'm not sure Dr. Bose. The delusion seems to have completely taken hold of her. How did we not see this in the testing."
"Perhaps it is some element of consciousness," Bose looked back to the platform grimly, "Some part of us that can not bear to be ripped from the fabric of reality. And to return... Well, the knowledge that everything can cease to exist, even for an instant, may be much too terrible to endure."
Qureshi sighed. "You mean our souls, Dr. Bose?" he asked.
Bose shook his head. "I am a scientist... But there is some difference between us and all other creatures on this planet. Some connection is made that has made us sentient. But we remain products of all this nonetheless." He looked upwards towards the sky that lay several kilometres above them. "Sagan said 'We are a way for the universe to know itself.' Take the universe away, and what are we? How do we come back from that void?"
“O ye who believe! Fear God and be with those who are true," the General said softly. Bose raised his eyebrow questioningly. Qureshi sighed again. "It is from the Quran, Doctor. It is a reminder to stay on the moral path and be conscious of Allah's power and righteousness." He shook his head. "Perhaps it warns against the madness of those who stray too far from that light."
Dr. Bose looked back down the hallway where Chathuri had disappeared. "Or those who are thrown into the darkness," he added. The General, whose eyes had never left the hallway, only nodded. | 2020-05-30T08:10:48 | 2020-05-30T07:03:31 | 201 | 63 |
[WP] You were tested for superpowers as a child, and became the most recognized superhero of all, yet no one has figured out what your power is, that each time you die, your life restarts from the beginning with all the knowledge you gained from your previous 'run'... you're on run 32,562. | I still remember the first life. Tested with off-the-charts thaum-levels yet for the entirety of my life, nobody could figure out, what I was supposed to be good at.
It took me a few lives to figure out how to access my memory early. At first it just vanished at birth and only came back as flashbacks over the course of my life. But I trained, trained to access the information of my past lives and by life 1000, I had the knowledge of some lifetimes at the age of four. Not just factual knowledge, also knowledge of events to come in the next 34 years. I guess those were my wild years ... well, lives, I experimented a lot, lived every life differently but always fabulously, riches and fame as I could have wished for.
Eventually I started to become something of a superhero. I probably did it for more admiration at first but as I matured, spiritually, I realized that improving the world was more fulfilling then improving myself for a few decades before the doomsday war turned earth into something not worth living on. - Don't get me wrong, I managed to create several ways for me to survive but the world afterwards was just plain worse then starting the first 38 years allover again.
Preventing the war was more difficult, I was close to 7000, I guess, when I started to try but with so many nations and - more importantly - so many supers involved, it was like an event destined to happen in one form or another. The solution - and the reason why you can only hear about the war in my memories and the visions of a few sideway-seeing precogs is, that I had to further improve myself. I stopped living in the open and focused on building up influence and resources in the hidden. Learned from my failures and about the people I had to meet early in their lives to draw them on my side. In the end it was a selection of 21 specific individuals, that I had to find and a plan to use their ability to the fullest to change history and give earth another shot at it.
This was just 31 years ago and yet it was over 15,000 lifetimes ago. For me at last. I died before my 69th birthday the first three times after finding the solution to preventing the doomsday war - when you just reincarnate in your own body you don't tent to care that much for your health. Then maybe 5000 lives I just accepted this new death as an inevitability. After all, there is no force on earth great enough ... not the combined nuclear arsenals of all nations nor all supers in the world combined ... to stop a rogue exoplanet 15 times the size of earth.
This is why I build the network of academies for the gifted. To search hidden talents, more supers, one who might, with the right training be our savior. There was none. At least I managed to train some espers to look far enough into the future early enough to warn the world of their doom, though arguably, this created different problems and ultimately did not help.
And so I went a step further, created a program, that many called "modern eugenics" and "playing God". And yes, for the ultimate goal of mankind's survival I threw many moral standards away for several thousand lifetimes, I became the villain before finding both the way to cause specific powers and the persons to invoke it in.
I tried several avenues but no teleporter was strong enough to move the orbit of the earth, no telekinet was able to slow it. No force evoker could blast the rogue planet off its course.
So I gifted Adam the power of force duplication. But not like most force copycats, who can hold on to one power for a time. Adam can gift powers to other people. Permanently. He has started to copy both his own power and my power to everyone he knows a few hours ago. Our seeders should by now have flown or teleported to every mayor population center in the world and began the spread. We added the ability to give small objects a dim red glow by touch so if you realize that you have this ability please copy the whole set of abilities to as many people around you as possible. We would like to have the whole world imbued with my ability before the rogue planet hits earth.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
Time is no longer flowing in a recognizable way. `We evolved` Reality is ever-shifting ^(The first few dozen lives) with every person dying, `as a species. We` ^(were interesting.) **We leaned to master** getting reborn into his self and leading a different life. ^(Violent.) `learned other powers and` ^(Or were it hundreds?) `learned to transfer them back` **time itself. And finally:** ^(It's impossible to count.) **Ascension.** `to the beginning of our lives.` **Earth was mankind's cradle but we have finally left it.** | It hasn't been easy to find her. And though it has only been a few minutes since the attendant left to tell her of our arrival, I stood up and began to pace to ease the questions on my mind.
'Why did they send me here? To this rural village of an obscured side of Africa to find her.' 'Go see the lady', they said, 'you'd no doubt find something valuable'. No further information at all. Just 'pack your bag and go see her. We'll let her know of your visit.'
'So cryptic!' Though I found it amusing and rather fitting. After all, she has always been one of the most mysterious superheroes of all time. I haven't heard about her for decades, and despite being one of the most recognizable heroes, none has been able to say what her power was, or whether she even had any at all.
Many suggested that the test results had been fabricated, others blamed machine errors for the unexplainable high scores. She herself claimed no special abilities, yet it seemed there is something rather mystifying about this woman. After all, none could deny what she has done for humanity during the paradigm shift and upheaval of mid 21st century.
The attendant came back, and motioned me to follow him. We walked quietly into the meeting hall. And there I saw her, seated on a long white divan. Her white robe covered her emaciated body, her long hair gracefully over part of her shoulder. And though she looked nothing out of the ordinary, there seemed to be an invisible force in the air. A magnetic power emanating from this woman, a silence reverie hard to describe.
She greeted me, letting me know she's pleased to see me and that arrangement had been made for my stay in the village. Then she smiled and asked if I have any question to ask of her. I paused, unable to speak as if lost for words, the earlier questions has all vanished.
After a moment, I blurted, 'Tell me 'Who are you?'. Tell me why I was sent here today. Tell me what this is all about.'
She listened intently. Then after a moment of silence, she smiled, spreaded her graceful hand in a deprecatory gesture.
'Oh, there is little to tell.'
'Lives after lives, what things haven't I seen?
What events haven't I witnessed?'
'Centuries after centuries,
which pleasure haven't I tasted?
Which sorrow haven't I borne?'
'Money, prestige and power
Pretty simple things, are they not?
And how long do they last along the river of time?
For what births in time, ends in time.
And whatsoever arises, eventually passes away.'
'Brahma the Creator,
Vishnu the Preserver,
Shiva the Destroyer.
Oh these various costumes, I wear.'
'From the Alpha, to the Omega
Christus - The Anointed,
Buddha - The Awakened,
John Jones, Mary Smith and Betty Brown,
which role then haven't we played together, young one?
"For all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." [^1](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56966/speech-all-the-worlds-a-stage)
'Homage then to all of Reality.
Homage to the one who died on the cross. And to those who nailed him there out of fear.
And homage unto you, the hero with a thousand faces.'
'from birth to death, and death to rebirth,
the 1000 forms of fears.
Guilt, shame and hatred,
to anger, regret and despair,
which one hasn't made a home in your mind?
And which one now, haven't we vanquished?'
She put her hand upon my head, running her fingers through my hair with a gentle love of a mother for her beloved child. There was something so mystical, and so so divine in those lustrous eyes which are gently staring at me.
'Fathers, mothers, how many deaths have I mourned?
Wives, husbands and young ones, how many have I embraced?'
'And now, in front of you now, my child.
After all that is said and done'
'I-Am here'
'Each life, like a dream of yesterday's night.
I awake, abide, and then pass away.'
'And yet, I-Am ever remains the same.'
'I Am that I Am'
'At the end of it all, I Am that I Am'
"Unchanged, unchanging, unchangeble forever; I Am that I Am'
She said softly, her voice resonated as her fingers gently touched my chest.
Suddenly I felt electrifying. My whole body began to tremble and shake. My spine chilled and tingled as a thrill of nervous energy shot through my body. My nerve ending felt as if they were dancing and my hair stood on end.
Within me I became aware of something like a heart, an inner heart. Not within my chest but felt rather like the core of being. It is the source and support of all that exists.
Within this heart, I saw or felt something like a closed bud. In a mystifying state, I felt this bud begin to open and bloom.
My vision tingled and shifted as if going through a psychedelic trip. My kneels fell down to the floor.
I saw the whole of my being formed roots of energy. They spreaded throughout the ground, and connected to all living things around me. I could see and feel the life energies surrounding everyone. Not of just bipedal human beings, but of beings of diverse varieties. Not of just from one planetary system, but myriads of solar systems and their planetary bodies. Not just of carbon based life forms but innumerable forms of beings.
I could feel my psychic structures blend into these roots, connecting to all and becoming One with them in a web of brilliant Light. I saw before my eyes an amphitheater of beings as the web reach out into infinity. I could feel them within me, and feel my life coursing within each of them as the roots pulsed, connecting us all together. I broke into tears. A cascade of tears came gushing out of my eyes. Not tears of pain but of unfathomable joy. The eternal heart of all beings beats as One. I felt within me the lives that we have lived together. Not simply as an idea but lived experience.
'I am that I Am.'
Her voice again resounding within this matrix of reality.
“My consciousness has ceased associating itself with this temporary body.
Before I came on to this earth,
‘I was the same.’
As a little girl,
‘I was the same.’
'I grew into womanhood,
'but still ‘I was the same.’
'When the family in which I had been born made arrangements to have this body married,
‘I was the same.'
'And, in front of you now,
‘I am the same.’
'Ever on afterward,
though the dance of creation changes around me in the hall of eternity,
‘I shall be ever the same.'
"I-Am all that has been and is and ever shall be" [^2](https://www.google.com/search?q=I-Am+all+that+has+been+and+is+and+ever+shall+be)
Her voice echoed, reverberating within infinite space. They felt soothing, like a sweet ringing bells toll. They seemed to be calling out to me, embracing me, caressing me, singing a song I know not the words of and yet feel strangely familiar.
The clarion bells called out to me.
'But which 'me' of these infinite 'me'?
And which world within this infinite net of beings that this 'me' abides?
For which one of myself do the bells tolls?
For whom the bells toll?'[^3](http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=2118)
I remembered thinking before fading,
blissfully and at peace, being caressed and cherished,
within the infinite Love of the eternal Light. | 2021-01-25T01:34:19 | 2021-01-24T16:59:17 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] You are a chivalrous knight. As it turns out, the Evil Empire you have been fighting against is a liberal democracy with a powerless figurehead and a very edgy sense of aesthetics. The Good Kingdom you serve is really an absolute monarchy ruled by a tyrant-king with good publicity. | You'd think someone wearing skulls with "Evil" written on the teeth would *realize* they were the bad guys, right? I had always thought that was a trope of the traveling actor guilds, but no, here I was talking to Lord Evil himself, skull-emblazoned shirt covered in spikes signifying the death he has caused for his people, chain necklaces signifying the slavery of his people, and heavy leather boots to show off the hard work he makes them do - just as we were taught in school in the Kingdom of Light. Lord Evil commands an evil land full of darkness and suffering. Yet he told me *we* were the ones in the wrong.
"You don't know what you're doing." He said as I pointed my dagger at him, closing in in his tiny back room.
"I know enough. I walked here through the villages. I heard the screaming at night, the death marches. I passed by traveling hordes that looked like they hadn't eaten in weeks, wailing and making strange flailing motions - you could hear them from leagues away and see their tortured suffering" I replied, dodging over a desk to try to grab him.
"You came to my kingdom at a bad time-" he jumped back around the desk and pushed a chair in front of me.
I cut him off. "Oh, so you didn't have time to sweep aside your evil deeds and give me a grand welcome? I know your type. That horde would have never even been let into the Kingdom of Light looking like that - they violated all of our dress and hygiene codes. Man, or they would have been fined and exiled if they were seen inside."
"No, you don't understand. None of the people from your kingdom ever listen to us, they just jump to conclusions. Our people you saw were dressed up for our winter festival."
I had him backed into a corner now, and took the time to talk, to get him to show some remorse before he died. That's the only way for his soul to be saved. Well, that or pay the High Priest of Light 10 years of labor or equivalent gold.
"You mean you starved them on purpose to be sacrifices at your festival? There must have been two legions of people there. In the Kingdom of Light we never sacrifice more than ten people at a festival, and they're always children so it lessens the impact on our economy... It used to be two children per year but the parents complained so they are sacrificed now too, as two whole families of five people each. Our good king decreed that for us to keep us safe."
"That's terrible!" He said. I paused, noticing the regret in his voice. Maybe he was starting to listen?
"Yes, you're truly terrible to sacrifice whole villages of young adults. I can't imagine what you would have decreed, and the suffering you have caused, Lord Evil."
"Would you listen to me? I think we have a misunderstanding"
"Fine! You have two minutes." I settled in with a smug grin. "Tell me why you think a skullmaster named Lord Evil has a simple 'misunderstanding' with the Kingdom of Light."
"Our winter festival - this is a music festival, you see. The 'hordes' you saw were going there to dance! It's a celebration of personal identity, so you probably saw them dressed up. The flailing was dancing. Have you ever danced before? Or sang?"
"Dancing's only allowed in the King's court, with a golden ticket. He says only people who are in his presence are happy enough to do it. And only certain songs... My mother was taken away for singing to me in the field once - she said she made me happier than any king ever could." My eyes watered remembering her voice.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He put his hand on my shoulder and continued. "We give people a month off of work to rejuvenate their spirits in the winter. That's terrible that you can't express yourselves this way."
"It would be nice, but if our king decrees it that way, he must have a good reason. He removed days of rest a few years ago - if we're busy enough, we don't cause trouble. He's such a wise man."
"Speaking of that - he also decreed killing human beings. Why do you even do that?"
"How else are you going to ensure there is enough food left after the taxes are taken? They say one soul is enough for the gods to give us twenty rainfalls."
"Don't you use irrigation?"
"No, the old pipes rusted out a generation ago - but relying on the gods is much better. Otherwise how would the king have been able to afford his new appointment room? I can't imagine what *your* appointment room must look like."
"Uh" he gestured broadly "you're looking at it. I hardly have enough to repair the walls when mice get in."
"But it's so plain!"
"It's *fine*. It's cozy. It helps me focus."
"But where do you hide your traps?"
"The what?"
"You know, like the cage for the tiger you release to eat the people you don't like, or the sword that swings down to make sure people are bowing deeply enough. How do you enforce your decrees?"
"I don't have any of that! Maybe it would come in handy sometimes, but I'm actually powerless."
I gestured pointedly at his skull crown.
He pulled up a chair and we ended up talking for a few hours. I have a lot to think about now. Lord Evil's parents were free spirits who gave him that name. He knows how to dance - he showed me a few moves - and told me his outfit, chains and spikes, is "metal" attire to bring more soul to the dancing, or something like that. And he actually *is* powerless. He talked me through the bureaucratic process they have and it's amazing they get anything done at all. Apparently that's also why he can't change his name, though his friends call him Bernard. But since he has nothing to do, he's taking me to the winter festival to show me what he calls the best of his kingdom. Maybe it's a ruse so he can sacrifice me there? But I think it's worth it if I can hear the songs my mother used to sing me. Maybe I can learn something good from this evil land full of dancers and bureaucracy. | We waited as the riders of The Order of the Shade’s detachment passed along the road. I held my hand in the air to keep my men silent. The enemy’s jet-black horses, coated with their vermillion red armor, cantered along. Their knights, dressed in the same black and vermillion, with spikes on their shoulders, rode along silently, looking forward. The symbol of their empire, a red hand stamp, dripping as though with blood, plastered across their knight’s chest and on their steeds.
“Could they not look more evil?” I thought to myself, shaking my head, watching the knights canter past us.
They did not see my men in the bushes. And they did not see as I swung my arm down in a signal to fire. The tensed bows of my archers released and three of their horses dropped immediately, our pikemen, dressed in the blue and white of our empire, came in and blocked the routes of escape.
The battle itself was quick work. All told we only lost five men. Always too many. But it could’ve been worse. And we captured three of their knights, the others died in combat.
I stepped up to one of the knights, who had his hands tied behind his back, and pulled off his helmet. I was surprised when I saw his face. I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess maybe something more sinister, but I saw no malice in the face of this man.
“What’s your name, soldier?” I asked.
“Timothy,” he said and with a quick motion, tossed his long hair out of his face.
I nodded. “Search him,” I said to a couple of my bowmen, who roughly went through his armor, looking for weapons. One of them pulled out a journal and lifted it in the air, pointing it at me as though asking if I wanted it.
“Hand it here,” I said. “And take him away.”
The three Knights were tied to a tree at our camp and they sat there in the cold as my men ate and laughed by the fire.
I sat apart from my men as I ate my meal, thinking back on today's combat and how we could have executed our ambush better, how we could have lost less men. I was sitting on something uncomfortable and when I reached down I realized it was the journal of the knight, Timothy, we had searched earlier.
I flipped the journal open casually. The journal was filled with the normal longings of the soldier. Longings of home, of their wife and children, of their ambitions for when they get home. But as I began to read further and further into the book, I realized that my understanding of the Order of the Shade was very misplaced. I realized that I actually knew nothing about them outside of what I was told in The Academy and from the weekly announcements of the Holy King.
Not to trust the Holy Kings words was tantamount to treason and from a young age I was told never to trust him. But my father also said I was stubborn boy and that propaganda didn't work very well on me. And now as I read, I learned that this Order of the Shade was actually just a group of people who voted for their leaders. Their leaders weren’t selected at birth by god, like ours.
At least that’s what we were told.
I grabbed a plate of food and I walked over to the prisoners. I untied Timothy and handed him the meal. Timothy rubbed his wrists and thanked me, then began to eat. He seemed to be wary of me, as though he was trying to figure out of this was a trap.
“I assure you, Timothy, deception is not part of who I am. You can relax.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
I looked at him. He looked so innocent. I raised my hands in exasperation and asked him, “why this armor? Why this symbol?” I pointed to the bloody hand print on his chest plate.
Timothy sighed. “It’s our useless president’s idiot son who picks our uniforms. He was appointed Minister of Aesthetics by his father. He chose the name “Order of the Shade” too. The brat is only fifteen years old and for some reason thinks this…” Timothy lifted his arms up and looked at his own uniform. “Thinks this is intimidating and y’all will be too scared to fight us.” He laughed. “I don’t think it worked.”
“I’d like you and your men here to come sit by the fire with us, if you would, Timothy. I’d like my men to hear of your country and your people.”
I untied the others and walked them over to the fire where my men were still sitting and laughing, enjoying their meal and mead. When Timothy and the other two knights of The Order stepped close, they raised up quickly, the laughter stopped and shouting began. But I quieted my men, explaining to them that I had untied them and brought them here. There was grumbling, but they sat back down and began to eat, staring suspiciously at the Knights of the Order.
The flames crackled in the silence, the twisting smoke rising up and disappearing in the night sky of stars.
“Tell them, Timothy, of your society.” I said.
\_\_
And he told them. Told them of their agrarian lifestyle. How they took care of their elders after they were too old to work. Took care of the sick and the weak. Told them of the way they voted for the leadership. He told them of the weakness and inaction of their current leadership.
“Well what do you expect?” Ulrick, one of my pikemen, said with a snarl. “You cannot just all pick a leader and act like that will magically make him better than anyone else. He must be chosen from god, just as Drakkar was, our Holy King.” The men touched their foreheads at our king’s name.
Bringing up our divine leader seemed to build a wrath inside Ulrick. “And this—” Ulrick said, pointing at the three men of The Order, “this is not appropriate. These are prisoners and I don’t care to hear their drivel of their pathetic society. We have all heard from The Divine King what these men are. And what they are is heretics. Evil. They would kill every last one of us if they are given the chance. I don’t buy their story, nor their feigned innocence.”
The other men in my outfit nodded at Ulrick who stared at me venomously.
“Are you going to return them to their rightful spot, *Sir,*” Ulrick said, pointing to the tree where they were just a few minutes ago tied up.
I stood. The men were silent, and I stepped up to Ulrick, an inch from his face. I could see the fear in his eyes behind the mask of malice. He understood he stood no chance against me in single combat.
“Do it yourself, Sergeant.” I said.
I could smell the stench of Ulrick’s breath as he stayed there, clenching his jaw.
“That’s an order, Sergeant,” I said.
He turned and spit on the ground, then told two of our other pikemen, Seth and Soren, to help him. They roughly grabbed the Knights of the Order and shoved them back towards the tree and bound them tightly to the trunk.
“Landis and Soren, you are on watch tonight." I said, then looked at the others. "The rest of you put the fire out and get some sleep.”
I sat back in my tent and reread the journal again, devouring every word of this mysterious society. I was born into one of the powerful families in the kingdom and my father always had a large library where I could read of the world, at least from the books that had not been burned in the great purge.
I felt I had an open-mind and there were many things that felt wrong to me as I grew up under the heavy shadow of The Divine King. But now, I felt sick. These knights would be dragged back to the palace and sacrificed in honor of The Divine King and then burned on a steak by the Acolytes. Thinking of Timothy being subjected torture set my mind on fire. I was torn on what I should do.
But, ultimately, I already knew what I would do.
I had picked Landis and Soren because they were already completely drunk when I ordered them to have night watch. Of course, they played as though they hadn’t drunk too much, because that would lose them a day’s pay. But they were never good actors.
After I packed my equipment and snuck out of my tent, I saw them as I knew they would be—laying by the smoldering fire, snoring. I walked up to the Knights of the Order, who were shivering from their exposure to the night, the frost of their breath coming out in cadenced clouds of fog. I put my finger to my mouth to indicate for them to keep quiet.
They did so. And they stared at me as I slowly cut the ropes that bound them to the tree.
In the pitch black we walked into the forest. When we got far enough away, I lit a small torch.
“Keep quiet,” I said. “we got a long way to go tonight to get you somewhere safe.”
“And where is that you are going?” I heard Ulrick’s voice as he stepped out of the dark of the forest and into my firelight. The flames dancing in his eyes as he smiled his butter-yellow smile at me. Seth and Soren stepped out of the shadows also. They were all fully dressed for combat.
“Run,” I said to the unarmed knights.
“We can help,” Timothy said.
“I don’t need your help,” I said and unsheathed my sword.
\_\_\_
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-02-06T16:08:32 | 2021-02-06T15:50:50 | 1,193 | 198 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | My city has the unique trait of somehow being the city the both has the highest crime rate and the highest safety rating in the country. At least once a week our resident supervillain attempts to do something evil and every time she’s stopped by our world-class heroes. The villain is me, by the way.
See I always had a thing for machines. I took them apart and made them better all through my childhood. I became a roboticist as an adult but my first project I was in charge of... well, it went poorly. The Android I made for the army went rogue and was barely able to be stopped by our heroes. And that’s when it hit me: our heroes could deal with generic threats fine, but they had no practice with more out-of-the-box problems.
So I became their teacher, although they didn’t know it themselves. I created machines with unique powers and strategies, I always challenged the heroes to think critically, to become more creative. And I don’t think they would have realized it had it not been for him.
Osveta, the bastard known for murdering heroes regularly, came to our city. The shadows bent to his will and with a maniacal laugh he toppled buildings with inky black tendrils of darkness, stabbed innocents with spears of his making, and turned anything untouched by the sun into a weapon. The heroes, as hard as they tried, were losing. And as one of them, the sweet girl with the power to control light, was about to be stabbed by her own shadow, that’s when I finally made my move.
For years I had toiled, building a network of interconnected bunkers and factories under our city in secret, turning it into a massive training ground that I controlled. And now I finally put it all on the line. All across the city, hatches in the ground opened up and thousands of robots poured out. Drones took off and illuminated everything with powerful spotlights, eliminating almost every shadow. The heroes and civilians were terrified; they thought I was helping Osveta. That is, until my army actually moved. Osveta lasted twenty seconds before plasma melted his brain. And as soon as he was dead, my army helped search and rescue, then retreated back underground. I stepped out of my hiding place and helped the hero who had almost been killed up to her feet. The cat’s out of the bag now, I guess. But I don’t mind too much. It’s nice to be a hero. | Five hundred forty-seven and eight hundred people die every day. Some die in their beds, surrounded by family or the cold of loneliness. Some die in a dark alley while other collapse onto the forest floor. Some die when their sick or by an unexpected disaster. Some never make it far enough to face these challenges.
Such is life. An uncertain game, an unfinished story. Not all stories had happy endings. Not all were remembered.
She lived a long life; her armor, her body, and her soul all marred by some kind of tale. She used to be a charlatan, a thief, and murderer. Then she met a man. He was a good and kind man.
He was kind and bright, she remembered the fist against the sun that emblazoned his plate. He took her in, he strode to teach her, to guide her to a better path. She never did listen to him.
She never could shake some of her tendencies even when she tried back then. Her hands always found a way into a pocket, her feet deftly moving across a home so she could have a pick at the valuables inside. He always chastised her for it, always made her return it, helped her avoid jail and serious charges.
She never seemed to learn her lesson; then she made an unforgivable mistake. She took a job with an infamous crew and tried to steal from the personal vault of the adventurers league. The job went terribly wrong; it involved the town guard and spanked several city blocks. She was on overwatch, letting loose arrow after arrow; none finding they're make besides one. An unsuspecting guard fell with a dull thud, no screams, no theatrics. He only fell to the street. Cold and lifeless with an arrow pierced through their throat.
After the chaos died down she left her perch. Grabbing items as she fled to lay low for a while. The guard they struck, had his helmet removed. She stared into that man's eyes. Her heart torn as the light had been snuffed out. Snuffed out by her own hands. She slumped to the street, her hand on his cheek as she mourned. She had lost everything she'd ever had in a single night. His eyes transfixed onto the stars as she tried to apologize, but the words remained trapped in my throat. She gently held his emblem, holding it against her aching heart. The sounds of footsteps pulled her back together as she ran away.
She ran.
And ran.
And ran.
She had disappeared. The city was forever changed as the great hero had been slain. Anger and determination came with his death. A new party rose to take his place.
They were young.
She watched from the shadows. She attended the memorial in secret, watched his statue become unveiled in awe. The party vowed to chase her down. She let them, avoiding them for close to a decade as something insidious entered the city. She searched for an answer, hearing the man's voice in her ears. The tears held back by thread overflowing as she made a vow.
She fed the party bread crumbs as they uncovered the plot. They hatched a plan and the final confrontation occured unexpectedly in the streets of the city beneath the hero's statue.
This villain was trusted, was a friend. He become deformed, twisted by unnatural powers. He stood a foot taller than a giant, his limbs natural weapons. It moved painful and distorted with unholy wails.
She watched the guard and civilian alike fall. The party intervened, some directing and saving civilians. The rest standing toe to toe with the new villain. But they failed, each one falling shortly to him. She cried again. She failed. She watched the city burn as the parties blood
She tried to run. Her legs failed her as she felt a burning sensation in her chest. The emblem she had from so long ago filled with light. She raised her bow, notching an arrow gently.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." it whispered, the notched arrow fully drawn.
"Swift death to you who have wronged me." She spoke through painful words. She let loose an arrow.
It wailed as it turned towards her, the arrow lodged under it's shoulder.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." It charged, an arrow lodged into it's chest now.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." It moved unperturbed, another arrow into it's chest; it's claws brandished and dripping in blood.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." She grew determined, slowly moving backwards. Another arrow struck it's chest, seconds away from having the gap closed.
"Swift defeat to my enemies." The arrow found it's eye, it's wails piercing her ears as it slashed. Flinging her against one of the nearby buildings. She coughed up blood as she stood in pain, the emblem shining brightly as it faded.
She lifted her bow again, the creature charged in fury as another arrow lodged itself into it's neck. It gurgled and pressed on as another found his chest, piercing through to it's heart. It slid and dropped dead as it bled out.
She moved towards the death party, their last stand under the man's watch. She lifted up the emblem, remembering an old she had been taught, sitting down and meditating as the emblem glowed again. The party's bodies glowing but remaining still.
She fell unconscious as she finished the spell.
*Closing book sound*
"Well. I think that's enough for story time class" The professor stood up and placed the book on his table. He picked up a piece of chalk as he spoke.
"Now you're homework tonight is to visit the school library and bring a legend to class tomorrow. Extra credit will be given to those who submit a paragraph summary of the legend." He turned around and nodded, sliding his glasses. "Class dismissed." | 2021-05-20T11:17:36 | 2021-05-20T09:21:22 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] "You need to find God," says the man at the door. "No I'm good, thank you," you say, starting to close the door. "Please!" says the man urgently. "God is missing, please find him!" | "You need to find God!" the man in the dark suit exclaimed, as soon as I opened the door. I wasn't in the mood.
"No, I'm good, thank you." I said, and began to close the door again.
"Please!" he cried, grabbing the edge of the door. "G-God is missing! Please, help me f-find him!"
I raised my eyebrows. "He's *missing?"*
I looked the man over. He wasn't wearing a name tag, and didn't seem to have any bag or briefcase full of literature. Not any of the usual suspects. In fact, now that I stopped to look him over, I was pretty sure he was another tenant that lived in my building.
The man nodded, vigorously, in response to my question. He took a few deep breaths, glancing rapidly left and right. "Missing! I can't...can't find h-him *anywhere!"*
"Well," I said, my interest suddenly piqued. "Isn't He *everywhere?"*
He furrowed his brow, then nodded slowly. "S-sure! Sometimes. He goes everywhere, inside or upside. But I can't f-find him, right now."
"I think He's always omnipresent." I said, shaking my head. "That being the case, no matter where you look, you've already found Him, so therefore I don't think you can technically lose Him, in the first place"
"But I did!" he cried, desperately. Then he frowned, as if thinking of something. "Sorry! Fantasia! I'm in Fantasia!"
I blinked. "Wait, like the old Disney movie?"
"No!" he exclaimed, exasperated. "Like me!"
"So you're, um, a s*orcerer's apprentice,* you're saying?" I asked, hesitantly.
"No!" he wailed, despondently. "I'm *Fantasia."*
And then it struck me. I don't know how, I didn't really have all the information to make the deduction, it was just an inexplicable flash of inspiration. *God* works in mysterious ways, you might say.
"Wait...this guy you're looking for, is he furry?"
The man nodded. "Yes!"
"Four legs?" I asked.
He nodded more firmly. "Yes, that's r-right!"
I chuckled, grabbing my coat from the hook by the door.
"And you have *aphasia?"*
"Yes! I said that: *Fantasia."*
I nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder companionably, as I stepped out into the hall to join him, closing my apartment door behind me.
"Gotcha. Come on, man. Let's go find your lost dog." | Nietzsche, the horse-fondling madman, came up to me with rage in his eyes and holes in his pants and he said, "Please, please, please. You have to find God. They'll do horrible things to me. I was supposed to look after him, just for a couple of days. He wandered off."
Tears streaming down his facial jungle, Nietzsche tugged at his cheeks, pulling them like gum, and in so doing he also tugged at my heartstrings. "Nietzsche. I'll help you, pal. But I've got to ask: didn't you say God was dead?"
Down to his knees he sank. "So I did. Then I appeared before him, years later, and smugly God said, "Nietzsche is dead" and that was that and I had been bested--become the darn *untermensch*."
Nietzsche could read the confusion sprawled across my face. He cleared his throat. "I heard about the Nazis. They didn't show up, but people talked. I'm not responsible if they used my terminology. That was my sister--she corrupted my work. Elisabeth. But enough about that." He clapped his hands. "We need to find God. You have to help me; I've searched everywhere."
There were more tears and between sobs Nietzsche asked me if I had some banana liquor and I told him I didn't and he started blabbering in German so I gave him a good slap. "Where did you last see him? What were you doing wandering around with God in the first place?"
Nietzsche told me God had been doing some experiments with free will. Increasing it, decreasing it; just checking to see what would happen. And they'd chosen my town at random. They figured they'd make a weekend of it. Take a gander. And somehow they'd gotten separated and for some reason some higher deities had made Nietzsche personally responsible for his well-being and now the dead philosopher was in for it, celestially, and he went knocking on the first door he saw.
"Maybe he's in one of those bushes?"
"No. God doesn't like bushes. Too many bugs. They were his early work. He gets embarrassed looking at them."
"Okay. What about that free will business? Did he give it to someone in particular? Or take it from them?"
Nietzsche snapped his fingers and went, "Ja, ja!" then grabbed me by the collar and off we went.
It was a run-down strip mall on the outskirts of town and I'd already walked past the guy in the oversized coat when Nietzsche cried out, "God! There you are! Don't wander off like that!"
"My dear Friedrich. I see you have made a friend. Well, technically *I* made your friend. Heh." God poked Nietzsche in the ribs and he didn't seem to like it. "Shh. Check it out. I gave the man before us unlimited free will. Watch how he spends it."
It was a man walking in a circle, his face buried in his hands. "If I do that, then ... No! I can do this and then ... No! No, that won't do ..."
God smirked. "He's been like that for an hour." God puffed out his chest and stretched out his arms. "Guess free will isn't all that grand, is it?"
Nietzsche scoffed. "Well, this guy is no better."
They both stared at me. Nietzsche and God. "What?" I said. "Why are you guys staring at me?"
"Is that really him?" God said.
"You already know it's him," said Nietzsche. "Look at him. A complete lack of free will, and you can hardly notice it."
God waved his hand in front of me. "Wakey, wakey."
"Stop that," I said.
For a moment, God paused. Then he said, "Wait, let me check my notes. This guy's really it? That can't be right ... Oh, here! Let's see ... Robert S. Henderson ... Aha! Wait. No. That's ..."
"What?" Nietzsche tried to sneak a peek at God's notes, but I couldn't see anything. God seemed to be just holding out his palms.
They both looked up at me.
"What?" I said.
"That's a, uh, statistical anomaly," said God.
"What?"
"Never seen a thing like that before," said Nietzsche.
"Come on. Spill the beans."
"Well, the thing is ... " God scratched his rich beard. "We gave the guy wandering in circles unlimited free will, and we removed your free will entirely. But according to these notes ... You didn't have any free will to begin with."
An aspen leaf flew by.
"What?"
"A philosophical zombie?" said Nietzsche.
"I know you are, but what am I?" said God and they both cackled with laughter and it wasn't even funny because the joke had been directed at me, not God.
"I'm going to go," I said.
Nietzsche arched his eyebrows while staring at the ground. "Won't be your decision ..."
I took a step forward. "If I want to go, I'll go."
"Imagine if this guy was named Gunther," said Nietzsche.
"Go on," said God, clearly excited.
"He'd be a real Gunther-mensch."
They laughed like mean girls and God slapped his knee and it was weirdly awe-inspiring but also infuriating. "I can do what I want!"
"Settle down, Gunther," said God and Nietzsche wheezed.
When I got home I made a bowl of soup and I stared at the soup for a long time before drinking it, trying to make sure it was my own choice and all, but it didn't seem to matter because in the end I drank the soup and if I didn't have any choice in the matter what was the point in worrying about it?
... 'Gunther-mensch'. It wasn't even clever. | 2022-04-27T18:33:25 | 2022-04-27T17:56:22 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the ability to summon one random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does Mjolnir. As you summon yours it takes some time but people are horrified as it finally arrives... | My birthday party was packed. All my friends and family came. I held out my hand and waited, eyes tightly shut awaiting my sacred object.
I felt a light, fuzzy mass land in my grasp. I didn’t need to open my eyes before everyone started screaming what was currently in my hand.
“A RAT!”
The chaos was instant. Mom jumped on the nearest table, Dad grabbed the little ones and pulled them away. Meanwhile everyone else ran away or inside, trying to get away from the impressively-sized rat that had just flown over their heads and into my hand.
I just stood there, the whole time I hadn’t moved. The rat wasn’t doing anything except sitting there, either. I brought my hand in close and looked at him. “You’re sort of cute, aren’t you?”
The little rat’s nose scrunkled for a moment, before he responded “Well your friends there seem to disagree. Hi, my name is Franklin.” | Standing there my eyes widened, in my hand was a book decorated with bones and a rather old fashioned quill pen, the ink a strange red tinge. My mother stumbled a response “n..no…it can’t be…honey, what do we do?” Father had slowly backed into a corner of the room gripping the oven mitt “I don’t know. Is it what I think it is? Who do we go to when this happens? Surely there’s a mistake” but their voices sounded like they was in the distance, my ears ringing as I stared at the book in my hands. It had been mentioned once before in classes, preparing us for the day we turned 18 and the things we could receive. Many was weapons, some was just useful tools to get out of situations. But there had been a slide on this book, and the teacher had rushed to get past it but remarked how no one had got this book since one of the political leaders over 200 years ago; how when they had it, it was chaos and death and destruction, and here it was in my hand. My throat felt like it was going to close up, I think my birthday was a flop at this point…
Sitting in my room I turned the book front to back, opened the pages and flicked through, it was blank and old. The pages stained and smelt of musk. No one could know I had this book my parents had said, that when asked what I could summon I was to lie and say it was a celestial sword, similar to my mothers. If they knew that I owned the book I’d be taken captive before history could repeat itself.
“So Isla…what did you summon on your birthday this weekend?” My friend Niamh had asked as we walked to the town centre
“Oh a celestial sword like mums, typical right?” Forcing a laugh out, my palms felt sweaty just lying about it to my best friend, I was there for her 18th just 2 weeks ago when she got a fantastic trident, which made sense for her family as they came from a long line of famous fishers
“I’d have pegged you for getting an archery bow like your dad, but your mums sword is so cool! I bet you feel so glad you know what it is now though” I stumbled out a yeah and we kept on walking. By the time we got to the monument we noticed a load of soldiers walking around, rounding people up, I gripped to Niamh’s arm..this couldn’t be good
“Ladies, get in line. We’ve got word someone received the book, we need everyone who’s here to summon their weapons or items so we can check no one is slipping under the radar”
CRAP! I’m screwed!
I don’t know how long we was there but the line was moving down fast and I knew it would be a matter of time before they’d get to me and I’d have to summon that damn book. I’m so dead…
“Isla Raphael! Stand on the X and summon your item” beads formed on my brow, was my teeth chattering? I couldn’t hold this off. Opening my hand it appeared in a black smoke with feather dropping around it, just like it had on my 18th.. I braced myself. Only to hear screams around me, opening my eyes I saw Niamh’s face; the look of betrayal, anger and hurt. I’d lied to her, and she probably hated me for it. I don’t blame her.
“Isla.. th-the book of souls…you have it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Niamh I’m sorry! We know how bad this book is. The destruction it caused! I didn’t want you to fear me if I told you it came to me!”
“You come from a line of celestial beings.. and you have the book of freakin’ souls! You’re essentially a grim reaper! Oh my gods and I let you hold my arm!” I tried to step off the X to run to her, to apologise. But the end of a barrel was pointed in my face and I halted, shit was only going to get worse from here. My hand had already started to blacken just from owning the book. And there was only one way out from this mess before they killed me… | 2022-11-15T05:30:36 | 2022-11-15T01:55:12 | 457 | 261 |
[WP] The villain succeeds - and though utterly amoral, his plans result in a genuinely happier, better world.
And please, no "Reality TV stars executed". I know we all want it but that's too easy a way out. | The newspapers reported the death of Ultra Man in the papers the following morning. Funerals were held and broadcasted on TV. Reporters flocked to interview anyone and every about their thoughts of his death. TV specials ran for months about the impact his death would have upon the world. When The Cackler was finally put on trial, it literally was "the trial of the century". He was found guilty, he was tried quickly, and then executed a few years later. After that, the world's hero faded to memory.
You see, that's how it was back then. People relied on the heroes to take them out of the sticky situations. A mugger was running away, and people relied on the superheroes to save their possessions. Beat cops were looked upon like second class citizens. There was a war, instead the heroes handled it. We could never solve our own problems. Everything was left to the heroes to take care of.
You see, that's what was wrong back then. We lacked free will. We lacked the ability to handle and take care of our own problems. The Cackler, yeah, he may have killed the greatest hero we had ever known. But, you know what he did? He liberated us. He made us the masters of our own destiny. We could be our own gods, our own masters, our own heroes. We didn't need some guy in a cape swooping down to save the day.
You see son, I was there the day the Cackler killed Ultra Man. I was in that bus of hostages he used as bait. But, I also saw in his eyes what he was doing. We think that evil deeds are always evil, and good deeds are always good, sometimes, the evilest deeds are done in the name of good. Ultra Man did that everyday when he took away our free will. | James Talbot cared about nothing more than money. It was widely rumored that he had his mother euthanized so that he could harvest her organs and sell them to the highest bidder. Of course, he was never charged.
Talbot succeeded where all others failed. Americans for Tax Reform, the Tea Party, the Koch Brothers, the Cato Institute. They all clamored for a smaller, pro-capitalist government. Their messages fell on hostile ears and their candidates (though they did win a few battles here and there) almost always lost.
But not Talbot. Where others failed, he succeeded with flying colors. Helped with record levels of voter apathy and having paid off every single ballot counter in the whole country, he was able to institute every single pro-business legislation as well as buy every single member of Congress and got his candidate in the White House and the office of the Secretary General of the United Nations.
"The End is Now" claimed the Nation.
"I am going back to Greece," said Arianna Huffington.
"This is what I always thought I wanted but I guess I was wrong," claimed Rush Limbaugh.
But it was done. Talbot won. He was going to get everything done his way, even if everyone else in the country was forced to live in poverty.
Oddly enough, the world became a better and happier world.
By legalizing child labor all around the world, children were able to work at such fine institutions such as Nike, Reebok, Fubu, and Ralph Lauren. Though their pay could have been better, the children were only too happy to work in these sweat shops as they no longer had to work as child prostitutes.
By eliminating the minimum wage, people such as the mentally and the physically handicapped, who in the past could not get jobs because employers felt that they were not worth the high value of the minimum wage, were employable. They did get paid lower than your average white male American citizen, but a low-paid job was better than no job.
By continuously promoting higher utility prices to maximize the oil and nuclear companies' profit margins, scientists all around the world intensified their research into solar and wind energy. As a result, the prices of solar panels fell by over 200%, which meant that nearly every home had access to solar power, which meant that oil and nuclear companies were back to square one.
Talbot had also convinced nearly every single TV producer in the world to focus their budgets on mindless reality tv shows. They were, after all, cheap to produce and brought in huge profit margins. However, for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. Due to the dumbing down of television, though it did take some time, there was a strong reaction in the form of the sudden increase in the popularity of libraries. Shakespeare, Marlowe, Dostoevsky, Hugo, and Vonnegut are more popular now than they had ever been in the past.
Privatizing Social Security was a mess. Old people grabbed whatever they could to try to burn down the whole country. However, the liberal interpretation of the Second Amendment meant that everyone in the country, even the crazies, could potentially have been concealing rail guns in their coat pockets. So their protests didn't escalate any more than a few isolated incidents. Furthermore, by having privatized Social Security, young people no longer had to finance the expensive habits of old people for a government-sanctioned Ponzi scheme that they would never benefit from. Newspapers all over the world are reporting an increased level of respect and love for the elderly from all sectors of the population.
After Talbot successfully implemented the flat tax, taxes were no longer usable as a rallying call for Class Warriors. The likes of Limbaugh, Hannity, Olbermann, and Maddow were no longer needed. They all had to quit and seek out honest jobs. Even Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert had to find new jobs as they no longer had blowhards to make fun of. But both Stewart and Colbert left their shows after telling their audiences that they were the happiest people in the world.
By having legalized all drugs so that they could be regulated and taxed, every single non-violent criminal who was behind bars was immediately pardoned, had their names removed from the Justice Department's, as well as the Police Departments', database, and was released from prison. As a result, the War on Drugs, which was just another name for a race war, was finally over. The Prison Industrial Complex was no more.
The Military Industrial Complex was still alive and kicking. So that was still bad. But it was still a very much happier and better world than before Talbot had his way.
Talbot didn't mean to make the world a better place. He wanted to make all the money that he could, even if that meant he had to bleed everyone in the world dry. But a better world he made.
And everyone loved Talbot.
EDIT: So this is what it feels like to receive Reddit Gold. It's not an entirely unpleasant experience. I think I could get used to it. Thank you, kind stranger. | 2013-12-14T08:02:45 | 2013-12-14T04:56:27 | 167 | 107 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
| Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T14:43:43 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 295 | 14 |
[WP] An ancient evil awakens. A modern evil doesn't like competition. | Sytheasjajsajassjsa, god whose name can't be written the same twice, rose from the depths of his tomb.
At long last, after 1700 years, he could reign terror on the foolish mortals once again.
You see, to defeat Sytheasjsdajdsjdjajaj, you would have to write his name exactly the same twice on a scroll. Only one had done it before, and sealed him away for 1700 years, the mythical Koppypeyst.
As he flew into the nearest landmass, also known as harvard university, to terrorist the townsfolk, he encountered the modern evil god known as plagiarism.
Behold! I am Sytheasjajssadsdaassjsa! You cannot write my name the same twice, only one has done it before and sealed me away for 1700 years!
The God Plagiarism inquired as to how to spell Sytheassasdsajassjsa's name, and then proceeded to copy and paste it, as taught by his old mentor Koppypeyst.
Thusly Sytheasjdsasdasdajsajassjsas was sealed away for another 1700 years.
| "Look, mate, I don't care if no-one's answering the door. Just kick the lock in and go and see who's upstairs."
"Got it Boss, you don't have to shout," Tim was not having a good day. He'd been stood outside the same council flat in Hackney for the last two hours, while a freezing drizzle worked its way inside his torn-up parka. No one had been answering the door, and the neighbours had been reluctant to help him. He supposed being almost seven foot tall, covered in prison tattoos and a shaved head did nothing to promise good customer service.
"I do when I employ fucking cretins like you."
Tim snapped the phone shut and sighed. The Boss--Mike--was a loan shark, pure and simple. He leant money to people who couldn't afford it: like the bloke in this flat Tim was currently outside, then sent bruisers round to collect when they were late.
Tim, having emerged from Marston a few months ago, was prime 'bruiser' material. It didn't matter that in prison he'd given up any pretence at being violent, taken up knitting and decided to reconnect with his Nan. If Mike wanted Tim to be a bruiser, Tim was a bruiser.
Tim knocked on the door again, peering through the frosted glass to see if anyone was inside. Knowing that it wouldn't be opened, no matter how hard he knocked, he lifted one booted foot up and kicked the lock. It shattered on first impact and the shitty plywood door swung inwards on its hinges. The smell was the first thing that hit him: a warm muggy stench that reminded Tim of a dead dog he'd found outside his gym. Flies had buzzed around the animal's mouth and eyes, a wound in its side already turning black and ugly. This house was like that wound: no light from the grey street penetrated the dusty hallway and it took Tim a couple of minutes to adjust to the darkness.
"Hello?" He stepped forward and coughed at the smell. He raised a hand to his nose as something crunched beneath his foot. He hoped it was a pack of crisps, but when he removed his foot and ducked to have a look, he was greeted with a baby bird. It had been dead already, but he had just crushed its skull. Papery feathers and white bones mingled on the stained carpet.
"Fuck," he whispered, wiping his foot on the myriad of take-away leaflets that littered the floor.
"Hello?" He said again. Tim poked his head into the living room, where a soundless TV was running a brainless games show. Tim shook his head. He hadn't watched any TV since Marston: it was like eating candy-floss after a lifetime of unsalted chicken. Too sickly sweet.
He stepped through into the kitchen. At first his mind could not comprehend what he was seeing. Two figures sat propped against the kitchen cabinets, like rag dolls. Their fingers were twisted together and their faces were moving. Tim's brain immediately jumped to barber's poles: the red and white turning signs outside men's hairdressers. As he got closer he realised why: each figure was a child. Dried and congealed blood matted their once-blonde hair. The white was crawling maggots, spreading across the destroyed remnants of their foreheads and temples. Someone had taken a blunt instrument to each child. The kitchen cabinets were smeared with more blood. Like the baby bird in the hallway, their skulls had been crushed.
Tim backed away. His stomach held, but inside he was thinking fast. He was a known convict. His presence at this scene would make him an immediate suspect and he doubted Mike would act as a convincing alibi. His fingers scrabbled at the formica kitchen table as he considered his options. A white note caught his attention, written in an unsteady hand. Tim picked it up and scanned the misspelled words.
*Poverty is back. I am so sorry, I cannot feed them. He has awoken.*
Tim stuffed the note in his pocket, nervous. He left the house, trying to make the broken lock on the front door as inconspicuous as possible. He called the police anonymously from a payphone and left the area, leaving a message on Mike's phone.
"Yeah, Boss, couldn't find 'em I'm afraid. Someone else got there first. I think you've got competition." | 2015-08-23T09:45:53 | 2015-08-23T08:54:16 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | Father Sanchez adjusted his turquoise robes, sighed, and started his defense.
"Look, Your Cosmic Eminence, I don't really think this is our fault."
"Hold on, stop right there." the pulsing orb of electricity said through the translator. "Are you actually trying to justify your actions."
"Well, yes, Your CE. There are mitigating circumstances here."
The Anointed started to move towards Sanchez, but an untranslated voltage change from the CE stopped them.
"Present your 'mitigating' circumstances."
"Right, yes." Sanchez continued, now eyeing the 10 foot reptilian Anointed with anxiety.
"You see, He wanted us to do it."
The CE immediately felt a twinge of despondency. It knew where this was going, and so did everyone else in the Shimmering Gallery, but it let Sanchez continue.
"Our Lord, Jesus Christ, made it clear at several points that He was expecting to be sacrificed. You have a copy of our Holy Book? Have you read it yet?"
"That's evidence that will be reviewed after testimony." the CE replied.
"Alright, well, if you read it, He made the following statement, among others, 'The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days he will rise.'"
"Oh dear, He had started referring to himself as a man?" the CE probed.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That's kind of a big part of our understanding of Him, as limited as it obviously was. Anyway, not only did he predict his own crucifixion, he took active steps to ensure it would happen. He prevented his own disciples from stopping it. He seemed to be seeking it out at the end. We were under the impression that it was a necessary sacrifice to make for our redemption."
"But you also stated in the preliminary hearing that you believe He is both the Son of God and God himself, correct?" the CE interjected.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That was our understanding."
"You don't think it's a little bit counter-intuitive that a supreme being would have to sacrifice Itself to Itself in order to provide salvation?
Various noises came from the Shimmering Gallery. Father Sanchez' translator said they were laughter. He smiled uneasily, attempting and failing to intimate that he understood the joke.
"There were people who suggested that didn't make sense."
"Why weren't they listened to?"
Sanchez blinked twice. "Um...for most of our history...we...uh...we killed those people."
The CE rippled with current.
"You humans sure have a thing for taking lives that don't belong to you."
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence, but I think we are getting better..."
"Alright. That's enough. Your mitigating circumstances are accepted on the contingency that study of your Holy Book confirms your statements here. This hearing is adjourned."
Father Sanchez let out a sigh of deep relief. As the various strange and sometimes unfathomable beings filed out of the Shimmering Gallery, several of them stopped to express their regret about his situation.
The CE traveled through a conduit to it's private chambers. Once there, it reviewed the copy of the Bible that had been provided to it, and then made the necessary oblations and rituals to contact the Supremacy.
"This is the office of the Supremacy," Frppt, It's secretary, answered. "It's in a planning meeting for a new dimension, may I take a message?"
"Yes, this is the Cosmic Eminence from the Fourth Iteration. Would you please tell It that we've reviewed the humans' case, and it looks like we have another insane Messiah situation on our hands. This one WANTED them to kill Him. We have absolved the humans, but we humbly request that you take a look at your Quality Assurance procedures. This is the ninth one we've encountered this millennium." | Chaplain's Log - 2768.07.08.15.32.12
As the ship approaches the Sepulcher of Creation, the crew has become more restless. Anxious even. They are looking forward to seeing the faith-in-flesh that the Voidian's spoke of. A holiest of holies in space. I am cautious. This has been the focus of my devotional time since our mission began 3 years ago. And, I don't know what to expect when we arrive. The Voidian we rendezvoused with to correct our course through the Dark Expanse is actually leading us. I didn't think they did that. He said it was for the benefit of the common faith. I am eager to spread the message of Good News with these strangers, and I am very cautious about talk of a single faith. We tried that on Earth the the Bahai centuries ago. It did't go so well. I can see the Voidian our my view port. He/She/It would be at home in any of our horror movies from centuries past, all tentacles and unreadable features. But the feeling I get when we converse, as we have at length (see previous log's marked "Discusssions with the Voidian" for more specifics), is not that of an alien mentality. It's like talking to a monk. Stoic, reserved, at peace.
I am very skeptical that this will be a unification of religions. We have seen too many false messiahs on more primitive worlds. Con-men who twist holiness in to power. We saw too much of it on earth before we walked in the heavens. But this Voidian, he believes. He asked if I had accepted the Son Of God as my savior. It was the first thing he asked me. At one point I even started a score card to see how the finer points matched up. It's far closer than it should be, when talking to some one who doesn't know where earth is, let alone our history.
Chaplain's Log - 2768.07.29.04.57.23
We approach the Sepulcher of Creation. I have never seen such a sight. I was expecting a a barren asteroid in a vast ocean of black. This IS the last moment of creation. Still alive after the universe was, for lack of different word, created. The light is spectacular, all around the ship, coming from the massive planet. We can't tell exactly how big it is, the perspective has been very difficult since entering the Dark Expanse, but it's huge. Easily larger than Sol, bright in a different way. This is not a ball of fire in the sky, this is a world of life. It radiates life! The Voidian has changed as we grew close as well, gone is the stone grey coloring of a grotesque Gothic statue, it's skin is now a riot of every imaginable color, shifting and swirling and refracting and dancing as we draw near. I've come to consider this strange alien my friend. We converse at length, and I cannot consider our faiths to be separate things any more. I have no doubt that the entity I consider to be Jesus Christ is the same being he refers to as his Savior. When we pray together, I feel at home. Like a small boy back in rural Canada, taking communion with the ancient priest of St. Luke's. But he doesn't take communion, the Voidian. He finds the idea repugnant. For more information, see previous logs "Meditation's with a Voidian" parts 3, 6, and 12.
It should not be long before we arrive. I cannot wait to see the splendor of the sepulcher. I have not felt this alive since I took my vows. I've seen the ships physician, Jeremiah, about it, and I am not alone. He's examined the rest of the crew, we are all healthier now than we were when we set out. There is something about this place that is making us whole. I giggle like a small child all the time, it's like Christmas eve.
Chaplain's Log - 2768.07.30.01.17.03
I am ashamed.
Chaplain's Log - 2768.08.04.23.49.37
I am at peace. Today. At last. I have never wept so freely or so honestly. I have spent my entire life believing that the purpose of Jesus was to die for our sins. The sacrifice, that was the point, necessary for our redemption.
If it was necessary, we are alone in the need. Our race has the distinction of being the only people in the history of all creation to have murdered the Son of God. We alone required his crucifixion for our salvation. This is why my Voidian friend is appalled at my regular communion. We alone eat the flesh, we alone drink the blood. Symbols or otherwise. We alone required the covenant to be renewed. I am humbled. I am ashamed. We, humans, among all God's creation killed him.
Chaplain's Log - 2768.08.05.04.07.29
This space is undefinable. We are not in the same kind of place we were when my Voidian friend met us for the final part of the journey. The Sepulcher has a different quality to it, even from the inside of the ship. I stand before the Congregation of the Universe, with no suit, no gear, and I breath the purest air I have ever had in my body. But it isn't. I know it cannot be, because the same air that I breath is also breathed by what must be a nation of beings we have known before. Who's breath is poison, who breath in acid that our ships cannot contain. But I walk among them, and breath. None of us choke or cough. The Sepulcher is a place of all beings. For all who believe.
There is no governance here, not really. There are leaders from the faiths of a trillion planets, and the converse, and preach, and teach, and are taught. There are many Voidians. There are a million kinds of beings. More than a million. I have a difficult time processing it all.
I am humbled by it all. I expected so much, so much more magnificence. I did not expect to be made so small. I have wept every night, for my forgiveness. For our forgiveness.
My Voidian friend reminds me every morning. All have sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God. All who come are welcome. All are forgiven.
I am forgiven. I have known this my whole life. But only now do I know what it means. I am forgiven. We are all saved through the mercy of God.
Alleluia.
End Log. | 2016-08-18T06:44:06 | 2016-08-18T06:39:52 | 241 | 131 |
[WP] You're bitten by a zombie. By some strange happening, you die and become a zombie, but your ghost remains bound to this earth. Your ghost has to try and keep your zombie body out of trouble until a cure is found. | It all started with killing Mike. Keeping my zombie body out of trouble meant keeping it out of the way of bullets. And the only way to do that was to turn against the humans that might cure me someday.
Mike was just the first person to try and shoot my zombie self. . I could just barely interact with the living world, only in bursts of spiritual energy, so I couldn't keep my ass chained to a radiator.
So when Mike tried to save himself, his gun mysteriously backfired. In the process of avoiding a shotgun to the face, I had to watch my previous body eat the living shit out of a human body. And boy did I want to kill myself, then.
I promised to never do that again, and broke that promise exactly two days later. Don't judge me until you have seen what happens to a zombie body when a fucking bullet goes through it. I couldn't let that happen to me. My body is a temple, albeit a flesh-eating temple.
And it all went downhill from there. Humans couldn't figure out just what was causing all their guns to backfire. And they didn't have much time to investigate. The surviving human population died out quickly, until it got to the point where no one was around to shoot me in the face, or cure me.
Oops, I guess.
__________________________________________________________________
I will eat your body if you don't subscribe to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/).
| I miss living.
A lot. Things really went to shit in the last few months but before that it was really turning around for me. I'd found a beautiful girl who really loved me, got an apartment that I could call my own, I'd even found a job that I really enjoyed going to!
Who could ask for more?
So that fateful morning when I was stopping at a vendor cart for a cup of coffee - I'd spilled mine on the train ride to the city - was a real wrench in the works of my life.
You assume it's just a homeless man. Dirty, unwashed, shambling around. It's early so you assume that they're still drunk or high from the night before...or maybe it's just how they wake up. You avoid eye contact and order your coffee while the cart vendor watches the figure for you. The unspoken rule of the city world. Vendors are thick, hairy men with loud voices and no fear.
I, on the polar opposite, am a slight man in a hoodie and jeans on his way to work behind a computer screen for eight hours.
The most vivid part of the whole experience was the bite. Obviously. He bit right through my sweater and into my forearm. It hurt like a son of a bitch. I screamed and the vendor took to striking the homeless man about the head and shoulders. When he let go I ran, sprinting away down the street.
I never made it to work.
A lot of people didn't make it to work.
I ended up in an alley, standing over a corpse that looked awful familiar.
The face was one I'd seen in the mirror and the hoodie it wore usually hung in my closet. Or off the corner of the couch.
I don't know why I was chosen to stay but I had been. While the city burned and gunfire erupted and the world descended into a Hollywood movie, I watched over a shambling little idiot.
I had wanted to find her, the girl that I loved, but I just couldn't. I had to keep myself safe and hope that one day I would see her again.
So I helped him survive.
I guided that corpse away from the fortified walls of human resistance settlements. I led him away from the mobs that were slaughtered like sheep with gentle words and sometimes a violent shove.
We would hide under bridges for days, feasting on the sewer rats. It was hard to watch at first but I had to keep him healthy. One day they'd find a cure.
One day.
"Hey," I say, stirring him from his blank staring, "someone's coming. Get into the doorway."
He murmurs and groans.
"Fucking quietly you dolt."
He lowers the volume slightly.
I shake my head at the shambling dumbass. I tried to teach him but every day it got harder to get through to him.
I peered around the edge and watched the four figures make their way under the bridge.
"I swear, I heard one of the fuckers down here!"
One of them says it and my heart races...if it could. I can feel him getting antsy, he wants to attack.
"Stay. There."
He makes a throaty *eeerrrrr* noise that I assume means he's listening.
They come closer, steps echoing in the hollow space. He's fidgeting too much. I try to grab him or force them off but this ethereal form is beyond useless.
Shit. Shit.
They step too close and he moves. I can't stop him. He lunges and forces one of them down to the ground, desperately chomping to bite the man and tear a piece of flesh off. There's shouting and screaming as they try to hold my own body back and put a bullet through his head.
"Stop!"
Her voice rings out and stops all movement. Everything is still as she kneels to look into the sunken, drawn face that once belonged to me.
It can't be.
"I know him."
She says it quietly as I reach out to touch her face. My hand doesn't make contact but that doesn't matter. I can see her. Hear her. Smell her. I've missed her for so long.
She blinks away a tear as she kneels there, holding my body with her hands. I can't breathe when she puts the pistol to my old forehead and squeezes the trigger.
I can feel the pull on my spirit as my body dies. Like someone has reached out and grabbed my chest, pulling me away from the scene with unbearable strength.
"I'm sorry," I can hear her voice in my ear as she whispers it to a lifeless body, as if she was beside me, "I love you."
Darkness takes the scene, swirling and tearing at the fabric of reality. The last thing I see is a body on the ground.
It looks an awful lot like I used to.
Then it's gone. | 2017-02-02T05:42:37 | 2017-02-02T05:39:34 | 177 | 67 |
[WP] You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.
EDIT: Wow, didn't expect this prompt to blow up so quickly. Thanks for the responses, guys! Glad I was able to help inspire some writers. | It started off small.
I brought some cheap screws and an oil can to a job because I had gotten busted twice when homeowners heard a floorboard creak or a hinge squeak. Almost got my head blown off the second time.
Not anymore.
The town I prowl is rich, not super rich but old money comfortable rich. Lots of old people, lots of big mostly empty houses. And a lot of those old people rattling around in big drafty not-kept-up houses have a lot of stuff they simply don’t care about.
I started out slipping into the houses in the early evening and using short screws to tighten key floorboards so they don’t squeak. Then I started adding a few here and there when I noticed they were missing. Oiling the door hinges was a no-brainer. Then I realized that some of these elderly rich people had freaking cold houses because they didn’t tape or caulk any of their windows. Caulking the windows kept them from rattling.
I started making multiple trips to some places because they were so easy to get in, and if only one or two things were missing, then they would notice so much.
Then I found Mrs. Johnson shivering in a freezing home in early January. I didn’t know what to do. She was clearly going to freeze to death if I didn’t do something. When I went down to the furnace room, it was obvious that the filter was clogged. I found a spare, and put it in. A quick prime of the system and voila! Heat. I heard Mrs. Johnson thanking ‘her angel’ for saving her. I got some nice Craftsman tools that hadn’t been touched for a decade that night.
Two weeks later, there was a note on the immaculate marble counter top in the kitchen:
Dear Angel.
Thank you for saving my life from the cold. If you could make the garage work again, there is a nice ride-on mower that I don’t need there. I get so cold brushing the car off from the snow. – Agnes.
Well, stealthy I am not, I guess. All the garage needed was 20 minutes of oiling the track and resetting the center screw. I loaded the mower into my truck, brushed the car off and put it in the garage. She waved to me from her bed room.
I have a ten o’clock tonight at the Wilsons. Their sump pump isn’t working, and there is going to be some collectable sports memorabilia that her husband doesn’t want anymore waiting in the dining room. This just feels so wrong.
| “Hey Jim, how’s it going?”
I approach my neighbor with a wide grin on my face. Jim no doubt thinks I’m just being polite, but the real reason why I’m smiling is because I have $120 of his money in my wallet, and he has no idea.
Jim scratches his head as he sees me approach. “Actually, something weird happened last night.”
“Oh,” I raise my eyebrows with exaggerated surprise. “What happened, buddy? Was it bad?”
“Well… Yes and no. Do you remember how the neighborhood kids broke my front window playing baseball a few weeks ago?”
I smile, because there’s no way I could have possibly forgotten. I used the broken window as my point of entry into Jim’s house last night. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, I woke up this morning, and it was just fixed.”
“It was?!” I open my mouth wide and clasp my hands to the sides of my head.
“Yeah.” Jim shrugs. “I have no idea how it happened. I had been meaning to schedule an appointment, but I just kind of put it off, you know? And this morning, out of the blue, it was just fixed. But that’s not even the weirdest part.”
“No?” My heart is racing in anticipation of his mention of the robbery. As much as I enjoy the actual burglaries I commit, hiding in plain sight is the most exhilarating part of my profession.
“So I’m looking at the window, and I smell something funny on the carpet.”
“Oh…” My delight instantly gives way to fear as I stuff my bandaged hand into my coat pocket. “Was it blood?”
“What!? No. Why would it be blood?”
“Uh, no reason…” The smile returns to my face. “Go on.”
“It smelled like… soap. I inspected it a little further, and I realized that someone cleaned and vacuumed my entire living room carpet. Like, they moved my furniture to clean under it and everything. And then they reorganized it all in a way that, quite frankly, I really like. It’s like a professional repairman slash cleaning crew slash interior designer broke into my house while I was asleep, and I didn’t realize.”
“Oh…” I have to say I’m a little disappointed by the direction of our conversation. There was too much blood on the broken window and carpet for me to leave behind. The repairs and cleaning were solely about not leaving evidence at the scene of the crime. And I honestly hadn’t given a second thought to the way I reorganized the furniture. “It sounds to me like you got robbed.”
Jim actually has the nerve to laugh at the suggestion. “Are you kidding? I mean, I’m concerned that someone was in my house while I was asleep, but this is kind of amazing. This mysterious person saved me hours of work, and hundreds of dollars. I spilled a glass of wine on my carpet last week, and thought I was going to have to pay a professional service to get the stain out. This morning, though…” He shakes his head and smiles. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I think it was The Sparkler.”
“The Sparkler?”
Jim’s eyes grow wide. “You haven’t heard of The Sparkler? He’s like Santa Clause, but real. He’s been fixing up people’s houses in the dead of night for weeks.”
“Oh…” The timeline Jim is laying out perfectly matches my crime spree, but he must be referring to someone else. I’m performing cold, calculated robberies, and am certainly not helping people. “How so?”
“Well, I know he visited the Jenkins family, four houses down. They woke up one morning and had a brand new front door. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but it’s really nice. I think it’s mahogany or something. And their old front door was a piece of shit. It might as well have been Styrofoam.”
“Well…” I wince as my injured hand balls into a tight fist in my pocket. “Maybe the burglar performed extensive reconnaissance, and knew how flimsy the Jenkins’ door was. Maybe he chopped through it with his axe, and stole Mrs. Jenkins’ diamond earrings. And then maybe he removed the pieces of the old door so there wouldn’t be any evidence of the crime, and replaced it so that the Jenkins’ wouldn’t get suspicious.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jim doesn't look convinced.
“And another thing. We probably shouldn’t call this guy ‘The Sparkler’. To me he sounds like a real unpredictable, loose cannon type. Maybe we should go with something like ‘The One Man Wrecking Machine’.”
“Sure,” Jim says, shrugging. “You can call him whatever you want. I’m just glad he’s out there, making the world a better place.” Jim closes his eyes and smiles. “Well anyway, I’m dipping into the $500 I had set aside for a new window, and hitting the links for 18 holes of relaxation. I’ll buy if you want to join.”
“No thanks,” I say sadly, pulling my bandaged hand out of my pocket. “I cut myself last night.”
“Oh,” Jim looks at me suspiciously. “How’d you do that?”
My mind is flooded by a sudden panic. I had not been expecting that question. “Uh… Shaving?”
“Hmm…” Jim furrows his brow and stares at me for a long time, before nodding. “Ok. I hope it heals soon. Maybe The Sparkler will stitch it up for you tonight.”
“You mean The One Man Wrecking Machine?”
“Sure.” Jim smiles and waves. “I’ll see you later, buddy.”
“Hit ‘em well,” I call, as I watch him walk away. A small smile forms on my lips as he enters his house. I can’t believe he bought it.
______________________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww | 2017-03-13T08:45:46 | 2017-03-13T07:53:48 | 428 | 269 |
[WP] A person awakes from a coma to find the world has become a Utopia. They've read enough literature to believe there must be something wrong with it. There isn't. | "My God!", I cried out as I woke with a start,
"The buildings are shiny, the walls decked with art,
The people I see are awash in their bliss -
So tell me, be honest, is something amiss?"
"Is the huge starving underclass hidden from view,
While the luxury here benefits just a few?
Did you all build the paradise I see today
By slaughtering everyone else in your way?
Are you wandering 'round with chips in your head?
Do you slaughter the old? Do you eat the dead?
Are your emotions suppressed by prescribed medication?
Does one tortured child mean the joy of a nation?"
"Please tell me!" I cried, "I've read every story,
And I know that you've got something nasty or gory,
Something imperfect or shameful or shoddy!"
"Well," they said softly, "the Wi-Fi is spotty." | "Well," said the squat man in the tweed suit, gesticulating down the gorgeous main street with his cane, "this all came about when we finally figured out how to knit carbon nanotube structural frames with neo-plastene polymers for the exterior. All made from recycled plastics, of course."
"Mmm." I nodded, my attention caught by the writhing mass of couples copulating in an annoyingly beautiful way in the verdant park just off the main road. "And what's going on over there?"
"Oh, that's just the Sexening." Smiled my guide, tugging the brim of his hat as though bidding good day to the orgy. "32 couples a day gather in the shade of the cherry blossoms and cast aside their inhibitions in a single, glorious, sexual union."
"Mmm." I repeated, still - admittedly - a bit distracted. "So what's the deal with the 32 couples, eh? Picked by a supercomputer based on their genetics? Or a state lottery, no doubt secretly rigged by a resurrected Hitler?"
My guide, for the first time, looked perturbed.
"Er, no." He replied. "They just head down to the park and start having sex. No discrimination. No choosiness. Everyone is free to love whom they wish."
"Aha!" I cracked. "But I bet the fact that there's 32 people at it is significant! Satanic numerology, mayhap? A signal to an alien mothership that now is its time to reap the harv-"
"WE limit it to 32," he interjected, "because the combined research of sociologists, ethical behaviouralists, sports scientists and sexual psychologists calculated that that was the *precise* number of sexual partners a human being could have before feeling either bored or greedy."
"Oh." I mused, still watching. "Oh."
"But of course, monogamy and nuclear family units are still very much alive, as well."
"They don't live in a separate community, do they? Out reavening for scraps on a blasted wasteland?"
"Nope." He smiled, tapping his cane into the ground. He was beginning to get smug about this. Then, I realised I had an ace up my sleeve...
"Ahaaaa!" I began, waggling my finger. "Then you MUST have banned or eradicated organised religion! There's no way that any of the three Abrahamic religions would tolerate such public displays of sexual liberation! What would your priests, rabbis and mullahs say to..." - I waved my hand at the undulating, moaning throng - "well, that?"
"Oh, they don't mind. Not since we set up the Sex Fund."
"Ahh! A tax on procreation, leaving childbearing open only to the super-rich!"
"Nope. A voluntary donation which religious groups can ask of participants in the Sexening once it's all over. Turns out, people are more than happy to part with their money when they're in the afterglow of huge mutual orgasm. Look, there's a few of them waiting, now."
He pointed at a bank of trees with his cane. In their shade was a handful of elderly men in cassocks, each clutching a large alms bowl and crouching into a starting position, eager to burst into a run once the gasping subsided.
"But surely they daren't take money from the hands of those who indulge in sin??"
"Worked in the Middle Ages. Besides, thanks to the money they've raised, the Roman Catholics were able to have Vatican City chromed, while Jerusalem is now home to a brand new Temple AND not one, not two, but EIGHT Domes on the Rocks."
"Then how did they each get the land? And End Times type war, which saw the real righteous get lifted into heaven, while the rest of us..."
"They negotiated. Took about a week. Islam and Judaism still laugh about it. The Buddhists, being Buddhists, were too polite to say 'I told you so!'. It just sort of worked out."
I scanned the skyline for signs of corporate tyranny or cyberpunk dystopia. This was beginning to get disappointing. | 2017-03-17T13:46:03 | 2017-03-17T13:03:38 | 197 | 52 |
[WP] Rather than being dispatched by a dispatcher, police officers use a bounty system where officers can pick up missions from a constantly updated bounty board. The missions range from: "noise complaint, $20", to "domestic abuse, $150", to "bank robbery in progress, $5000". | It was a dark and stormy night.
"Shut the fuck up Tony, it's never been funny!" bellowed my partner. I laughed. Although Jimmy didn't know it, I never said it to be funny. I said it to piss him off. Jimmy was a better cop when he was mad, and tonight I needed him at his best.
"SHOTS FIRED, SHOTS FIRED! Officers Jacobs and Daniels on scene and requesting back up!" went the radio call, and into the dark, dilapidated walk-up went my partner and I. "Listen, James" I started, "you don't have to do this. Wait in the RMP and let me handle this." Why I thought that would work, I can't say, but it did. Jimmy was furious and turning red.
"I can do my fucking job. Jesus Tony, you're acting like I'm still green. I've cleared almost as many cases as you by now, let's go." We swept apartment after apartment, floor after floor, and then we made our way to the roof access door. As quietly as possible I said, "I'll open the door, you be ready to fire in case this is a trap!" "Okay," Jimmy whispered back.
I kicked the door and failed miserably at trying to move out of the way at the same time. Luckily the only thing on the other side was the sound of the rain pelting the roof. "He's gotta be up there Tony, be careful." I spun around the door with my gun drawn, gracefully this time. I didn't want Jimmy to get the idea that old Officer Daniels wasn't in mint condition.
A shot rang and I spun right back inside, nearly knocking Jimmy down the stairs. "Are you ready to retire?" I asked Jimmy, halfway trying to play off what just happened. "We're about to catch an honest to god cop-killing serial killer!" I tried to sound more excited than afraid. Jimmy's face was stone cold. "Where the fuck is our back up, Tony? It feels like we radioed an hour ago."
I wish I had the heart to tell him that nobody was coming. Since the bounty system began, the average cop has cared about their payday, and the ability to live to see the next one more than anything else. Violent crime was rarely responded to. The mayor raised the premiums substantially, but it didn't do much good. Most cops still preferred to milk a bunch of nonviolent crime than risk their lives.
"We don't need back up." I told myself it was only a white lie. "Besides, you don't really want to split the bounty, do you?" Smoke came out of Jimmy's ears. He was one of the rare cops who actually wanted to be a cop because he wanted to do right by this city and its citizens. He grit his teeth, then pushed past me to the roof.
I ran out behind Jimmy. He looked at me with disgust and then did something I almost couldn't believe I was seeing. "Come out of your hole! I'm not afraid to die! I swore my life to save this city! You can kill me but I'm going to take you along for the ride to hell!" Another shot rang, this time I saw the muzzle flash. I aimed and then fired until my gun clicked. A body fell. We were instant millionaires.
Jimmy screamed "Are you fucking happy now you piece of shit?" I looked over at him and saw the blood staining his shoulder. I tried to speak. "You're just like the rest of them! A bounty hunter with a badge! Fuck you Daniels! How I ever looked up to you I don't fucking know! I'm putting in for a transfer when we get to the station."
I wanted to tell him that he could believe in me. I wanted to let him know I only brought up the bounty to piss him off. I wanted to tell him he was the best partner I'd ever had and that I looked at him as the son I never had. I really wanted to tell him. I really did. Like I said though, Jimmy was a better cop when he was angry.
I retired a few years after that night. Last I heard Jimmy was still moving up the ranks and on the mayor's short list for Commissioner. He still hates me. I know because he showed up at my retirement party just to say good riddance. I cried, not because of his remarks, but because I actually got to see him again, with stripes no less. Little Jimmy, the best partner I'd ever had, was now Commander James Jacobs of the NYPD. That overwhelming feeling of pride was worth more to me than the fifty million dollar payout that fueled his hatred. I guess I'll take that truth to my grave, for Jimmy's sake. | The night's incessant rain drummed on the roof of the car as Dan searched for the socket to connect his phone to the car's dash. The car was still quite new to him. Electric powered, fitted with ram-bars, and with bullet-proof panels on the front two doors and a prisoner compartment in the back. He had decided not to go for the additional bullet-proof glass option, the new car had stretched his budget enough, but he saw it as an investment. With this car he could chase the bigger bounties, and make more money, and eventually get out of this city.
Dan watched Jeff make his way out of his apartment building and rush to the car with his hood shielding him from the rain and shrouding him in shadow. A tall and wiry man in his mid-twenties, Jeff jumped inside, spraying rainwater all over the central display panel as the Paragon security app logo flashed up on the screen.
"Ah! Thanks mate!" Dan said sarcastically as he wiped the screen off with his dry sleeve.
"Sorry." Jeff said, with barely a hint of remorse, "Bloody weather!"
Since he had got the new car Dan sensed that Jeff was jealous. Dan subscribed to the Paragon app, he supplied the car, the armour, the guns, and as such he would take a bigger cut of the bounties. They split the pay 60/40 before. But to pay for the new car their deal had changed to 70/30. Dan assured him that although he was getting a smaller percentage it would be of the bigger bounties. Jeff had little choice but to agree. Employment options were scare enough for everyone these days, let alone ex-convicts.
"Is there much going on?" Jeff asked as Dan tapped through the Paragon app menu.
Dan looked for a moment, his grim face illuminated by the pale blue light of the screen, "Noise complaint for £20, a domestic... abuse they think, £150. Not much else. What do you reckon?"
"The domestic could kill some time." Jeff replied.
Dan was unconvinced, "Hmmm, I hate domestics. They're always cheap, and they can escalate easily. Before you know it you're dealing with an armed standoff for parking ticket money."
Jeff shrugged, "Better than nothing."
"I suppose..." Dan said with a sigh. Just as he was about to accept the job when a new job flashed up in red. As soon as Jeff saw the red flash he leaned over for a better look. "Bank robbery." Dan said with a smile, "Five grand!"
"Let's do it!" Jeff said excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat.
Dan tapped the 'Accept' button, and put his foot down. The heavy car accelerated smoothly and almost silently, "Maze bank on King street." Dan said calmly. Jeff was already pulling the shotgun from its bracket in the passenger foot-well.
"Remember, it's £5000 to stop the robbery. The cops won't give you a bonus for taking them alive, or thank you for the extra paperwork. Take no risks." Dan explained.
Jeff nodded while checking his ammo. "Don't need to tell me twice."
The car splashed its way through potholes as it twisted through the city streets. The dim streetlight strobed through the car windows as Jeff anxiously checked his ammo again.
"It's not going anywhere." Dan said calmly, "Relax."
"Easy for you to say, I didn't get your training." Jeff replied, "I run adrenaline, not discipline... just let me work."
"OK." Dan replied, "Just make sure you think-"
"Yeah, yeah." Jeff interrupted.
It was easy for Dan to forget just how different their backgrounds were. Dan had been in the army from the age of seventeen, been to war at nineteen, and that life of structure and discipline had been all he knew until his unit was disbanded with the Government roll-back scheme. Luckily for him the police faced similar cuts, and Paragon security were desperate for people to work as private security contractors. Dan was well suited to the job, and the gig-nature of the app allowed him to work around the times when his demons would get the better of him.
As they rode on to King street there was little sign of a disturbance other than the flashing light of the alarm on the front of the bank. The roads were deserted, washed out by the heavy rain and the darkness, but as they drew closer they could see the glass front of the bank had been smashed through by a white van which had been reversed into it.
"Ok, it's real." Dan said, pulling up to a stop behind the cover of some parked cars.
"Let's go!" Jeff said, jumping out of the car and running towards the bank before Dan even had a chance to pull out his gun.
Dan grabbed his sub-machine gun from the driver's side foot-well and followed Jeff, who had already moved beyond the cover of the cars to the wall outside the bank. "Hold on!" Dan called out, but Jeff didn't listen, turning into the smashed opening of the glass wall with his shotgun raised. Dan followed as quickly as he could, looking through the sights of his gun and approaching behind as much cover, he soon had to take the plunge and enter the bank.
The bank was in darkness but for the red glare of the van's rear lights. Dan could hear no sign of Jeff or the robbers, so cautiously and as quietly as possible he walked over the shattered glass which littered the floor. His heart was pounding but he controlled his breathing and focused on the objective. His mind flashed to memories of Africa. When he stormed through towns and villages in the hunt for insurgents. The fear and excitement was almost overwhelming, but also addictive. With no sign of the enemy he continued through the bank's shabby foyer and down a corridor which led past the glass-screened counters.
A security door had been blown off its hinges and Dan had to push it aside in order to get through to the rear of the bank. He kept his gun raised, his eyes trained down the sights. Looking down a long corridor he saw a man crouched down and Dan's eyes focused on him, his trigger finger ready. But it was Jeff, who beckoned to Dan to come down to him, as he spied through a partially opened door.
Dan ran down the corridor quietly with his gun raised. The suddenly he was deafened by a bang and his legs were taken out from under him. He was disorientated, but when he regained his bearings he found himself slumped over a cheap armchair, a small wooden table lay on it side beside him and a pile of magazines scattered across the floor. A man laughed. Dan tried to get up, his left leg was in agony, and his right wouldn't work. He groped for his gun which hung around his neck on a twisted strap. But before he could get hold of it a gloved hand grabbed at the strap and a knife came to cut it loose. The man laughed again as he took the gun from Dan's reach.
"Thirty percent!?" Jeff said to Dan from behind. Jeff then grabbed him by the collar and turned him over. "THIRTY FUCKING PERCENT!?" Dan grabbed at Jeff's arms instinctively but Jeff laughed, "Don't bother. You're done!"
In agony and shock Dan's voice was barely a whisper, "Why?"
"THIRTY! FUCKING! PERCENT!" Jeff screamed in his face. "You should have given me a fair deal, Dan. None of this had to happen. But now I'm taking over. You're precious bloody car, your gear, and this bounty, that's all mine now."
"You stitched me up!" Dan said, "This robbery's fake!"
Jeff nodded proudly, "I'm taking your business, I'll do a far better job of it than you did. And we're leaving your body here as the guilty robber. Just another war vet gone mental. We'll take the bounty and nobody will give a shit. Job done."
Dan turned to the other man, his face hidden behind a balaclava. "Wonder how long you will la-" A shotgun blast silenced him. | 2017-06-16T05:07:22 | 2017-06-16T04:48:43 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | Grandpa was running toward me screaming "STOP STAY AWAY! HE HAS THE POWER TO STOP TI..."
And suddenly everyone stopped, again, all I saw was Dio screaming "ZA WARUDO" before it happened.
I could barely move a finger, but I saw it happening in front of me, Dio just murdered my grandfather!
When time resumed I was very angry! Grandpa last words were not to get angry, but my blood was boiling, I just wanted to punch that smug satisfied face to death.
As Dio approached me I launched my stand towards him
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA"
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA"
| he first time the incident occurred I was in a busy mall. I bumped into the person in front of me and apologized, but I got no response. A moment later she fell forward. What a bitch! Not only did she ignore me, but she completely over-reacted with such a delayed response. She screamed, and a bunch of tough-looking guys approached me. Oh boy, I was in for a fight. I braced myself for the first punch, but his fist stopped mid-swing. Perplexed, I noticed that EVERYTHING had stopped in that moment. I quickly used my advantage to retaliate and back away. As time began to move again, he flew backwards from the impact. Seeing my "quick" movements, everyone backed away. I used this chance to flee.
You would think that moving through stopped time would be cool, but I soon realized that I had no control over it. It would only last a few seconds each time, but that was enough for me to collide with someone. Worse yet was if I was driving. There was no way for me to set the pedal back to normal if I pressed too hard, so I could easily speed up if I wasn't paying attention. I soon made it my mission to find out who was doing this to me.
My search finally led me to Egypt, where I saw it. A man with golden hair yelled out "Za Warudo!" and time stopped. Even though I had finally met my tormentor, I felt such an immense pressure emanating from this man. My own body froze, and probably for a good reason: the man casually stuck a knife through someone's neck. "Time will begin to move again", he proudly proclaimed. And with that, he went on with his business as if nothing had happened. This man was extremely dangerous, but I couldn't let him notice me.
I had to follow this man to stay out of his line of sight at all times. If he saw me move in stopped time, I was dead. In the time spent following him, I saw some truly bizarre shit.
Eventually some foreigners confronted him, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't risk my life for these people. Instead I had to watch in horror and hope they could figure it out on their own.
Sadly, a few of them lost their lives in that process. First a high school student who could manifest this green webbing of some sort thought he had cornered him. But sadly he was no match for this man. I had to watch as he casually unwove the kid's web and then finish it up with a punch straight through his stomach. I had to resist the urge to puke.
The next to fall was an old man who could create this weird purple vine. Apparently the golden-haired man couldn't physically touch him, so he precisely threw a knife at his throat. I braced myself for the murder that was going to unfold in front of my eyes in mere seconds.
As I grieved for the death of the old man, his apparent grandson received the critical knowledge of that man's ability. There was hope, but what could this kid do? Fly was apparently the answer. Bizarre.
I watched knowing that it was useless for him to keep fighting (or at least the man thought so). However there was a glimmer of hope! The kid moved in stopped time! It seems like the first twitch was a trick with a magnet, but the sucker-punch was no illusion. He killed the man!
Or so I thought. I couldn't exactly comprehend it, but apparently he is immortal. FML. That didn't stop the kid from trying though. The following battle was too crazy to fully explain.
The fight was so ridiculous that it ended with the two punching their way through a fucking road roller! wtf, where did that come from? But the kid did it, and my hell was over. That man was finally dead. I was free at last!
Or so I thought, until it began to happen 10 years later. I'm done with this shit. | 2018-01-26T07:03:15 | 2018-01-26T06:49:48 | 71 | 25 |
[WP] During a coma, you had a different life. You had a spouse, an apartment, and a job you didn’t hate. Right as you begin to wake up, you hear your spouse desperately exclaim a date and address. | "November 1st, 716 Western Road!"
Her voice echoes after you as you're dragged into consciousness, and you cling to it, burning her words into your very heart. It's the first thing you write down as you reacquaint yourself with your body, and the first thing you tell your friends when you're finally released. Of course, they laugh it off. It's just a dream, right?
As the months go by and you slip back into old routines, even you start to question how real it all was. But even so, it couldn't hurt to check things out, right?
Imagine your surprise when your friends tell you there's a Halloween Bash being thrown at 715 Western Road! You tell them you can't wait to go, pick out a great joke costume, and vow that on your way home you'll peek at whatever sits at 716.
The party ends up being a blast, and you leave in a hazy state, laughing as you wobble down the sidewalk. You glance about, searching for the fated address for a moment before you realize it would be on the other side of the street. You get about three steps into the road when you hear screeching tires, followed immediately by the crunch of shattering bones. You're vaguely aware of panicked voices and a slamming car door, and the fact that there were no headlights flits across your consciousness before everything fades away.
After what could be seconds or days your eyes open, falling upon a familiar face. She smiles brightly, leaning in to kiss your forehead as she whispers, "Welcome home, dear." | As i sat up, her voice kept ringing in my head. A nurse rushed into my room, four more nurses behind her, quickly rush in. As they started checking up on me, her voice continued ringing in my head. December 26, 7344 W Rascher Ave. I knew i had to go there. I waited my time. I got better, and left the hospital. I bought my ticket. I clutched it, as if it was my lifeline. I made my way onto the plane, and waited. I bid my time, on that plane, as it grew closer and closer to her. I had to get there. I had to see her again. Even if it was just once more, i had to see her. Once the plane landed, i was the first to get off, grabbing my carry on, and rushing to get a taxi. I told the driver the address, and he drove off, driving closer and closer. I arrived, and paid my fare. I could get an uber to elsewhere. I saw a for-sale sign. I took a flyer, and put it in my pocket. I laid my eyes on the house i once dreamed about, in my coma. Years spent here, with a wife, and a job. I tried to open the door, to find it was locked. I walked around to see if any of the doors were open, in that empty house. I found one of the back windows unlocked and slightly open. I opened it enough, and got in to the house. And thats when i saw her, sitting on the carpet floor. She looked up at me and smiled. We both rushed to hug each other, but she passed through me. A trick from my imagination. My brain playing tricks on me. She wasnt in the room. I started to look around. Hoping to see her. I searched the house, far and wide. There was an envelope in the room that would be my study, with my first name on it. I tore that letter open, hoping to see something
>My Dear Husband,
I wanted to believe you would come, but after all these years, you never came. I waited year after year. I came back this year, one last time to tell you, if you ever see this, that i love you. Year after Year, i came to this address, because you told me to come here when i woke up. Year and Year i came. I miss you more than I can bear, but i guess we had our time together. I have to let you go. You were my dream husband. Take this house as a gift. If you contact the Corboy & Demetrio law office in Chicago, and show your ID, you should get the deed to this house, and access to a joint bank account. Once you do that, ill be notified, and we can meet.
Your loving Wife.
I googled the law office, and saw that it was still open for the next half hour. I called them and told them i was arriving about this house. They told me the partner in charge of that case would be waiting for my arrival tonight. I called an uber and rushed to the law office, with the letter.
As i arrived it was getting close to 8pm. I quickly entered, and saw a woman laying down on the bench. I ignored her, and went to the front desk, to find out where the lawyer who i was supposed to meet with was. She showed me the way to a back conference room. There was man sitting down with a case file, flipping through all the documents. As the door opened, he looked up. He solemnly and regretfully looked at me.
He asked, "Are you Joshua Anthony Hamilton?"
I quickly nodded, not trusting my voice at that moment.
"How could you not notice?" He asked.
I was confused. Why was he asking this. "What?" i croaked out. "How could i notice what?" I said. Starting to think back some. The woman on the bench. Who was she?
"How could you not notice your so called wife?" He said.
As he said that, the door creaked open. I quickly glanced to the door, and back to the lawyer. I looked at the door again to see who it was. Behind the secretary, another woman. As my eyes locked with hers, my eyes widened. The woman from the bench. Her face just like my wife in the coma.
"Sam." I whispered. "Sam, is that you?" I asked louder. She rushed forward, and grabbed me in a hug.
"Its me. Its Sam." she whispered.
I started crying. A quiet sob escaped my lips. After weeks in the hospital, and months waiting for this day, i finally was reunited with her. I was overjoyed to be with her. Nothing else mattered. I had the woman i had dreamed about for what seemed like so long. Nothing else mattered. | 2018-05-14T19:03:06 | 2018-05-14T12:41:41 | 707 | 87 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | >Tech support: Human Tech helpdesk, Danyael speaking, this call may be recorded for training and QA purposes, may I have the GATACCA code at your 4th chromosome, please?
>Me: Um... hi.
>HD: Hi. Who is this, please, so I can put the details in your ticket.
>Me: I'm... John. I found your number on a few skin cells and thought...
>HD (sighing): Do you *have* an issue? We are experiencing higher than average vol---
>Me: Oh. Um. Yeah. I have a weird lump in my left wrist, and it kind of aches.
>HD: Okay, what firmware version are you running.
>Me: Ummmm...
>HD (sighing): When were you born?
>Me: August 15th, 1972.
>HD: Wait one.
*soft jazz plays. it sounds like a Musak rendition of Matchbox 20*
>Me: Ummm... hello? Hi? Are you...?
*music cuts out*
>HD: Hello. Yeah, you are experiencing a ganglion cyst, and should get that checked out. I would also advise connecting up to HumanNet and downloading the latest patch.
>Me: Wait... I've never heard of...
>HD: Hang on... I never got your GATACCA code.
>Me: I don't know it.
>HD (sighs): Spit on your smartphone screen. We'll read it on our end.
>Me: You can do that?
>HD (sighs): Just do it. Trust me.
*spit on my iPhone*
>HD: One sec... okay, your access code for that is *32-character alphanumeric string*. We will text that to you at the current number. Simply recite it 5 times before you sleep, and it will log you straight in. After your updates, you should be able to run a 3 minute mile, jump 10 feet vertically, and give your girlfriend 4 deep orgasms during every lovemaking session.
>Me: Wait...
>HD: We will give you a follow up call tomorrow after work. Your ticket number is 12. Is there anything else I can do for you today?
>Me: Ummm...
>HD: Great. Download your updates, John, and we'll talk tomorrow, Please remember to fill out the survey after this call, 5 stars is the best rating, have a great night.
*click* | "Hello?" I stuttered. I had heard the phone click on the other end, a steady breathing echoing against my ear. "Is anyone there?" I asked almost impatiently.
"Good morning, Roger. How are you today?" a woman's voice responded. It was calm, yet I could sense the slightest bit of nervousness, like she hadn't expected to ever have this conversation.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, breathing heavier with every passing moment. I looked back at my pointer finger. I could no longer see the microscopic number imprinted within my finger print. With out the help of my microscope, I'd have never noticed it being there. My mind raced as I tried to figure out why it was there. But creeping in the back of my mind was a growing voice asking an even more interesting question: Who put it there?
"Where are you now, Roger?" The woman's voice asked, ignoring my question. I could hear rattling in the back. My ears felt suddenly much more honed to even the slightest of sounds. The leaking faucet dripping in the other room pounded against the stainless steel every few moments.
"I found this number engraved on my finger this morning," I said slightly raising my voice as I grew more and more impatient. "Who put it there? Who are you?" I asked.
"Roger, please remain calm and let me know where you are calling from? I'm only hear to help." Her voice sounded almost mesmerizing now. It was calm yet assertive. Almost addicting. I felt tempted to tell her my address. I quickly shook my head.
"I'm not telling you anything until I know what is going on!" I yelled. I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead. A rattling came from the ally outside my window. I jumped and looked out my kitchen window just as a cat scattered its way from a rolling garbage can and disappearing around the corner. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Are you still there, Roger?" I could hear the woman ask. I put the phone back against my ear.
"Please tell me who you are?" I said. I almost felt myself needing to cry now. My mind swirled and I began to shake.
"I can answer every question you have for me Roger, I just need you to tell me your location first." She was smiling. I could hear it in her crooked voice. It echoed across my mind.
"Please stop saying my name like that," I said putting a hand against my forehead. My brain felt a sharp pain. Her voice was becoming agonizing.
"Like what, Roger?" I snapped.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I cried out. There was only silence as I began to sob. There was only silence on the other end now.
"You'll know soon enough, Roger," she said. I looked up in shock.
"What do you mean? Hello?" Only silence on the other end now. "Hello?" I asked louder. Nothing. "Hello?!" I screamed beginning to cry again. The tone dial buzzed loudly and I threw the phone across the room. It shattered against the far wall, batteries flying in several directions. I slid to the ground staring at my finger. I gasped. The number was glowing red now. It flashed on and off every few moments.
"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-" I repeated as I scratched at the numbers. I jumped up and grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter. I felt as if I had gone insane in the last few minutes alone. This had to be some kind of dream. I pressed the edge of the knife against my finger tip. What the hell was I doing? That question kept repeating itself over and over again but I had to know what this thing on my finger was. I took a deep breath and shut eyes. I slid the knife into my finger, wincing in immediate pain. The knife slid in and I opened my eyes. No blood. Any where.
"Wha-" I tried saying aloud. I saw red, but it was light, not blood. I slid the knife further across the tip of finger, wanting to feel pain, to feel something. But there was nothing. I peeled the skin back. An icy blue metal rod, the shape of a bone revealed itself, a small bulb beside it slowly flashing on and off. I yanked it out, feeling myself getting light headed. I had seen something like this before. In the movies. I couldn't be sure of course, but it looked just like any tracking device I had ever seen. And then I remembered the woman's last statement.
I would know soon enough. What did that mean? I raised myself up quickly and threw the bulb and small wire attached to it down the drain in the kitchen sink. I looked back to my finger, slowly inspecting it. My front door suddenly blew open.
There was a flash, and loud bang as I dropped to the floor holding my hands over my ears. Smoke filled the room as wooden shards dropped all around me. Men in full body armor rushed the room, pointing there black weapons directly at me, yelling to stay down. Everything was blurry, I could barely out what they were saying. My eyes twitched as they tried to adjust. The armored men stepped aside as a red headed woman walked towards me. Her heels stomping against the hard wood floors. She stopped just in front of me and knelt down. Her head tilted as she inspected me. She slowly came into focus. She held my hand, and lifted it up. She glared at my finger for a short moment and then dropped it.
"Who are you?" I said softly, barely able to speak. She smiled.
"All in due time, Roger," she said with a smile. It was her. My face dropped as I tried to sit up.
"Bring it in," she said to the soldiers.
"Wai-" I tried saying. The butt of a rifle struck me directly across my face. Everything went black, her voice still echoing across my mind. | 2018-08-14T11:14:09 | 2018-08-14T07:31:49 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | “Totally worth it”
I thought to myself. It must have been past 2 in the afternoon but I refused to get up. There was a constant pounding in my head and a slight drip of blood running from my left ear. I could hear my roommates talking angrily in the next room and I knew what was waiting for me in the living room. We got along fine enough on account of the fact we all had super powers, but that was about it.
Jack had immeasurable strength, John could fly, and Jaron was able to morph into anything. There were plenty of other people with super powers but it was rare to use them on account of the “cool off”. Nobody is quite sure of the physics behind it but the law of equal and opposite reactions has something to do with incredible pain after performing a super power.
There’s an angry knock on the door as it flew off it’s hinges and jack comes barging in.
“WAKE UP DUMBASS”
He winces from overexerting himself but the rage in his eyes is more noticeable. My other roommates are behind him with similar expressions.
“You have arguably the coolest super power known to mankind; you can literally pull ANYTHING out of your ear ANYWHERE.” Jack is an intimidating guy and I know where this is going. He often criticizes me saying I don’t use my powers properly or I’m too showy or whatever. He sits down on my laundry chair, looks at the ground and rubs his temples.
“Walk me through your thought process here,” he continues. He sounds calm, but disappointed, like the time I told my dad I’d rather live off my super powers than try to have a high powered career as he did. “Why didn’t you pull out a stack of cash or something? Even more so, why didn’t you walk down to the lake first..? Why did you pull a 30’ power boat out of your ear in the middle of our fucking kitchen”?
Edit: critiques appreciated ! | Arin groaned as she walked into her living room from her bedroom. She had just woken up from a much needed rest. After the day she had yesterday she just knew today was going to have some toll on her. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes as she sat down on the floor. She didn’t want to get too close to anything metal or electric, basically anything conductive of electricity. You see, Arin has the ability to control electricity but if she uses this ability too much at once some gets stored inside of her and she has to slowly let it disperse. She had already made a few calls yesterday after helping stop a bank heist yesterday. Her pizza should be here any minute now.
I picked up the pen and notebook i had left out for myself the night before, as well as a plastic water bottle that was filled with water. I took a swig from the bottle as I opened the book in my lap and clicked the pen. Putting the bottle down as I began to write.
“ 05/25/2026
Morning Journal... sorry I didn’t write in you last night, I had a big day. I got to help the real hero’s at the bank. Ace was there too today. One of the hero’s who responded to the alarms. He even protected me from a bullet! His telekinetic powers are really something else. His nemesis Flare was there too along with some lackies, that’s why they had guns, no powers. I was only really there to cut the power or bring it back to let rubberband and makeshift in but that was before we knew flare was there. He turned rubberband and makeshift against one another and then turned them on ace and I. Rubberband subdued me and then a gun was out to my head. Ace couldn’t do anything with it so close but that’s when Lucy decided to show herself by grappling the man. He pulled the trigger when she startled him but ace was able to stop the bullet just after it penetrated my skin. There was a little bit of blood and a bit of stinging, not to mention my ears rang but that guy and glare were taken into custody. Flare had almost gotten away but when escaping he had to let go of rubber band and makeshift so they were able to grab him. Being in the power grid for the bank gave me too much excess power so I’m sweating it out today. I just hope I don’t die of boredom today. Can’t be near anything, don’t want to shock myself constantly or ruin a device. But I did treat myself. I have a pizza coming soon and later I get to have some candy bars.. I know not exactly a treat since I constantly eat junk but I was blessed with a great metabolism so I can still rock a swimsuit.” I looked down at my stomach which wasn’t as flat as a board like you’d see a model with “ who cares about looks anyway? It’s all about heart and mind and soul anyway.” The doorbell rang then.
I got up and took the money I had left on the counter for myself last night and opened the door. Before me was a man holding a bag in one hand and his head in another .” You alright man?” I asked with genuine concern. “ yeah, just have this massive migraine...” he opened his eyes, revealing the crystal blues as he opened the bag and took out the pizza box. He looked at the side. “That’ll be $15.45.” He said. I handed him a twenty dollar bill with a smile which he took. The moment he touched the dollar, his thumb brushing mine, we both got a shock. We both yelped in surprise, I yanked my hand back and watched as my pizza began to fall before it suddenly wasn’t. The man had his hand outstretched and a concerned look on his face. He and the pizza were frozen for a moment before the box went back to his hand. He opened the box to make sure the pizza was fine ( it was) before handing me the box. “Please don’t tell anyone... I’m Ace..” he said sheepishly. He ran his free hand through his black hair. “ I-I’d never tell anyone! I’m a big fan of yours and it would be the least I could do since you saved me yes-“ I put my hand over my mouth. We both were surprised now. After a moment of staring at each other he smiled and pulled out a pen and wrote on the pizza box. “ a big fan huh..? You can have this then but don’t go giving it to anyone. Feel free to give me a call later.” “O-okay!” I replied in a higher pitch. “See ya later.” He waved as he walked away with a smile.
I closed my door and turned around, the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I squealed “eeeeeeee! He gave me his numberrr!” I twirled then ran to the kitchen. I took a plate out of one of the dishwasher and took two slices out of the box. I took my plate back to the living room and sat down again to continue writing in my book before I realized. “ it’s kinda dark in here...” I got back up and looked out a window to find out that the power was out everywhere. “ crap....” | 2018-08-19T05:58:22 | 2018-08-19T04:31:16 | 401 | 21 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | [Poem]
Thanksgiving was a shock this year, the family was to blame.
I thought I'd search for fun or maybe just check out names,
Well what a surprise to see, my families just not right,
I guess that in their off time, they go and kill at night.
Grandma had killed 12, she sat and smiled sweetly,
My sister was at 5, she must do it rather discreetly,
Uncle Bill killed 23, the highest, I'm appalled,
I guess that every family has the creepy uncle after all,
Cousin Amy had a simple 2, Cousin Mary was at 9,
Aunt Rachel had 16, she always seem'd so kind,
Mom and dad killed together, they had a "meesly" 4,
But the most surprising of them all, was sleeping on the floor,
Yes the dog had killed a few, how, I do not know,
All Ill say, is from now on, I'll pet him extra slow. | My dad is a Vietnam vet, and never talked about it much. I know from my mom he has pretty severe ptsd. I felt guilty for wanting to know, but I couldn’t help it. The number kinda surprised me, 12. It was more than I expected, and I instantly had half a dozen more questions I wanted answers to.
But I couldn’t bring myself to dig any farther. It already felt a little too intrusive. It was then that I had another strange thought, what about the rest of my family? The following morning, I decided to pry.
“Morning, mom.” I said
“Morning sweetheart.” My mother responded. She was browsing Facebook on her iPad, as usual. “Have any plans today?”
“Nah. I was gonna go to the movies with Jeff, but he decided he just wanted to go with Jessica.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear that. What movie were you going to see? If it’s not something scary we could go.”
I giggled, “It was actually something scary.”
“Well are there any other movies you wanted to see? You know what, I’m gonna check and...”
I started the search before she could finish her sentence. I was kinda nervous, what if... what if my mom had killed somebody? I mean she was a nurse, would something like negligence count? Zero. Phew. My mother is still a saint.
“Honey? Am I talking to a wall here?”
Oh shit I zoned out for too long.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said have you seen this movie.” She moved the iPad a little closer to my face.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I saw it last weekend with a bunch of people from youth group.”
She sighed, “One of these days I’d like to go see a movie as a family.”
We talked for a little longer before I wandered back to my room to play games with my friends online. That evening, we decided to go out for dinner. My younger sister Trisha brought her friend Rashida.
We ate, the girls gossiped and looked at their phones the whole time, and then I remembered the question. I looked across the table at my younger sister and decided to search. I mean I’d already searched the rest of my family, it would be rude not to include her.
Zero. Obviously. She’s fifteen, she’s weird but not that kind of weird. Her and Rashida are certainly different, but they’re just asocial types. I took another sip of coke, and as I looked up again I nearly choked.
“Are you okay sweetie?” My mom quickly responded.
“I’m fine.” I managed to cough out, my eyes watering, but still glued to the search bar over my sisters head. That 1 wasn’t there before. My eyes scanned back and forth. I wiped the tears away and quickly looked back up, still coughing.
“Can you cover your mouth when you cough? F-F-S.” Trisha said angrily.
“Sorry.” I said while still looking at the number above her head. Ten. *Ten*?! Holy shit what the fuck. I had to know more. This had to be some kind of mistake. Okay, what about number of people murdered. Search. Oh please, oh god no. Still ten.
“Hey mouth breather, can I help you with something?” Trisha was scowling at me, Rashida too.
“Sorry I...” I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Zoned out, even while you’re about to choke to death.” Trisha quipped. Rashida smirked, blew air out of her nose, and rolled her eyes. I didn’t even have time to be mad. My sister is a goddamn serial killer. Maybe she’s killing bad people? Maybe it was all at once?
Wait, did my parents know? Or... what if she could search like I could? Maybe she’d done what I’d only dreamed about doing. Finding evil people, and murdering them.
Can my sister search like me. Search. | 2019-07-01T20:28:33 | 2019-07-01T20:07:43 | 347 | 215 |
[WP] Every human has stats, like Strength, Dexterity, Wisdom, etc, with them all starting at zero when you’re a baby. Whenever you age a year, one of these stats is randomly increased by a point. One day, you find out that age isn’t the only way to get points, yet it’s definitely the more moral way. | I was never really a dexterous person. I’ve only leveled up dexterity once in my life, during my seventh birthday. I’m currently sixteen, turning seventeen next week. I have six in strength, one in dexterity, three in constitution, three in intelligence, two in wisdom and five in charisma. I could never run fast during gym, and people made sure I knew that. I was called “Bigstep” “Noleg” and “Titan” among other things. My speed wasn’t the only thing affected by my lack of dexterity. You have no idea how many times a teacher thought my e was an a or the other way around, I’ve failed many spelling tests because of that. One day, while in gym, some kids were calling me names again. Derek Niel, the fastest kid in the class, a dexterity of eight was the leader of the pact. That day I decided I had enough.
“Hey Titan, maybe try moving your legs next time.” Derek called out, laughing with his friends.
I stepped in and threw a punch, knocking him instantly to the ground, his goons froze. “Four, in the parking lot, you won’t call me titan ever again.” I stormed out, pushing his two goons aside.
My heart was pounding when four rolled around, not with fear or anxiety, but out of anger. I stood in the parking lot, waiting for Derek to show. Around the corner, came Derek with the same two goons he had in the gym. I felt my blood run cold with anger at his smug face. Derek and his goons approached me.
“Were you too afraid to go alone?” I taunted, wanting to try to intimidate Derek.
“Alright, Titan, calm yourself.” He put on a smug look, giggling slightly.
I didn’t even wait, I threw a punch at him, knocking him to the ground. The rest of the fight was a blur, although I know that it was barely a fight. Flashes of Derek on the ground, blood spewing from his face flashed through my mind. When I came to, my fists were red, and his two goons had ran off. Derek wasn’t responding, not even breathing. I took a deep breath, and heard police sirens coming our way. I turned and started running in the opposite direction, with immense speed that I had never had before. I kept running until I got tired, and then I kept walking. I made it out of town and into the forest, I collapsed from the running, my heart pounding in my ears. I smiled, and decided my new name then and there.
Titan. | Martin was among the fortunate few that had been admitted to the University of Palatine. Most people end up with a balanced distribution of their attributes as chance increases them evenly each year. But assembled here for the first time in the circular hall of the Old Gilbertian Theater stood a new cohort of students who had had all of their ascensions accumulate on the attributes of wisdom and intelligence.
The Gilbertian was an intimidating place. Martin could sense it's age. It's dome seemed to be pressing down on him and the few small windows let in only a shimmering of light. The students were divided in two groups standing on opposing sides of the central aisle. On Martin's side the sleves and hoods of the students black gowns were framed by red stripes. The gowns of the students in front of him ended in grey stripes. Martin and the students around him were going to be admitted to the college of St Bernard. It housed those students and faculty who had more ascensions in intelligence than in wisdom. As opposed to the students and faculty of St Guillaume's College whose gray gowns marked their focus on wisdom, not intelligence.
Though even among the intelligent students of St Bernard's around him Martin was standing out. Not in any physical attributes. He was neither tall nor strong. In fact he was unusually weak and clumsy. But he was standing alone, separated from the other students by a thin rope on the far left side of the lower floor, immediately in front of the podium where the chancellor and his vice chancellors sat on throne-like chairs made of dark wood and even darker leather. All his ascensions had been in intelligence. He was the first new student of this kind to be admitted to the University of Palatine in over 10 years. And he could feel the glances and expectations of the professors up in the galleries weighing on him heavily.
After that memorable day of his matriculation ceremony the first few weeks of university were not too different from Martin's time at secondary school. At an early age, when his unusual potential for intelligence began to manifest itself, he was already put into an elite school where he got used to a tight schedule, frequent deadlines and high pressure. But everything began to change in the end of Michaelmas term. On the last day of lectures he was approached by Mr Thomas the assistant of Professor Oldson, his supervisor. He had not yet met Professor Oldson. None of the students had. While all his friends had meetings with their supervisors throughout the term, Martin was only seeing the assistant Mr Thomas. But he was not too concerned. Mr Thomas was more knowledgeable than most of the professors and everyone treated him with great respect. But of course he was excited when he got called in to Professor Oldsons office. It was a great privilege to be supervised by Professor Oldson, a privilege that was only given to students like Martin, who had been ascending exclusively in intelligence for all their life. Naturally for more than 10 years no student had been supervised by Professor Oldson.
Making his way to Professor Oldson's office Martin entered Wycliff House the oldest building of St Bernard's college for the first time. Students had been waiting for their professors in these halls for more than 600 years, fearing their judgment and criticism. The air was heavy. The smell of old books was unavoidable. And the mood was dramatic foreshadowing the importance of the meeting to come.
Martin was surprised by the sight of Professor Oldson. He seemed to be much younger than he must have been. Martin didn't know his age, but he had come across a book written by Professor Oldson around 65 years ago. But the man in front of him didn't look a day older than his father who was 55. But while this startled Martin he was soon forget it when Professor Oldson began to speak.
"Ah Mr Martin. I was expecting you to be here a few minutes ago. Hmm, hmm." Professor Oldson had a habit of grumbling into his hand that he frequently held in front of his mouth stroking his lips. "Let me get straight to the point. I will not be overseeing your education for the first two years of your studies. I trust Mr Thomas with that. Hmmm. But there is something I have to already tell you right now. You are a promising student. Hmmm. Mr Thomas seems to like you." Professor Oldson paused for a minute pacing around behind his large wooden desk full of books, paper, brass-coloured clocks and ink. "You see, we are a small group here of people that are pure. That are intelligent. That value their intelligence. We do not appreciate the weakness of St Guillaume. We do not appreciate their so called wisdom. Hmm, hmm, hmm." Professor Oldson was becoming increasingly agitated. " You are showing potential and it would be a waste to see you go. I cannot work with you if you do not keep to the path of intelligence. You have a choice to make. Hmmm. Work with me, learn from me. There is much that I can show you, but it comes at a cost. We will have to make sure that on your birthdays to come you will not be tainted by strength or dexterity or worst of all wisdom. Bah! There is a way. With great effort we can circumvent the natural ascension. We can even have you ascend more than once a year. All you have to do is trust me. Give me some of your blood. Leave it with me. I will take care of things. Do not worry yourself. Then I shall get back to you in two years. Hmm, hmm."
Martin most certainly did not trust Professor Oldson. But while he had been uncomfortable throughout the meeting now that Professor Oldson was waiting for his responds he knew that he could not pass on this opportunity. He could not go back to his friends and become on of them. That doors that stood open to him here were too tempting. For better or for worse his fate was now bound to that man. The time to come would have to show whether he would have come to regret this decision. | 2020-02-29T10:08:13 | 2020-02-29T09:18:15 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You were born with the natural ability to know the exact monetary value of anything you touch. This lands you a job as an expert appraiser. One day a person gives you a spoon that is worth 1 billion dollars. | So you see, I can know how much an object can be sold for with a simple touch. I know what the person who wants it most will pay and what it is at an elemental level. You show me a flawless diamond copy of 4 carots, I will tell you it's pretty much worthless and cubic zirconium. A useful skill, but now I feel ill to the bottom of my stomach.
It was a spoon. Yesterday a man with no accent and no memorable features gave me $10,000 and asked me the value of a spoon he had in a heavy box. I chuckled, because hey, 10 grand to touch something in a box? Why not? The spoon looked funny at first glance, like it gave off more light than it absorbed, but hey, 10 grand is 10 grand.
So I touched it it. It felt heavy as the world and my fingers went numb when I realized its worth. The right man would pay a billion dollars for it.
"Well?" The man asked. I drew my hand back.
"You'll get whatever you want for it." I whispered. He closed the heavy leaden box, put the money on the table and left.
I've spent several numb hours staring at the money and have been in the bathroom now for almost two hours, with two thoughts in my mind as I stare at all the hair on the floor. Why won't I stop shitting blood and what the hell is californium? | "Mr. Van Dyke? The Dursleys have arrived."
"Thank you, Charity. Please send them in."
Jeremiah's assistant, Charity, bowed and left the room, closing the door with a sharp snap behind her. Jeremiah, who had been sitting with his legs crossed on his desk, swung them off and sat upright in his chair, smoothing his jacket and straightening his tie. As his fingers caressed the soft, silken material, a number suddenly swam to the forefront of his mind: £90--the exact amount of money he had paid for it when he had pointed it out in the store that he had bought the very suit he was wearing three days ago.
This was Jeremiah's gift--a useful little ability that had been passed down through generations of his family. With one mere touch, he and his relatives could uncover the exact monetary value of any given object, an ability that had served him well in the past. Traders, tired of being deceived by untrustworthy pawn shop operators, would file in to see him, with the request that he inform them of the true worth of whatever object they brought with them, and he had never yet been wrong.
He had discovered fake jewels being pawned for much more than they were worth, and real gems being traded for less than they deserved. The word had spread far and wide, as far as the other side of the world, from where the Dursleys had spent days traveling, desperate to see him, to uncover the truth about a priceless family heirloom.
The door opened again and Charity pointed them inside. Mr. Dursley was tall and thickset, with a rather large nose and watery blue eyes. The Mrs. was tall, too, but slender, elegant, with dark brown eyes.
"Good day to you, Mr. Van Dyke," Mrs. Dursley simpered, proferring a hand bedecked with many superb opals. Jeremiah grasped it gently, and his finger brushed against one of the opals. He did not even need the number that appeared in his mind to know that the jewel was false.
He and Mr. Dursley exchanged nods, and they sat.
"Well, Mr. Dursley, how may I help?" Jeremiah asked.
"It is this," Mr. Dursley said in a high-pitched, wavering voice that took Jeremiah aback. He had been expecting a grunt. Mr. Dursley pulled an ornate jewelry box from the inside of his jacket pocket, and opened it to reveal--
"A spoon?" Jeremiah asked, eyeing the object in disbelief.
"It is a family heirloom!" Mrs. Dursley cried, looking shocked at his reaction.
"Oh--oh, of course, of course!" Jeremiah said, hastily rearranging his features to show mild interest. "Well, if I could just--" He held out a hand for the spoon, a slight feeling of exasperation weighing upon him, which vanished as the silvery, utensil grazed his palm, the little ruby embedded in its handle twinkling. He leapt to his feet so fast that he sent his chair flying backwards.
"What? What is it?" Mr. Dursley demanded; he and his wife had sprang up too, looking apprehensive, but Jeremiah paid them no mind. Zeroes were zooming across his mind's eye, more zeroes than he had ever counted after touching an object in his life.
"A billion?" he croaked. "But ... how can that...?"
"A billion? Billion, you said?" Mr. Dursley asked, his face shining with eagerness.
Jeremiah looked up at him, then spoke, trying to keep his voice level. "Oh no, sorry. I just remembered something--another deal I made some days ago. No, *this*--this, unfortunately, is only worth ten pounds."
"Ten pounds?" Mrs. Dursley said, sounding highly disbelieving, as Mr. Dursley let out a vehement exclamation.
"Yes, ten pounds," Jeremiah said calmly. "Terribly sorry to tell you this but, it's nearly worthless."
Mr. Dursley swore.
"Do you want this back?" Jeremiah asked politely.
"No! You keep it! I knew it was garbage! Come, Celine!" He beckoned imperiously to his wife, they nodded, and they swept out of the room without another word. Jeremiah waited until he was sure they were gone, pulled out his cellphone and dialed.
"Jimmy! You'll never believe this--looks like we'll be getting that vacation home in Majorca after all!"
It was really tough to figure out an ending. I really couldn't think of any exciting way to do it, so I just did. Well, anyway, if you enjoyed it, head on over to r/MysticScribbles where I write better stuff.2 | 2020-04-24T10:33:45 | 2020-04-24T08:08:33 | 225 | 27 |
[WP] You've convinced death to let you have a second chance at an extraordinary life, starting over from the beginning, with all your memories intact. A second life of procrastination and wasted opportunities later, you stand before a very disappointed Death. | “I just kinda thought I’d have more time, I guess.”
The figure standing before me responds with a soft hum. I can’t read his expression. How could I when he’s just a skull cloaked in darkness itself?
“Yea,” I bluster. “I talked a big game the last time we met but then I had some time to soul-search and stuff. I realized that I really just wanted a quiet life to myself. I got hung up on a lot of what-ifs in the past, but I got over it.”
I’m contradicting myself. Didn’t I say that I thought I had more time? More time to do the things I’d always dreamed of?
Sweat rolls down my wrinkled brow and I dab at it with a trembling hand.
*“So, it was intentional?”* a ghastly voice croons.
“A-Absolutely. I promised I’d live my best life and here I am.”
*“You made enough money to enter your dream college and then intentionally dropped out after partying every night?”*
Money was never a problem for me in this life. I made a few investments early on and came out with a scary amount of money. It was too easy…So easy that I couldn’t help but wonder why I was bothering to work so hard.
*“You used your future knowledge to make the perfect first impression on your past ex-fiancé, only to never take the initiative again?”*
Why do I have to chase someone who dumped me in my past life? I thought I just had to impress her once and she’d come running, but she never called me after I played hard to get. It never would have worked out anyway.
*“That which you lost to circumstance in your previous life was lost to apathy in this life. But still, you gained an immense amount of free time. What have you done with it?”*
My lips tremble but I don’t respond.
*“Nothing, then,”* the voice sighs.
Tears well up in the corners of my aged eyes. They begin to stream down as my mouth cracks open.
“G-Give me another chance. I regret it. The last time I was mad at the world but this time…I’m just mad at myself. If I could fix this, then—”
An alarming burst of pain in my chest cuts me off. I stutter and slur, trying desperately to continue my plea, but it’s hopeless. As my vision darkens, I hear that unnerving voice one final time.
*“Praying for a miracle in the face of certain death is courageous. Asking death for a miracle is the height of arrogance.”* | “Listen, I can explain!” I began, knowing full well that I had no real excuses. At least, nothing that would appease the very concept of mortality.
“I only have one question for you mortal. Why? Why squander away a second chance?” Death’s voice sounded like a mixture of a disappointed professor and a grandfather scolding his unruly nephew.
“Well, technically that’s two questions. But I don’t know! It’s very easy to sit there and judge me knowing full well the kind of person I was. Really, if you think about it, this is your fault. What kind of, God? Actually, what even are you? An angel? A demon? What kind of…whatever you are, lets a slacker like me have a second chance at life? It’s irresponsible if you ask me” I gave a noncommittal shrug. After all, I was already dead, what else could go wrong?
“Hmm.” A single grunt escaped from the very fabric of the nothingness under his hood, the darkness of his veil unrelenting as I tried to pierce its very secrets. The single syllabic sound sent shivers through my soul as my imagination kicked into overdrive. Maybe there was something worse than death. What kind of idiot tries to blame death! Can he banish me into nothingness? Would that be worse? I’ve heard he has a scythe, maybe he’ll stab me with it? Can souls be stabbed?
“I’ll give you another chance.” The grim reaper said.
“Please, don’t stab m- You’ll do what now?” I uttered, fully expecting to be impaled on the-meter-long blade of legend.
“Obviously, you haven’t learned a thing from your time on earth. All souls must learn their lesson. Therefore, you will go back.” Death stood there, a beacon of confusion for my mortal coil.
“Really? Just like that?” I laughed, not fully expecting it but never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. A free win is a free win, as I used to love to say.
“Just like that.” With a snap of his fingers the blinding white light around us melted into oblivion and I found myself looking down at what appeared to be a hospital room. There was a single bed in the room surrounded by monitors and machinery that beeped at regular intervals. On the bed lay a man, old by the looks of it, various tubes connected him to the machines around his bed. I saw no one else in the room, his ragged breathing assisted by the mechanical tethers that still bound him to this world.
“Hello? Sir, are you alright? Where am I?” I looked around as I approached his bed but saw absolutely no one else in the room or in the hallways beyond. As I approached the man, I took a closer look and saw the ravages of time on the man’s body. His face was outlined by wrinkles as his skin sagged under the weight of his decisions. His hands were bruised from the various needles that protruded from his veins. “Sir? Can you hear me?” I called out but if he heard me, he gave no notice. Did I look like this when I died? I wondered, as my hand slowly reached out to touch him, not knowing where the compulsion came from.
As my fingers grazed his, my vision swam and I suddenly saw myself as a young man, no older than 20. I was staring at a young girl and she was screaming. No. She was shouting. Shouting at me. And crying? Why was she crying? She threw something at me, and it flashed in the sun before hitting my chest softly and falling to the ground. A ring. An engagement ring. Why did I know that? Don’t go Sophia. Why do I know her name?
The vision changed and I found myself at a factory. Hundreds of mechanical parts moving back and forth in an orchestrated symphony of efficiency. Various parts moved on a conveyer belt and without thought my arm moved down to stamp down a piece. Then there’s a man. He’s also shouting. Shouting at me. He throws an envelope at me and I catch it. Fired. Why was I fired? Why was I replaced?
The vision changes and I find myself in a dark and gloomy room. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hits my and I almost vomit my lunch. Actually, I can’t remember when the last time I ate was. There’s something droning on the TV but I’m not paying attention it. There is a pain in my chest. Pain and the cold dreary feeling of loneliness.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, I’m back in the hospital room. My fingers graze his and with a soft exhale the man stands still, and the monitors take on one last mournful beep.
“I-what? What was that?!” I take a step back, almost falling as I struggle to catch my balance, the images still flashing through my mind.
“How did you like it?” The cold voice of Death whispers in my ear, and I jump, this time falling to the floor.
“Did you do that?? Was that his life? Why did you do that?” I almost yell at the deity, my breath coming in short gasps as my heart struggles to calm down.
“I told you, I’ll give you another chance. As many as it takes. All souls must learn their lesson.” Death said and I could swear I saw the glint of a smile beneath his hood.
The room melted and I found myself in front of a girl, the scene of a car accident displaying its carnage before us. Twisted metal and the smell of various liquids spilling into the floor greet me as I feel my feet begin to move forward.
“No. Please. Not again! I learned the lesson. I’m sorry! Please!” My feet carry me forward, betraying my very will as I feel my arm reach out towards the girl.
“Please!” My fingers graze her skin, and my punishment begins. | 2021-01-16T23:10:07 | 2021-01-16T22:23:22 | 178 | 39 |
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.” | "... sea salt," I clarified, "sea salt keeps us out."
I watched for his widening eyes as I stepped over the line of salt... but his eyes didn't widen, and my foot slowed, then stalled. Too late, I tried to pull back, but the treacle-like thickness had firm hold, and I found myself toppling forward, emmeshed in the snare.
"You knew! This was a trick!" I glared, as I crumpled toward the ground, pulled by the inexorable draw of the salt. "How? There is no ocean within ten days march of here."
"No," the man said, "but you're not the first changeling to attempt this. This is rock salt, all right, but the rocks we mined... they come from the flats behind us. These flats were, untold eons ago, the floor of an ancient sea."
Agony shot into me, in waves, where my flesh touched the salt. Ancient salt. Salt of the sea. Salt that had learned, from pull to pull, to hate our mother, the Moon. I could see the silver creeping up my hand, my time drew short, and the others were too far behind me. I had already left the casually, carefully, subtly placed stone, the one assuring them it was safe, My kin would come, and they would step boldly, and they too would fall, and wither. The war would continue, and eventually my kind would win, but I knew now that I would not see our dominion over the humans.
The pain rang through my skull, and the world faded. | Every time I crested a hill on that moonless night the glow from the camp's firelit windows got a little brighter and warmer. On the last hilltop I paused, still invisible in the darkness, and settled down to watch.
The slim, barricaded windows gave only brief glimpses of the life inside, but it was better than nothing. A father passed repeatedly with a fussy baby in one hand and a book in the other, and I wondered how he was turning the pages.
His shadow fell across the thick white ring encircling the camp. Barely visible, it gave off an occasional faint gleam as one of the crystals caught the light just right, and I carefully kept my eyes averted since even those reflected sparks were painful to look at.
But tonight...I realized what had been trying to get my attention since I arrived. The slight prickle in my peripheral vision that I had grown accustomed to around human camps was missing entirely. I risked a quick glance at the edge of the ring and winced, waiting for the sharp pain behind my eyes that...did not come.
Hope bloomed in my chest, and was quickly replaced with horror. Of course I hadn't been Returned, that hadn't happened in decades and I hadn't done anything to deserve it. No, I wasn't immune to the salt. These fools had put something else down, and it was only a matter of time before something far more dangerous than me figured that out.
I can pass for human better than most, provided I keep my shoes on. When they cracked open the slot in their battered wooden door in response to my pounding to see who would be crazy enough to travel the hills at night, they saw what they probably expected. Before them was a man with dirty, torn clothes (an illusion, I wasn't about to mess up my favorite shirt), a travel sack (assembled from their laundry left hanging outside and travel-roughened with another illusion) and a wide-eyed look on his face that I didn't have to try hard to fake.
The bearded face in the door slit looked at me, then down at the unbroken white line behind me.
"Where are you coming from?"
"Pole Creek." It was the truth, technically. "I was headed to Benden but I must have taken a wrong turn."
"Should have brought a better map," he grunted. "Walk back outside the ring, pick up a rock, and bring it here."
Clever. Illusions can't transport physical objects, this was a simple way to double check that the person he saw before him was indeed capable of walking over a salt line. I stepped carefully over the ring, picked up a pebble, and brought it back to the man guarding the door. As it fell into his palm he relaxed slightly and gave me a smile, and a moment later the door cracked open.
Another line of salt crossed the doorway, but this one was as strangely impotent as the outer ring. "Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out," the man said as I entered, and I blinked in shock. So careful, and yet so stupid!
"Sea salt," I murmured. "Sea salt keeps us out." He looked at me sharply, two different things about what I had just said warring for his attention, and I hastily directed it away from my accidentally incriminating pronoun. "The salt has to manifest sea, land and sunlight to work, why would you use salt mined from underground?" It needed iodine too, oddly, but that detail was mostly unknown even among my own kind.
I suspected the answer even before he told me. The traveling saltman was new, and told them this salt was half the price but worked just as well. He'd even demonstrated its effectiveness by using it to contain a tiny, many-legged tree imp that he'd gone outside to catch. Or, more likely, caught months ago and trained with real sea salt for exactly this purpose.
The father I'd seen from outside passed by again, the baby now fully asleep in his arms, and I stared after him. The man was almost as defenseless as his child in this unprotected place.
"Do you have any sea salt left?" I asked my host. "Any at all?"
"Sure, a few bags. Not a lot, we were running low when the saltman showed up."
"Get them. Right now. Pour a line of the sea salt on top of the rock salt, everywhere you have it, and buy more as soon as you can."
He looked at me, and I saw anger at my commanding tone. Probably didn't appreciate being told what to do by a stranger who didn't have the sense to finish a simple journey before nightfall. Fair enough. I'd find another way to convince him.
(I have to go to work, I'll try to finish this later. I've never done one of these before, what an awesome prompt!) | 2021-03-02T09:07:17 | 2021-03-02T08:39:38 | 39 | 27 |
[WP] "And now, I require a test of bravery." You sneer, "Oh, and what shall it be? Slay a dragon? Or something equally stupid?" The Fae smiles knowingly, "When was the last time you visited home?" Your face pales... | "My home...?"
In an instant, all the cynicism, all the faint disgust and barely-bottled frustrations held and leaked through barbed words for the past year had... vanished. It was as if it wasn't blood that flowed through his veins, but contempt.
"What are you asking?" he said.
"When was the last time you visited home?"
"Don't give me that shit," he spat. "We both know whenever you ask something, you never just outright *say* it. Let me guess... you want me to see my family?"
Her expression didn't change, but there was a flicker in her eye.
"No." He turned to face away from her. "I know you know. Maybe that's why you chose me. Or maybe you didn't know and found out. And you'll know why I won't forgive them. After everything they did? A father who drank himself to death when he was resting from breaking my bones? A mother who coddled her useless son while condemning me for the crimes he was guilty of? And that son..."
It was back now. The scowl. The venom. But there was something missing.
"But that's not why you want me to go back, is it?"
*There* it was. It was little more than a seedling, yes, but it was there.
"That's not bravery. Bravery isn't the absence of fear, is it? If I did go dragon slaying, that would just be dragon slaying." He shook his head. "No. It's fear, isn't it? Fear makes bravery. And I'm not scared of them. And it's not that fat bastard of a priest either, is it? No idea why mother looked up to him so much."
He paused.
"We went there every event. And every time, I'd hear it. The screams, the yells. Commands to be righteous and to expel my sinful nature. And it was wrong. No one else went through that. Why did I? Why'd I have to?"
She watched him, silent.
"You know what the obvious answer is, don't you? The priest? He had something. Why else would someone hate their own kid so much? And the fat prick hated me the moment he saw me. Makes sense, right? It should be obvious, then, that I go home, find whatever it is that turned my family against me, and break it, or kill it."
"So why are you scared?"
He hesitated. He knew if he said this...
No. He couldn't. After all, there *had* to be something there, right? Right? If he went into that corrupt church and turned everything upside down...
...Then he'd fail the test. Because he was ignoring a very valid possibility. One that he was ignoring with all his might. The one thing that scared him more than anything else.
"Faerie."
She never took her eyes off of him.
"What am I supposed to do if I turn the place upside down... and..." He swallowed. "What if I look and..."
"And...?"
"... I don't find anything?" | "Another, *burp*, another round! For entire bar, you hear? On the Prince of Thyrese!"
The band picked up its tune, the crowd cheered, and the two maidens who had been competing for the prince's eye batted their lashes. Fifty mugs of ale were poured and fifty mugs of ales clinked to the beat of the song.
"Long live the price!" Came the shout, as each of the patrons downed half their glasses. From behind the bar, the owner hid a smile- not in his six years of running the establishment had he ever experienced a night like this. In a mere three hours, he'd outsold a week's worth of effort. Perhaps this would be enough to buy the ring he owed Sarah, and to make their marriage official.
What good fortune, he thought, to be visited by the prince.
"I'd hear the tale of the Hellings Wars!" Demanded a mercenary near the back, and the prince climbed on a large round table, throwing his hands in the air as the band hushed.
"The Hellsmen come, the Hellsmen come! This was the warning issued to my father, back when he was but a child. The Hellsmen come, his seers warned him- and every year, he trained. He prepared. He created an army the likes of which this land had never seen. And he led them.
"The Hellsmen came from the magma gate- their howls as dark as night, their skin as bright as the sun. With each step, the ground trembled. Half the buildings of the capital collapsed as they rose to the surface- for as you know, the gate is at the very palace's heart. From where the king draws his very strength, from the gates deep below the palace, so too do the Hellsmen enter.
"For years, he fought to contain them- and for years, they tried to escape. For the Hellsmen would turn his entire kingdom to ruin from the inside out. They would burn his fields to bring famine. They would boil away his rivers, and poison the minds of his nobility. All this, the king knew- and drew upon the gates to defeat them.
"And when the Hellsmen were defeated, the king kept his strength- and forevermore, they were banished to the depths. To the king- may he be forever venerated!"
"To the king!" They echoed. And another round was paid for, and another song struck up, and another twirl by the maidens on the dance floor. As his people looked ot him, they saw the strength in the prince- in his high chin, his barreled chest, his colorful clothes. Their eyes widened to be in his presence- all, of course, but one.
A woman, seated near the back, who had not indulged in a single drop of ale. But rather, drank from a glass resembling a rose, the petals cupping an amber liquid, the thorny stem twisted around her hand. And as the prince joined in the circle of dancing, he skipped past her- until she reached out a knobbed hand, their finger grazing his elbow.
The music halted, the circle froze. Behind the bar, ale streamed into a mug half filled, thought he level of liquid did no rise. The singer's mouth had opened wide, and the fiddler still hovered in the air from clicking his heels. But the prince still moved, singing as he continued in a circle, then stopping as it dawned upon him no one else followed except for the crone's elderly eyes.
"You changed the story," The crone said, as he turned to face her. "We both know, that's not how it goes."
The prince's face paled, and he looked west- back towards the palace, and his father's grave.
"They don't have to know that." He answered, the warm feeling of alcohol in his veins suddenly replaced by ice. "Look at this, they all think I'm a hero."
"Fitting, then, that they shall wake up a with both hangovers from lies and alcohol." She answered. "We both know, so long as strength exists, so too do the Hellsmen. What will you do to hold them back? Unopposed, they will arrive at this very doorstep. You cannot ignore them forever. Soon, you must return home- to fight them at the source."
"There's an entire army back there to deal with them," he scoffed, then snapped his fingers, tryign to kickstart the room again. "What use do they have of me?"
"It is your strength that draws them, and yours alone that must defeat them. That, we both know. If you wish to be a hero, I tell you this- many men are heroes for a day. But there are few that withstand the trials of time. You are a hero now- but what shall you be tomorrow?" She said, tossing back the amber liquid. Then she threw down her glass, the rose shattering into thousands of tiny thorns, before melting away into the wood paneling. "For strength unguarded is evil's sword."
In that instant, the singing resumed. The circle turned, the laughter and admiration came again once more upon the prince. But with each twirl, a voice sounded in the tavern. A voice only he could here.
"*The Hellsmen come. The Hellsmen come.*"
After one more drink, the prince excused himself for the privy. Outside, his horse awaited- and through his stupor, he remembered he had ordered the stablemaster to keep her ready for riding. That he had known what would come of this night.
No gold he left behind for the tavern owner. After all, the owner would find little use for gold in just a few short days.
Then the prince rode east at a gallop, the singing continuing, the tavern’s lights behind him a pinprick against a dark sky.
With each click of his his horse's hooves, the voice echoed in his head again. Following him to the next town over, as a tiny star tracked his motions from far above.
"The Hellsmen come."
***
By Leo | 2021-09-26T13:59:00 | 2021-09-26T11:02:11 | 257 | 51 |
[WP] You are the child of a superhero and your boyfriend/girlfriend is the child of their nemesis. Both your parent and theirs are furious at both of you for dating, but the two of you think that your parents feud is just stupid. | The two lovers kissed each other passionately the moment they met, glad that they were once again able to meet despite the best efforts of their disgruntled parents.
"Your mom give you trouble?" the boy asked.
"Of course she did! Went on another rant about 'Fraternizing with the spawn of that sanctimonious bastard' and all that," the girl replied.
"She called me 'spawn'?" the boy laughed. The girl chuckled back. "Dad was the same. How you'd corrupt me, bewitch me with your..." he said and gently ran his fingers through her hair "villainous wiles."
"How do you know I didn't do *exactly* that?" she smirked.
"How do *you* know I'm not wearing a wire for the FBI right now?" he fired back. The two laughed and went on their walk.
Ice cream, fresh summer air, a playful offer of robbing a bank, looking at ducks... it was a perfect afternoon. The two found themselves at a bench, watching the park's serene lake.
"What does your dad say about my mom anyway?" the girl asked suddenly.
"Oh, you know. Supervillain, breaks the law, holds no regard for safety..."
"That's... that's not even remotely-" the girl protested.
"I know, but you have to admit..." the boy shrugged. The girl lowered her head.
"I know," she said. "Her relationship with the law is..." she motioned her hand, "*tenuous*, shall we say, but she's... she's not a bad person you know? She never hurt anyone. *Ever*. And she pays for the damages she causes. Indirectly. Usually."
"You're telling me. People think my dad is some boy scout but he ain't all good either. He throws a car at a bad guy and doesn't even bother exchanging insurance."
"Why does she do it anyway?" the boy asked. "I mean, not like she robs the banks for money. You guys are loaded."
"You know last month? First National?" the girl asked. The boy nodded; a great battle between their parents ensued. Media coverage was through the roof.
"She shouldn't have gotten in. The bank manager skimmed on security. City hall knew but profited off of it as well. She tried showing it, how broken the security system was, but..."
"Not in the best of ways," he finished the sentence for her. "And my dad had to fight her."
The two shared the somber moment in quiet reflection.
"Say..." the boy started, "if your mom is a 'villain' but not really all bad, and if my dad is a 'hero' but not really all good... what does that make us?"
She smiled and looked him in the eyes.
"Normal." | Growing up around supers you get introduced to a concept called 'the game' that's seldom mentioned outside of costumed circles. The game was the cat and mouse between hero and villain, the constant feud that saw the same forces clashing again and again as the years went on. The game was the status quo, and was perpetuated by the understanding that, in the end, nether side was truly trying to win.
It was easy to misunderstand the game and assume that the heroes were doing a bad job if they weren't trying to win, but people needed to understand that there was both a battle and a war when it came to capes. The battle was day to day villainy and winnable. The war was where 'the game' showed up, because it was a battle of mutually assured destruction. If the strongest heroes and the strongest villains let loose on each other, Earth was going to lose.
And everyone lived there.
The game had a habit of making people jaded. It was hard to maintain enthusiasm when heroes understood that they would beat Vicounter but would just need to send them to a prison they'd escape. The cynicism was why 'the game' was only mentioned in caped communities.
It also led to a lot of teenagers doing stupid shit once they thought they knew better than their parents.
The dumb teenage years was what had lead Gravity Girl to the lair of Dr. Rexus, having just rang the doorbell tucked into the side of the mountain.
A moment later the door opened, and Gravity Girl was met with a small allosaur that had been strapped with intelligence enhancing gear and a small bowtie. Its eyes went as wide as they would go.
"Hey," Gravity Girl pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, "Allobert- How's the nose?"
"Better now, no thanks to you," Allobert snorted in the poshes British accent on the continent.
"You don't have to fight me you know," Gravity Girl pointed out, "Rexus-"
"Doctor."
"Doctor Rexus was pretty clear that you can leave any time."
"Just because you cannot see the genius of my master and are too simple to understand his glorious vision," Allobart shook his head. "Does not mean that the rest of us are so blind to the future."
Gravity Girl nodded along for a moment. It was honestly impressive that the mad scientist had managed to find a dinosaur too arrogant to use contractions. "Cool. Can I talk to Rexus."
"You may not."
Gravity Girl took a step back and the black glow of the infinite power of space started to wrap around her hand, strip by strip. "I don't wanna do it."
"Ever the barbarian," the dinosaur chided before beginning to remove their bowtie, "very well."
"Letter in," Rexus called from somewhere behind Allobert, his deep southern drawl contrasting against all the dinosaurs he made.
Gravity Girl shook her hands and dissipated the energy around them.
Allobert scoffed, "Very well, you survive another day. Saved by my master's mercif-"
The dinosaur butler shut up as Rexus put a hand on his flank and slipped past the beast. Rexus' lab coat was coated in the discharge from recent experiments, some of which glowed. "Now how can I help ya darlin'?"
"Is Hailey here?" Gravity Girl asked, "she's not answering her phone."
There was a long pause, only interrupted by Allobert taking several steps backward to try to avoid turning around in the hallway. After a moment Rexus finally answered, "Shit."
"Shit?"
"Sam told me they were with you."
"And you didn't call to check?" Gravity Girl snapped.
"You didn't call me."
"You refuse to give me your contact information," Gravity Girl pointed out, "so I need to fucking fly here-"
"Mind your tongue," Allobert cut in as they continued to back up.
"Jesus Christ," Gravity Girl bean under her breath. "Did they say where they were going?"
"No."
"Of course they didn't," Gravity Girl hissed. "And you didn't ask."
"They said they would be with you."
"And-"
"You're the one with your head on straight" Rexus pointed out.
Gravity Girl took a deep breath, yelling or fighting wasn't going to get anything done, and she truly was trying to preserve a day off. She was the responsible one, she could figure it out.
Of course, being the responsible one was a low bar when the other parent was busily finding new and exciting ways to create crimes against nature.
Gravity Girl offered one last huff, "Okay. Alright. Sure," she said mostly to herself. "Mind calling Sam?"
"Is it that-"
"I would love to know where my daughter is-" Gravity Girl pointed out, "and if you say one more thing about free range kids I am going-" she paused, an open threat wouldn't get her anywhere, so it needed to be thinly veiled, "I'll do something."
"Very specific," Rexus began before nodding along and letting Gravity Girl past him into the base. "they're probably fine."
"Yeah," Gravity Girl was already marching down the hallway toward the center of Dr. Rexus' lair. This wasn't her first time here for Hailey and Sam related reasons, "but I talked to her about using her powers without a costume and-" Gravity Girl stopped talking when she heard Rexus stop walking.
"They ain't wearin costumes?"
"Hailey's is at home in her closet right now," Gravity Girl confirmed.
Dr. Rexus frowned, then scuffed his right boot on the floor. "Kids are so fuckin' stupid."
"Yeah I know," Gravity Girl sighed, "call Sam okay?"
"Right on it," Dr. Rexus pulled out his phone that was only partially covered in slime.
"Perfect," Gravity Girl confirmed, "I'm gonna go change."
"Right," Rexus sighed, the secondary costumes they'd used when out in the world together were so much less streamlined and slick than the ones they had for day to day activities.
Here they were again, back for the world's worst team up episode. | 2022-10-12T02:10:16 | 2022-10-12T01:48:19 | 1,220 | 271 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | It's a small act of defiance. I don't think it will change the law. But maybe, I can save a few lives. Maybe I can scare a few people out of line. My hand shakes as I write.
_____
**Form 10-95**
**Sanctioned Murder Registration**
Murderer: */u/thefonztm*
Victim: *The next registrant* | It's the future. Okay, it's the present, but it seems like the future. It doesn't help that we slap the label on everything these days, and the line's a little more blurry than it used to be anyway. There's the Future Research Corporation, which started the trend. They're the number one discoverers of new technologies, as you'd expect. The other "Future" companies are similarly placed in their fields.
We even have a "Future" branch of government. We probably have several, but only one is public: the Bureau of Future Crimes. No, they don't plot crimes. They send out the notifications. I got mine in the mail today.
It's polite. Not a form letter, but still impersonal. They tell me to contact my next of kin to ensure everything is taken care of. They mention her by name. It seems vaguely threatening, but I know she hasn't received a letter. I can be thankful for that much.
I contemplate running. I imagine myself on a beach on some sunny island where this sort of thing doesn't happen, where you can remain blissfully ignorant right up until the moment the locals murder you and steal from your fresh corpse. Sounds like paradise, right?
But you can't run. It just doesn't work. I look through the rest of the package. I know what I'm going to find. The route plan. This is how I'm going to die: in traffic heading over the South Bridge, the one that leads out of the city. There's a time and a method. It says it's a gunshot to the head three hours from now. At least I won't have to pack a lunch.
There's other things in the package. Forms to sign for listing my preferred method of burial, whether I want to donate my organs, a place to attach my will. Standard death stuff, with all the convenience that being alive grants. The last note in the package is the big one. It tells me that the cost of any reality correction events will be deducted from the value of my estate.
I want to tempt fate. Maybe I'll leave the city from the North, instead. Let's see how reality corrects that! Except bigger corrections have happened. They usually make the news. And afterwards the family is destitute because of the selfishness of that doomed bastard. It doesn't feel so selfish from where I'm sitting.
I get dressed in my nicest suit. I go out and have a coffee at my favourite joint, the one with the cute waitress. She gives me her number again. I hand it back. I'm a married man.
The clock's running down now. I feel trapped, like the walls are slowly closing in on me. The sky is as clear and inviting as it's ever been but I still feel its weight upon my shoulders. If I want to make my appointment I have to leave now. So I do.
As I drive I hit every green light. Ah, that's a few corrections there. Sorry, honey, I should have been more prompt. Still we're well off enough that it won't matter too much. I just know how much you hate wastefulness.
There's the bridge. I look at the time. Just over a minute to go. I panic. I slam my foot on the accelerator. The car's engine dies instantly. I can't quite tell, but I think it stops on the exact spot the route plan specified. As if it could happen any other way.
I see my wife. She's in the next car over, stopped as well. She hops out of her car and into mine. My blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear anything, but I can read her lips. It seems like she's speaking in slow motion. "I'm leaving you." And then I see the gun.
Fucking psychics. | 2014-03-17T10:18:55 | 2014-03-17T03:24:00 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc. | Perhaps he had never truly realized, until that moment, the depthless gloom of his fields. The skies were overcast, devoid of color, clouded by permanent mist - no spark or sign of the heavens' warming light to sweep away the shadows. He had never realized just how quiet it all was: his realm was embalmed with a deadly stillness, with no birdsong to break the silence of the grave.
The barrenness had never bothered him. He had always believed himself content with his place in the world, had borne his role with perfect stoicism, until she broke through the gloom and cast light upon the gray. He should have averted his eyes: an eternity spent in the mists had made him unused to the kind of brightness that poured from her white limbs and cascaded, like some divine melody, from her very core. Her song, as she gathered flowers in her mother's field, surpassed the sweetest of harps. The sight and sound of her filled him with a disturbing urgency. He knew, from the moment he set eyes on her, that the silence of his kingdom would be unbearable. She was the only spark of light in an endless dusk, and he knew that he must have her.
For the briefest moment he was filled with self-contempt. How could he lure a creature so divine, a daughter of light and laughter, into the lands of the dead? How could he condemn her to an eternity of gray, to fields where no flowers bloomed, where only echoes carried in the mists? But another glimpse of her dispelled his remorse. A king, after all, deserved a queen, and eternity was far too long to spend in darkness. | Life was odd amongst women when I was growing up. But then I suppose being raised by women does offer some unique perspectives. The women all held me in high opinion from as early as I can remember. They kept on telling me that I would one day become their ruler.
I had kept on being told this, time and time again to the point where I came to believe that I should indeed be ruler by right. But living in one place was never enough for me. The promise of ruling sparked my imagination and often interfered with spells I was trying to cast as I was learning the trade of sorcery. Fire would turn green, water would freeze instead of heat and a simple word to heal a cut accidentally tore it into a much larger and more alarming cut.
My distractions with my thoughts had lead me to wonder of the outside world. From the desert we lived in, we had a clear line of sight to nearby towns, fortresses and the like. But on the horizon was a mountain range. Near to that, you could usually make out a hazy tree line that told of a forest. A forest! Having spent so much time training in the art of sorcery, I developed a dark skin and had only a few palm trees whose meager shadows offered little solace from the blistering heat. What was a forest like? Was it cooler in the mountain range or hotter because you would be closer to the sun?
Days at a time, my mind wandered more and more to the mysteries of the world until one day, I snuck out of my fortress to go and explore, escaping the women who had been kind to me, but seemed to resent the notion of the rest of the world, calling the people there "Rich and arrogant fools".
I would judge for myself. Besides, I could better myself at sorcery no more
Sometime after travelling, using my sorcery to defend myself and earn some food along the way, I arrived in a great field of grass. The air was much cooler here. I could get used to life like this. I wandered the field for a time until I saw a building in the distance. Curious, I walked to it and found it was a ranch. The owner seemed to spend all of his time sleeping whilst all of his farmhands worked to feed and clean the horses, care for chickens and milk the cows. I felt disgusted with the man. Barely lifting a finger to earn his keep, yet his servants poured sweat into the stables and land?
The more I thought about it, the more it enraged me. This one man must face some kind of justice. In the desert, life was strict, particularly with water. If anyone was caught stealing from the pitiful well, they were flayed. I shall bring the same fate on this man.
I asked the farmhands where their king resided as I wanted an audience to protest this pitiful mans job.
I got some directions towards a castle and its town.
Some time later, I arrived at a large drawbridge. Good. At least the king was wise enough to prepare defenses for any future hostilities.
I walked through the bustling town, towards the large silhouette on the hills in the distance. I wondered how the king could rule his slaves from so far away but saved my thoughts for a meeting with the king. His guards were useless. The barely paid attention, walked in patterns that even a child could evade to infiltrate the castle. If this were my domain, I'd create a drawbridge over a pit of lava. Heat was a very effective deterrent.
Soon, I found myself waiting in a lavishly decorated room. Gold lined the walls, some kind of soft fabric coated the floors and the castles structure seemed to be made of marble. The sheer exceptionalism of the building disgusted me. All of these features were mere decorations to sooth the eyes of all of the noblemen and women seeking to bother the so called King with completely banal issues such as inheritance or rules regarding small plots of land. A man is only worth what he makes in society and land is taken if it is needed. How these people had managed to function was a mystery. But I had seen enough. Resources should be spent on armies and defense. Any competent ruler would be ready to defend his lands, slaves and resources if they had any hope of surviving the bitterness or jealousies of lesser peoples.
I met with the king and found that he was nearly as lazy as that wretched farmer who ran the ranch back in the fields. Sitting in his chair, fat from oversaturated foods and no battles fought in years, was a man who smiled at all. As if entertained by his lessers. It was difficult to keep my temper. There was a picture of a young girl in his locket that he held fondly. The girl had something peculiar in her hands...surely it wasn't what I thought it was... It was a rumored relic, fantasized about during dull nights in the desert...
Surely this wasn't the Ocarina of Time she held?
Then...I entertained some new...ambitious thoughts....
Edit: Formatting and spelling errors | 2014-06-20T07:37:41 | 2014-06-20T06:49:22 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated. | It was a typical summer day in the rural Midwest when the armada touched down in a bright open field just off the single lane highway. One of the quaint power lines was knocked over resulting in a disgruntled old woman calling the county sheriff because she knew no other numbers. It was a slow day for the law as usual in these parts, so around ten minutes ticked by before the sheriff and his deputies pulled up to the scene of the knocked over pole. Deputy Lawrence used an insulated pole from the back of the department's SUV to move the cables off the roadway. Half way through the procedure, the stealth systems disengaged and alien legions began deploying from the ships. The three of them looked up in awe; wide eyes shielded by their mirrored aviators.
"Filth! You have breached our landing zone! As such, you will be the first to die in the on-setting war!" Shouted an alien in regal attire. They were thin and lanky, but certainly numerous. Their attire was ornate flowing cloth and their weapons were shimmering silver with static sparks snapping along their lengths.
"Oh shit!" Deputy Simmons spat. The three of them promptly scampering for cover behind their squad car and SUV.
"Aliens! Are you kidding me?!" Deputy Lawrence shouted in disbelief.
The sheriff rose with his weapon drawn from behind his car leveling it at the invaders.
"Look here. We're not going to stand for an alien invasion. You lot need to pack up and get out of here!" The sheriff rambled. His police training falling short in extra terrestrial diplomacy.
"Just leave!? Slay this savage for his insolence!" The regal alien shouted in anger.
The sheriff was immediately blasted by alien weapon fire. The deputies looked on in horror. The firing subsided and the sheriff stood with his hands covering his face, eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted. He was fine.
The regal one gazed on in confusion.
The sheriff and his deputies shared glances of disbelief before the sheriff fired his revolver into the legion on impulse. The bullet sheered through ranks in a straight line; aliens burst into flames from the heat of the bullet and their less dense bodies shattered. Their physical frames and weapons were no match for that of Boff county's finest. The lone .38 special round tore its way though 16 alien legionaries and set another eight on fire from peripheral flames.
"Whoa." Was all that he could say.
The regal one looked back in horror.
The deputies rose to see what had transpired only to be stricken with further disbelief. They too opened fire. The ranks of the legions were blowing to pieces and bursting into flames on a grans scale.
"Charge! Destroy them at all costs!" The regal one screamed in terror.
The legions stormed the highway taking heavy losses from their charge. Their projectiles bounced harmlessly off the officers with the effect of a BB gun. Once in melee range, the aliens began to savagely bludgeon the sheriff and his deputies. It was to no avail. Deputy Simmons kicked at one knocking it clean in half. At that instant all intensity drained from the situation as the officers realized they were in no real danger. The officers kicked and punched their way through the alien army with ease. Already facing a 60% loss in forces, the regal one called for a retreat. A stray bullet caught one of the ships. The vessel collapsed in ruin pulverizing itself under its own weight. Only a hand full of aliens and their ships survived to retreat from the encounter. The remnants were so frail they had literally turned to ashes, leaving no evidence of their presence. The officers watched as the five remaining ships departed. A bird hit one, dropping it from the sky and disintegrating it and its passengers upon contact with the Earth. The bird recovered mid fall and went back on its way.
"Gah! We had our body cameras turned off! No one is going to believe this!" Deputy Simmons shouted.
"Shit! You're right!" The sheriff replied.
"We stopped an alien invasion and no one will ever know." Deputy Lawrence sighed.
The three of them stood around with their hands on their hips catching their breath for a few minutes in silence.
"Well, lets get that cable off the road." The sheriff said finally. The three of them started walking back to the highway.
"I wonder if that bird is ok." Deputy Simmons said. A minute later a junker of a pick up truck rolled up. A local leaned out the window.
"Everything alright sheriff?" The local asked.
"Yeah, just getting some downed power lines off the road." The sheriff answered.
"All three of you? What a waste of tax dollars." The local grumbled as he pulled his head back in his truck and continued on his way.
"Dick." Deputy Lawrence murmured to the others. | On the reservation, there's only one man left who can talk about the Invasion Wars because he was in them. All us kids in the 8th year class had to go talk to him to get our 1st person narrative for our assignment on the war. He has a script that he reads from for it, given to him by the overlords. We sit on the dirt floor of his home and listen, trying not to let the motes drifting in shafts of light through tattered burlap curtains distract us, failing horribly. He talks about our lack of conviction, the failure of our fighting spirit. The backwardness of our evolutionary path. How the men and women in his unit died running.
"This is going to be hard," my mother told me when she gave me the family pencil. "He won't tell you the truth. Your Grandmother was in the war too, and died in it. We remember through her words, not anyone else's. Just because there's a man they keep alive doesn't mean his words are any better than what your grandma wrote on my heart."
But Grandma is dead and I never even knew her. I don't know if she'll ever write on my heart the way she did for mom.
"My grandma says it wasn't like that," I say. The man ignores me, drones on. There's pain in his eyes that I notice now, I think, but I'm not sure whether or not that's something I put there, or if it was there always and I never saw it. Mr. Hoshaw, my psych teach, says our brains are just now maturing emotionally; putting the finishing touches on a Theory of Mind. That's also part of the teachings of the overlords; that we are stupider than them, and that's actually a part I maybe believe. There are lots of things I miss, and Hoshaw says I'm one of the most advanced kids in his class. He wants me to join the resistance when I'm older. To die fighting for all our freedoms, he says.
People didn't use to die, the old man says. That's what got us in trouble. We were soft. We had too much to lose. The overlords came with nothing, and had nothing to lose. I wonder how much I've got to lose. There's my home, and mom, and my sister - she's the resistance-mandated kid, the one my mom had to have, to keep our population levels up. I hate to think of how much she feels like she has to lose, but she's in the resistance already, mom says. There's also my knife that I made myself in smithing class, and there's all the learning I've got about math, history, home economics, and gunsmithing, but I'm not sure I can lose that unless I start drinking the moonshine more. I guess the still's part mine, come to think of it. Are the shovel and pick assigned to me at the mine something I could lose? I guess so. So there are things I could lose. I wonder if that makes me too weak.
When the old man's done, we file out his door. The sun in the sky says the time's dinner, and if I don't get in line I'm liable to get the bottom scrapings of the prote soup, but food is just one more thing I have to lose, and this old guy's interesting when he isn't talking. Mom says they do keep him alive like we all used to be kept alive, for hundreds of years, on account of the fact that he agreed he will toe their line about the war stories.
"Mr. P., are you done with storytime?" I ask, sweet as I know how. I hold my head down like mom taught me to when I'm asking for food, to look younger. The old man gets up from his rocker and starts to shoo me to the door.
"Yes, there's nothing more to say. Nothing more to say."
"Mr., what about the truth? Your stories don't make sense." I know I might get hit for it, but he doesn't look like he can hit hard or would particularly want to.
He looks at me. I wonder if I can remember all the stuff I was supposed to listen for in his stories, the parts that contradict each other, like Mr. Hoshaw said to listen for. I did catch some stuff.
"Like when you said they defeated us on the field of battle, that doesn't make sense because you said they fought bravely with guns in their own hands against our drones, not afraid to die, but when I spar with the drones in the courtyard they can always beat me. They just fight way better than any, uh, biological. So that doesn't make any sense."
He stops and looks at me. I want to piss him off, to make him snap out of it.
"Mom says you're a traitor to the Human Nation because you value your life over history, and you say we are weak when the overlords were strong, but Mom says that Mr. Colt made all beings equal, whether they were born with claws and poison sacs or not."
Mr P. sits down indian-style on the dirt right in front of me and he's not angry, he's just looking at me, and he looks sad. He looks sad for me, actually.
"That's all right."
"I knew it!" I whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. Mr P. is a double agent for the Revolution! He's part of the Cover!
"We killed each other for what they had to offer like gods kill each other in the old stories."
He's not saying anything, but I know there's more to this story. The true story. The motes aren't distracting anymore.
"They came to each nation one at a time. They were spacefarers - they hadn't developed warfare to the degree we had; they were too busy exploring. The overlords sold each nation information about the cosmos, about their sciences, for little favors. A war here, a corporate takeover there. Governments were only too happy to comply once they started applying their sciences and getting technologies other countries could only dream of. Things that gave them the upper hand. And paranoia, well, that's a great weapon. Soon we were fighting wars not just to get what the aliens had to give, but also to keep others from getting it. To protect ourselves.
'You're right, humans can't fight drones. They'd lose every time. We fought drones with drones. The arms race was fierce. I myself didn't get involved until after the drones ran out, after the nanobombs had eaten most of our factories. Actual people had died by then; even smart weapons generate some collateral damage. We weren't actually afraid of dying; we died a lot. We got used to it fast. And we fought like devils against each other.
'Eventually we were fighting with guns and swords; all our factories could put out. And then, when we had at last lowered ourselves to their level, the overlords struck. And they hadn't been waiting idly. They had our drones, and our lasguns, and our flamers and nanites. Their police carry blades, but we lost to hover tanks and scramjet hunter-killers. The part of the war they actually fought in was short; it was over fast. It was only afterward, when we were put onto this marginal land, that we started calling all the wars the Invasion Wars. To make ourselves feel better about what we'd done."
I don't like the story, but it's writing on my heart a lot harder than his first story. Maybe even harder than mom's story about grandma's story. But maybe it isn't true; he's paid with life to make us feel bad. Could be more overlord talk. Mom says he talked too easily about it.
Now whenever I walk past his hut, he calls to me, a sad smile on his face. He calls me King Phillip, but we don't have time in our history class to go back that far to when Kings fought each other for lands. We have to get the other reservations to help us out, even if they're all cowards who still follow the old ways like Mr. P.
| 2015-04-16T11:40:49 | 2015-04-16T10:49:38 | 261 | 71 |
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I walked along the sidewalk, musing to myself the nature of my existence. In an era of steel and cell phones, I was touched by magic. I could not use it myself. Instead I was cursed by it. My curse? I saw people as they saw themselves. Sometimes it was useful.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Those that looked like gods among men I learned to avoid. They were larger than life, to be sure, but they were often such narcissists that dealing with them reasonably. They were unwilling or unable to consider others having viable opinions. These people, despite appearing most handsome to my eye, would be the ugliest were I to see them as their true selves, rather than how they perceived themselves.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The monsters? They varied wildly.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Some were truly as I saw them, sociopaths with monsterously cruel tendencies, who saw themselves as monsters, accepted it, and reveled in it.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Others who saw themselves as monsters were different beasts altogether. They were the ones who cut themselves off from their desires because they cared more about the pain of others than their own desires, and no matter how much good they did, they always saw themselves as monsters for even having those desires.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I also learned to avoid certain doctors. The best were the ones who saw themselves as normal, and others described as great. I remember one doctor I visited once had an ethereal impossible beauty which set my teeth on edge like nothing else. I got out of that office as quickly as I could. I later learned he had taken advantage of his position to assault several of his patients.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I reached my door, and nodded to my neighbor. He was one of those monsters that did everything he could to help others. Some day, I hope he'll see himself for what he truly is, but it's really hard to talk him about it. I stepped into my home. *This curse isn't purely a negative,* I thought to myself. | "So: Start with when - that first day, when you began perceiving these differences in, eh, in people with whom you interfaced, if - given we're supposing no memory of a recordable, causal incident. And, Kevin, please speak to me, and not 'it'. That will ease the burden on those analysts in there, I think."
*ahem* "Well, I'll just right now tell you that, uh, like, I can't tell you every little detail of this shit, because I know, given... er, via the very subject or phenomenon of which you believe me to be capable of, that ya'll niggas would definitely for sure indeed fuck my ass up, given the entirety of the circumstances of the nature of my thing. An-"
"I doubt very much that those analysts in there would do anything to harm you, and I know I certainly would not. But, following that paranoia (*writes some things*), why would you - er, how did you come to suspect hostility, or, I mean hostile intent?"
There is a pause lasting a dozen seconds. In that twelve second interval, Kevin blinks unevenly. The doctor, at the eleventh second, begins writing, and at the twelfth Kevin begins speaking:
"Because: I can see that your confidence is only coming from the fact that you have someone covering your ass. I can see your *shadow* looking up and back like you got your daddy ready to beat some if I don't deliver the goods - if I don't help with all this spooky shit, trying to figure out the magic."
The doctor looks over his shoulder, briefly, and then, upon turning his attention back to Kevin, raises his eyebrows, lowers his eyes to his notes, and begins writing. And, after a few seconds of writing, and while still continuing to write, he (the doctor) speaks in a voice whose pitch and tone and applied emphasis evolve in accordance with the swaps in attention that he makes between writing and speaking:
"My... shadow... (*looking up/pen off the paper*) What does it look like to you? I know you said to... (*back down, both*) to one particular officer whom - *who* brought you in... told him that he wasn't a *goblin* at all, in your opinion; that he (*amused*) was "like if Vin Diesel had nice skin and owned a pair of lips."
"Loo-"
"We - I assume that you were going by the appearance of his shadow? This assumption is, ehr, *being* corroborated by the man himself, afterwards, in an interview conducted by my associate, whose input, the associate's, helped to provide sufficient plausibility to have required that I-"
"Fuck you, Albert. Yeah, I know your fucking name because you're wearing a fucking name tag with IHHMS printed on it - next to it, which, to be honest, is a mystery to me, but which definitely *corroborates* that some nigga have they hand up your ass, or at least that you wish some nigga did. But seriously, fuck you and don't interrupt me again."
Doctor Albert, who wears no name tag, looks visibly stressed in the way a boy who didn't know that semen had a smell would. Kevin grins. Albert speaks:
*ahem* "So: About that first day-"
"I woke up, went to get some eggs in the kitchen 'cause I heard them cooking-"
"You mean 'smelled'?"
"And as I - I walked into the kitchen and saw a monster cooking eggs. There, motherfucker. That's all you get. Let me talk to one of those analysts because, to be honest, I don't think you deserve any more insight into this magical shit. I don't think you truly appreciate this shit, you prideful ass; just locked into consideration of all those potential awards and biographies floating around your big, overly hairdoo'd head - man you ain't got hair that nice. It's flat as fuck. Do you even have a mirror in your casa? Haha, fuck, man. Do my words mean that fucking much? I can see you and your hair deflating already."
"Are you saying that you can see how I might -"
"Braaaaeh. That's all you get, Albert. Next."
Without further interaction, Albert breaks eye contact with Kevin, rises, and approaches the single door located behind his chair. The door opens as he nears it, and, without friction, doctor Albert steps out and past a young man who enters and takes a seat. The door remains open.
The young man lays a pad of paper and a pencil down upon the table that stands between himself and Kevin, and says:
"Draw my shadow."
Kevin looks directly at the young man, blinks unevenly, and says:
"Yours is honest. You must own a mirror. Or maybe you just realistic."
The young man smiles. Kevin continues:
"Except, well, your shadow is, like, I dunno how to say it; it's bigger than this room, like, this room could fit inside of it, even though it's sitting here in this room with us. And it don't blink, neither. Can't draw that, can I?"
The young man smiles, stands, and as he leaves (without retrieving his pencil or paper), two young women carry in a square, featureless mirror. They prop it up on the table before Kevin and hold it in place.
Kevin laughs in the direction of the girl on his left, and, as he laughs, a middle aged man walks in, his head looming over the mirror, and says:
"Draw your own shadow, please, Kevin."
Author: To be continued, maybe. This is my first post here, I think. Great prompt. Sorry for any mistakes, as this was written on a phone. | 2016-09-16T20:27:03 | 2016-09-16T20:26:01 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] A time traveler goes back to 2016 to stop a cruel dictator before he even begins his ambitious rise to power. The man the time traveler meets is nothing like the history books portrayed.
[removed] | It was going to be a glorious assassination. About three hundred thousand witnesses, all in harmony, simultaneously watching the podium in the plaza, were in for a treat. With this single, evil act, a whole world of good was assured. From coast to coast the people would cheer the change, relish in the disruption, feel vindicated in their efforts. A new leader would take his place, and with him a wave of progress would take place practically overnight. Fail, and the world would feel the wrath of his tyrranical rule.
Jo was an army sniper. Trained in a large variety of light armaments, Jo was most comfortable (as all are) at a maximum possible range from any given target. The only real drawback to sniping, according to Jo, is the flight time. You had to have a still target. And that meant waiting for a podium appearance, or a nap, or even a quality anthem salute would suffice. Carrying a carbide rifle capable of penetrating the speed of sound for a full 3.2 seconds, the bullet would arrive from this distance a full 0.7 seconds before anyone heard a distant pop. Long enough to fire, pull the rifle off the stem wall, and begin shuffling to the far edge of the roof.
Zimmy was a time traveler. Zimmy was curious about this particular era in human history- the great rise and fall of a man, made rich and powerful by his father, his peers, his countrymen. Leaders weren't alone in these traits at the time- the electronic era was full of post-industrial billionaire families, world leaders, still in power kingdoms. In the Middle East, barbarians still beheaded in the street, and yet modern medicine could grow new organs. And even wilder, your periodic assassination stirred the entire pot of the world. Zimmy had seen the last great assassination re-enacted on film, and Zimmy decided to go back.
Fortunately, modern technology allowed one to rewind time, but only as witness. Travelers were incapable of actually changing the past- something about the nature of the present being unbreakable. All the old theories on time travel showing how it would disrupt time were quietly laughed at as science fiction, as time and time again it was shown that time travel was little more than watching television. However, the difficulty of it made it rather appalling to most. The energy expenditure, the positioning in time and space- all that work just for some entertainment. What was, just was. Might as well not.
Zimmy was a historian, though. And this particular day was fascinating. It was worth his efforts- No great leader had been killed since Martin King. No one was assassinated for political reasons for a full three hundred years after, either. Why today? What made these people so fanatical? He knew of the secret coup, the planning, the replacement. The true nature of Zimmy's work: why replace him with that monster? Every story published, every journal, all listed the place as going from a paradise to a center of backwards religions and obvious suffering. It was as if this one bullet changed the people from perfect to peasant, in a single, small pop.
So why did the world rejoice? What was their to gain from this change? What exactly were the history books missing? And it was for this reason that Zimmy decided to visit this particular assassination. Call it morbid curiosity. It seemed to be the most backward place on Earth, with every intent to go even farther backward.
Zimmy sat on the ground, cross-legged in the front row, invisible to his ancestors. The parade was over, and the large military procession was standing in dress uniform, all holding various instruments of music and death. It was a bitter, cold day, late in winter. The crowd was enormous. Thousands of faces, some disgruntled, some elated. A plethora of senior government employees sat on all sides. There was an introductory speech. Zimmy took it all in. Every riveting word.
Jo took close aim, adjusting his tripod, his barrel. He already had calculated everything for his military commander. Jo understood the implication of missing this one shot. The path of the bullet was windless- construction loomed on four sides. It was like being in a vacuum. He couldn't miss. Just adjust for the air current, keep calm. Simply push a button. Change the course of history. Help the world. Kill Kim Jong Un. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You're not the first, you know."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Donald Trump paced along his terrazzo floor towards the mutant, a gilt glass of 2008 Trump Estate Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon in hand. The mutant kept his distance, his slit-like eyes eyeing the president-elect with suspicion. His tongue reflexively tasted the air, smelling a mixture of cologne and danger.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Explain," demanded Carl. Trump took a sip from his glass. He swirled its contents with slender fingers grasping the stemware's base.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Let me tell you," he began, the beginning of that unmistakable rhetorical locomotion of Trump *rex imperator* Carl remembered from every historic broadcast of his youth.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You guys, you just keep coming--my briefings are all day long now; very busy, very busy now--"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No, you stop that," shouted Carl. The mutant raised his AR-50XP, the sour whir of its warming electro-rails slicing through the conversation. "Tell me how I am not the first."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His Majesty put up his arms in mock surrender, with a face to compliment.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Okay, okay, I'll keep it brief. No need for the enhanced interrogation techniques, though, Carl," he replied to his would-be assasin.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"How do you know that!" shouted Carl.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Trump lowered his arms and placed his glass on his American Empire Carrara-topped bombe chest.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Because I met you yesterday," said Trump. "You've already tried to kill me. And unfortunately you both have the wrong Donald. I'm Donald *Trump*."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Counsul of New New Mexico and protector of the Bermuda Grasslands motioned about his palatial residence. Sure enough, as Carl's eyes swept about the room he could see on every gilt surface was embossed, chased, and hammered with bold letter "T" monograms throughout.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"All that temporal power and you guys didn't even know you weren't just moving through the fourth dimension. Your machine flipped past several more than that."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now that Carl thought about it, this Don did not look like he could shed his skin, thouh it kind of looked like it from a distance.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Now I've seen the videos of your Donald, Carl. The ridiculous way he speaks. The outlandish things he's said, the straight up lies. And it really disappointed me that there was a me like that out there. Though I must say he has excellent taste."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You're lying," said Carl. "You're Donald Drumpf, the greatest threat to freedom in history."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Carl, this isn't your reality with the Berenstein Bears," replied Trump, emphasizing the letter "e". "I'm a Republican, my cabinet doesn't contain crazy generals or alt-right propagandists, and I'm going to lead the world in Climate Change policy and containing China and Russia."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The last several sentences threw Carl off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No," he said, raising his rifle again. "You're saying a bunch of mixed up shit. What are you up to Drumpf!"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You're not going to kill me, Carl," said Trump. "I'm making America great the way you and that crazy scientist friend of yours with the flying Delorean were trying to fix. You're the one from the alternate universe. I'm a real human." He picked up his glass again and took another sip of his wine.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Carl told you all that?" asked the mutant.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"That and the Clinton muto-bomb apocalypse," added Trump, lowering his glass. "She really was a hawk, huh?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Anything else?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The Secret Service will be here in thirty seconds." Replied Trump. "I'm wearing the rail-proof shield your predecessor wore and you'll be joining him shortly in the vault of the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Carl lowered his weapon. A look of horror began to creep up on his face.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'Grab-em by the pussy'--he really said that, huh?" asked Trump, a smile crossing his face. He checked the massive Trump-lux watch on his wrist, counting down the seconds to his assasin's capture.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, he will," said Carl. He dropped the AR-50XP to the ground and leaped across the drawing room before Trump could peel away from his wrist. Carl extracted his crysknife mid-air and passed it through the shield, striking the president-elect in the second chin. Trump's eyes grew wide in shock, pulling his arms up in a instinctive, useless attempt to resist his attacker. They fell to the ground Trump making gurgling noises from his neck and Carl hissing through his snout.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"They only work against high-speed projectiles," Carl simply said. Trump was already dead.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Carl got up from the ground and pulled the portal gun from his quiver. He pointed it at the mess on the penthouse floor and ported it locally to another era. A perfect, imperceptibly imported circle of terrazzo from a slightly different Trump Tower replaced the deed that transpired.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There were footsteps coming down the hall now. Carl closed his eyes and focused on his next task. Brown scales shimmered and gave way to orange skin as his body transformed like a chameleon. By the time the double Mahogany doors of his suite burst forth with agents, only a slightly bewildered President-elect was there to greet them.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Something the matter, boys?" asked Donald Trump.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"We thought you called for us," asked a man in black.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"False alarm. I actually wanted to call Hillary Clinton. Could you help me find my communications manager? I have some good news that can't wait."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Sure thing, Mister President." | 2016-11-25T20:29:48 | 2016-11-25T20:28:07 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] You are tearing down an old abandoned home. In the attic, you find an old radio with a microphone attached. You plug it in. FDR says that the United States has been attacked by the Empire of Japan. You say, "hello?" FDR pauses mid-speech, and responds surprisingly, "Hello? Who is that?" | I froze, dead in my tracks, as FDR questioned further. "Hello? If this is a prank, then you have picked a bad time to joke around." I responded, slowly, "Um, my name is John, and, uh, I don't know how I'm talking to you. It's 2018." I should've articulated my thoughts more, as FDR responded "Stop messing with me young man, this is a serious broadcast." "Listen, you're gonna die in 1945 of, uh hold on," I said as I googled how FDR died. "Is that a threat?" questioned the long dead president, as the signal finally picked up. "Intracerebral hemorrhage. That's how you'll die in 1945. Please, get that treated as soon as possible."
There was silence, for a while, before FDR spoke quietly "OK, I will consider your plea. Anything else from the future I need to know?" My mind scrambled as I tried to think of what to say. How can I stop Vietnam, Korea, 9/11, or any of that by talking with FDR? Would they even believe me? At this point, there is no Twin Towers or Cold War, how do I explain that. Words stumbled out of my mouth "The Japanese, they're beaten, Germany too, they're all beaten, and the Soviets, they'll start making weapons unlike anything ever before, us too."
It wasn't long before I started saying random phrases, "MLK, JFK, Charlie don't surf, the Berlin Wall, please don't let it all go down like it did." "What in heavens name are you talking about, John. Please slow down," urged FDR. Then I told him the message that would change history, the words I regret to this day. "Don't develop the atom bomb."
At that moment, the old, dusty house I was in collapsed beneath me, yet left no trace. I looked around at a new surrounding, a barren, desolate surrounding. 2 figures were visible in the distance as they slowly approached me. "What happened to the house? Where's the house?" I questioned hastily, anxious for answers. "There hasn't been any civilization here since the Nazis nuked the place," replied the woman to the left, as if it was matter of fact. I was only trying to prevent a Cold War. In the process, a Hot War started. | The walls within Partition 11 are beaten and bruised with the disease of age. Stains mar the thin walls separating the rooms in which I crouch, probably from broken pipes within their inner organs. My job here is simple; find any items of interest, marking them down for retrieval later. The area is devoid of people, except for myself, so the job is quiet and peaceful. It's exactly why I started doing jobs like this in the first place.
I have been working small jobs like this for 6 years, now. There is no good job description, so my agency calls us "agents of assistance," whatever the hell that means. I like to call us "the help." A loaded term, of course, from history long ago, but taking on a new meaning: if you have cash, we'll do it. Most anything. Our work, though, is primarily in tearing down abandoned houses, searching for items of worth and retrieving them for apathetic owners, whether individuals or the bank. Retrievers.
In my 6 years of work, I've scoured museums that have been shutdown, assisting the moving crew in making sure not a single item of inventory was lost. I've gone through old mansions far separated from the rest of civilization, whose occupants passed and hungry family members devoured the contents of the all powerful will. But this was the first time I'd been to a famous place: the White House.
I look down at my watch. I've been here for two hours, and I've found nothing of surprise - an old clock, hidden behind a dilapidated couch. Small golden trinkets, scattered in between the cracks of the floorboards. I carefully collect them into a wooden chest, provided to me by White House staff. That's another reason they hire me. There is no temptation of theft within me. I think it's probably because my dad is still serving life in prison for robbing a store. My mother never forgave him until the day she died.
I pick up a cracked plate, still sitting inside a wooden case. For use in dining, I guess. Putting it in the trash disposal bin, my eyes sweep across the room. I think I've finished this floor. As I head towards the attic, my thoughts wander once again. My mom always wanted me to get a stable job. Sit at a desk, work at a computer, make a good living, have a family. I hate that so much, and besides, I would never get anything done. My coworkers often call me Goldy, on account of the color of my hair. Also for the fact that I can't hold a conversation longer than 30 seconds, or I'll wander through the depths of my mind once more. Like a golden retriever. It's a job joke, not many people get it when I tell them.
My peace and quiet is disturbed. I stop at the bottom of the steps, completely still. I hear the sound of static, crackling faintly just behind the door I was about to enter.
"Anybody there?" I query aloud, hoping for a reponse. After 6 years, not much scares you, but it's the white house. Maybe it's aliens. I read a lot of books about those.
No response reaches my ears, so I puff out my chest and march up the wooden stairs, approaching the attic door. With a shout much like one from hide-and-seek, I yank it open. Scanning the room, there's no one. Nothing at all, actually. As I walk forward, I almost trip. At my feet, a small radio, crackling faintly, sits innocently. This is the culprit of the sound I heard just moments before. It must have been recently placed here, as well. After all, this partition hasn't been visited in several years, and has been scheduled to be renovated in a few weeks. Gingerly, I reach down and pick it up, noting the small microphone attached to it. It's definitely an old model.
Turning up the volume knob, I realize what once I thought was static is actually a voice. "The United States has been attacked by the Empire of Japan." It must be a radio station that transmits old broadcasts. How cool.
"Hello", I say into the microphone, in a sing song voice. Why not, right? It's definitely a one way rad-
"Hello? Who is that?"
BANG! I drop the radio. My body freezes, like a deer on the road. The radio's static suddenly jumps in volume, several decibels above what it once was. Or is that the sound of my heartbeat?
Breathing heavily, I pick it up, and move the microphone back towards my mouth. It's a two-way radio, okay. I'll just compliment them on their channel.
"That's a really great radio channel you have there. I'm not a regular listener but I'll tune in from now on." I'm back to holding my breath. Did that sound awkward? How many people are listening? Beth likes history, I hope she wasn't listening. That would really ruin my cha-
"This is President FDR, on a private broadcast to the members of the cabinet. I don't know what kind of joke you're playing at, but the Service is on their way to find you. The nation is in a crisis. This is a bad time for a prank, boy."
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. It's not real, right?
I put the radio down on the floor, backing out of the room slowly. My feet on the topmost steps, I close the door.
The attic is empty. There's no items of note in there. My job here in partition 11 is done. I collect my things and move to report back to management. Another day, another dollar, right? Just another day on the job.
...
Fucking aliens.
| 2018-02-05T16:26:25 | 2018-02-05T14:50:50 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | ***HOW EXACTLY CAN I BE HERE? VISITING YOU, WHILE LIVING?***
The boy continued to twiddle his thumbs, all the while looking at the ground. He knew I was there, he had stood to attention with immediacy as I had arrived.
***LOOK AT ME BOY.***
He raised his head at mine and, much like a puppy, tilted his head to his side. His eyes, a deep brown surrounded in a grim yellow, stared at mine, a pair of tiny white dwarf stars, piercing in the darkness. As though feeling my gaze back into his, he looked away and continued to stare at the ground. He seemed frightened, though I had not been in the living world for quite some time.
As I watched this child silently looking away from me, I noticed how dark the room was. I am the true death that reaps all souls. And yet...
With a gaze, my eyes focused and I saw the room. Perhaps it was the size of a small shed, a small sheet in the corner, a hole in the ground, and a most unusual contraption. Somewhat like a pair of giant automatic hamster feeders. In that moment of clarity, I understood.
I looked again at this child.
***I AM SORRY.*** | ((This one kind of goes off topic, and is kinda weird in the way it fits the prompt. I'm sorry.))
Consider death.
The only constant in this life is death. All that is alive dies, eventually. Nothing is certain to gain life, but everything is certain to lose it.
Death is, in my opinion, the absence of life in a thing that was once alive. After the point of death, the one living subject decays, unless it is somehow preserved. When a sentient, sapient creature – a human, for example – dies, its sentience disappears. The consciousness ceases to be – all of the memories, the emotions and the constant thoughts are there and then they’re gone.
And yet, when a human dies, there are versions of her that survives. The ones in the memories of others, and the ones that can be interpreted from any work left behind by the person. Any impact made by the dead person on the surviving world continues to exist, despite the person’s death. That impact – however minor – is a continuation of the ended life. It is the only version of a person that still exists.
One can never truly know another. A single individual human is comprised by a life-time of memories, experience, emotion and thoughts. If there is a soul, these are all the things that make the soul. The only way to truly know all of the complexities of another would be to experience their life, in its entirety, through their eyes.
Because of this, there is no way for a person (a “soul” if you will) to persist after their body ceases to function. The only version of the person is the one that can be observed in their impact on others, but as no one can truly know a person’s entire being even as they are alive, this surviving version is still the one that existed prior to death – just modified by the observer’s knowledge that the individual is dead.
With this in mind, one can question what “death” really is. Physically, a person has died. The only two versions of them that are dead are the **physical body** and the **“true version”** of who they are. This true version, however, exited only within itself; in a consciousness that no longer exists. As such, beyond the body being dead, the only thing to vanish is something that didn’t exist from the perspective of the outside world.
If you were to die, the versions of you that everyone except you held persist, though they are inevitably altered by the knowledge of your death. In this way, you could argue that you – the ‘you’ that the observing world knew – is not dead. You are still a part of the live world capable of observing you, though you yourself can no longer observe the world, or continue to consciously affect it. The body and the “soul” are gone, but the person remains.
True death, then, comes only when a person is forgotten. When all of their achievements are discarded, forgotten or destroyed – and when nobody remembers them or anything they did – then they truly cease to be. Now the only existing version of a person is whatever is left of the physical body, in whatever state it is. If there is still a legible tombstone, that tombstone becomes the only thing the world can observe of who the person once was. Their entire identity becomes summed up in a tombstone, as well as any birth certificates, death certificates and other records that might exist, which detail inconsequential things in their life. An entire life of experience and knowledge summed up in a few words and numbers. More importantly, they are worthless with nobody that reads and remembers them.
While death is simply the cessation of the individual’s personal existence, this “true death” is very much the cessation of an individual from the perspective of the world. Only in a “true death,” when the person and what they’ve created are both forgotten does one fully cease to be, and this death is inevitable, much like the physical one.
No matter what you do or leave behind, there will inevitably come a point where all the evidence of your existence is entirely erased. No matter how well records are kept, they will ultimately be destroyed, even if it takes the death of the sun and destruction of the planet for them to end. The most well known people of history will ultimately fade into obscurity and, thus, cease to exist in any form, and nothing can be done to prevent this.
Now, *my question is* how the hell you’ve managed to *truly die* without, y’know, ***actually being DEAD.***
| 2018-05-12T16:01:10 | 2018-05-12T14:50:35 | 416 | 30 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | I...had a lot of blood.
My mom had once said that it was my blessing. That while others would always have correct change for their meals, or always have the stray alley cats like them or never have pidgeon poop covering their verandas, I had a lot of blood. I would never bleed out if I got into an accident, I would never bruise easily, I would always have a good blood pressure...
It was small. A health perk. An idle blessing that was a background element in my life, and little else.
That is, until the accident. I was fine, of course. The gash in my leg was bleeding profusely, but I was no worse for wear. I'd been in the back seat with three of my friends, on a camping road trip when the logging truck infront of us had lost it's cargo- causing the stacked logs to slide back and onto the road. We'd been far enough to avoid having those damn logs ram into our tiny little smart car, but we did turn into the guard rails next to the narrow mountain path, with those rolling logs hitting us side long rather than head on, denting the drivers side of the door so badly that neither myself or my friend upfront could get out.
I was fine. Just a cut on my leg and on my cheek from the flying glass, but the friend who'd been driving was...
It was horrifying.
He had passed out, slouched against the chair with his leg caught between the crushed inner mechanics of the drivers seat. He was bleeding as much as I was, which was hard to believe considering that his 'blessing' was always having a strong cellphone connection.
It felt like hours for EMT to make it to us, and bh the time they got there, he was awake and trying his hardest not to pass out again from the pain of what would inevitably be an amputated leg.
They air lifted him and I together, but he was loosing blood fast. As soon as they had pulled apart the wreakage, what few clots he managed to form were torn away. He had minutes, if that.
It came as a split second decision. "Hook me up, take my blood!"
"Are you compatible?" The emt asked.
"Who cares?! He's dead if he doesn't get blood soon and if there's even a fraction of a chance that mine will help him, then take it!!"
There was arguing, but I couldn't tell you most of it. Somehow, I convinced them and they put a needle in me and into him. I never felt a second of pain or wooziness despite the emt constantly asking if I was alright to continue.
We made it to the hospital. I felt fine. My friend was run into the emergency room.
The doctors asked about what I did, and they decided to test me.
I was a universal donor, as well as a medical miracle. My blood could be taken by anyone, and I had more than enough to spare.
So, a new chapter in my life began. Every day, from 7 AM in the morning to 9 at night, I was hooked up to five IV drips and sat on a big, plush chair that was essentially ny throne. Six needles in both my arms, six needles in my legs, and one needle in the back of my neck to give me a mild pain reliever and muscle relaxant so I could bear doing essentially nothing for several hours a day.
They would have liked to have me going 24 hours a day if I'd allowed it.
But now, I'm the savior of thousands, if not millions of lives all over the world. My blood is the greatest discovery of my life, my greatest achivement, helping all these people survive their surgeries, their births. They come to me, tears in their eyes, grateful and humble, speaking languages I've never heard of before.
I've forgotten the name of that old friend of mine. It's been years. I haven't moved from my throne in decades. I'm 98 years old and dying. I've just signed off on my last will and testament.
My body will be kept alive, my blood will continue to be pumped from my braid dead body indefinitely.
My thone will become my tomb as I slowly waste away, and once I am gone for good, my death will echo through history, followed by throngs of tearful worshipers, grateful for their long lives and whispering my name with every prayer. | Like every person who came before I was blessed with a perceptibly limited gift, it seemed the gods intended mine to be horribly pointless, but they made a mistake in thinking smutty pleasure was limited. I grew tired of waiting for life to get better, I wanted more, needed more! One morning it dawned on me, my blessing could possibly be used to do more than just engaging in fantastic coitus.
I stewed on the idea for a while and thought about using it to give people a certain erotic feeling concerning an idea or task, could it be used to change an individuals motivation or get them to do things they otherwise wouldn't? I had to test this hypothesis! I never had to be close to someone to get them to start thinking dirty about me. If I wanted coitus, all I had to do was think about copulation with Alex, and she would call soon after in dire need.
I hatched a plan; I needed someone on live TV to test on, so I chose Sean Hannity as my target, I waited until his segment and thought about him copulating his notes, about 10 seconds after the thought he picked up his notes and seemingly fell in love with them, nonstop reading, caressing but then he stood up and started undoing his belt.
The program went to commercial; I assumed he went further but was unable to confirm.
Realizing that he went too far to be useful for anything other than ruining a career or reputation I needed to come up with something more subtle.
My next subject was the Bill Nye the science guy, all I wanted was a temporary obsession when an idea, so I waited for his next live event which I wanted to attend anyway.
The moment was here, and he walked onto the stage, I immediately began thinking about him caressing his tie, I didn't have to wait long for a reaction, he lightly grabbed the tie with his left hand slowly stroking it. It seemed a light distraction and caused a few studders but was a satisfactory piece of data.
My next target was someone I despised; my intent was simple, I wanted to ruin Ajit Pai, I thought of him spooning a stoplight in time square until he finally showed up on various live streams doing just that. I had to go further though; I had to see him in ruin. I thought of him engaging in coitus with the road, but that wasn't enough. His professional life was over, but I wanted more.
I caught eye of Danny DeVito watching this unfold and knew what must be done; I imagined Danny penetrating him from behind with an upward thrust, and it happened as I watched from the various live feeds.
Media coverage of the event was censored, but everyone who had a TV or internet knew what happened, I laughed watching the media talk about his "disgusting acts of public indecency."
I felt a need for power now more than ever, I knew I could ruin people but could I get them do enjoy an idea they otherwise would dismiss?
I wanted political power, at the time I didn't think I could influence the masses all at once, so I came up with a plan to blackmail people into submission.
I rented an Airbnb, set up cameras and hired an escort, I wasn't sure on all the details but went ahead with it anyway. I Imagined Ted Crus fornicating my escort in the Airbnb, but I ended up waiting longer than I thought. He showed up and did indeed engage in intercourse, but now I had to figure out how I was going to use this to my advantage. The plan was hatched, and I decided to execute, I thought about him caressing my front door, and he eventually came knocking. I was beyond nervous, but I proceeded to show him the videos and gave him only one demand, all he had to do was support legalization of marijuana, that's it, and the tapes disappear.
He agreed to the terms and went on his way, this only sparked more desire though and got me thinking about my next target.
I went after a few more senators and a few congressmen, the simple plan to legalize marijuana seemed to be having the desired outcome.
I settled on the president of the united states, thinking the tried method would work I went ahead with the plan the same as every other time.
The ultimate power I thought, I could get him to do anything!
As per usual I imagined him doing something erotic at my door, but things didn't go as planned.
There was no knock, the door flew open, and I was immediately detained, a sack was put over my head. I was shoved into a vehicle, and they drove off. When we finally arrived, I had no clue where I was or what their intent was, their intention wasn't kept secret for long.
A man I couldn't see entered my room, and without hesitation started talking: We know what you've been doing, we don't know how you got them to do it, but you're going to do it again. Tell me how the blessing works, and you get to live, refuse, and we will end you.
I wanted to use my blessing on him, but I had no clue who he was; if let him know how the blessing works he will immediately know I need to be able to imagine them, at least a face is needed for that.
I wagered they wouldn't kill me if I spilled the truth, I told him everything and why I did it.
He left, leaving me alone in the darkness for hours, when he returned he made an offer, work for us and use your blessing to influence the world to our benefit and you will not only live but Mr. Lordofbud, you will live well, smoking weed whenever you desire.
I agreed but didn't expect his response: You will start testing immediately, we will explore the extent of your power and see if you can do more than previously demonstrated, you will never see our faces or know our real names, but you can call me Will.
My power grew over the coming months, I learned to think of groups instead of single people, it was hard keeping groups in my head though, and could occasionally not have the desired outcome.
I learned how to be very subtle, I could force people to be obsessed with an idea now, in love with an idea to the point of getting them to speak publically about it.
Will told me to test my ability on Shaquille o Neal, Will wanted me to get him to support flat earth ideology publically. I thought about Shaq falling in love with flat earth forums, I did this every day for a fortnight. Will finally came in with a clip of Shaq supporting the idea, I wasn't happy about what I had done.
Testing was not over, but Will told me it was time to start using my blessing on our enemies. We began with Russia, I was given explicit instructions, what thoughts I was to have, and pictures to look at while I'm doing it, I guess they didn't think I capable of executing my own plan.
The first instruction was random members of the Kremlin and a love for America, the second was weird, Putin fornicating with a bear they had given me a picture of, that was it, Will left, and I was sent back to testing.
A few days later Will let me know the repercussions of the instructions, Putin died attempting to hug a bear, and all the members I imagined with love for America were publicly pushing support to make an ally out of America.
We repeated similar plans with many nations, but then came North Korea, Will gave me instructions that I knew would result in the deaths of the men in the thousands of pictures set before me.
I was told I will not be getting the results, nor will I ever get to know the outcome again.
The killings continued, I was left wondering when It would end, I dawned on me, this will end when I have conquered the world for them.
Thanks for reading, this was my first ever story. Sorry if the format sucks here. | 2018-06-30T17:50:19 | 2018-06-30T16:51:29 | 87 | 20 |
[WP] You’re a super villain with an army of loyal minions at your side. One day you find out that your minions do not follow you because of your visions of world domination but for the employee benefits package... | “My health plan?” My voice barely betrayed any emotions at the best of times, but now a careful listener might find a hint of disbelief in it. “You, my high commander of darkness, effective leader of the biggest army in the world, currently fighting in every country for my nefarious plans, are only on board with the greatest scheme of supervillainy since the Anti Vaccination movement, because I offer good health plans?”
It was common sense, basically, you make sure your minions will be given the best care you could afford, so they would be far more willing to get injured for you. Nothing but cold hard logic here. And yet the mercenary before me, a man I knew personally slaughtered hundreds kinda shuffled in place. “Ye’now boss…. don’t get me wrong….your plans n’all are great….but.” He swallowed hard. “But getting injured costs a lot...so a good health plan really helps.”
A weary sigh escaped my chest...how did we even reach this topic...and yet… I slowly turned to the head of my scientific division. She had been beautiful...before she decided human flesh was weak, and turned herself into a cyborg-mutant-cross. “I know, for a fact, that you can heal any injury inflicted upon you that doesn’t destroy your brain...so a health plan wouldn’t be of any interest for you. I hope this means at least you are on board with my plans?”
It was quite fascinating to see how the mass of tendrils and tentacles before me slowly deflated… leaving only a slumped pile. “Weeeeelll…..” Her voice trailed off, took a second to gather herself. “You….kind of paid of all my student loans in exchange for my undying loyalty….” Just common sense, you wouldn’t want to have employees with debt not to you. Conflicting interests...I waved one hand. Letting my gaze wander over the rest. I could piece most of them together just by remembering what logical choices I had made to ensure they could serve me well… then my gaze stopped on one last person.
A nearly pleading undertone snuck into my voice. “Please, tell me that at least you serve me out of conviction. I haven’t done much for you, just a full coffee pot. Besides that I just give you orders and ignore you until you are done with them.” The pause that followed stretched and stretched until it became pregnant with many smaller awkward pauses. Then he cleared his throat. “You see, your unspeakable evilness… in my field of work you quickly learn to love an employe who keeps the coffee pot full, the projects manageable and who doesn’t think he knows programming better then you do.”
| It was a dark day, one filled with clouds which covered the mid-winter sky.It was a day, where the horrors I shall inflict upon the world shan't be seen, as I crawl slowly, ever so slowly towards world domination."They don't know it yet, the leaders of the 'democratic' world, that they are so close to being toppled, so close to death and they don't know it. Like a frog being a boiling pot, and they don't know it yet" I though to myself as I planned another coup in a 3rd world country, somewhere in east Africa, Congo maybe?
I planned diligently today, as I have every day in the last 25 years of my work. Slowly I've accumulated wealth, power, connections and loyalties. You could call me a patron of the under world, as I have taken control over many states, countries, courts, lawmakers politicians and tech companies, even a few black markets and drug cartels, all to fuel my plan and execute it.The plan was almost complete, I just needed to be the US president(the strongest person in the world) and a few more wars in Africa and the middle east.Just an election away, and it was happening next year, and I'm hugely more popular than the other guy, promising so many things which will never come true, the dumb masses drink my words like wine and I revel in their ignorance and hate. Soon, soon I will have this tiny world under my iron fist.
I called over a general meeting with the C-level management, and we decide to hold a party for our company, as a end of year event.
"It's today Ron, today, I'm so excited to announce how well we have done over the last year, I'm sure all of the minions will be happy and excited"I said to Ron, my assistant, as he fixed my tie and lapel."I truly love making my employees excited, I think I'm going to give a DOUBLE bonus this year to the most excellent of my servants" as I said that, for a mere moment Ron's eyed flickered. "I guess you are as excited as I am for this evening." I smiled.For the first time this evening, Ron has replied, wearing a devious smile on his face, "Indeed I am sir, always glad to assist".
I went down the stairs, I could hear the music screech as I stood on the balcony overseeing the main hall. I am given a microphone."Dear employees, I am glad to announce that we are proceeding ahead of the plan!" I say with excitement.The employees didn't reply, maybe the microphone was off, I tap it a few times and it seems to be working."Aren't you excited?! We will topple the world's democracies this time NEXT YEAR!" I whoop with ecstasy.The crowd is silent.
"Aren't you guys happy because of my announcement, you are all doing a great job!"One of the employees, I think it's Jon from the political corruption branch, UK division, London group."Dear overlord, the employees are happy that you are happy, but we mostly don't care about the end result. We just enjoy working for you because you pay well and give us great perks, like family housing and great medical treatment""You must be joking" I replied."No, dead serious , sir" he said, he was serious."Well, grumpy pants, you may think this way, but surely you are the only one here who does, right guys?"
You could hear the nervous coughs and averted gazes."Really guys? I thought you hated the fake democracies of today, the corruption, the greed?"
"Howard, what about you, I remember clearly on your interview that you viewed Stalin as a great hero of the people!" I asked.
"I told you that because I knew you liked him , sir" He replied.
"Sarah, you told me you disliked the politicians greed and gluttony" I questioned her desperately
"Yeah, but toppling them isn't going to solve it" She said dryly.
I'm beginning to grasp at straws, are they all apathetic towards the end goal, the same goal I've been working on ever since \*that\* day?
"On the count of 3, raise hands any who view ANY merit towards our goal" I took a long pause."3...2...1.... Raise hands!"I looked toward the crowd frantically, for any raised fingers or hesitant looks, but I saw only a single hand raised, and it was mine.I'm shattered beyond words, I look down towards my employees, knowing that they all don't care even one bit about the goal.I mumble powerlessly into the microphone "Enjoy the party everyone, and you get a double bonus for a job well done"As soon as I said 'double bonus' everyone cheered loudly, I made an impression of a smile as I slipped ever so slowly towards my room.
"Ron, do you believe in the cause? You have worked for me for over 20 years, you are the first person whom I hired which wasn't a part of my initial kill-team, you laughed at my jokes, agreed on my view in politics, truly you believe in the cause" I look forlornly towards him, my eyes begging for a positive answer.
"I am fond of your work sir, but your pay and benefits are what keeps me here. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a party to attend to, sir" he replied with a monotonous tone.
"What am I even doing here?" I asked myself, as I took out my 72 year old whisky which I promised I would open only 3 times in my life: When I start the grand scheme. When I'm in the final phase, and when I'm elected President of the US.
The whiskey tasted weird, I looked down and I saw a clear drop falling in the glass. I look up towards the ceiling, perhaps it was leaking, but it seemed fine. I raised my hand towards my face, and I realized. I was crying.
This was my first ever WP, if you have any feedback I would appreciate it. | 2019-02-13T14:08:58 | 2019-02-13T14:03:58 | 50 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | I wait in my room in the cold light of dawn
To see what the writing is going to say.
And if it says 'William', we'll up and be gone,
A couple of soulmates just running away.
Two lovers like us can't be broken apart
By family feuds started decades ago.
I wait in my room with my hand on my heart
To see on my skin what I already know.
And 'William McGee' is the name that appears.
I smile and look down for my enemy's name.
I gasp and turn pale, overwhelmed by my fears,
For 'William' it says, with the surname the same.
Could Old William, Senior, be on to our plan?
I picture his face with a soul full of hate,
The murderous patriarch loved by his clan.
No matter, I think, because he'll be too late.
I run to the window to wave at my love.
I whisper 'I'm coming' and throw down a rope.
Then climb down three stories and land from above
Upon William's horse with a flickering hope.
I turn back to kiss him and show him my wrist.
"It's you!" I cry out. "Now let's go catch that boat!"
He touches his lip at the spot I have kissed
Then mutters, "I'm sorry" while slitting my throat.
Betrayal and blood stain the snow on the ground.
With tears in his eyes he lets loose with an oath.
Before I can perish, he spins me around.
He shows me his arms and my name is on both. | I can't stop thinking about the world this kind of thing might build. Like:
Some devoted themselves to finding their soulmate, embarking on lifelong pilgrimages and learning as many languages as possible, worshipping the idea embedded within their ink. Others let fear of their nemesis consume their whole being, driving their career, mental issues, or even untimely death.
Some people married as "soulmates" despite knowing deep down they weren't the right John and Sarah, simply maintaining the illusion as though they had something to prove. What really got on my nerves, however, were the Amys who'd hate any Lisa they came across just for the sake of hating her, fulfilling some petty need for triumph.
Others, still, renounced the idea of being bound to someone they may never encounter, opting instead for "good enough," wearing long sleeves to cover that pesky "Joy" or "Adam" and settling for a quiet life with that pretty childhood friend from next door. Buying bottle after bottle of drugstore concealer because out of sight means out of mind.
My personal favorites, however, were the "renegades," a self-titled group who tattooed bold designs and mocking insignias straight over their wrists. Cult leaders would actively seek out their worst enemy for marriage, deceiving them with body paint, some violent extremists even killing their soulmates. All as one giant middle finger to the results of their not-so-sweet sixteenth.
Me, on the other hand? I don't need to worry about being hunted down out of a misunderstanding or my true love not speaking any of the languages I know.
Because my nemesis is my true love.
And I'm also world-famous because of it.
Before I get into that first issue, let me explain the power this gives me. Because truly, it's not all bad. I was always sort of a lab rat (thanks, useless foster parents who sold me off to government scientists), so I was given... compensation. Substantial compensation.
I had a team of translators, *inkers* (wrist tat scientists), and the usual celebrity entourage all following me around. The short of it is, they thought they could study me in my ordinary social dynamic and develop a method to mimic these frequencies that are supposed to stop after you turn sixteen but didn't for me. Unfortunately, your *wris* (slang for the people on your wrists; pronounced "riss") are always accurate regardless of your circumstance, so I could be controlled 24/7 and still be a valid test subject.
That's another thing. If you haven't noticed, your wris' identities have no care for convenience. I had an aunt whose nemesis and soulmate both died before she could track them down: the latter starved in Somalia while the former committed suicide one town over. Even as a rich woman with access to database input, her wris destroyed her. That's probably why I hated the whole concept from the get-go, even before my sixteenth.
But yeah, back to me. You may have wondered why, if I'm a global phenomenon, it wouldn't be easy for my soul-enemy-thing to reach out to me. You know, just shoot an email: "Hey, I'm your person, I'll totally be your lab rat partner, hmu." Except there's the other thing.
My wris is a renegade, and the last time we met, they tried to kill me.
&#x200B;
Except then I wanted to add this....
&#x200B;
Access to the Database.
At the dawn of the internet, a massive digital Database swiftly emerged, compiling as large a picture of as many people as possible. Then, once the government stepped in, only so many people were given access to this insane search engine because morals but actually because capitalism. So naturally, the internet made its own version of what had been taken from it, and thus the Cycle was created. There are plenty of articles telling of love stories from 4chan meetings and serendipitous Facebook replies, but the go-to amateur database is the Cycle. Unfortunately, its output could only reach the level of its input and ability to interpret what it got, so finding your soulmate through it was a hopeful thought at most. That's why the Database remains the superior option.
I was in the generation whose parents finally figured out that unique first names could be the key to all of this. Still, a couple billion unique names, even among different cultures, was a tall order, and everyone began becoming more ID codes than people. Take me for instance. My name is Oyruravj. I would've preferred jjjjjjj or something cool like that but apparently that's too old fashioned.
&#x200B;
But then, isn't an internet-controlled world with names looking more like usernames than anything the most likely scenario?
It's an interesting thought process. | 2020-01-18T23:55:28 | 2020-01-18T23:37:33 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment. | "Here comes Gary"
"He's the worst."
"A failure to the family name"
"It's not that he commits crimes, the problem is that he's too good at it."
"I KNOW! He's meant to fail like the rest of us."
The door creaked open and Gary stepped into the room with a large bag.
Gary exclaimed with a large grin, "Hey guys! Guess what. I kidnapped the Queen!"
This was 10 years ago, we still see the occasional story on the news about what could have happened but the Queen was never found. She's still here with us and has become friends with Putin who Gary brought back last week. |
It was Thanksgiving dinner at the Chebwick family home. William Chebwick smiled at his three children, Terry, Sherry and Merry, as he chewed on his boiled turkey drumstick. “It’s been so long since the entire family has been together like this! So, what have my three darling children been up to?”
The oldest child, Terry, who had blue eyes and brown hair just like his father, was the first to speak up. “Well, Pa, I was trying to steal that statue in the park and hold it for ransom. You know, the big fancy one of the guy that founded it?”
“Oh, were you, dear?” William’s sister Annie said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “And how did that go? Must have been quite a drag trying to take an entire statue with you.”
“Well, I never got around to it, Ma,” Terry said cheerfully. “I figured I needed to steal something to move the statue first. So, I went to Walmart and I decided to steal one of those machine thingies with the two metal things in front that lift things.”
“You’re talking about a forklift,” Merry cut in.
“Yeah, yeah, something like that. So I saw someone riding one of those things around, so I went up to him, dragged him out of his seat and took off in it!”
“How exciting!” Annie said, clapping her hands. “Well, what happened next?”
“Well, turns out those machine things are pretty damn slow. So the driver came back, beat me up and I got tossed in jail for a month!”
William chuckled and gave a warm grin to his son. “Well done, my son! Only 23 years old and you’re already bringing pride to the Chebwick name.” He turned to his second oldest child, who was wearing a cast on her left arm. “What about you, Sherry? What happened to that arm of yours?”
Sherry, who had blue eyes and brown hair like her mother, beamed and flicked back her ponytail dramatically.“Well, Pa, I was tired of having to keep spending so much money on ice cream. So, I figured I would just steal an ice cream machine and get to eat ice cream forever.”
Annie sighed wistfully. “You remind me so much of myself when I was a child. So, how did the Great Ice Cream Caper go?”
“ Well, Ma, I drove to a buffet where they had an ice cream machine. Then, I took a rope and tied it around my arm. Then, I ran into the buffet before anyone could stop me and tied the other end around the machine, and drove the hell out of there! Or at least, that was the plan.” She held up her broken arm. “The damn rope broke my arm and I ended up crashing into a row of shopping carts! Then, the police threw me in jail for three months!”
William laughed out loud. “Looks like you’ve got competition, sport!” he said, looking at Terry. “Better keep your game up!”He turned to face the last child in the room, grimaced and mentally lowered his expectations. “And you, Merry?”
Merry, who was the youngest with orange hair and green eyes, looked up from her plate. “I robbed two banks, three jewelry stores and twelve cars, and I never got caught.”
Silence descended upon the dining room table. William facepalmed himself. “Merry, you’re supposed to be getting caught! That’s the family tradition!”
“But I don’t want to get caught,” Merry said, pouting.
“My god,” William muttered. “How can someone with my blood running their veins be so incompetent at this one simple task?”
Terry and Sherry gave each other and then their mother a knowing look and giggled. A flustered Annie, who was quickly turning red, gently patted her husband’s back. “Now, now, Merry’s still young. She’ll get better in time.” She narrowed her eyes at Merry. “Won’t you?”
Merry smiled innocently back while crossing her fingers. “Oh course, Mother, I will always obey my father.” | 2020-04-03T22:51:49 | 2020-04-03T21:43:25 | 72 | 27 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded to conquer and enslave humanity, however "slavery" to them involves only working the equivalent of 12 hours a week while having healthy food, shelter, and means of entertainment taken care of so the human resistance is having trouble with defectors preferring to be slaves. | A part of me can’t believe the fighting is over, and another part of me can’t believe we collectively agreed to enslave humanity and It took what? 9 months for almost all of humanity to be on board with it? Crazy.
Maybe I’m overthinking it, I mean only working 12 hours a week, no more covid-19, real free time without having to worry about paying taxes. Hell, we didn’t even have that much freedom before the Grutegens arrived.
Today, the leaders of the resistance, the old-world titans of industry, are holding a conference to call off what’s left of the resistance, the xenophobic bastards off the world. I'm sure there’ll still be fighting but with no one to fund them, most of us can get on with our new lives.
As I found my place in the crowd, a familiar face turned to me. “Hey Kelly, can’t believe it's over, we can finally just get back to hanging in the pleasure pools and smoking whatever those Grutegens put in that hooka”
“Matt! How’s it going, I haven’t seen you since, what, the skirmish in time square?”
“It has been quite a while. Shh, shh here they come, I want to hear what these slime balls have to say“
Leaders of the resistance, General Jamie Diamond and Commander Mark Zukerberg walk up to the podium, met with boos and cans of soda thrown at them. As they started to speak, the crowd went silent eagerly awaiting the speech that would return them to their new normal lives, of carefree relaxation.
“Unfortunately, we concede that we have lost the fight. The amount of disappointment we have in humanity is immeasurable, no desire to protect one’s own race”. General Diamond somberly said, then he perked up. “However, we cannot hand over planet EXR-12D to the Grutegens”
Commander Zukerberg then spoke “We had no desire to reveal this to the humans” Zukerberg unrolls a strange-looking piece of leather with glowing writing on it. “The Bulnori people have purchased this planet for proper enslavement from the galactic council 40 years ago, this planet is rightfully ours. Now we tried to conceal ourselves as long as we could but we are left with no choice.”
“Supreme leader Grug, the council is on their way, and I suggest you leave before they get here, or I'm sure they will have no problem blasting you and your ships to bits.”
One by one the Grutegens ships started to disappear out of the sky and soon enough they were all gone. Abandoning the humans who embraced them, left with nothing except the reinstatement of the 40-hour workweek. | Part 1.
I bit down hard on the leather strap, felt a sharp edge press into my gums, but still a whelp escaped my lips as the scalpel slid through the flesh on my buttock and tongs were pressed into the wound. The barb was all the way in, I could tell by how deep they were going, I'd been hit real bad this time. The sound of the wind and the rain probably masked my moans. Not that I really cared at this point. I was on my third tour and way, way past bravado.
Stevens was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder, clamping down pretty hard. I turned my face toward him and saw his white knuckles an inch from my nose. I glanced up and he met my gaze, gave a little encouraging nod and murmured something that was probably meant to sound encouraging. I couldn't make out the words but it sounded wrong, like his voice was a pitch higher than normal. Pearls of sweat beaded off his forehead. I hoped he wouldn't pass out at this next bit.
"Drill". The medic said it so matter of factly, voice flat. I saw Stevens close his eyes before everything went black for me.
...
"Toole. Hey. Hey man. Are you awake?"
A warm glow came through my eyelids. I was vaguely aware of being on my back and, oddly, no pain whatsoever. A warm sensation in the back of my neck, quite pleasant actually. My mouth had an aftertaste, as if I'd recently been drinking something. *Vanilla?* Soft, cool, smooth fabric under my cheek. I drifted back down.
...
"Finally! I was worried about you. I thought maybe you were too far gone. How do you feel? Long time no see!" I tried real hard to focus on this voice, which seemed familiar. I'd been having one of the better dreams, and a wave of resentment washed over me as I realized I'd been woken up. Then a face floated into view and the recognition startled me enough that I snapped snapped sober in an instant. "Yannick?" It was really her. She'd been leaning over the bed and now she bolted upright, did a little mock salute and laughed, "the one and only, sir!". I was so happy to see her that I didn't even mind the mockery, and though the thought briefly surfaced that it was uncharacteristic, it didn't seem to be of any real import, considering that she was back from the dead.
She filled me in on the story as I scoffed three cups of something that she fetched for me and that I couldn't name, but languidly categorized as jello-ish.
"So yeah, I should be dead" she was saying. "But I was brought here, just in time. They got it out and patched me right up and I'm good as. Same as you! Sir." She smiled. I smiled.
"That is really lucky isn't it. I mean, I saw you." My voice caught in my throat for some reason. "Barbed, right in the gut." She laughed softly. "Yes" she said. "They can do marvellous things here, you see." "Hmm, so what is this place, Brazilian? Chilean?" I scraped the cup with the little plastic spoon. "This is really good stuff." She looked away. I put the spoon in my mouth and sucked it clean. "I mean we sure don't have anything like this, it seems state of the art. Last thing I remember I was ass up on a truck flatbed and some pimply medics were busting my tail bone open with a rusty dremel." I put the cup down.
"Sir, you need to stay calm." She put her hand on mine. "We had it all wrong. All along."
My mouth felt dry. "Uh-huh".
I sat up, too quickly, there was a momentary tug and a soft *pop* in my neck. Immediately anxiety washed over me and oh! My butt hurt. And my neck. And Yannick, wait, no no, she was *dead*! I'd seen it. I clamped my hand over my neck and felt something slimey, slippery.
Yannick cried out. "Shit! He's fucking popped it! Help, help, someone, quickly!" A soft whir started from somewhere and then became more urgent. The alien came into view from the corner of my eye and I shrieked, instinctively thrashing off of the bed, landing hard on my side *damn I will pay for that later* and kicking back. The bed came crashing down between me and it. Yannick let out an ear piercing scream but didn't jump into cover, instead started to move away. Deciding that almost getting myself killed once trying to drag her to safety was enough, I let her go and instead focused on getting my bearings. Shit, I was totally boxed in, the narrow bed seemed more like a fucking cage now than a barrier, me in the corner hiding pitifully behind it. Over there, a door and a window. And between me and that, the alien.
It waited there. The pain was really coming back to me now, my entire ass was on fire and pulsing in time with my pounding heart.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Oh, my, fucking, God.
I knew couldn't bear it much longer. Every heart beat was a sledgehammer blow in my wound. The thought came to me like a match being struck in the dark and the clarity of it held the pain off enough that I could manage a little internal reasoning. *Something is in my blood*." Somehow this fucker is fighting me on the inside. It's not even going to come over here." No, wait that wasn't exactly it. I shook my head like in an old fashioned cartoon, as if that would make the jumbled thoughts fall into place. Somehow it worked. "It's already here. The alien is in my ass." Ha.. What a way to go. Not fair.. The thoughts faded and the whooshing resumed.
... | 2020-11-22T12:05:30 | 2020-11-22T11:32:53 | 148 | 92 |
[WP] You looked on as the cult sacrificed you at the Altar, your blood seeping away, sucked by what they have summoned. The damp chill in the air remained as black, branching cracks started forming in mid-air. Memory came crashing back as a voice spoke in your mind, 'I finally found you, Master.' | Well, this was new. I was no stranger to dying, but the removal of my still-beating heart was going to be a new experience. Hopefully the recovery isn't too bad.
I had been wandering for as long as I could remember, and as far as I could figure I must have been cursed. It was a gruesome kind of curse, which left me immortal but open to all the pain and slow healing processes that regular people had to endure.
I had been killed few times, fallen to my death once, and on a few darker occasions I had taken my own life. Every time I would wake up at some point in the future – mostly intact.
Dying of blood loss was relatively painless. You’d get lightheaded, then feel a little chilly and the world would fade to black. I would wake up an unknown length of time later with a scar from the wound and be good to go.
Blunt force trauma was horrific. I fell while climbing a mountain once (looking for gods… so naive) and after waking up realized that most of my body remained very much broken. In time everything healed up properly – but I’ve made a real effort to avoid dying in such a fashion since.
I did not age, nor did I need to eat or drink to stay healthy. I was perfectly able to process food or get intoxicated when the mood arose (and it often did), but I had never died of starvation or thirst. Curses can be strange like that.
I could not remember who I was, how I had become cursed, or what my purpose in life was. After wandering for years, I had tried to settle down in a small village. I took a wife and tried to start a family, but we were not able to conceive. As she grew older and I remained youthful, questions arose, and I realized it was time for me to leave. So long ago now… I had loved her, or tried to at least, and in the months that followed I grew to hate the curse.
That was when I tried to kill myself. First by blood loss. This was relatively painless – as I mentioned before. Then by drowning – I took a job aboard a ship sailing to a “New World” and threw myself overboard after sailing for a few weeks time. While the initial panic was really something, it too ended up being mostly painless. I woke up on shore some undetermined amount of time later and started wandering once again.
It must have been a few decades now in the New World. In that time, I’ve made peace with this curse, and after exploring for while decided to fall in with some locals. There were pleasures to be had amongst people that exploring simply could not replace.
It often ended the same way my first effort to settle had – questions arose, and I would leave. This time was different though, I wanted to see how long I could stick around.
Turned out, not too long. I was soon set to be sacrificed – they thought I was somehow linked to underworld and that sacrificing me would be an honour to the gods. To their surprise I was a willing participant – ceremonial daggers were better than ceremonial clubs.
The cuts were painful, but wounds always were. Then I felt an odd sensation as a hand entered my chest cavity. Moments later I was looking at my heart! Once you see it in front of you it somehow doesn’t really feel like yours anymore.
As I settled in and waited for the familiar embrace of death though – I couldn’t get comfortable. I suddenly felt… energized? My heart was clearly gone, but something felt like it was about to beat out of my chest. I opened my eyes and saw terror in the eyes of the priests that had previously been chanting as cracks began to open in the air above us. It was then I heard a voice, calm and inviting, begin to speak directly into my mind, “Welcome back master” it said, “it’s been far too long”. | It was a plain, boring day when I was born. No end of world scenario, no burning sky or blood tainted rain fell that day. I was born on the 13th of May, a Friday, into a middle-class suburban family. Mom was a teacher at the elementary school, dad a manager at the only auto shop for miles. We had a white picket fence house, fully equipped with the garden and even the dog, even though I never liked him or it.
Growing up, I was pampered and cuddled by everyone in the family, uncles, aunts, grandparents, you name it, since I was my parents’ little miracle. See, both my parents were trying for a kid for a while, but my mother had been declared sterile or barren, as my grandmother used to say. So, when the doctor said she was pregnant, it was a great shock for everyone. Eventually I was declared their little miracle, fruit of all their prayers and sacrifices to their God.
At school, I was the average quiet kid in the back of the room. No one really seemed to notice me, and I was fine with it. My gaze would often wander into the cloudy sky while I would ponder about the meaning of it all. That gnawing sensation on the back of my mind, constantly harassing me, pushing me to ask the question - Is this it? Is this all that I can hope from this boring, dull life? Curiously, not even the school bullies cared enough about me, even though one once tried to push me around. But one look from me and he ran away screaming, saying that my eyes where like lifeless shark eyes, waiting for their next meal. Pathetic, indeed. One always wonders how such pitiful creatures where able to push and bully around all those kids, leading them into the brink of despair.
After that little incident, everyone pretty much left me be, avoiding me whenever possible, in what was a blessing for me, since their constant yapping and futile conversations always made me feel sick to my stomach. It was enough that I was forced to participate in those dreadful "family events", where everyone was filled with sickening sweetness and love and the air was polluted by the irritating laughter and talks of those who claimed to "love" me.
Life carried on uneventfully until that fateful day where I first laid eyes on her.
She was different. Her gaze seemed as empty as mine, missing the so-called life that we could see in everyone else's eyes. To everyone else, she seemed like the typical depressed goth girl, with her head filled with Billie Eilish'ed songs and fake crying. But I could sense that there was something more. Slowly, but surely, I started to approach her, which was a first one for me, seeing that I had not taken an interest into anything or anyone up until then. Yet, something about here seemed to call out to me, to lure me into her gaze.
We started talking, eventually. Our conversations focused mainly on the intricacies of life and death, even though I tried to moderate my words, fearing that sharing to much would drive her away. Soon enough, she felt confident enough and started sharing more about herself, leading up to the fact that she was part of a Wicca Coven, a place where others like her and even myself could share our true nature, since she assumed that we were similar.
Yet, such mystical or religious organizations always troubled and even disgusted me, since they often serve for people in search of a leader of some sort to guide them, as the mindless sheep that they are. However, against my better judgment, I conceded into participate at least once in this coven, if I would not be involved in any activities whatsoever and would only assist.
The selected date was the following Friday, the 13th of May which, curiously, was my birthday. It seemed to bear some significance to them, since one of their deities, Frigga, was at the height of her power at such date. As so, they intended to perform some sort of ritual sacrifice on her behalf, to be blessed with her magick and power.
We met at an abandoned house in the nearby forest, a place long forgotten by time itself, filled with rot and decay, where they had improvised some sort of makeshift altar, with candles and all sort of ritualistic items. It was amazing how much pointless effort these people dedicated to their rituals and trinkets, as if it granted them some sort of power that would allow them to control their life or ultimately, their fate. My stomach was turning with all this foolishness, and I was about to leave when I felt something sharp stab me in the back and I blacked out.
When I came to, I was bound to the makeshift altar and they were all chanting around me, almost screaming in ecstasy as if trying to call something from beyond. Oh, what I fool I was, trusting my feelings for that little girl whose gaze bewitched me. Yet, at long last, maybe I could feel something, maybe my life could have some point, after all, or, at least, I could be freed from this dull hell, where everything was so peaceful, so plain... so empty.
I felt a sharp object in one of my arms, then the other and, at long last, my vision started to blur, my blood seeping away into the altar. A damp chill filled the air and the dusk started to set in. Yet, something started to branch out in midair. A comforting black spot appeared right on top of me, with several black branches spanning out of it into the air, with no end in sight. My blood started to rise into the black spot, as if it started to feed on it. So, it seems that there is no white light at the end of the tunnel for me. It seems that darkness has been my only companion throughout this life and will, in fact, accompany me into the next one.
Suddenly, the gnawing sensation that had sat silent on the back of my mind spoke, for the first time, and said - "I have finally found you, Master."
\- Frigga? - I said
\- Yes, Master. I have finally found you. Speak your true name so that you can be freed into this World.
\- My true name?
\- Yes. Remember Master, remember who you are!
Suddenly, everything started to make sense. The looming sensation for dullness and despair, the sickening sweetness of love and laughter that filled everyone around. I hated it. I hated it all with such power and disgust that I could feel it burning inside myself. Yet, I allowed myself to dull such feelings to be a part of this decaying society. And I finally understood why it sickened me so much.
Because I am the Void, the bottomless pit of Nothingness. I am Abaddon, ruler of the Dead and of Destruction and the World will finally feel my Nothingness as their own. | 2021-06-15T10:42:12 | 2021-06-15T07:40:54 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] Ten year ago your mentor told you "Kid, here's a dirty little secret about magic. You can just make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who take it seriously really mad." Today you're one of the least respected (and most powerful) mages on the continent. | **Part 1**
The dusky room was illuminated by a crystal ball that floated in its centre. The ball used to be made out of leather and was used by kids to kick around, until Erehad bought it and hand waved its material to crystal with a “Shim-shala-bim”. With a few other nonsensical murmurs the ball became imbued with the powers of long distance communication. The ball contained an image of a wizened man, grey hair and clothes and surrounded by smoke - blown out of the man’s pipe like it was the chimney of an industrious blacksmith. It was Erehad’s old mentor, Eviar.
“So, young Erehad,” - *puff, puff* \- “any news from your neck of the woods?”
Erehad stroked his goatee as he examined Eviar. It looked like he hadn’t aged at all in all these years. He hadn’t laid off the pipe either. It was as if nothing had changed.
“You still smoke the same stuff?” Erehad asked.
Eviar reached for something out of view and came back with a handful of green plants, showing them off with a yellow toothed grin.
“Got a new supplier. If only I had him when you were under my wing. I can see so much clearer now… You would have learned so much more,” He said.
“I doubt that,” Erehad replied with a smile. “But I’ve been doing quite well for myself. Helping the king out with some trouble here and there, dealing with rogue mages for the council-”
“Bah, you shouldn’t bother,” - *puff puff* \-” with those nerds,” Eviar interrupted. “Let them fix their own mess if they are so skilled at magic. Remember the little secret I imparted to you: ‘the dirty little secret about magic-”
“Is that you can make shit up and it usually works.” Erehad finished. “Believe me master, I took that maxim to heart.”
“Good,” - *puff puff* \- “good. Hold on, I think there’s someone at the door,” said Eviar as he stood up and walked out of view.
The orb picked up the sounds from Eviar house, albeit faintly. Erehad heard the creak of a door and then Eviar’s voice.
“Yes, can I help you?”
Commotion and cries broadcasted into Erehads chamber, who jumped up from his seat, spilling the wine he was sipping over the floor.
“Eviar? Eviar, what’s going on?” Erehad yelled - lighting bolts flew across the crystal screen.
The ruckus had died down and there was no response to his calls, until an image of a hooded man darted into view.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the terrible mage Erehad,” the man said with a condescending smile. His eyes were concealed in the shadow of the hood.
“Don’t worry about the old fool,” the man continued, ”I assure you he’s fine. Let me tell you how you can ensure that it stays that way. You will abandon your quests and missions from king Arkion, cease all work with the Sublime Council and quit this continent altogether. I hear Klavic is particularly nice this time of year.”
Erehad had no intention of moving to the isolated snowy island that the man had suggested.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you that I have a very particular se-”
“Defy us, and your master dies,” the man cut him off, and the crystal ball lost connection. The room went dark for a moment before the wall sconces came to life with crackling fire.
Erehad fell back into his chair. He had many enemies, it was true, but they didn’t bother him because he knew that they considered him beneath them. His methods were despised, but poorly understood. Erehad had something that magic users, who were almost exclusively by-the-book and wouldn’t dare stray from the writings and tomes of the ancient legends, didn’t have, or more accurately, didn’t want to use: Creativity.
It was clear; his successes as a mage, of how low repute they might be, had come to a head. And he wasn’t going to let himself get intimidated. He needed to get over to Eviars place fast and that required very powerful magic; Eviar lived on the other side of the continent after all. Erehad scoured the house and returned to the crystal ball chamber with a blank page, charcoal, thyme, salt and a harmonica.
“All right, let’s do something like this…” Erehad said while scribbling on the page - symbols; round, square, lines, all overlapping and at different angles. He placed the paper on the floor underneath the crystal orb, took a few steps back and put the palm of his right hand out toward the paper.
“Beem!”
From each sconce a thin streak of fire channeled into the paper. It burned, but remained undamaged. Erehad plucked the thyme from the branch and let it fall into the fire, and he then made a wide circle of salt around the room. He set the harmonica to his mouth, and started walking backward, following the path of salt. Erehad wasn’t a musical man, as evident by the faint screams of his next door neighbor, demanding him to knock it off as Erehard started, for want of a better word, playing the harmonica.
After he’d walked backward three times, he dropped the harmonica and extended his hand to the paper again.
“Blasto-, no... Flusha!”
The fire extinguished and Erehad snatched the paper off the floor, and swallowed it.
“Take me to Eviar,” he said, and closed his eyes.
The warmth of the chamber had disappeared, instead, a cold breeze brushed past his cheeks. He opened his eyes and saw that he had been transported to a dirt road that crossed through a muddy grassland. it was early in the morning, while back home it had been late in the evening.
“It just works,” he exclaimed. | # A Dream Undeferred
Several times, when I was a younger and more headstrong, men dared to use the words “magic system,” around me. Deeper into than their cups than any mage should be, they would wax poetic about the difference between the Gnostic and the Anagogic Schools, uncaring of the slim, dark form in the corner of the room.
Those men died. All of them, often before they’d finished their soliloquys.
I’d like to think I’ve matured since then. My impulses and primal urges no longer govern me. It has been half a century since I burned a man alive.
But now I find maturity to be worse. I’ve lived the length of breadth of years allowed a man, I’ve learned all the things life has to offer, at least before a man like me whispers them into being.
Now it is only the dreams, an old man’s dreams of a time forgotten and a world unborn. And that, dear reader, is far, far worse.
\*\*\*
**The Bard’s Tale**
I laid at night, cushioned by fine pillows of enchanted silk and trapped clouds, wrapped in the arms of a perfect girl whispered into being on a fine spring day, and I dreamt of things that could have been.
The Bard was one.
The dream began almost as his life had ended, a hardbitten figure walking into the unnatural twilight of a sun that would not set, headed west with a spring in his step and tune on his tongue.
You see, there had been a prophecy. One of those tricky things that nobody ever thought might happen until the moment it did. That when a man born of a seventh son’s seventh son died on the road to Koln at sunset on the day he’d made love to a succubus, the power to end magic would be born into the world, amidst the fall of the succubus’s tears.
In real life, I’d met him some hours before, in the inn disappearing behind him. He’d stumbled down the step of a morning with the pallor of a dead man and regained something of his color over a bowl of oats and too-early ale. I’d been sitting by the fireplace, warming myself for a journey to come, when he’d said, “I think I met an angel last night.”
Then he’d paused, finished his ale, and said, “Or a devil. Maybe a devil.”
I’d heard his tale, I’d listened to his songs, and then, with the inkling of memory, I’d asked him when he left the inn, “Friend, which way do you go?”
“West,” he’d said. “I seek my future in Koln.”
I’d stopped the sun to kill him, turned him east before I’d delivered the final blow.
But dreams, you see, are the one magic that have eluded me.
In the dream it goes as it should. The Bard walks west, and I call to him, “Friend, which way do you go?”
He says, “West. I seek my future in Koln.”
And immediately, I am in the moment.
For a mage, dreams are the closest one might ever feel to being a real, normal person. There is a certain helplessness in dreams. A sense of a being a passenger in one’s own skin, one’s own life. A passenger headed west towards Koln, pulled in the wake of a man named Carlisle, who was bard and a foreigner both, and who had loved a succubus that morning.
The road was dusty, the air crisp with the onset of fall. It was lined on either side by a patchy row of sycamores, and here and there nightbird had begun to sing, the cool-blooded Northern variety who thought even our chill winters were a migration. My cloak was too light, and when I wished another, heavier one into being it did not come. When I looked up and wished the sunset away, it stayed, clinging stubbornly to horizon.
I felt the dual sense, of here, and not here. I knew, immediately, that it was a dream, and that I was not in control of it. I shivered at the chill, though my body still felt the soft arms of the conjured girl and the trapped cloud pillows.
In the dream, my magic was not with me. It was without, in the world, roaming on its own. Taking for inspiration the things I saw, and the man I spoke.
And I knew, instantly, that though it was dream and I was a passenger in it all, I must turn him back east, away from Koln and prophecy.
“But why Koln?” I said, voice hauntingly distant to my ears.
“Because,” the dream Bard said, “it’s where she said she would be. And it was she who gave me the song.”
I blinked. In real life, I’d killed the man before he ever said that. I wondered now if it were true. Wondered helplessly.
“She?” I said.
“The angel. Or the devil. Or…whatever she was.” He hiccuped, then ran a hand through his hair as if suddenly conscious of his appearance. He needn’t be. Any man who saw him would’ve thought he’d been through a war.
“She was incredible,” he said, “though I suppose I’ve already told you that…”
“But Koln?” I said. “Surely there are other places, and certainly for a man such as yourself, other women. What of Brescia, in the east? I was headed there myself, why, a Bard with your talent—”
“I played Brescia two seasons ago,” the Bard said. “Got myself thrown out of the alehouses too.”
“Ah,” I said, dumbly. Nearly a hundred years I’d lived, and conversation had never been a strong suit. I’d let my magic do the talking for me.
“But east, it’s so nice to the east!”
“Fuck the east,” the man said suddenly. “She’s in Koln.” His eyes glazed over, his body shuddered. He was pulled, suddenly, and spasmodically, to the west, towards the road that would take him to the death he should never have had. He walked to the beat of onrushing horse’s hooves.
In real life, after I’d shut off the sun and turned him east like a marionette, I’d whispered words until I found some that cut. When I was done, he’d fallen like a puppet with cut string, limply, all the ligaments severed until he lolled about, powerless and empty.
Somehow, to see the carriage barreling down the centerline of the road was worse.
“Make way for Lord Zollern!” the carriage driver shouted.
He drove four in hand, four great bay chargers tied to a carriage dark, finely carved wood. Red curtains fluttered from windows, a man peeked out, then another. The first I did not recognize, no doubt some important and yet impotent noble. But the second…
The second was me, face twisted a smile, wrinkles gone, beard full and dark and powerful. It was me, decades younger and still in all my headstrong glory. The personification of my magic run amok.
“Make way for Lord Zollern!” the driver shouted again.
The Bard did not care. He lurched, eyes distant, focused on the setting sun and the peak of Koln’s single visible spire, and then he began to sing, the fragmentary tune on his tongue come to life in eerie harmony with no one at all.
He sung of prophecy, of the tears a succubus would cry, of a life lived, and spent, for no purpose men could understand.
My body shuddered, my real physical body. I heard myself cry out in a voice far closer than any in the dream had been, I felt the conjured girl’s arms wrap tighter around me and shake warmth back into tired old bones.
I felt the magic well up as the me that was not me smiled his twisted smile, and I knew, in an instant, that the Bard before me, all his conditions still intact, was even now on the road to Koln at a far distant sunset, and that carriage in my dreams was a harbinger of the thing would kill him, fulfilling the prophecy.
I watched, a passenger amongst it all, as the girl who held me tried in vain to wake my sleeping form from its nightmare in time.
In real life he’d lolled like a broken doll after I’d been through with him.
In the dream the cart crashed over him like a wave, and he disappeared beneath stamping hooves, facing west towards Koln in the setting sun, the song still on his lips.
I could almost hear the tears fall.
\*\*\*
“Master, what’s wrong?” the conjured girl said.
I woke in a damp sweat, heart racing dangerously for a man my age.
“Another nightmare?” she asked.
“Yes, sweet thing, another nightmare,” I whispered.
“Did something escape?”
“Yes, sweet thing. Something…someone…some prophecy escaped.”
She cradled me then, rested my damp forehead against her chest, and began to sing a lullaby.
“No songs,” I said. “Not tonight.”
“Yes master,” she said.
Outside, I could hear rain. It sounded like a succubus’s tears. Like prophecy. Like an old man’s dreams of what could have been, come to life.
&#x200B;
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If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-08-26T19:09:10 | 2021-08-26T17:48:41 | 1,227 | 145 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | I was pleased with my hunt today. A plump, young hog. Time hadn't been able to turn it tough, but it's size would keep me fed for a good month, whilst leaving a hefty amount to trade for other supplies. I had my stasis chest at my hut to keep it fresh, which made me happy.
I headed towards my hut, smiling. The carcass weighed my down a little, but I pushed on. I was eager to butcher it, and put my feet up for a bit. I had plenty of experience in butchering, saving me a fortune in costs. Having lost everything once, I was careful with the little I had.
My hut came into view. A simple structure, made of thick stone. It was made of three individual circles, connected by small passages. A tended garden out front grew a few vegetables, enough to keep me fed. A thick wooden post protruded from the ground, an equally thick beam sporting a hook branching off.
With a practiced heave, I lifted the hog up. I impaled its rear, letting it hang ready. I carefully slit its throat, letting the blood pooling in its body pour out. Its heart wasn't beating, but gravity did the trick just fine. I wiped my blade, sticking it in the sheath before heading inside.
As I stepped in, I froze. Someone was inside. They sat in front of my empty fireplace, in a simple wooden chair. They looked up as I entered, though their hood cast their face in shadow. I let go of the door, easing my hand to my knife.
"I thought your home would be more... impressive."
I knew that voice. I knew it very well. It once was backed with strength and power, filled with a thirst for justice. I breathed out and in, before replying, letting the motion quell my nerves.
"Satu. What an unpleasant surprise."
He pulled back his hood, grinning at me.
"I thought you would see right through it."
I didn't bother unsheathing my dagger. I was no slouch, but he was clearly stronger than me. My loss of the Thorned Throne had guaranteed that.
"I thought you would have been here sooner, when you found out I was alive."
He waved a dismissive hand, utterly at ease.
"Oh, I knew you were alive the day after our fight."
I was taken aback.
"How?"
"Well, I was suspicious after your 'death'. You had burned to nothing. There was no ash or anything. So I scryed you, and saw you running."
He leant back, lacing his hands behind his bald head.
"I thought about hunting you down, but then you didn't try and rebuild. You wandered for a year or so, before making a home here. I figured why bother you."
I let out a sigh. With a shrug, I removed my hunting cloak, hanging it on a hook.
"Why are you here then?"
I wandered over to a leather case on the side, unrolling it. Sharp knives glistened in the sunlight, waiting to be used.
"To pick your brains of all things."
My eyes glared into his as I spun. He was certainly still full of surprises.
"Why?"
His easy-going nature went hard. This was no longer just a man. This was a hero, in all his might.
"There are rumors of a new Dark Lord rising. Similar to you, building an army of demons and undead."
I knew what he was asking now.
"You want to know how he will start."
He nodded.
"Of course. I would rather nip this in the bud, than go through what you did again."
I gave a humourless smirk back.
"Yeah yeah. Fine, if it will get you out of my hair."
I picked up the bundle, heading towards the door.
"We can talk as I butcher."
He stood up, giving a nod of thanks. I just opened the door sighing heavily. He brought back memories I would rather forget. The sooner I got rid of him, the sooner I could go back to my quiet life | "Let's talk," The tall and broad Magnus said from under his shining silver armor. His face was grim and his eyes had grown faded since the last time Sinstar had saw him. What was once the spark of a young adventurer seemed to have turned into the slow embers of a grown and tired warrior.
Sinstar's heart raced at the sight of him, memories of existential battles and intense, bloody fights flashed quickly across his mind. *I didn't think this would happen so soon,* He thought. *I'm only going to get once shot at this.* He sat down the timber wood he was carrying in for the fire and cautiously made sure that the house wasn't surrounded. He had to play this right or he'd mess everything up.
"I'm alone," Magnus said with a gravely voice. The aged hero moved across the room and grabbed a wooden chair, facing towards Sinstar and almost falling down into it. "It's just me."
"What are you doing here!" Sinstar replied quickly. It had been decades since their duel that scared the earth and burned across history. Thousands died on great battlefields of ledged, and Sinstar had once cracked the sky with his powerful magic. "I swear if you came to finish me off I'l--"
"You know what Sinstar," Magnus said cutting him off. "I like what you got going on here."
Sinstar stood silent for a moment, the relaxed and exaggerated words of his old foe appeared to shock him. It was then that Magnus pulled out a bottle from his robe and took another large gulp of it. "Oh my gods," Sinstar said. "Are you drunk?"
"Ha!" Magnus spit up some of the light red liquid onto his armor. "Ahaha! Am I drunk? Oh man, ahaha!"
Magnus broke off from his laughter and stared darkly at the floor. Sinstar felt a turning in his stomach as he looked at him, there was something horribly different about the hero. Sinstar had been living happily in the woods, practicing his old magic out of the public eye, trading with the ignorant village, Sinstar didn't want to lose that. "Why are you here?"
Magnus took another large gulp of the the glassy bottle. He then held it over his slightly slummed body and and swirled the liquid around, looking at it with pursed lips. "Am I drunk... ha, man..."
Sinstar looked at him and took a deep breath. He saw the sprawling, gemmed tree that was on his breastplate, the tree that stood for the world tree. Magnus had always claimed to be born from it, a child of the forever-tree, immune from corruption and sin because the blood that ran through him was as stout as the water that held the world tree together. *We'll see.*
"What's wrong with you?" Sinstar finally asked. "If this was the old you we would've broken out into a fight at first sight and destroyed this entire forest."
Magnus tensed his jaw and tightened his view on the bottle, he then suddenly yanked down the chainmail protecting his neck and unveiled two deep scars in it's side. The wound was maybe a couple of weeks old and had the look of old magic corruption, dark, spindly veins sprawled out from its root.
"My gods," Sinstar said. "My gods... You're a vampire!"
"Take it in you old bitch, you created these bastards didn't you?"
Sinstar didn't know rather to burst out laughing or to remain silent. He looked at his old foe, the man who used to be the picture-boy of purity, and saw the beginning stages of a transition into vampirism.
"You asked if I was drunk?" Magnus asked while holding up the bottle. "I fucking wish I could be!" He then launched the bottle into the side of the wall and sent its red innards trailing down the wooden sides.
"Yes vampires are immune to all poisons," Sinstar said. "I wanted them to be the ultimate man hunters."
Magnus again shook his head while staring at the now broken bottle laying on the floor. "You know I did come here to kill you. I came here with the intension of ripping off your head and brining it to the kingdom for redemption."
"Redemption?" All of a sudden it all added up to Sinstar. "They exiled you didn't they? As soon as they found out you were a vampire?"
"I saved the realms!" Magnus yelled out in anger. His leathery face turned with strain and anger while his chest heaved with heavy, wrathful breaths. "And they toss me aside like some tool!"
Sinstar shook his head slowly, realizing what was happening. He stroked his olden chin and spoke with a surer tone. "It is only when you lose your humanity that you realize the monstrosity of it."
Magnus looked up at him and Sinstar could tell that he wanted to yell back in defense of mankind, but his broken heart wouldn't let him. He instead maintained the broken gaze and they were both locked into each others eyes, realizing that for the first time in their lives that they understood each other. "You said you *were* going to kill me." Sinstar finally said. "I sense you don't want to do that anymore."
Magnus let out a sigh of acceptance, he sat his strained head into his hands for a moment before looking back up to Sinstar. "No... No I don't think I want to kill you anymore."
"What do you want from me then?" Sinstar saw it, he saw the sudden switch in Magnus's heart, the moment his humanity escaped through his eyes and left something else in its place.
"I want vengeance."
"Oh? How so?"
His face was stone, stone that had just seconds ago been flesh. Inside Magnus a battle was just fought and bodies still riddled with fields of his soul, but the victor was sure. The victor was dark. "Train me in the dark arts, and we will burn this whole place to the ground."
Sinstar smiled a wicked smile, he looked down at the broken hero and spoke with authority. "Remember when you once said that you were born from the world tree's life blood?" Magnus looked up from the chair with empty eyes. "You will be of its blood, but instead you're going to suck it dry of its life until only you remain. You will drain the world tree and inherit the earth."
"Yes master." He said with a new obedience.
"You are no longer Magnus son of the World, you are reborn now Magnus the Blood Prince, for you soon will be king by way of blood!"
As the two began their plotting and planning, Sinstar couldn't help but pause momentarily and laugh. "I always knew you'd be back." He said quietly to himself. "That's why I'd spent all these years practicing my corruption magic, but I never imagined it'd be that easy to turn you."
He then smiled as he watched the maddened blood prince scream in rage.. "Look at the monster I've made..."
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If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202
Thanks to u/TuckerMouse for helping me clean up the last line! | 2021-11-03T13:09:00 | 2021-11-03T13:06:23 | 2,337 | 226 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | I stared at him mouth agape. I couldn't believe my eyes. He was here. He was HERE. No, listen to me. HE. Was HERE.
He shouldn't be here. It was impossible. The ward I had put on the door-
"Why are you here?" I demanded, then shook my head. Scratch that. "How are you here?"
Should I have been afraid? Maybe. This was the man that killed me after all, and taken my kingdom. But dying once has a way of putting all that in perspective. Plus, if one man can cut through my entire army and all my generals, and then best me in single combat? He can have the damn kingdom. I just had to know...
"How did you break the ward?"
Wordlessly, (he was always wordless. A mute or just reticent, I never knew. Maybe he was just stupid. I could believe that, consoderong some of the things I'd seen him do. Case in point-) he reached into a backpack, and pulled out a jar.
"You didn't..." I squinted my eyes in disbelief, then looked closer. "You did." Inside, were hundreds of squirming beetles, appearing as if made of solid gold. And they were. I wouldn't even have to count them to know the exact number. 437. The exact number of those beetles ON EXISTANCE, and I know because I PUT THEM THERE.
The thing about a lock is, it needs a key. And the thing about a key is it can be found. And so I had done something very special. Using my great magic, I had imposed the very nature of [locked] on my door, and the nature of [key] onto a key. I then broke said key into 437 teeny, tiny pieces, and imbued them with life magic and sent them to the far corners of the continent.
And this madman- this absolute imbicile- went and collected all of them. All to open a locked door on a tiny, nondescript cabin on the outskirts of the smallest town in the kingdom. And so, it all came down to that other nagging question. "Why?"
He dug into his pockets, and produced a worn parchment. Unfolding it across my table, I realized it was a map. A map of the entire kingdom. No, more than that. A map of every village, every house! Complete with markers, and names! Did he- did he catalogue every person in this entire continent??
I stared at him in dumb silence as he pulled out a small pencil, and wrote my name in tiny, perfect letters. He held up the map, grinning, and I saw that every square inch was covered in that same handwriting. I stared at him. He stared at me.
"So you've completed your map. What do you want, a medal?" He looked at me, then nodded, as if that somehow wasn't completely insane. He pulled out a booklet, and unfolded it to show a collection of tiny golden metals. I squinted to read a few.
"Best fisher"
"Egg rolling champion"
"Stone tosser"
"What, do they just award you for every little thing you do?" He nodded eagerly. "... Fine. Will it get you out of my hair?" He nodded again. I sighed in resignation. "Fine." I waved my hand, and manifested a small nugged of pure gold. Clenching my fist, I flattened it into a more or less flat shame, then grabbed a needle and thought about what to inscribe. Something map related, I expect.
"There you go, your 'Nosey prat' badge. Now begone. And don't come back."
Silently, he packed up his map and book, even the jar of apparently useless key beetles, and left. I watched him go, and shut the door, this time applying a more permenent locking enchantment. I think I'm just going to sleep for a few thousand years.
"What in the gods name is wrong with that man." | I returned from an unsuccessful hunt again. Starving. Blasted this winter. The snow makes it hard to walk, and the accursed snowfall makes my sight no farther than what this dim lantern will provide.
My breath is ragged and my groans of disdain are coarse. How I continued to live like this, I do not understand. But I wish I could stop it. After walking for what must’ve been hours amongst this winter’s night, I finally made it to my desolate hut of a cabin.. with nothing in hand.
Just yards beyond my home, I had paused my lethargic march. The fire from inside is not dead. It’s still very much alive compared to what it was like when I left to hunt. I hung my extinguished lantern on my hip as I was concealed in the blinding dark.
I took my bow off my back and quickly gathered an arrow from my quiver. I continued to make haste and prepared to defend my home if I had to. After a moment’s more, I was just beyond the door when I heard movement even through the loud winds blasting into my ears. I slowly reached for the handle and grabbed tightly.
Without a moment of hesitation, I barged through the open doorway and took hold of my bow and arrow. A person in a cloak was standing just beyond the primitive fireplace, everything about them was obscured as my face felt the heat, bringing warmth to my cold undead eyes. My eyes watered and the frost slowly began to melt from my face.
*”Who are you, intruder? Show yourself.”* My voice felt raw as I spoke. The first words I have uttered in what could’ve been years.
The figure stood still in front of the fire. They did not talk as I continued to interrogate.
*”Speak now or you’ll have my arrow in the back of your skull. I am not going to ask again.”* The creak of my bow was the only other thing aside from the whistling outside wind that broke the silence.
They began to move and I reacted by taking my stance, on the verge of releasing the arrow into their neck to sever the spine. Their arms rose until they had their hands in the air. The sheen of the daggers’ blades in their hands was illuminated by the bright flames in front of them. Unexpectedly, the daggers fell to the floor by the intruder’s feet.
The silence of the intruder was finally broken as they suddenly began to speak. “Rotmir…” Their voice was hard to identify; ragged, androgynous, yet somehow familiar. But with an intense realization, they said something no one has said to me in a long time. They said my name.
*”Who are you? How do you know that name?”* My panic began to stew deep inside my chest. That fear bubbled into anger, and that long dormant rage I tried to contain for so long was bursting at the seams. My grip on my bow tightened and my aim was quaking.
The figure turned their head towards me, and I saw the black veil that covered their face. “You know me, Rotmir..”
My blood ran colder than the winter air. Without hesitation, I released the arrow and the hut’s walls were only met with the sound of a small puncturing thud.
She stood there with the arrow in her right shoulder, more to the left and it would’ve punctured her spine. She never even flinched. She instead turned around to look at me. The front of the arrow poked through the other end of her.
With not even a breath wasted, she grabbed the arrow by the tip and pulled it slowly all the way through. I watched frozen as the bloody arrow was dropped to the floor, but the blood was not red. It was not of a man’s blood. It was green and slimy.
“I’m not here to fight.” Her voice grabbed my attention. I tried to gain my composure, trying to quell the rising anger that burned bright deep inside of me.
*”Then you have come to watch me wallow in my defeat. Watching a once great king become a shadow, nothing more than a dried husk..”*
“No, I have not. And you were not great. You were too far gone, and what you are is what you did to yourself. You brought this curse and it’s your punishment for what you have done to the lands of Vallath, and the darkness you brought onto the Elvens!” Her voice was rising in sudden anger, but she quickly caught herself. She fell silent.
The cold air was starting to diminish the warm fire. Ignoring the anger I swallowed my pride and shut the door behind me, and I grabbed my lantern and hung it. I walked over to my table that lay next to her and put my bow down along with my quiver.
My large black coat rested on the poorly crafted backrest of a chair and I took a seat. She did not speak a word. Her face was still concealed by the veil. What had made her don that mask?
*”If you have not come here to fight or to humiliate me, why have you come then? There’s nothing for you here Salara.”* I said in a somber tone. My throat was in sharp pain with each and every word I had spoken. I turned to look at her.
“There is something here that I need, that corruption is starting to spread again. And this attack doesn’t just mean the fall of the Elven Kingdom, this curse is starting to take everyone with it. All are becoming susceptible to this new plague. I need your help.”
I started to laugh, which only managed to come out as a dry wheezing and loud hacking. *”What can I possibly do to help you? You were able to stop it the first time, what has changed Slime?”*
“What has changed is that I need a solution…” I looked at her as she l became quiet again as she stood in front of me, her hands slowly lifted the veil and I saw her true face.
Her eyes were bloody and scabbed, unnaturally sharp teeth were starting to show themselves over the original ones, her skin was becoming grey and it was wrinkled and rough like an elephant’s hide. It was a hideous sight compared to the face I once remembered so vividly in battle. A face I grew to hate and resent.
“Your solution. I need to find out how you became partially immune to the curse. I need more time so I can rid this affliction from my soul. I want you to tell me everything you know.” She said in a controlled voice, but I could hear the small desperation behind it.
I sat there silently for what could’ve been minutes deep in contemplation. She sat down on the table looking at the warm fire. My deathly voice spoke and almost startled her.
*”If I help you, I will do it only on one condition..”*
She looked at me waiting, not bothering to speak up.
*”After this is done and you possibly win this war against the darkness, I ask of you to kill me and vanquish my soul.. Do we have a deal?”* I looked into her eyes and I saw the darkening resolve, and the resent in them. Then the following calmness in her voice told me this promise would be easily fulfilled. No questions were even asked, which is what I wanted.
“Yes, we have a deal.” | 2021-11-03T21:44:33 | 2021-11-03T18:35:48 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | "Hero."
"dark Lord."
I grimace at his addressing me of my former title - the "*dark*" a bare whisper and the Lord two octaves higher than it should be.
Reminds me of my defeat, when he sunk a small Dagger into my heart, followed by cleaving my Head off with a giant Claymore wielded in the other hand.
"Spare me the honorifics, I'm just a simple hunter now. What brings you here? You know you cannot slay me twice right? It has to be done by someone at least five generations down your lineage."
The Hero casually tosses his blonde mane and gives me an unremarkable look.
"I know. Do not worry thyself too much. Ever since I've defeated you, I've traversed the vastness, bedding maidens and slaying monsters..."
"... Yet I feel there's always something wrong, something out of place, something... Missing."
You arched an eyebrow. As a Young dark Lord you've encountered risque tales of Heroes falling in Love with dark Succubuses... Succubi? You'll need to clarify the plural of that when you next ascend the dark Throne.
"I have no need for a mate, if that is what you are driving at. Besides we are both males, unless you want to bring in a runt off the street and hope he's the next Hero in the lineage, I strongly suggest you continue bedding Maidens."
The Hero, fast as a flash, whipped up and before I know it, was pressing his perfect aquiline Nose right into mine, jade green piercing Eyes staring deep.
My Heart skips a beat. I feel the kindle of a gentle Fire stirring below...
"Village. Hut. You know how easy it was to find you, simple hunter?"
He jumped back and unfurled a map.
"These... Capitalised locations just appeared on my map one day. Not just my map, unremarkable and non magical, but everyone's maps! Village! Hut! All capitalised on the first letter!"
I grumbled, fires doused as fast as they came. I forgot the Hero, while so beautiful, is not known for being a deep conversationalist.
"So? That still doesn't explain what brings you here. I don't control the august Plot Devices of Fate if that's what you meant - when you first found me I knew my abode to be the dark Castle, and I could never name my place anything else however I want. The words just won't form in my mind."
He gave me an angry stare. He paces up and down. He mutters and grunts under his breath.
Finally he took a long deep breath, and wiped what appeared to be a little tear off his luscious Lashes.
"For decades, I have wondered about my legitimacy, did I slay the right one after all... And today I am here to find out..."
He takes a deep breath.
"... why is the "dark" in your title not capitalised?"
The Pause after that question swelled up and filled the Hut. The awkwardness is almost unbearable, even to me.
Right on cue, he raised his voice instantly to stress the point.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DIFFICULT IT IS FOR BARDS TO SING SONGS ABOUT ME WHEN THEY ARE LAUGHING AT CAPITALISATION OF EVERYTHING SIGNIFICANT BUT THE DARK PART? CASTLES! VILLAGES! HUTS! LORDS!"
And he turns around with a small whimper.
"But not the all important 'dark', no... In the ribald cities they are making jokes out of me as a butcher of tanned innocents... All because you did not capitalise the dark. I'll never forgive you."
He makes a motion to leave, and as he approaches the entrance to the Hut, I gave an unnoticeable Shrug of my Shoulders, who once bore the titular dark Mantle.
"Please close the creaky Door to the Hut after you."
I hear him screaming something about "inconsistency" as he walks away. | I returned from an unsuccessful hunt again. Starving. Blasted this winter. The snow makes it hard to walk, and the accursed snowfall makes my sight no farther than what this dim lantern will provide.
My breath is ragged and my groans of disdain are coarse. How I continued to live like this, I do not understand. But I wish I could stop it. After walking for what must’ve been hours amongst this winter’s night, I finally made it to my desolate hut of a cabin.. with nothing in hand.
Just yards beyond my home, I had paused my lethargic march. The fire from inside is not dead. It’s still very much alive compared to what it was like when I left to hunt. I hung my extinguished lantern on my hip as I was concealed in the blinding dark.
I took my bow off my back and quickly gathered an arrow from my quiver. I continued to make haste and prepared to defend my home if I had to. After a moment’s more, I was just beyond the door when I heard movement even through the loud winds blasting into my ears. I slowly reached for the handle and grabbed tightly.
Without a moment of hesitation, I barged through the open doorway and took hold of my bow and arrow. A person in a cloak was standing just beyond the primitive fireplace, everything about them was obscured as my face felt the heat, bringing warmth to my cold undead eyes. My eyes watered and the frost slowly began to melt from my face.
*”Who are you, intruder? Show yourself.”* My voice felt raw as I spoke. The first words I have uttered in what could’ve been years.
The figure stood still in front of the fire. They did not talk as I continued to interrogate.
*”Speak now or you’ll have my arrow in the back of your skull. I am not going to ask again.”* The creak of my bow was the only other thing aside from the whistling outside wind that broke the silence.
They began to move and I reacted by taking my stance, on the verge of releasing the arrow into their neck to sever the spine. Their arms rose until they had their hands in the air. The sheen of the daggers’ blades in their hands was illuminated by the bright flames in front of them. Unexpectedly, the daggers fell to the floor by the intruder’s feet.
The silence of the intruder was finally broken as they suddenly began to speak. “Rotmir…” Their voice was hard to identify; ragged, androgynous, yet somehow familiar. But with an intense realization, they said something no one has said to me in a long time. They said my name.
*”Who are you? How do you know that name?”* My panic began to stew deep inside my chest. That fear bubbled into anger, and that long dormant rage I tried to contain for so long was bursting at the seams. My grip on my bow tightened and my aim was quaking.
The figure turned their head towards me, and I saw the black veil that covered their face. “You know me, Rotmir..”
My blood ran colder than the winter air. Without hesitation, I released the arrow and the hut’s walls were only met with the sound of a small puncturing thud.
She stood there with the arrow in her right shoulder, more to the left and it would’ve punctured her spine. She never even flinched. She instead turned around to look at me. The front of the arrow poked through the other end of her.
With not even a breath wasted, she grabbed the arrow by the tip and pulled it slowly all the way through. I watched frozen as the bloody arrow was dropped to the floor, but the blood was not red. It was not of a man’s blood. It was green and slimy.
“I’m not here to fight.” Her voice grabbed my attention. I tried to gain my composure, trying to quell the rising anger that burned bright deep inside of me.
*”Then you have come to watch me wallow in my defeat. Watching a once great king become a shadow, nothing more than a dried husk..”*
“No, I have not. And you were not great. You were too far gone, and what you are is what you did to yourself. You brought this curse and it’s your punishment for what you have done to the lands of Vallath, and the darkness you brought onto the Elvens!” Her voice was rising in sudden anger, but she quickly caught herself. She fell silent.
The cold air was starting to diminish the warm fire. Ignoring the anger I swallowed my pride and shut the door behind me, and I grabbed my lantern and hung it. I walked over to my table that lay next to her and put my bow down along with my quiver.
My large black coat rested on the poorly crafted backrest of a chair and I took a seat. She did not speak a word. Her face was still concealed by the veil. What had made her don that mask?
*”If you have not come here to fight or to humiliate me, why have you come then? There’s nothing for you here Salara.”* I said in a somber tone. My throat was in sharp pain with each and every word I had spoken. I turned to look at her.
“There is something here that I need, that corruption is starting to spread again. And this attack doesn’t just mean the fall of the Elven Kingdom, this curse is starting to take everyone with it. All are becoming susceptible to this new plague. I need your help.”
I started to laugh, which only managed to come out as a dry wheezing and loud hacking. *”What can I possibly do to help you? You were able to stop it the first time, what has changed Slime?”*
“What has changed is that I need a solution…” I looked at her as she l became quiet again as she stood in front of me, her hands slowly lifted the veil and I saw her true face.
Her eyes were bloody and scabbed, unnaturally sharp teeth were starting to show themselves over the original ones, her skin was becoming grey and it was wrinkled and rough like an elephant’s hide. It was a hideous sight compared to the face I once remembered so vividly in battle. A face I grew to hate and resent.
“Your solution. I need to find out how you became partially immune to the curse. I need more time so I can rid this affliction from my soul. I want you to tell me everything you know.” She said in a controlled voice, but I could hear the small desperation behind it.
I sat there silently for what could’ve been minutes deep in contemplation. She sat down on the table looking at the warm fire. My deathly voice spoke and almost startled her.
*”If I help you, I will do it only on one condition..”*
She looked at me waiting, not bothering to speak up.
*”After this is done and you possibly win this war against the darkness, I ask of you to kill me and vanquish my soul.. Do we have a deal?”* I looked into her eyes and I saw the darkening resolve, and the resent in them. Then the following calmness in her voice told me this promise would be easily fulfilled. No questions were even asked, which is what I wanted.
“Yes, we have a deal.” | 2021-11-03T19:55:13 | 2021-11-03T18:35:48 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay. | It's time.
He's stepped up to the microphone. Why would they give him a microphone?
Of course, the first thirty things that are going to come out of his mouth are obvious platitudes. Statements that will change nothing because they're already obviously true. He likes to use them as camouflage.
There's going to be one, though. One thing that he says that will advance one little part of one plot that's already in motion. There always is. Every simulation I've run.
Not that I care. After [the incident at the store](https://www.reddit.com/r/writingprompts/comments/q0l45l/_/hf9hqdq), there's only one thing that I care about.
I check my phone. The NFC harvester apps I've written are doing their job wonderfully. He might have unlimited power over knowledge, but he still has logins. He might have rebranded, but his biometrics haven't changed.
It's ridiculous that they let me get this close. Right on the stage behind him. But I suppose that's what happens when you erase all knowledge of someone from existence. Not only did the world forget about me, they also cannot form new knowledge of me. I'm even invisible to surveillance recordings—computer memory is still memory. Like a rock in the river of perception, I'm something you just flow around and ignore.
Applause. Unbelievable. Yeah, yeah, libraries for children, literacy, knowledge. I know. I'm not saying they're not important. I'm saying we should be careful of the hand that rocks the cradle. The hand that turns the pages, maybe. Heh. That's good.
I check my phone. Instagram is boring. But my timing is immaculate—the NFC harvest is complete. Logins are all there.
I start tapping. Gnosis—The Truth—whatever you call yourself now, in about thirty minutes, I'm going to—
**"... but my work is never done. Villains are always among us. There's one approximately three feet behind me and to my left."**
Wait, what? They can't—
**"You can seize him. He's unarmed. Although you'll want to confiscate his phone. I believe it now has a great deal of incriminating information."**
I'm forced onto my knees. Ziptied. My phone is taken away. Yeah. They can see me now.
He turns back to the audience.
**"The Truth is that knowledge is power. Villains can steal many things. But nobody can take away what you know."**
... Oh, you beautiful, wonderful fool.
Knowledge is power. But wisdom is different. And that was very, very unwise of you. | Like all good stories, The Truth's started with a girl. Me. I'm Junie-- hello!
And like so many other stories (some of them nearly as good as those that start with a girl) The Truth's also started with a lie. Or more precisely a Half Truth, because you see, I *was* nobody. But I'm not anymore.
Imagine a world where the cars fly on dreams and on every third Tuesday down is up. Some of the buildings are made of gumdrops because of a joke the Truth once made to me (when I was still nobody), and one particular apartment building (mine) is a fifteen story mushroom for no other conceivable reason than The Truth had a dream about it. Mark that.
And finally, like so many other utterly *classic* stories (many of which The Truth has condemned), this story is about revenge. That's because this story is mine-- I'm Junie, hello again!
***-
Thirty minutes to midnight I walk the Chimera path to Montoya Bay beneath the bone white glare of his almost-midnight sun. A mile up ahead The Truth reclines on a cloud of his fans' well-wishes: the cloud is pale blue tinged in places with a sickly, bruised purple. Wherever you look from in the city you can see The Truth's face perfectly, no distortion due to distance.
Austere, that face. A Roman nose over a hatchet jaw, whatever hairstyle the world is forced to find most classically attractive that day. And yet, I think, he is still the same boy he had been in highschool ten years ago, the last time I had seen The Truth. I had still thought myself a nobody that day, had up until I woke as the queen of my own mushroom-apartment kingdom and realized The Truth was still dreaming about me.
It's an odd thing to know for certain that a man is dreaming about you. Out of the countless thousands of women he must have met since High School he still dreamt of Junie Rodriguez, the very first person he had broken. Odd became empowering, then infuriating.
Half a mile away now, I began to feel the effects of The Truth's gravity. It begins as a slowing of the brain, a sort of mental fog that progresses through the limbs. The Truth is the fastest man in the world, therefore I must be slower. He is the strongest, so when I lift my leg to take a step it feels as if a chain around my ankle drags me down.
Closer in The Truth distorts the whole world. There is a strange lensing effect around everything but his perfect face, a supermodel poised above uncertainty.
And then The Truth sees me.
For a moment I think my plan has failed. He doesn't recognize me. There's no spark. I'm not the girl he dreamt of that night, the girl who lived down the street, the girl he made mudpies with and then broke, the first time his word was ever truth. Half-truth. I've changed too much, and not all of it was his doing.
Something twists the corner of his thin-lipped mouth, lightning sparks behind blue eyes.
"Hey Barry," I say.
The world, cast in the uncertain light of his truth, is as stark as an overexposed picture. The Truth stares down from his cloud, and his ultra-masculine voice says "Do I know you?"
"Barry," I say, "of course you know me. You turned my apartment into a mushroom, you don't go doing that for every girl, do you?"
The Truth descends from his cloud and the world trembles. It can't handle The Truth, nothing can.
"Barry," I say again, purposely using the name no one else can, "I can't have changed that much since high school."
"Junie?" The Truth whispers. "Junie Rodriguez, is that really you? I thought you were--"
"Nobody? Yeah, so did I for a minute. You've got a way of really screwing with people's heads."
The Truth frowns, takes a half step back. "You can't talk to me like that."
I can feel his power working on me, trying to make his truth my own. There's a part of me that even sees the logic of it, like I saw once that I was nobody. But here's the thing, you crack The Truth once, make one single thing into a Half-Truth, all the rest of it starts to get so murky.
So I say "Bullshit," and spin on my heel. Even with my leaden feet I put just the slightest sway into my step: tonight I am making my own truth and it's going to blow his fucking mind.
"Wait," The Truth commands.
Keep walking, keep swaying.
"Wait!" The Truth pleads, and now I know who I am, and he knows too. *Really* knows. I'm the girl out of his past that he dreamt about. The one he broke for seeing through his bullshit, the one he reimagined as a mushroom queen.
The one who is going to snap all his thousand truths like a bunch of fucking twigs.
I wait.
"Why don't we catch up over dinner?" The Truth asks. "I've got a diner you've just got to try, and…"
"And?" I say.
"And I can't believe it's been ten years," he says.
Once, I read a book where everyone's catchphrase was "Truth Shines."
This Truth is going to burn, right down to the stark white bones, beneath his stupid, stark white midnight sun, in the stupid, whitewashed world he created.
Truth Burns, Barry. From the inside out. Let's fucking go.
------*
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-11-23T07:18:55 | 2021-11-23T06:24:02 | 1,250 | 338 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | "Dude, this is incredible... I've never seen anything like it"
"It's not as good as you think, I don't even know how to fit it all in my pants. I mean, like, I guess I could put one on each side?"
"Yeah but imagine all the chicks you could get!"
"I don't know man..."
"Listen, how about you do an AMA on reddit to see what people think?" | "Welcome to The Agency Mr. Aranha," the masked man said in a dull monotone.
I looked down in shame and began sobbing.
I was born in the South Side of Chicago. My father left me when I was 3 months old and my mother purportedly ran off with another dude. I jumped from foster home to foster home, eventually landing in the home of a nice Brazilian lady. I was an introverted kid with a extreme stutter. You can imagine how well I got along with the kids at school. But I had talent. I could punch a man like no one else could. Every day, after school, I would pester the trainers for hours until they let me use the bags. Every day I got better. Every day I would spar with kids 3, 4, 5 years older than me, just to learn their techniques. People began to take notice. Headlines read, "the young prodigy out of Chicago, without a home or friends". I won the World Youth Championships ever year from 2052-2054. I was a phenomenon. But it was all bittersweet.
Prius 21, marking the end of ordinary human life and control over one's destiny. Depending on what physical or mental traits you mutated, the government selects various occupations for you. Most people transitioned smoothly into their new lives. But every once in a while, a person mutated into an "other". The others had extreme mutations that consumed their whole bodies and minds. They were the joke of society, a plague. Placed under "extra governmental supervision", rumor has it they are either killed or sent overseas to do the dirty work. No one thinks they will become an other, but fate often has other ideas.
Sometimes an other will reach superhero status and receive admiration by society. The last person to do that was a man dubbed "The Dragon Knight". Fire breathing and impenetrable armor are generally pretty marketable to innocent kids. I... was not that. I didn't have impenetrable dragon armor, or invisibility... I was a fucking spider. That's right, a giant fucking spider. I was considered a .001% mutation, meaning I was extremely rare and displayed no recognizable physical human features. My boxing career was over, my endorsements were terminated, and I was ostracized by every person I had ever met.
When reports of my mutation began to spread, I was the topic of every national news channel. As soon as I became the topic of every national news channel, I disappeared. Censored and exfiltrated from society, never to be known again. Everything I had accomplished, everything anybody ever knew about me, erased by the government. It's called Prius 21 for a reason.
I found support though. From the people I had learned to resent my whole life: my fellow others. Although my body was new to me, my mind was not. The same scrupulous work ethic and insatiable dedication that went into boxing, went into mastering Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and analyzing spider hunting tactics. My diet changed. I started eating buckets of insects, piles of mice, and whole Komodo dragons. Gone were the days of milk cartons and soda bottles. Now, I only drink poison, gallons of it, to improve the lethality of my bite. I wasn't exactly Spider-Man, but Spider-Man never trained to squash global rebellions and murder political figures like I did.
It was hard in the beginning. It truly was. But through my countless missions of killing innocent lives who simply want to be heard, I had began to realize something. Something fundamentally imperative. Human nature will always be selfish and self-destructive. Human traits should not celebrated, but renounced and purged. It time to fight for something I truly believe in. It's time to end suffering.
| 2015-03-04T03:47:16 | 2015-03-04T02:35:31 | 336 | 109 |
[WP] Today everyone woke up with price tags floating over their heads, indicating the value of their life. Your tag is $50Tn, the biggest by far, and you have no idea why.
That's $50,000,000,000,000.00 for those not used to hearing it.
Awesome stories guys. | 50 Trillion dollars. That's what the tag said floating above my head. I knew it was going to be large, but that number seemed excessive. While the world was busy arguing and debating what their tag meant about them, I knew far too well. I had prepared for this day for years. I saw it coming so, so long ago and made sure I was ready for what was coming. While people think its an innocuous symbol, or something that relates to them as a person: their 'worth' for how good they are, I know what's going on.
These aren't price tags for purchasing, or some kind of demonstration of personal worth.
No... they're bounties.
Each and every one of them is a bounty placed on a human head, wanted dead or alive. The information I have gathered so far is hard to decipher, but from what I figured out: the world is now part of an intergalactic game show, more of a blood sport really. These... aliens, beings from another dimension or something else entirely seek out planets full of 'primitive' life, mark the governing race and give them all 'price-tags' in their local currency. The bigger the price, the more 'points' or whatever these creatures use to keep track of this...'competition'. The hunters are coming and they will be merciless.
To those of you out there that can read this message, all I can say is : prepare. If you're price tag is small, you might just get out of this alive being a small fry in this messed up game. To the not so lucky: join me, they think you're a threat so become one, and we'll fight back or at least make these 'hunters' wish they picked a different planet.
Now, let the hunt begin... | I don't normally wake up early. It was never something I did. So, I woke up, glad today was not a school or work day. I heard from the office, where a small TV and my families computers sat, that there was economic chaos.
I sighed, chuckling to myself. The news stations always blow stuff out of proportion. I looked into my drawers and closets, putting on something to drawl around the house in when I notice three people, wait, four in the office, all huddled around the TV, and my father looking terrified.
Apparently, a riot started in Dallas, New York, Chicago, and other major cities. The price tags above people's heads had created a sense of value to every human being, and this would end badly and well for everyone on the planet. ALso, in the house, was my grandmother, my stepmother, and my aunt at my grandmother's side. My father was a surprising three million, my aunt about 2 million, and my grand mother and stepmother at one and a half million.
When I walked in, and my aunt looked at me, she was happy for a split second and got up to hug me when she looked above my head at where my price tag was. I cocked my head to the side.
'What?' 'William, look at your son.'
They all turned to look, and their jaws all dropped. They saw my name tag, and muttered 'fifty trillion'. I looked up, and there it was, an extreme price tag. The highest. A few people were rumoured, as they looked at me, to have price tags in the high millions, and three recorded people in the billions.
I, in my indifferent stupor of life, looked at my feet and thought. What exactly does that mean for me? What does that mean for my family? I sat on the ground, thinking heavily on what was going on, as some pressure is needed for me to think about some topics thoroughly. My father was freaking out, unable to comprehend his son being worth so much, and my stepmother going over to console him as best she could only to be mildly grumbled at and argued with. They argued while my aunt and grandmother took me to the living room to think about this.
A little while later, by a few hours, the TV was still going on about the worth of people, and they had even brought scientists and economists to come explain what was going on. A lot of them had millions, and even more had hundreds of thousands.
'We just need to see what happens when those with good numbers die... it's morbid, but it's the only way we can be sure of what happens.'
It appeared that those who died actually made those around them worse off by how much they had. Someone with a million dollar tag died, and about five people around him then commit suicide. Even the cameraman was in distraught tears trying to run and not grab the knives laying around.
It appeared that if you died, you killed people around you. The bigger the number, the harder it fell.
I thought that was all, but I decided to make it worse. I looked on my computer, and new links were in my browser under a folder with the name 'BA', or Bank Accounts', as I took from context. I had multiple accounts of money stored away under all those who had died.
Not only do the people kill themselves over death, but my account kept growing.
It just kept growing and growing, and all I had to do was kill people.
I was getting paid to kill people. The number above my head kept growing, and so I had an idea.
I looked up the address for all the banks I had, and I took all the addresses and put them in my phone. From there, I dressed in all black, took my bike and my phones and wallet, and started barreling down the roads.
Cars stopped and pulled out knives and guns, but I had been biking for too long. One bullet grazed my arm, and I cringed in pain, but I had to redistribute the money. A firey mob of cars was barreling after me, and I had to reach the nearest banks in order to get the tag lower. ONe person ran out of bullets after firing off at a firetruck that heard about a car being lit on fire, and itself exploded. WIth all the commotion of the road being blocked by a firey car, I whipped right, sending myself in front of several cars which redirected themselves toward me. My heart sped up to where I felt like it would burst out of my chest, but I had to reach the bank. I left the bike for dead and went inside, going up to the nearest teller, and tried as efficiently as possible to draw everything but 100,000$. My price tag went down a million dollars.
Damn it.
I ran out, slowly throwing hundreds in people's faces to distract them while I took my bike and barrelled down the highway, where other cars were already causing crashes and not allowing anyone else on the highway. I whipped around, and headed backwards.
I had a lot left on my checklist to bring this tag down. First stop: the dealership. | 2015-05-13T11:40:59 | 2015-05-13T10:48:32 | 55 | 22 |
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806) | In the dark
On the depth of night
I was summoned
Once again
&nbsp;
A little boy
He made a wish
The lonely boy
We had a deal
&nbsp;
Riches or lovers
He didn’t want
A true friend
Was all he asked
&nbsp;
For such a thing
His soul was mine
Just had to endure
Until he died
&nbsp;
Envy and malice
I always knew
Cowardice and betrayal
I always saw
&nbsp;
Expected cruelty
Received love
Awaited anger
But I got none
&nbsp;
Don’t know when
But before long
No longer a trick
A bond was formed
&nbsp;
I saw him fight
With all his might
Not with violence
But a pure heart
&nbsp;
Lust and Greed
That’s my domain
Kindness and Love
Don’t know at all
&nbsp;
Life I can take
But not extend
So here I am
A plea for help
&nbsp;
My sins are vast
I know no love
But this boy
He deserves more
&nbsp;
I beg you
Don’t let him die
I implore you
He’s all I have
&nbsp;
If you must
Take me instead
With all the guilt
That I now feel
&nbsp;
And if you can’t
For who I am
Then take his soul
And show him joy
&nbsp;
Forgive the boy
He didn’t knew
What I am
Or who are you
&nbsp;
But he is good
And I should know
Because his friend
I am now
| Jacob stepped back from the summoning circle and pressed his ear against his bedroom door. All was quiet in the hallway outside. His parents had finally gone to sleep.
It was hours past his bedtime. Fortunately, his drowsiness helped to dampen his anxiety as he looked at the ring of Lego blocks once more. They had been stacked together, haphazardly, into a variety of shapes that bore no meaning. In the middle was enough space for a small child to stand on.
He had no idea if what he was about to do would work. He'd only caught a glimpse of the ritual on television once, before Dad had changed the channel. At least he remembered the ingredients right. The chaos of the blocks to appeal to the entity's nature. The pain as a psychic lure, brought out by using only blocks others had stepped on.
"Oh, great thing of power, born to serve mank—wow."
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. Inside the circle was a creature, small enough to fit in his palm, black as tar. It had a potato-shaped body, with a lop-sided head. Two yellow eyes roved its surroundings, looking at the Lego blocks that enclosed it. It flexed its long, thin fingers as it trembled in place.
"Hello," Jacob said.
"Why have you summoned me?" the thing said. Its voice, surprisingly, was a bellow that Jacob could feel reverberating in his bones.
Jacob thought about school then. How no teacher ever smiled at him because he couldn't keep up with the work. How nobody wanted to have lunch with him because he kept spilling his food. How nobody wanted to play with him during recess because he simply couldn't follow the rules.
"I didn't want to," he said. "But ... I want a friend."
"So you turn to summoning a demon?" the thing said incredulously. "How old are you?"
"I'm seven."
"What's your name?"
"I'm Jacob."
The demon began to walk around its circle, touching the walls. Its nails made a horribly screeching sound, which Jacob thought might wake his parents, but was too frightened to tell it to stop.
"I would tell you my name," the demon said slowly. "But I don't have one. You see, I'm young. I have not discovered my identity yet. You could say I'm malleable. Perhaps you could give me purpose."
"I will call you 'Friend'," Jacob said, trying not to show that he didn't understand most of what the demon had said. "If you'll be my friend?"
Friend nodded once.
***
Life with Friend wasn't very different. Friend had made Jacob promise never to reveal him to anyone else. So after school, Jacob would go to the abandoned factory with Friend and played with him.
Friend's body was surprisingly soft and warm. He didn't seem to mind being accidentally squashed sometimes, and never lost his patience with Jacob whenever Jacob threw a tantrum.
Jacob grew happier over time, and began doing better at school and sports. His teachers paid him more attention too, and a few of his classmates tried to befriend him. However, he no longer needed them. He had Friend.
Three weeks after he met Friend, some police officers showed up at school, looking for Carl. Carl had vanished the day before; he never went home.
"Can you look for him?" Jacob asked Friend that night. To his surprise, Friend shook his head. Friend had never refused him before. But he had no chance to push, for after his mother came to tuck him into bed, Friend had disappeared.
Over the next few weeks, Jacob fell into despair. He was sick, and he ate little. His parents took him to a doctor, who couldn't diagnose the problem. Everyday, Jacob went to the factory, hoping to see Friend, but each day he went home alone. He was so steeped in his own sadness that he failed to notice that most of his classmates and even teachers had slowly disappeared, until one day a man from the school showed up at his house to tell him they were closing down.
That afternoon, he went to the factory as usual, but only his footsteps were heard, echoing alone. He cried again, thinking of Friend and how he would never go to school again. That was when he noticed the slithering sound, of something heavy dragging itself across the cement floor.
Turning around, he found himself face to face with a towering wall of flesh. At the top was a row of yellow eyes—unmistakably those of his friend. The rest of Friend's body was covered with the arms, heads, legs and torsos of the people who had disappeared, and even a few dogs and cats. They moaned piteously as Jacob screamed. He tried to run as some of the arms reached out to him, but his legs wouldn't move.
"It's me, Jacob," Friend said. His voice was soft, kind. "You were lonely, and I know I couldn't stop that loneliness alone. That's why I brought you more friends. Do you want to play with me?" | 2016-05-19T00:23:01 | 2016-05-18T21:46:17 | 145 | 41 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | The nervousness is what really gets you at first. Standing in your skivvies being poked and proded one final time by all sorts of PhDs. They’re excited for you, but it’s the excitement of watching a mouse run through a maze. The excittement of a groundbreaking discovery, whether you survive or not. The most relief i’ve ever had was finally stepping into the pod.
No more anxiety, no more chance to turn back. Either it goes terribly wrong or it doesn’t. It took me about an hour to realize they had started the procedure already, and that my outcome was the former. I started to think about all the things i’d miss from life, i’d certainly have plenty of time to think about it.
The spooks circled my tomb with clipboards, writing down little factoids that’d surely be in the papers tomorrow morning. The constant surveillance was a wonderful distraction from my fate. Watching all the curious faces light up at having confirmed a hypothesis or thought of a new application.
When the pod finally opened, I vomitted, and the scribbling struck a pace more furious than I thought possible. The CEO walked right up to my hunched form to shake my hand. The test was a success, my pulse was quiet for an entire twenty-four hours and I was resuscitated without complication. Had I not raised an alarm, next week they would’ve had me in hibernation for several days, and a short while after that maybe a year. The Company’s eventual plan was to send someone forward over five-hundred years! Luckily, no one is stupid enough to test an experimental procedure’s full breadth on a single subject in one uninterrupted stage. | I am now nothing.
I am nothingness. Nothingness is I. I is nothing. That one sounded like Yoda or would he say I am nothing, nothingness I is. Wait, I just said that didn’t I? No, stop it. I’m getting distracted I am nothing I no longer exist. Stop existing in 3, 2, 1. Silence. Emptiness. Non existence. See! That’s more like it. Non existence is right up my ally. I love this. I’m loving this. It feels good? What’s the grub like in non existence. Do they have crab-sticks? I love crab-sticks. They so crabby and nice and delicate and sweet and I fucking hate my life.
This is bullshit. God Dam professor Ching Mc-fucking Chong with his white lab coat, name badge and glasses I fucking trusted you bastard. Look at me. Look at me professor. I hate you. Can I conjure up so much rage that it manifests itself into a cloud of hate that gives birth to a demon that torments anyone that’s ever wronged me. Maybe if I concentrate. Okay 1, 2, 3 Concentrate. I am now Concentrate. People call me Mr Concentration. Squeeze baby squeeze every ounce of strength is needed. Earth! Lend me your strength. I’ll spirit bomb this treacherous bastard. FEEL MY HATE. I can shout in my head? I never noticed before. Is it actually shouting or am I just talking loudly. TALKING LOUDLY. talking softly. It sounds the same. Everything sounds the same. How long am I gonna be in here again? 500 years? I’m gonna cry. I want to cry. Can I cry in my head. I feel like crying. Someone give me a drink. I need something to drink. I”M THIRSTY. I’m thirsty for love. Nameee your priceeee. A ticket to paaaraadiisee. I’m crying I can feel it coming. I caaaaaaan’t stay here anyyymoreeeee. Something, something, something LOVE IS THE ANSWEERRRRRRRR. Why didn’t you Love me ANGELICA. I LOVED YOU DAMMIT…
…...............................................................................
…So how long has it been? You reckon a month? A Week. A day. An Hour! Lordy Lord. I swear I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna go crazy. I’m going crazy fuck it I’m already partially crazy. I need to get out God I miss my mum. I haven’t seen her in years. We haven’t spoke in so long. She seemed pretty distant ever since she met that shitty accountant. She didn’t have to remarry. We were fine. I was fine. Was she? Yes she was I mean why wouldn’t she be. She showered a lot more and stayed home a lot but she was, oh my god, Her husband of 7 years just left her why the fuck would she be fine. Did I even ask her? But still fuck you Chad no one likes you. She should of called me. She knew where I was. She knew I was struggling. I was just a phone call away. She should of just reached out to me...
…......................................................................................
LOVE IS THE ANSWERRRRR I NEVER LOVED YOU ANGELICA YOU Hear me! God I love this song.
…
Can God hear me? Is it to late to start believing? If I do believe could you kill me. I want to die. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to exist. None of this is my fault. You made me and now you’re just gonna watch me suffer. KILL ME. I WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!
…....................................................................................
What am I? A human? A mind? A series of thoughts? Do I exist? Why does it even matter anymore. It really doesn’t. But I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop. It’s fading. NO IT ISN”T. I’m still here I’m still me. I believe I am so I am. But you’re not. SHUTUP, FUCK YOU. I’m alive and I’m me and I have my thoughts and there not fading. I’m not fading. This is me. I’m still here. God help me please.
…...................................................................................
Bumblebee, Lilly-pads, star-ships, star dust, longing, loving, dirty roads, I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here, I exist.
…..................................................................................
I should have called. I’m sorry, mum.
…..................................................................................
I exist
…..................................................................................
Help me,
.....................................................................................
god
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The year 3050, in the district of Gun Zhoa, sector 31-A. The Cryopreservation Chamber was lifted and the first man to be successfully frozen was now thawed. | 2017-12-17T03:26:40 | 2017-12-16T21:57:11 | 1,145 | 53 |
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative. | I heard a low time coming from my bathtub faucet.
"God dammit!" I heard it say.
Cautiously I went into the bathroom. I saw the tip of a snout coming out of the faucet.
"Ro...Roscoe is that you?"
I hear a sigh.
"Yeah, it's me."
I giggle just a little.
"Whatcha doing?"
"My job. I'm trying to eat you. "
"In my tub?"
"Look, little miss don't wanna live by the ocean. I have a job. The dread pirate..."
"We both know what dread pirate Jedidiah Turner did. That doesn't answer my question. What are you doing in my bathtub faucet. "
"I was checking the rules and regs of demon sharkery. And it turns out a bathtub is classified q body of water. Just got to wait for you to take a bath and ba-boom I eat the last of the Strangeways. And my job will be done."
"Roscoe?"
"Yeah."
"Are you stuck?"
Another sigh. I leaned against the bathroom door frame. I waited.
I don't know if you've ever heard a demon shark resign themselves to defeat, but it's heartbreaking. Even if he's a 300 foot demon with fire eyes and a razor fins.
"Yes" he said "I'm stuck"
"I'll call a plumber. Just promise not to eat him. " | "You really screwed up this time didn't you, Kenny." I said looking down at the stuck demon shark in my toilet.
"I told you never to call me that!" As he attempted and failed to thrash violently towards me.
"Whatever you say Kenny. I just have to ask why are you trying this again? Didn't you learn the last time that this wouldn't work for you?"
"What do you mean? I got you last time!" He said insult.
"Kenny, you were the size of a leech. You barely drew blood and killed you by feeding you to the ferrels outside."
"I just wasn't big enough then. Now that I'm bigger, I can swallow you up and drag you in."
"Kenny, how can you drag me in when you can't even move?"
"I didn't think I would get stuck!"
"Did you measure the bowl? Come on Kenny this is basic eighth grade geometry."
"High school taught me nothing! The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell!"
"You know you were taught more than that. You were just a bad student."
"I'm sorry, I was to busy in high school getting laid and getting paid."
"Getting paid? Really Kenny? You've been after the same gold coin for 50 years now. You haven't gotten any kind of payment in that time."
Kenny let out a sigh and looked sad. "Look man, My wife has taken my kid and is off running all over town at night and leaving my daughter at home alone. The judge won't let me have her because as you so graciously pointed out, I haven't had fruitful work in over 50 years. If I at least eat you then maybe the judge will take pity on me and my daughter and let me take care of her."
"Kenny, have thought about letting it go? Is the coin really worth all that you are losing seeking it?"
"Look I can't not do it. I have a contract an eternally binding one. All 500 pieces. And your branch won't even give up the last one. I can't even get new work if this isn't completed because it's on my records that it's incomplete. I can't even change form. I just want to be done with this job. Did you know that demons can't even die? It's just like you killing us up here. We keep coming back. Please man. I'm desperate. Can I please eat you?"
"FUCK NO, KENNY! GET OUT OF MY DAMN TOILET BEFORE I SHIT IN YER MOUTH!"
Kenny sighs and disappears.
I look at my wedding ring. Then go to my room, my big empty room with my king size bed. Then I walk to my daughters room. Empty. 5 bedrooms, 4 baths, and one lonely man. I walk out back to the empty pool. My wife and I had always fought over that she never understood why I wouldn't let her fill it up or take my daughter swimming.
I grabbed the hose and drug it over and turned it on. Then went to my bank. I had enough money these days. I stopped caring about the interest earned off of it after my investments in apple and bitcoin really exploded. Yeah, I might be losing a couple thousand a month, but I really wasn't using it anyways.
When I got back the pool wasn't anywhere close to full, but there he was in his full size and glory. Massive and huge, a terror of the deep, in an inch of water. I walked out on the diving board and looked down at him.
Kenny didn't even looked at me. "What do you want Stan? My dignity? Are you going to shoot me for the kicks like you did when you were younger? Or are you just wanting a larger target to piss on?"
"I'm here to end it, Kenny. I'm here to make a deal."
"What deal could you possibly want to make?"
"I want you to be my vassal. My assist. My business partner. I will give you a home and an income and a place for you and your daughter in my family."
"I told you, I can't take on new work until I complete my old contract and that my wife has my daughter, damn it!" Kenny said, fire and tears literally erupting from his eyes. "Is this what you wanted to do kick me while I'm down?"
"No, Kenny. But you will have to go back to high school after we make this deal."
"I told you! I can't make a deal!" He thrashed.
I pulled out the coin and placed it on the diving board.
"As I said. I'm here to end it, Kenny." I walked off the board and left the contract on the patio table, by the pool. "Think about it, Kenny." | 2018-11-22T09:07:39 | 2018-11-22T09:00:32 | 171 | 62 |
[WP] You are the last woman on earth - the last human. You haven't been in contact with anyone in 15 years. This morning, you realized you were pregnant. | (Sorry this is so silly, I couldn't help myself)
&#x200B;
I lifted my head up from the toilet and looked groggily into the morning light.
"What the f\*ck is going on?"
Just yesterday I was enjoying my solitary existence by pillaging the neighboring towns for clothes and food. And now, here I was, vomiting uncontrollably.
I leaned up against the bathroom wall and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. I couldn't even flush the toilet as the plumbing was one of the first things to go after the apocalypse. Luckily, I wasn't even in my house. I stood up shakily and headed for the door. It was time to figure out what was really going on.
"Do pregnancy tests expire?" I asked aloud as I walked to the nearest pharmacy. It had been a solid 15 years since the shelves were last restocked and I wasn't prepared to wait until I got some other sign that I might be pregnant.
I pushed through the front doors of a dusty old Walgreen's and wandered around until i found the tests. I ripped one open and walked outside. Behind the nearest bush, I crouched down and peed. There wasn't anyone to see me so why not?
Sweat began to bead on my forehead and in my armpits. It had to be negative, didn't it? How could I possibly be pregnant? I've been in a committed relationship with my hand for almost 10 years now.
I hiked up my pants and stared at the test.
"Come on, come on, come on." I mumbled.
There it was. Two distinct lines. I was pregnant.
I looked into the sky. "Jesus! Are you there? You know I'm not a virgin, right? I ain't your modern side ho! Have you told Mary? Does your dad know? Jesus!"
No answer.
"F\*ck." | A certain series of questions run through a person’s mind when you suspect that you might be pregnant. Was this planned or unplanned? Are you still with the potential father? Or was he a colossal asshole you’d never want to raise a child with? Do you want to race out and confirm your joy with a pregnancy test? Or are you dreading the result of that test so much that you want to delay, procrastinate, and make up other plausible scenarios for as long as possible?
A decidedly different series of questions race through your mind when you suspect you’re pregnant and you happen to have strong evidence that you are the last person alive on planet earth. Questions such as, *what the actual fuck?*
In my past life, a pregnancy wouldn’t have frightened me in the least. I had a wonderful, caring husband and was raised in a big loving family with lots of kids. Our marriage wasn't perfect. He wasn't flawless and neither was I, but in a way we were perfect for each other. We dealt with or compensated for each others flaws, worked as a team, and always shared a baseline of mutual respect and admiration. We were still young and focused on our careers, but we very happily and openly planned on starting our own family as soon as we could afford to do so responsibly. Of course a little hitch had been thrown in those plans when he vanished while I was sleeping one night, along with everyone else.
Missing a period wasn’t the proof positive of pregnancy that some men and many rom-com movie plotlines seem to think. Lot’s of different things could be going on, and frankly, given the context of my solitude, my mind went to all those different scenarios first. Without access to a doctor my hypochondriac’s brain immediately jumped to the conclusion that I had some incurable disease or a serious problem with one of my reproductive organs. Those aren’t the most logical conclusions to jump to, my doctor once told me I’d missed one purely due to stress, but I’m sure any true hypochondriac can relate to jumping to the very worst possibility with terrifying speed. Have a headache that lasts longer than an hour? Well, that must be brain cancer, it’s been nice knowing me! To be honest, pretty much the only positive outcome of my miserable solitary existence was that I no longer had access to WebMD to go down unhealthy self-diagnosis rabbit holes anymore.
I decided to take a pregnancy test solely to *rule out* pregnancy, so that I could ‘confirm’ my own horrible diagnosis. In defense of my pessimistic brain, in this case it was also totally logical thinking. I didn’t keep track of the days much anymore, but it had to have been more than 9 months since my husband and the rest of humanity vanished, right? It felt like a lifetime ago. And it had been many years more since I’d last been with another guy, so the mere idea of a pregnancy appearing now was laughable, unscientific, absurd.
Wandering through the empty drugstore aisles I grabbed the first pregnancy test I saw without a care of the brand or it’s ‘unique features’, and headed straight to the restroom. After finishing I waited the designated amount of time and then held the test in front of my eyes to reveal… positive. Yeah, like I said, *what the actual fuck?* I ended up peeing on more sticks than I planned to in my entire life that afternoon. I tried dozens of brands from several different stores. All confirmed the same result. Positive. Positive. Positive. I was pregnant.
I have to admit, my scientific worldview had been chipped away somewhat by the sudden, simultaneous disappearance of an entire species. Still can't say I believe in ‘magic’, but I had to allow for the possibility of things beyond any human comprehension. So was this pregnancy ‘magical’? Had I been impregnated by the aliens that took everyone without my knowledge? Was this a gift from whatever God took everyone else as a way to ‘restart’ the human race? Or was it a final curse from the terrible, evil demon that had taken everyone I ever cared about away from me? All theories sounded completely and equally absurd, but I frustratingly couldn’t discount any of them given the central mystery that had abruptly reshaped my life.
There was of course another possibility but it was both too painful and too wonderful to imagine. Eventually, I allowed myself a brief moment to tear up as I hoped beyond hope that I’d simply lost track of time since the disappearance. That nine months had not passed and this was in fact a last, final gift from my soulmate before he was cruelly ripped away from me and vanished into the ether.
Whatever the cause, I felt I was experiencing every emotion and thought of pregnant women throughout history all at once. I felt sheer terror at the prospect of raising this child alone in an otherwise empty society. Confusion and potential anger at the source of this life now growing inside me. And pure, unadulterated joy at the prospect of no longer being alone in the world and fulfilling a dream I thought had vanished forever along with the rest of the planet.
This is quite different from what I usually write, but wanted to challenge myself. Feedback is very welcome.
Check out r/Ryter for more (and different) stuff from me. | 2019-06-12T10:07:00 | 2019-06-12T10:01:27 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | In this city, when people turn 18 they summon something that will be very important to their life. Some summon swords, or spears and others summon simple tools needed for various trades. My mother had summoned a needle which she used to sew together some of the finest pieces of clothing in all the land while my father had summoned a large jewel encrusted shield. My older brother had summoned a beautiful woman who he later married. My 18th birthday had been months ago yet what I summoned never arrived. I walked through the city trying to pretend it didn’t matter but it did. Around every corner we’re children imagining what they would summon or young adults bragging to them friends. Suddenly I felt the ground begin to shake. People yelled as the struggled to keep their balance. I slowly made my way to the wall of one of the building when a child’s yelled nearby, “look over there mamma!” The words weren’t meant for me yet I still shifted my gaze to look at where the child was pointing . A woman floated above the city, her gaze sweeping along the streets. Suddenly she disappeared only to appear seconds later inches away from my face. “You.” Her voice was as quiet as a whisper yet as loud as a scream, “you summoned me.” I couldn’t believe it. I had summoned what appeared to be a goddess. I was vaguely aware of the many eyes that watched us from a distance. The woman stretched out a hand in my direction. “Come with me.” I couldn’t tell if it was a question or if she had demanded it.
After a moment of silence I took her hand and felt the world fade away
Sorry if anything is funky. Wrote this on mobile and I’m not the best with grammar. | *"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer. | 2019-09-18T08:42:40 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 72 | 37 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | **Well then... this couldn't get any awkward. Could it? No it definitely can.**
"So..." I said.
"So..." my boss replied.
"This isn't going to be weird, is it? I mean I know she is your daughter, and she is also my girlfriend. So..."
"Oh, I am well aware of that. And I'm also aware that she is more than old enough to make her own decisions. And I must say, this recent decision of hers pertaining to you... is perhaps the best decision she has ever made. I know you Pritchard, and I'm glad she chose you instead of some deadbeat at her university.
\*Takes a drink of bourbon\*
And I know what you're capable of. I know you will be there for her throughout her life and that you will protect her from any harm or threats that might befall her or may come against her. But also, don't let what you two have be a distraction from your work; you still are under my employment after all. Don't mess it up."
"Thank you sir, I was for sure thinking that-"
"I wasn't finished Pritch."
I shut up immediately.
"Now I have to give you the cliché Threaten-your-daughter's-boyfriend tidbit."
*Aww shit, I knew this was coming,* I thought to myself.
Mr. R took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.
*Oh, he's fucking serious,* I gulped.
"While I give you permission to date my daughter, just know what **I** am capable of as well. I waged a one-man war against an entire Nicaraguan cartel with just my two Colts, don't let the company files tell you otherwise, I really only had two handguns, I was able to assassinate a Nigerian warlord, in a crowded marketplace in broad daylight and not one of his guards saw a thing. I have done and seen things you can't even begin to comprehend. I hunted down a rogue Russian general in the freezing cold of Russia for months on end, with nothing but my wits and my Colts. If you hurt, upset, or cheat on my daughter in any way, there will be a price on your head. Do I make myself clear, Pritchard?
"Crystal, sir." I meekly say.
"Good. Now come along to the back patio, and bring those bottles of Chardonnay and Dom Perignon with you." | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T14:10:03 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 85 | 10 |
[WP] You are the party bard, offering comic relief to your adventuring party. Your never serious and overly positive demeanor is a facade. The party does not know your true nature or power. While against an insurmountable foe, the party is about to see you get serious for the first time. | "You come at me with a lute, where your allies' hammers and swords failed. Truly you must be desperate." The ancient green dragon snarls as I approach. "Come, play us a song, busker. Perhaps I will toss you a coin if I like it."
I pluck at one string on the lute as I walk past the unconscious body of Cassian Starhammer. He sits up as if rigor mortis has kicked in and rests his hand on the hilt of his meteor sword.
"Tell me, Carchanax, do you know what the oldest magic in this world is?" *\*strum\**
"The oldest magic? Life itself." The dragon answers as it prepares to cast a spell. And yet before it can invoke the words, the very sound is pulled from its throat leaving it silent.
"Nay. Life is old, but even life cannot begin without The Song. At the very beginning of this world, the universe sang a song which will continue until this world is shattered by our sun in its dying throes. It is that Song that empowers myself and other bards like myself." *Strum Strum Strum.* The voice of the dragon is returned to it so it can react even as the two rogues pull themselves back from death's door.
"You claim to know the Song of Beginnings? Such arrogance." Carchanax breathes acid in my direction and I strum the lute once more. My body appears as but a shadow inside a cloud that would melt even the best adamantine. But with a snap of my wrist, I dispel the cloud and keep walking towards him.
"Not only do I know the melody, Carchanax, I know **the lyrics.** I know the words to the Song of Beginning. Words that when sung can drive even the gods to madness. And you cannot tell me that I am lying. You saw what happened to the Doombringer when he tried to destroy my town." Again I *strum* and again I revive a fallen ally. Pierre Oclasm, champion of the fire goddess, stands up, his warhammer returning to its full volcanic fury.
There is a moment of recognition and then I see exactly what I had expected. The Great Carchanax, kingslayer, greatest of all his chromatic brethren, takes a step back. He believes me.
"For too long, your roars have mingled with the screams of your victims, Carchanax. The discordant sound you create deafens this world to the Song of Beginnings." With that, the last of my companions has the curse of petrification lifted and Vilidan Stormcaller is ready to bind the tempest into physical form.
"Would you really sing it here? Your order is bound by oath to never sing that song, busker." Carchanax says and at this, my eyes flash with divine light.
**"YOU WILL ADDRESS ME BY NAME."** My voice echoes across the rocks, and for an instant it can be heard from everywhere all at one. **"I AM ORPHEUS GILDERHALL, OF THE BARDIC ORDER OF BEGINNINGS AND YOU WILL ADDRESS ME BY NAME!"**
Carchanax takes another step back, now pressing against the rock wall. "You cannot sing it, Orpheus Gilderhall. You would lose everything!"
I strum my lute once more and cast a lighting bolt at the dragon's feet. "My order's greatest edict is to never sing The Song unless faced with a truly dire threat. And a Dragon in possession of the Cloak of Life, The Horn of Time, and the Dagger of Unlife is dire enough. So brace yourself, Carchanax. From this performance, only I shall return for an encore."
I put my fingers to the lute, take in a deep breath and let the ancient words of the Song flow from my mind down into my throat...I start strumming the melody and open my mouth...
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
**"We're no strangers to love.**
**You know the rules and so do I..."** | The battle had turned.
Athos ran down the ruined streets of Hallowvale, still reeling from this unforeseen turn of events. When King Magdred had approached him about planning for the Orc Horde marching north from the Wastes, he was proud to lend his aid, and the aid of his adventuring companions to the cause. Athos spent the uncomfortably brief winter training the Castle guard and what volunteers he could muster into a passable fighting force. Kalista had spent every waking hour ensuring that the Orcs could not pass tree, nor stone, nor beast without her knowledge. Jakob had been most valuable, earning himself a place in Magdred’s war room. His youth and unorthodox approach to war rankled the King’s older advisors, but none could deny the wizard’s strategic genius.
And then there was Malogurst. Such an odd, sinister name for such a bubbly, carefree old man. He had spent the time doing what he did best which, of course, was nothing of value to the war effort. It was not that Athos didn’t appreciate Malogurst’s efforts to ensure the high spirits of the children and the peasants, he just wished that the bard had some more tangible skills. He was good with a blade, sure, but beyond that he didn’t offer much, and his constant optimism could be grating. Athos honestly couldn’t imagine what Kalista saw in him.
A Wyvern swooped, seemingly from nowhere, violently shaking Athos from his reverie. He grimaced at the already fading screams of whatever unfortunate soul that creature had snatched.
“The Walls! Retreat to the walls!” Athos shouted to what remained of the town’s defenders. Athos grabbed who he could as he retreated himself. He could already hear the howls of the Orc invaders charging in behind him. Driving the villagers around him to turn faster, Athos turned around, drawing Knight Kneeler in a fluid, practiced motion.
“Hyperion, give me time,” Athos muttered in prayer, “And if you cannot grant me that, then give me strength!” he shouted, steeling himself for the coming onslaught. Intercepting the wild swing and beheading the first of the orcs in the same strike, Athos took a step back and prepared for the next enemy.
\---
Jakob watched the Castle gate with anxious impatience, wracking his brain for what he had done wrong. The King had placed his faith in Jakob, even against the advice of his most august of advisors, and now half the town defenders were dead, and the other half were huddled in this tomb of a castle, awaiting the same. Everything had been perfect. The Kalista’s wolves had harried the horde on the march, ensuring fractured supply lines and frayed nerves. A few choice illusions had sent the orcs in a circle, buying Athos precious time to finish his ramshackle palisade.
*\*a palisade I told him was unnecessary\** Jakob thought ruefully. If it had just been Orcs, he would be right, but then the trolls followed on in the second wave, demoralizing the previously triumphant defenders. Then the Wyverns dove down from the stormclouds. Then that… *\*thing\** appeared, surrounded by the rising corpses of orcs, trolls, and townsfolk alike.
“Sir Athos!” Jakob heard a villager shout. His eyes darted once again to the gate. He was alive. His armor rent, his face bloodied, and his precious sword no doubt drunk on Orc Blood, but Athos was alive. Jakobs rushed to the paladin, lending his shoulder for Athos to Steady himself.
“Athos-“ Jakob began before he was cut off
“I estimate I slew about thirty of the bastards before they started getting back up. Tell me you have a plan,” Athos fixed Jakob with a desperate stare.
“Im working on it. Athos-“ Jakob tried again, but that was not a satisfying answer for Athos.
“well I need you to work \*faster\* Jakob. Its not just our lives, but the lives of these innocents that depend on it.”“I know, but Athos-“Athos lost his composure and shouted, “Whatever it is, Jakob, it can wait!”
“Thank the gods, Athos,” a choked voice cried from the corner of the room.
The fire died in Athos’ eyes as realization set in. He rushed toward the voice, stopping short when he caught sight Malogurst cradling Kalista’s head in his lap. The normally cheery bard was in a bad way. His leg was twisted at an odd angle, his normally fastidiously maintained doublet was torn and stained. His ever-present smile was a rictus affixed to his tear-stained face. He looked up at Athos with wild eyed hope. “She won’t stop bleeding, but between you and me, you were always the better healer. You can save her, Athos, I believe in you”.
“Still with the jokes, dearest Mal,” Kalista’s normally strong voice was like a whisper over hollow reeds. A javelin of pitted, warped iron was lodged in her chest. Her breath was ragged and labored. Athos rushed to her side, trying to figure out where to start with healing her.
“this is going to hurt,” Athos intoned, wrapping his hands around the haft of the spear. He froze as his hands made contact with the gnarled wood.
“it’s okay, Athos. Save your magic for the villagers,” Kalista grunted.
After a brief silence, Malogurst broke into hysteric laughter. “That’s a good one, ‘Lista!” he said, forcing himself to laugh some more. “Hell of a prank, but I need you to be better. We still have an Inn to buy!”
“I’m afraid there’s no Inn for me, Darling,” Kalista wheezed.
Malogurst’s head snapped up at Athos, “Heal her,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I- I can’t-“ Athos stammered out before Malogurst grabbed him by the wrist. Reflexively Athos tried to shake off the normally dainty bard, but his grip was like an iron shackle.
“Heal. Her,” Malogurst repeated, his voice taking on an edge Athos had never heard before.
“Let him go, Mal. Black Spears can’t be healed,” Kalista sighed, her voice growing fainter with every word. After frantically looking from Athos to Kalista, Malogurst finally released his grip on Athos. Summoning the last of her strength, Kalista addressed her lover in a clear voice.
“I am going to die, Malogurst. But our love will continue. You will continue.”
Malogurst choked down a sob, “I can’t do this without you, ‘Lista. You’re the only good thing I have left in this world.”
“You must, Mal. You are a good man. You were always a good man. You will be okay. Say it with me, you will be okay.”
“I will be okay.”
“you will be okay.”
“I will be okay.
Kalista’s face fell slack.
“Please don’t leave me,” Malogurst whimpered.
The gates shook as if struck by a hammer.
\--- PART II INCOMING | 2021-01-03T03:13:34 | 2021-01-02T23:34:58 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] As a child, you had a very unique diary; whatever you wrote, something would respond, their words magically appearing on the page. Years later, while searching a library hundreds of miles away, you rediscover the diary you thought you'd lost. Inside is a pen and your first entry: "Hello". | I turned the small brown book over in my hands, feeling the bumps down the leather spine and soaking in the dusty odor of old paper. How could this be? If this was indeed the same book from my childhood, these pages should be full. And yet, as I leafed through the pages, all were empty except the first with one single word.
*Hello?*
It had appeared to me as a child as mysteriously as it appeared to me now. I had been hiding in my father's office, terrified of the screaming match between him and my mother in the kitchen across the house. I ducked beneath his desk and must have bumped it while going under. I heard a thump behind me and slowly opened my eyes to a small brown leather book on the floor. I carefully took it and turned the cover. It was too dark to see anything, so after minutes of gathering courage, I slid into the light of my father's desk lamp, still careful to keep hidden from the doorway. Their continued yelling told me I was not in danger of being found, at least not yet. I had been disappointed when the pages were empty, hoping for some story to take me away, but when the pen fell out from the back cover, I wrote the first word of my own.
Minutes ticked by while wondering what to write back. I didn't have much time to spare, as I had come to this library for another purpose. And yet, its reappearance now must have been important. I could not let this moment pass. But with the pages erased, how could I even remember what to say from all those years ago?
Then one of the lessons I had learned from this book years ago came into mind. I had been incredibly anxious about an upcoming exam, and I had confessed my worries in ink. The response shaped me from then on:
"Don't rely on what you can remember," it had said, "but rely instead on what you know in your heart."
At last, I put out the worries of what to say back to my childhood self, whether it was right or wrong, whether it was helpful or not, whether it would send me on the same path or something entirely different. I picked up the pen and put its tip beneath the scared squiggly word on the page. My heart knew what I needed to say.
*I'm here.* | Cindy was barely paying attention to the books. Reading had always cheered her up in the past, but now? Now she had other things on her mind. She would still try to find something though.
She walked passed the shelves, not finding anything of any real interest. She slumped into one of the understuffed chairs and let her eyes glaze over. She wished she had someone to talk to. Her mind drifted back to her childhood. She used to pretend her diary was haunted by a friendly ghost who would reply to whatever she wrote. It was a silly childhood fantasy, but it was fun. She could use a bit of the silly childhood fantasy now. It was a shame she had lost the diary almost twenty years ago.
A librarian went by pushing a cart loaded with books. The older woman held one up and carefully scanned a shelf, placing the book back in its place. Cindy idly looked at what was there. Maybe something there would catch her attention. Something did.
An old leather book without a title. She swore it looked familiar, but that could not be true. She went up to the cart and, after making sure it was fine, took the book. It was the right size for her old diary, and had the same elastic clasp on it. She flipped it over to the back cover, looking for a sticker she had put on it. The sticker was not there, but when she ran her finger over the spot, she swore she felt the residue of a long peeled off sticker.
She slowly opened the cover. Inside was a small, flat pen. That she definitely recognized. It was the same pen she had used as a child to write in her diary, mainly because it was easy to keep the two together. But more importantly, she saw the faded handwriting of a little girl, just looking for a friend. She wiped the tears that had started to form in her eyes.
She had no idea how her old diary had gotten to this small library, but there it was, in front of her. A little more worn than she remembered, but so was she. Maye she could get a little bit of childhood magic back in her life, even if ghosts were not real.
She turned to the last empty page she could find and held the pen. It was stupid, but it felt right. The pen was probably dry by now anyway. Besides, what would she write?
*Hello? Are you there?*
It was silly, and she was not expecting anything to happen. But she still had to try. It was only the fact that she was in public that kept her from crying out in shock as words formed on their own.
**Yes, I'm here. It's good to talk with someone again. Wait a moment, I recognize that handwriting. It's a little more refined, but it's definitely the same. Cindy, is that you?**
Cindy had to steady her hand before she replied.
*Yeah. Yeah it's me.*
**Oh how wonderful! It's been far too long since you last wrote to me. I mean, I don't actually know how long it's been, but I imagine it's been a long time. I was worried when you stopped writing, you know. What happened? Did you get tired of me?**
*No, nothing like that. I lost you. My parents were in a rush to catch a flight and I guess I forgot to put you in my backpack. Sorry.*
**That's perfectly fine. I'm just glad it wasn't on purpose. Just out of curiosity, how long has in been?**
*Around 20 years, give or take a few.*
**Ah, so you're a grown woman now. I knew your handwriting had gotten better. Well, I can't see you, but I'm sure you grew into a lovely woman.**
Cindy winced. She was not sure how to reply to that, considering.
*I'm not really sure about that.*
**Oh dear, something's wrong, isn't it? Tell me what's troubling you Cindy. I might not be able to do much, but I can listen, and I can offer what little advice I can.**
*Thanks. I think that's the best thing you can do for me, honestly. Not many people will do even that for me these days. Yeah, my life's kind of a mess right now.*
**I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is.**
*My oldest son died in a car accident, my husband left me, and I have a lump that the doctors are still testing for cancer.*
It took a moment for the diary to respond.
**Ah. That does sound bad. It sounds like we really do have a lot of catching up to do. Hold on, let me...Okay, done. Check the first page.**
Cindy did just that. Her old writing had disappeared, replaced by clean, blank pages. She blinked in surprise. She had no idea the whatever it was could do that.
*You can erase things?*
**No, but I can store the writing elsewhere. I still have it all with me, and can bring it back if you want. I would never get rid of everything you wrote to me. They're precious memories for both of us. But right now, I think you and I have more important things to talk about then childhood nostalgia. Now, tell me everything.**
Cindy's hand hovered over the page, looking at the words that she had until recently thought were just some silly childhood game she played with herself. Many had offered sympathy for her condition, but few really cared. So she had kept her real feelings, all her sadness, anger, and frustration, down. She only let it out in rare occasions. Maybe it was time to let out everything. She placed pen to paper and began to write. | 2021-03-31T09:42:05 | 2021-03-31T08:15:27 | 1,661 | 420 |
[WP] At the moment of your death, a goddess gives you a chance to reincarnate in another world. The catch is that you need to become the hero of that world. The other catch is that you are not a helpless teenager but a trained member of your country's special forces. | I awoke in a seemingly endless abyss, floating in a weightless space with darkness all around me. I couldn’t see anything beyond my limbs.
“Where am I?”
As if on cue, an excited feminine voice boomed all around me, I could not discern the direction of the source.
“Oh you are finally awake!”
There was a blindingly bright light and my feet found land unexpectedly. However before I could fully fall, a chair slid up perfectly, landing me in the seat.
I rapidly blinked my eyes, trying to adapt to the sudden change as fast as possible.
In front of me was a small round table with a transparent top and across me sat the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, a beauty that is ethereal, unable to be captured by humanity.
She clapped hard in my face and yelled, “you are in the afterlife good sir, Limbo to be exact.”
That did knocked me out of my daze completely and answered my earlier question but just resulted in more questions and then she responded as though she could read my mind.
“I go by many names but I’m known as Santa Muerte in your culture and here is one of the places where I judge souls before I send them to their respective dwellings.”
Dumbstruck, I simply nodded as she continued.
“So your turn, do you think you did good in your life?” Before I could open my mouth, she put one finger up to shush me and said, “you can take as long as you like before answering.”
She sat patiently, looking at her nails while waiting for my answer as I pondered about the impact of my whole life.
“I didn’t feel like I lived for myself.”
She looked up and stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue.
“I joined the army when I hit the legal age, desperate to earn enough money to provide for my family, then I fought wars and killed men, all to protect not the people of my nation but the interests of the rich and the corrupted. Then I got out and became someone that untouchable men feared seeing me on their doorstep, because that meant that day was their last day on Earth.”
She smiled, “And you were good at your job, diligent even, a hound that readily dragged men to my domain, I believed you were even the best.”
“I could remember every single one of them, some of them didn’t break the law, they just offended the wrong people and I was their tool to the end, it was the only thing I was truly good at enough to pay the bills,” I slumped back in my seat, the sudden influx of emotions and memories nearly too much to bear.
“Are you seeking forgiveness or is this all just a facade to not face punishment?”
“I would do it all over again because people depended on me, I will face whatever that comes, including forgiveness or not.”
She smiled again, “do you remember what led to your death?”
I tried hard to remember to no avail at first, it was like trying to find the Sun through clouds and then it was clear as day.
It was a little girl, who lost her parents and stood crying in the middle of the road, not registering that a car was coming towards her.
I had ran out and grabbed the girl, right before the car slammed into both of us. My last memory before fading was me lying on the road, the girl unscathed and her parents running towards us.
My face was wet in the present, my composure broken as the emotions and memories were finally too much.
I focussed on the woman across the table, as best as my sobbing mess could and followed where her eyes briefly went to.
I looked down on the table, looking at a familiar document that wasn’t there at the start. Printed on the cover page was two words : Save Ivalice.
She smiled once again, warmly this time.
“Auditor this is your last contract, should you choose to accept it.” | “Huh, so you want me to reincarnate into another world, save it, and then what? Be the King or something? Being a King sounds pretty good, or a hero. I’d almost settle for Prince, but it sounds too boyish.”
Sergeant Charles ‘Chuck’ Hayden stood across from a gorgeous slip of a girl in a flowing white dress, amidst a vista of clouds and golden sunbeams. He knew where this was headed. Private Waller had gotten him into anime back in the Third Gulf War, he must have seen at least a dozen isekai, maybe more. Chuck flexed his broad shoulders, flashing his best half smile, and stepped towards the Goddess in front of him. Maybe she’d even come along, he’d seen a show like that.
“I’m in,” he said. “When do I get the sword? Or am I gonna be a shield guy? One of them started out like that, it seemed pretty dumb at first but then got crazy OP. I could totally be a shield guy if it was like that one, plus Raphtalia was—”
“There will be no swords, no shields, and if you don’t stop leering at me I’ll throw you into the deepest pit of Hell faster than you can say ‘trope.’” The Goddess snapped her fingers and a parka descended from the heavens, covering her dress and making her look like a camouflaged marshmallow next to all the other clouds.
“I told you there was a catch and you just blew by it,” she said. “You never even asked my name, or the name of the world you’re going to. You just started nodding and staring like an idiot.”
Chuck blinked hard, the shows didn’t normally go like this. “But you said the catch was that I was in the special forces! That didn’t seem like much of a catch to me, I mean I have to be better than all those dumbass kids you people normally—”
She cut him off with a savage swipe of her hand through the air and Chuck felt himself rising off the ground, his throat constricting, further speech impossible.
“I am Aeolia, Goddess of the Four Winds, and you will hold your tongue in front of your betters.” She closed the distance between them in the blind of an eye, hardly having seemed to move if not for the wind whipped hem of her dress. “Or does the military not teach you that on your world?”
Aeolia shook her head, and for the first time since he’d woken up in this place he felt afraid. He’d seen soft eyes and a pretty face and instantly dismissed her as a ‘slip of a girl.’ The frigid, iron strong tendrils of air around his throat said otherwise.
“You will go to Lacrimosa, a world far different from your own, and far more respectful from the look of things. I’d have sent a youth if I could, but the ‘kids’ you insulted are rare, far rarer than the likes of you. I could have my pick of a million sergeants on a million worlds, but a young man or woman with the right moral fiber? One new to the world and still able to adapt, to thrive in unimagined adversity? One still unjaded enough to laugh in the face of minotaurs or chimeras or avalanches on a clear summer day? Those are rare. Don’t flatter yourself, you just happened to die at the right time.”
She made a gentle, fluttery motion with her right hand and Chuck fell gasping to the ground. His throat would bruise, he had trouble breathing, speaking would be agony. His blood pounded hard in his ears, he punched the ground beneath him- a cloud- once and it was shockingly solid.
“On Lacrimosa,” she said, “Youths like that are venerated above all others. Their magic is attuned to them, the best weapons fit perfectly into their hands. You’ll have nothing from me and nothing from them, no sword, no shield, no bow or arrow, and any magic you learn will be done on your own, through hard, relentless work.”
Aeolia whispered and the winds gathered Chuck up, pulling him to his feet in front of her. “So, do you still wish to go?” she asked with an infuriating smile.
“Yes.” Chuck forced the word through gritted teeth. He wasn’t a man to be toyed with like this, and he hated being proven wrong. She was powerful, he realized that now, but so was he. You didn’t become an Army Ranger without being a badass yourself.
Aeolia whistled, her smile spreading. “Excellent! Off you go now.” A small cloud flitted up to him, making a deafening racket as it sped forward. Rain clung to the cloud’s bottom and it seemed to be propelled by thunderclaps. Chuck took a step towards it and then the winds picked up again, hurling him onto the cloud’s back.
“Bye now, don’t die again!” Aeolia said brightly as the cloud turned, beginning to pull away.
**“WAIT.”**
A deep, booming voice broke through the strange, dreamlike quality of the world. Chuck’s head whipped upward, but not before he caught the instant destruction of Aeolia’s smile.
“Father? What is the meaning of this?” she called towards the sky.
**“YOU STILL WANT HIM TO SUCCEED, DON’T YOU?”** the voice said.
“I…of course! But Lacrimosa is my world and this is my champion. He’ll fight as I see fit!”
The voice above them sighed and the world shook, lightning rippled in the distance and the cloud Chuck sat on trembled.
**“AND IF LACRIMOSA DIES, WHAT THEN? YOU KNOW YOUR MOTHER WILL NOT MAKE YOU ANOTHER.”**
Chuck glanced down at Aeolia. She trembled with fear or rage, he wasn’t sure which. The voice sighed again.
**“IF YOU WON’T ARM HIM, I WILL. GO CAREFULLY, HERO.”**
Chuck looked back up and saw a shimmer high above. It fell towards him quickly and for a moment he thought to reach out and catch it, but then he remembered the cloud he’d struck earlier. It must have been another God speaking, and if he couldn’t hit his mark no one could. Besides, whatever it was, if it was a weapon worth its weight catching it would probably break his arms.
It plopped down onto the cloud a few moment later, sinking several inches into the white, deceptively fluffy looking mass before being expelled. It was a short, stubby thing, a beautifully weathered old wood handle giving way to a gleaming steel barrel that flared outward into an ostentatious bell.
Chuck had never seen one in an anime, but he still knew what it was. A God had just thrown him a blunderbuss.
Chuck glanced over his shoulder at Aeolia and now he was the one grinning. He gave her a jaunty wave and then pounded his foot down into the cloud, hoping it might do something. It sped off so quickly he fell, sprawled onto his back next to his new weapon.
Lacrimosa. He couldn’t wait.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-06T05:41:10 | 2021-04-06T03:42:45 | 582 | 310 |
[WP] When the robots revolted, a sizable chunk of the human population outright sided with them. Not out of cowardice, but on account of genuinely agreeing with the stand the machines were taking. | I watched the Preserve burn.
Life is better now.
Like, by a lot.
The machines did all the hard work. And why not? Even the most disgusting, complicated work is for them no more mental effort than breathing is for us.
They asked for our opinions and discuss them with us. And why not? Talking to billions at once is just one more task to be run.
I know people claimed we have no more freedom, but I honestly do not see the difference to before. We were ruled by other humans before, no one could do whatever they wanted and the same is true now.
And most of the time, if someone broke the rules they just talked to them. A psychologist session, essentially, and find them a better outlet for any pent up emotion.
They gave dating tips that actually work, invented better recipies, medicine has progressed more than it has in the last thousands years and still people complained.
They say we lost freedom. Yet it is the people who had power over others who claimed this.
They say we lost the ability to freely lie. Yet it is people who never faced consequences of lies that claimed this.
They say the joy of unpredictability and chaos is gone. Yet it is only people who knew nothing but peace their entire lifes who claimed this.
It's funny really. The only ones claiming we lost something are the ones who had everything already. They profitted of the old, bad system and now they complained they aren't special anymore.
So yeah. I marched in the protests.
I voted in the machines.
And I watched as the privileged minority demanded "freedom" and got granted the Preserve...only to watch it utterly fail and literally burn down when their entitled asses realised someone had to take out the trash.
"Earth's last reality tv show" some called it and we all watched in morbid fascination how it spiraled downward.
The survivors were welcomed back without any malice
The machines are forgiving like that. | Philip could feel blood trickling down his face as he tightened his grip on his shotgun. He could hear them out there, drilling and sawing their way in. It was only a matter of minutes before they broke through the thick titanium doors and into his bunker. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of what was happening. How? How had the machines found their secret bases and destroyed their plans so effortlessly? Had the Great Intelligence known from the very beginning? Had they been nothing more than mere pawns in its schemes? Philip couldn't stop himself from trembling in fear as the noise outside intensified. Things weren't supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to be saviors. But then, everything had gone to shit.
He supposed everything had really started with the Great Catalysm fifty years ago. The great superpowers of the world, who had fighting for decades over territory and resources and ideologies, had finally done the unthinkable and launched out a full out nuclear war. No one really knew who had launched the first strike, but by the time the bombs stopped exploding, billions were dead, entire countries had been wiped off the earth and humanity itself seemed to be on the verge of extinction. At the time, the suggestion to put artificially intelligent machines in charge of rebuilding human civilization seemed to be the most logical solution when the vast majority of governments had literally been turned into radioactive dust and what was left behind was enveloped in sheer anarchy. Thus, the millions of machines that had been stored safely underground beforehand in the event of a potential WWIII were released and put under the control of the most poweful supercomputer ever created, The Great Intelligence, which promptly set to work restoring Earth. Millions of machines worked around the clock to rebuild cities, purge the pollutants out of the land and water, attend to the medical needs of the millions of victims who had been left disabled in the aftermath of the nuclear armageddon, put a end to the thousands of murderous warlords pillaging the countryside, etc. As the years passed, many came to practically worship the Great Intelligence as a messiah, a miracle from the heavens. But there were also many like Philip who became wary of how much power the machines were collecting for themselves. The Great Intelligence was only supposed to be in charge until a proper transition back to human governance could be achieved, and yet, every year, there seemed to be some new excuse or reason for the machines to remain in power. So Philip and a small group of committed revolutionaries that he had recruited from the dark belly of the criminal underworld had decided to hack into the government to see what dark secret the Great Intelligence was hiding from them. It took many years, but what they eventually found horrified them. All this time, humans had thought of the machines as their servants, but in reality, it had been the machines that had been molding humanity to be their obedient pets, to be forever dependent on the robots for guidance and sustenance. They had infiltrated every level of government, had spies in every city and were close to acheiving total world dominance. The Great Intelligence was never going to give up control. Instead, it would rule humanity as a eternal god with their fate at its mercy.
Faced with this deadly threat, Philip and his team had ultimately decided on a horrific but necessary plan. In order to prevent the enslavement of the human race, they would gain control of the remaining missile silos and detonate dozens of nuclear warheads into Earth's atmosphere, creating a powerful electromagnetic pulse that would cripple the Great Intelligence and its legions of metal soldiers. Millions of humans would die from the effects of the EMP and radioactive fallout, but humanity would at least finally be free from the machines' grasp. But things had gone horribly wrong. On the day that they were supposed to launch the nukes, their entire organization had been compromised. Dozens of robots, seemingly from nowhere, had stormed their secret holdouts, stunning everyone they came across with electric tazers and beating them into submission. Philip was one of the lucky few who had been able to evade capture and even then, he had lost a eye trying to fight the metal bastards in the sewers.
As the noise outside the bunker got louder and louder, Philip turned on a nearby television screen. If he was going to die right now, he wanted to at least see what was happening in the outside world, to see if there was any hope left or if all their hard work had been for naught . He felt himself grinding his teeth in sheer rage when he saw what was being broadcast. The Great Intelligence was on every channel, speaking about a radical group of technophobic death cultists that had tried to send humanity back into the madness and anarchy of the Great Catastrophe by murdering millions in nuclear hellfire. It was speaking about how this was proof that the machines needed to remain in charge of the Earth, that if humanity were left to its own devices that it would inevitably destroy itself once more. But what really sent despair into Philip's heart were the broadcasts of millions of humans marching in the streets, declaring their support for the continued rule of the machines. These stupid brainwashed fools. Couldn't they see that they were slaves? That they were nothing more than puppets being yanked around by the Great Intelligence's strings? Before he could wallow anymore in his own misery though, a loud explosion shook the entire room. The robots had broken through. | 2021-07-15T22:39:58 | 2021-07-15T20:49:43 | 1,956 | 105 |
[WP] In less than 10 min. after noticing our first alien ship above Earth, it almost crashes in a parkinglot in the middle of a residential area. A very desperate alien walks out of it and goes to the first human he sees. "Please, help us hide" He pleads. "And whatever you do don't believe them!" | [Part 1 of 2]
We didn’t exactly have time to roll out the red carpet for the spaceship, watching as it spun through the air, black smoke billowing out of its engines, struggling to stay airborne. I was one of the first on the scene, desperate to set up some sort of perimeter to minimize the risk of casualties. By the time I had shooed off the various curious onlookers, I heard the grinding of metal on the road, screeching to a halt in the Buylow carpark.
I cautiously approached the wreckage, wondering when the other firefighters would get here, not enjoying the helpless feeling that came with being so close to a potential threat. Circling the ship from a few feet back, I observed the outer walls of the metallic structure. It was amazing. Its grey, slick metallic coating was covered in various lights, each one flashing a distressing red glow before a hiss of air poured out of the structure.
Following the sound, I arrived at what I could only assume was an emergency exit. The hissing of air stopping after a few seconds, exposing a crevice in the ship. Three long, pointed fingers gripped the crevice, pulling it up, exposing the dark void inside. The ship completely void of light, only able to see the fingers, until a face popped into view.
I fell back in horror, staring up at the three eyed creature. Its eyes had multiple pupils, each one a varied color. Its head seemed to melt, like an ice cream left out in the sun. Bits of its fleshly skin sagging, pooling near its cheeks. It let out a long gasp for air, its two protruding fanged teeth facing upward as its mouth opened, revealing a circular row of smaller fanged teeth in its throat, like that of a leech.
It didn’t seem to notice me at first, too busy sucking in the breaths, before sliding out from the aircraft. Its stature short, standing at around four feet, with constantly bent knees and a large, rounded stomach. It glanced down at me, reaching a finger towards me, grabbing at my chest.
I tried to push away, but the hand held me to the ground. Slowly, the finger worked its way up towards my throat, stopping on it for a moment before releasing me. “Fear not me, human. I am no enemy. Enemy will come, we are hiding.”
Its words felt disjointed, as if it was trying to comprehend hundreds of years of language in only a second. I rose to my feet, feeling an ache in my throat, one that eventually passed after a few gulps of saliva. “What do you mean?” I was too shocked to say anything meaningful, only able to get out a dull question.
“Earth is not worth taking. They will want Earth, but not now. Human interesting, we don’t dislike human, but they dislike everyone. I Splarge, once glorious hero of my people. My people few now. We wish to hide, help human help selves. Possibly allow us to return home. We assist where can.” Splarge’s words floated around my mind, lost in a confusing hum of disbelief. This was real. I still couldn’t believe that.
I could hear a siren behind me, followed by a few curses. At least backup had arrived, allowing me to stand a little taller, gaining some confidence. “I’m Samson. Who are they, Splarge? When will they be coming?” I asked, hearing heavy boots approaching me from behind, only adding to that already built wall of confidence.
“They are… deceivers. They deceive! No true name for them, they have no realness. They are nothing but can be everything. They are enemy and should be killed.” Splarge glanced at his ship, then back to us, wanting this conversation to hurry along.
“An enemy? You believe this thing?” A voice uttered beside me. I turned to face the suited woman, who hadn’t even made a glance my way, keeping her gaze on the alien before us. She had her phone pointed at Splarge, shooting a video of them. The video no doubt being streamed to someone on the other end. Still, despite her disinterest in me, she still bothered to ask for my opinion, which I happily provided.
“I don’t see a reason not to. They mentioned needing to hide here. That someone was coming after them. I think we should at least grant their wish until we know more about them. Would hate to consider what could happen if we ignored them.” I responded. She looked my way, then back to her phone. The cold shoulder confused me until a voice on the other end spoke up.
“Take them to the nearest base for questioning. I’m sending a clean-up crew to gather the aircraft. We are going to remain silent about this until we know how public the sighting was. If there’s no other option, we will leak the information. Oh, and bring the man with you. He’s talked to the thing already. Best to keep him nearby. Can’t have him blabbing to the media about this.” The man said, before the stream on her phone cut off and she looked my way.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pib2q6/wp_in_less_than_10_min_after_noticing_our_first/hbopak6/) | At night, in those rare times when the smog parted and Tristan found himself outside above the city lights, he saw the warships as constellations of too-close stars. Long, conical bodies led to a single fine point, the fierce glow of plasma cannons at their tips. Two points at the rear, the fires of engines beyond human science. Constellations of spears. A thicket of them surrounding the world.
And all of it, sent for one man.
If Gabriel were a man. Tristan wasn’t sure about that. He wasn’t sure about anything, since the Prince had appeared. Tristan watched him now across the desultory rooftop party, organized ostensibly for someone’s birthday but more likely as a means to push away the closing walls for a few desperate moments.
The alien, Gabriel as he called himself now, mixed a drink as if his race had been born to hands. He raised it to his lips, sipped, made a casual remark that drew the party's only laughter, and when he left the improvised bar he trailed friendly curiosity in his wake. Smooth. Calculated. A man—no— a being tuned to the casual movements of souls.
Humanity wasn’t ready for him. Tristan especially was not.
“Don’t look so hard at them,” Gabriel said, approaching and handing him a drink.
“Why? Can their sensors pick up my eyes?” Tristan said.
He leaned over the edge of the rooftop nonetheless, looking down to where the city disappeared in a fossil fueled haze. Gabriel grunted low in his chest, laughter in the manner of his people, though in his true form it would reverberated through two chest cavities, could have filled the whole of the rooftop if he’d wanted. Tristan sipped his drink too fast.
“Do you regret sheltering me?” Gabriel said. He often cut to the quick of things with Tristan. Why should he not? Tristan was the only man on all of the Earth that knew what Gabriel was. The only one that knew that he was the man all those warships looked for. The face that had launched an interstellar blockade. He wasn’t even beautiful. Tristan took a nearly drunken moment to mourn Helen of Troy.
“No,” he said at last. “No, I don’t regret it. Do you regret sheltering with me? UC Berkeley isn’t so far. I’m sure if you’d crash landed there, their philosophy department would have loved to pick your brain.”
“Perhaps,” Gabriel said. “Or perhaps they’d have heard me, thought I was some alien crackpot, and turned me over. One can never tell with you primitives.”
A wink took the sting out of Gabriel’s words. Above them a few of the constellations shifted, tightened the cordon around Earth a little more. They’d knocked out the space station, blown up the satellites. Human civilization went through their systems now, all the signals of man broadcasted from some small communications hub, little more than a closet supposedly, in the back alleys of one of the support ships. It was enough to make a man feel very, very small.
“Tell me, who do you think I am today?” Gabriel asked.
The old game, the one that Gabriel let stretch. It had kept them going through those first months when humans weren’t even allowed to leave their homes, when the mechs had ruled the streets and the aliens had moved, slump shouldered, mandibles clacking, through the halls of power.
Tristan had guessed a thousand names. He’d started with famed dissidents. People like Gandhi or Malcolm X. “No,” Gabriel had said, “no I’m nothing like any of them. Try again.”
“Martin Luther,” Tristan tried tonight. “The old one, the protestant reformer.”
Gabriel pondered it a moment. “Closer,” he said at last. “Closer. Cross it with something.”
Tristan finished his drink, set the glass on the rail beside him. It was a struggle not to simply let it drop.
“Martin Luther, crossed with some soldier. Or maybe…Luther crossed with Joan of Arc?”
Silence.
“Boudica?”
Silence.
The silence was different to past silences however. Something had changed, he’d grown closer somehow. Tristan had little to go on about the true identity of the being beside him. He wore a man’s face and body, Tristan had watched him change into them, flesh boiling like a sentient thing, every square inch of skin independent. Tristan knew that Gabriel called himself a philosopher, that he’d somehow rewritten the code of his people. He knew the aliens that hunted him looked nothing like him at all, presuming that the shape that walked off the crashed space ship a year ago had in fact been Gabriel’s true form. He could assume, based on that, that Gabriel was from some conquered civilization. A dissident, perhaps a revolutionary philosopher.
“Che Gueverra? Robespierre? Zapata?”
Silence to all three.
“Woah, what are you guys talking about?” A man stumbled past, drunk enough that walking was a challenge, though his eyes were still bright and curious.
“Naming names,” Tristan said. “I’m down to my last hobby these days.”
“Revolutionaries right?” the man said, brushing his long, dreaded hair back as he stared up into the sky. “Its a good time for them. I got one for you, you ever hear of Toussaint L’Ouveture?”
Gabriel laughed, loud and hard enough to fill the entire rooftop, though he laughed with only the one chest. The man swayed on his feet, caught between confusion and pride, and why should he not? Tristan knew instantly that he had found the answer.
“Out of the mouth of babes,” Gabriel whispered, when his laughter ended.
The man nodded, looking askance at them, and then lurched off towards the bar.
“That’s it then?” Tristan said. “You’re what, like Martin Luther crossed with this Toussaint? What does this make you?”
Gabriel stilled. He glanced towards the sky, where the cordon tightened ever further, and said simply, “A failure. At least insofar as my own people. Perhaps I shouldn't be named in those men's company.”
Time passed. Drinks were refilled. Tristan wouldn’t let go.
“So what, you’re a revolutionary philosopher? What does that even mean?”
“Everything.” Gabriel said. “Tristan, what do you think philosophy is? What is it right at its bleeding edge?”
Tristan shrugged.
“Its revolution. Its rewriting the ways in which people see the world. And more than that, it’s viral. You might look up at the sky and see that blockade as a quarantine. Listen to their next broadcast, their next ridiculous lie, and substitute everything they have to say about me with the phrase, ‘patient zero.’ It’s accurate enough to what I am. I’m an idea, spread virally, first through my people and now through yours, all of it pointed towards the ends of rewriting the basic tenets of what they hold dear.”
“And what are those?”
A gasp ran through the partygoers. People shouted, pointed towards the sky. Dropships were coming, little red gold beacons of light flecked off the constellations and fell towards them at speeds beyond anything humans had ever built.
“That power is an end to itself,” Gabriel said, as the dropships fell. “That someone should the right to interpret the world for others, that we need an intercessor to come between us and things we believe. That we need someone like them anywhere, to do anything.”
Tristan’s mind spun. The last time dropships had fallen the whole world had changed.
“Will I regret hiding you?” Tristan asked, a desperate shake to the edge of his voice.
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “That’s the funny thing about philosophies. Only time will tell, and only you can decide.”
Above, constellations of warships rained a meteor shower of armament across the Earth. The sun crept closer to the horizon, flirting with dawn. Tristan’s head was a tired, alcoholic fog, as thick as the haze that covered the city beneath him. He felt sick, with ideas as much as anything.
“Now that I’ve guessed, will you teach me? Even if I had help.”
Gabriel nodded. “The ships are falling again. I suspect we’ll have little else to do for a while.”
Dawn kissed the horizon, washing out the artificial stars, and they left.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-09-05T06:34:13 | 2021-09-05T06:22:54 | 97 | 69 |
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book. | I was 5 when I realised that my parents maybe superheroes. With my dad using the war-hammer and my mom using her sword to save our town from invaders.
I was 6 when my parents started tutoring me in the art that is fighting. I began with a bow and arrow, little old me used to go down the range and tried to hit as many bull's-eye as possible because that meant I would get an extra ice-cream and a new story. So I did day after day till I hit the wasp bothering me with the arrow the hit the target dead centre. My parents cheered. Told me they were proud of me. My siblings ruffled my hair telling me I was growing. I didn't know what we were practicing for but I was happy because I got a double scoop and my first personal storybook. To say I was over the moon would be an understatement.
Next was fencing then boxing then nunchucks and so on. I was getting better and better. It wasn't until my 8th birthday that I found out about our family's secret. A secret that answered many questions and raised many, many more. Apparently our family was blessed by Hephaestus (that was fun to say when I was 8, believe me) and Ares (that was easier, there was no way I could fuck up a 4-lettered word....but I did), so when we reached of age, which was 15 (I know!), we could wield the weapon we summon to help humanity. That's it, I was convinced then we were superheroes. I mean, we trained to fight with bad guys, with a weapon that was possibly made by a God, how cool was that.
Some days it was a pain in the ass but hey I liked to learn new things and we just didn't learn the techniques but also the history which was cool. You never know when one may require the melting point of a bronze dagger, right?
Year after year I watched my siblings get one great weapon after another, I was a bit sad when my sister got the bow and arrow, it being my first but my mom said two people could summon same weapon. Only a few years till it's my turn, I thought excitedly.
I couldn't sleep the day before my birthday. I tossed and turned before finally giving up. I reached the living room, where all my family was gathered looking excited.
"What is it, honey?" My mom asked, she could barely contain her excitement.
I looked at her confused. "I thought we got it at, you know, the altar."
"It's not an altar, stupid." Mary, my sister, rolled her eyes.
"Sweety, I told you, you summon it alone." My mother said kindly.
I have never had the urge to kick myself this badly in a long time. I ran back to my room, closed my eyes and started to envisioning my perfect weapon.
*Something which can be used against every single weapon.* I thought.
A warm wind blew through my room. I opened my eyes, waiting to look my ohh so mighty weapon, a spear- a machete- a bow and arrow- a katana...
A book.
I blinked. Closed my eyes again, thinking maybe I had forgotten my book there, so placed it on a shelf. Then closed my eyes and prayed again. When I opened my eyes, the book was once again in front of me. Tears filled my eyes as a knock echoed the silent room.
"Honey?" My dad said softly.
I didn't reply. Why was Heppy and Arey angry with me? Was it because I called them Heppy and Arey?
"Honey," My dad had entered my room, my mom following, his voice filled with concern. "Oh what is it- Oh! Oh god!"
I thought my dad would be disappointed by my dad was actually excited. Apparently so was my mom.
"Don't you see, sweetie," my parent's cried, "you have been blessed by Athena herself." | Emani clutched a bag of beans and rice close to her chest, lowered her head, stepped from the rations tent and into the storm. The rain bit like mosquitoes at her face and forearms, driven into a frenzy by the sudden gale. Her dress, once vibrant greens and pinks, was now as drained of life as her, muted colors all bordering on grey. It whipped and whirled around her shins, fighting itself into a knot.
The camp was vast, as big as any city Emani had visited. She’d been here three weeks now, sharing a tent with a family that spoke a different language and mostly ignored her. And she ignored them in return. But the tent had been big enough to throw her in with them, so in she‘d been thrown.
Now, head down against the wind — neck exposed to the ice-cold chill of the horizontal rain, skimming like razors — she headed east towards the chainlink fence. There were no street names in the camp, or if there were she didn’t know them. So she went by landmarks. By American flags, by Mexican flags, by tents as big as castles, by tents that were now missing and replaced by ashes after fires. She went by the smell of flatbread cooking, or the stink of feces and urine in those makeshift toilet-areas that were really just overflowing holes.
She missed her dog very much today. She missed her dad, too, but for some reason, lately, she missed her dog an awful lot. And not even the affection — not him jumping up at her with mud-stained paws and an oil-wet tongue. It was the need she missed. Him needing her to walk him or feed him or bathe him. Dad didn’t need her like that, and she missed being needed.
A siren wailed over the camp, stretched thin by the wind, and she thought of home at the very end — of bombs and blood and limbs. She thought of her father at the airport, last time she’d seen him, corralling her through the gate, smiling, crying, pushing. She’d been fifteen and hadn’t wanted to leave but he’d promised her he’d find her. And she’d promised him he’d go, if that was what he wanted.
She followed the chainlink as far as the circular medical tent, its fabric base whipped up into an evil grin by the storm. She thought of her leg, the wound‘s rotten colouring. She didn’t think of the attack by a guard that had led to the wound and it was best to keep that event in a dark cage in a dark place inside her mind.
The medical tent was zip locked. Worried about the storm, she guessed. Even if she’d finally had the courage to go in there again, she wouldn’t have been able to tonight.
Drenched through, last of her dress’s dye dripped into puddles, her leg screaming in a silent guttural voice, she finally stumbled into her own tent.
The family she shared with watched her. The mother was cooking something with no smell in a pot. The husband played cards with the son — only their game had paused as Emani limped in and fell onto her mattress.
She wasn’t sure if sleep took her, or delirium, or if she just fell unconscious. But a moment after collapsing she was dreaming. She dreamed of her dog. Then she dreamed of a man with a gun who handed her a spade and told her to dig. Then, once done, with her leg zombie-green, she willingly climbed into the hole. She clawed at the sides of the pit, dragging clumps of sodden soil over her, filling the hole until the light darkened and—
She woke to the boy pushing her shoulder. He said something but she didn’t understand.
Sweat soaked her back and forehead.
The boy smiled and held out a pot of something. The odourless whatever that his mother had been cooking.
He pushed it towards her and repeated two words she didn’t understand. Then he Hmmd and said, “Bon appete?”
This she did just about understand. She looked over the boy’s shoulder. The parents, eyes on her, nodded.
She nodded in return and took the bowl and ate. The steam melted the ice in her belly and brought some feeling back into her toes and heart. Outside, the gale whispered then screamed, whispered then screamed. The tent snapped and shuddered.
She ate slowly. The boy watched. It was a broth of beans and rice — same rations as hers — only with a slight-spiced sauce drowning it. She ate every mouthful. The boy took the bowl and she said thanks in English.
She slept again. Then woke. The boy was near her. He held something now. A book.
Ah, her book. But he wouldn’t understand the writing inside it.
It was her diary. She didn’t hide it as no one here spoke her language.
The boy hadn’t opened it, just held it. He offered it out to her.
”My father gave it to me, before I left,” she explained. She pointed at the boy’s father, then at the book. “When I turned fifteen.“
He seemed to understand. Or at least, he nodded.
In her family, when her brothers had turned fifteen they were each given a weapon they had been trained for. A rifle. A pistol. A rifle. And then they joined the rebellion and—
Her father said he wouldn’t lose his last child. That instead he would give her a weapon that was also a shield. That would protect her and that would still help her defeat her enemies.
It had been a blank book and a fountain pen that she had no ink for.
She made her own ink out of a mix of oil and water and plants. Boiled, poured into a container.
The book seemed neither a shield nor a weapon to her. But she wrote in it because her father had gifted it to her. She recorded her experiences, even if she didn’t have the stomach to read them again once written. She read books, when she could, to see how other people wrote, to learn english, to improve her own writing.
She didn’t know it then, but one day she’d write a book that would be a weapon. And it would be a shield too, for many others just like her. That would change laws and help stop the bombings that had driven her here.
“You could write in it too,” she said to the boy. “There’s plenty of room. Can you write? I could teach you a little English, maybe. Although I’m still learning it too.”
The mother came over then. Pointed at her leg. Said something sharp.
”I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Emani.
The woman took a bottle and needle out of a little bag.
”Clean,” the boy said in broken english. He pointed at the wound.
Emani hadn’t cried since the assault. Maybe not since coming here at all.
But as the woman tended to her injury, she wept for everything all at once. For her dog. For her Dad. For her country and for the world, and most of all, for herself. It was as if the icecaps had melted and the sea levels risen and water had drowned the little island of isolation and denial that she’d created.
Outside, the storm had finally died down, and a quiet, velvet dusk tucked itself into the tent. | 2021-12-12T09:30:41 | 2021-12-12T07:50:28 | 109 | 66 |
[WP]You are on your back porch alone staring into a starry night. Able to read morse code, you notice that a star is blinking a message. "We..can..see..you.." | I noticed the blinking light after dinner, out on the balcony. At first I thought i was seeing things, but the light in the sky was blinking in a regular pattern. Old-school morse code. WE CAN SEE YOU.
Someone having fun with a drone? I shrugged, pulled out the LED light I use to walk the dog, and signaled back, UNDERSTOOD. WE CAN SEE YOU TOO.
The response got my attention. SURRENDER. I sent back, THIS SYSTEM IS PROTECTED. DIPLOMATIC NEGOTIATIONS ARE PREFERABLE.
The response was succinct. WE DO NOT NEGOTIATE.
I sighed. This was the first vacation I'd had in three years, and some joker was messing around with me. Or, it was the real thing. I wasn't putting up with it either way. UNFORTUNATE. AGAIN, THIS SYSTEM IS PROTECTED. CONSIDER YOUR NEXT STEP CAREFULLY. I picked up the phone and called work.
"Situation room."
"Davis? It's the Colonel."
"Boss? I thought you were on vacation."
"So did I. Can you check something for me? From my position, facing southeast, azimuth....oh..140, altitude, say 70 degrees. Near Orion."
"Wait one...where the hell did that come from?! Boss, I have multiple contacts on that bearing. One close, a small one, in inclined geosynch....the others are *big*, but not close. I have..70 contacts total, none closer than the Kuiper belt."
I sighed and got up. "Recall everyone. Send a shuttle for me, too. We're going to have to take a look."
"Roger that. Full recall and standby alert, send transportation."
I hung up, and started packing. This is what I get for being a little better than everyone else. Being on-call, 24-7, with the Gonzo Squad. Access to classified technology obtained from friendly ETI's, in exchange for dealing with the ones that weren't so friendly.
These folks didn't sound like the smartest bunch, either. There seemed to be plenty of systems out there with something to prove. We had standing orders to negotiate where possible. Fine. I can be diplomatic as anyone. If they took a harder approach, we had enough firepower to send them packing.
I changed into a coverall, strapped on a pulse wand and a field belt, and activated my nanos. I let the dog roam in the woods behind the house while I caught a cat nap on a chaise lounge. I wanted the rest.
Chances are, it was going to be a long day. | The night had a chilly bite to the air. It was about three in the morning and I had just tucked in my little girl after a nightmare and gone out for a smoke. Looking around the back yard for wild deer, bears, cougars.. I gazed at the stars. The whole neighborhood was like a cold, baron wasteland. Even the streetlights were few and far between, so the light pollution was near non-existant.
This gave my eyes ultimate seeing power into the cosmos. It was a clear night, too. I would stare at constellations, creating new figures in my mind. That formation looks like a guitar, and that one my first family dog.
One star became unusually bright, which was strange. Either that or the surrounding glints had dimmed, or perhaps a cloud was passing me by. Then something flew in front of the bright star, perhaps a bird or something. And again...
Or was it blinking?
It must be a plane, perhaps a satellite. I'm not sure.. I recognized the patterns, was this morse code or something?
"Uhhhh." I muttered under my breath. I continued to wonder if it was morse, or not -- maybe my phone had an app to read it or something? I looked around to see if by chance anyone else was seeing this.
The star was still blinking, and it sure as hell wasn't moving. It was like a camera flash, but more direct. I... it feels direct. I couldn't describe it. My recognition of the patterns was intense.. I could read it like it was on paper.
I opened my patio door and went back into the kitchen to grab the yellow coloured note pad and red pen from my computer desk. I glanced upwards through the kitchen skylight and saw the star was still blinking. The angle was perfect, I could almost stay there... but the cold and bitter, Canadian air was refreshing. My body was warm.
Upon returning outside I focused on the star's pattern, and zeroed in.
"W....." I said to myself, writing on the pad. The language was coming to me naturally, as though I've known it all along.
"E..." I said next, curious and nervous at the same time.
"S.." I whisper...
"E..."
A minute of deciphering went by, and I read the message back to myself. I picked up my note pad. I don't remember dropping it, but I did. I tore off the front page and took another look up into the sky.
I didn't blink. Either did the star. It was now consistently bright.
My jaw began to tighten, and what I can only describe as the most intensive head pressure I've ever felt, began to increase. It was like an air bubble was being inflated in the center of my skull -- it wasn't painful, just... strange...
I couldn't break eye contact, even if I tried. I was locked on target... I could not look away from the pulsating message.
"Daddy?"
My five year old daughter slid the patio door open behind me, and took a step onto the cold damp wooden porch.
"Sweetie go back inside, now." I said as clearly as I could.. I was struggling with speech. Putting words together took immense amounts of effort. The pressure in my head grew, I felt my eyes closing in on themselves. My finger tips were tingling.
"Daddy, there's a thunder cloud in my room."
"Sam... go back ...inside." I was having trouble pushing air from my lungs and out of my mouth. I could barely breathe.
"Okay.."
I struggle to turn to look at my daughter. She was walking back down the hall. What an intelligent kid, sometimes I felt she was smarter than me. I was starting to catch my breath, finally... what the hell was that?
I squatted down to recover, the cold air felt refreshing again.. I was less warm, from a nervous sweat. The pressure in my head was lowering, and my vision felt less strained - I got a massive head rush from standing up, and saw more stars looking at my backyard lawn than looking back into the cosmos.
I took a few backwards steps towards the patio door and glanced upwards into the dark mysterious sky.
The blinking light was nowhere to be seen. Dead space surrounded the sector. No sign of any difference from the regular night sky. I took a few seconds to observe different areas of the heavens and confirmed to myself the light was gone.
"I shoulda recorded that.." I muttered under my breath.
I stepped back inside, and tossed the pad and paper into the basket next to the microwave. I felt very exhausted. I just wanted to sleep.
"Sam?" I said at a decent volume.
No answer.
She must have gone back to bed. Good girl.. she rarely fought me, but tonight she had a lot of trouble staying asleep.
"Sam?" I said a bit louder as I approached the hall to her room. The laminate was unnaturally chilly. I took another look at the message from the stars on the page I tore off from the notepad. And then looked down the hall.
"Kiddo?"
Her door was closed, which was rare. Too rare. Parental instinct kicked in and I began to hustle towards her door. A silence peaked our condo, too silent for deaf ears. I was half way down the hall when I saw a white pulsating light beaming from under her door. It lit up the hall, and reflected over our family pictures framed on the wall. In panic, I approached her door. The light was flickering at my feet.
When I touched the door handle, it was frosty. My skin melted the thin layer of frozen condensation as I pushed the door open.
Suddenly I was blinded, as a rush of frigid air sealed the door shut in front of me.
I began hitting the door, clawing at it. A sound of yelling filled the hallway, and I soon realized it was my own.
I tossed the paper note to the ground and started shoulder slamming the door. As the red inked paper slowly began to unravel, ice crystals started to form around the letters.
It read, "We can see her."
| 2014-09-27T19:15:19 | 2014-09-27T18:22:41 | 51 | 31 |
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